#ITS SO DISTRACTING EVEN WHEN I WAS PUTTING THE PHOTOS HERE I ALMOST COULDN’T TELL WHO WAS WHO

[bonafidehero]

Celebrity doppelgängers that I can’t unsee once I notice them:

Discount Jon Snow — Actual Jon Snow

Idiot Michael Kinsella — Actual Michael Kinsella

Dumbass Jimmy Kinsella — Actual Jimmy Kinsella

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v. 

then he turns up at your door. 

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.” 

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 

Ah. 

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs. 

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?” 

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[diosmio76]

What I Deserve (2) | soft Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky couldn’t believe his luck when he found you. So innocent, so alone, and so naive. He had been following you throughout the week, hell- he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore and you never noticed him once.

Pairing: Dark!Bucky x Reader

WARNINGS: +18, dub-con, needle use, stalking, fingering, kidnapping, kind of non-con (more dub-con but just incase)

Word Count: 3,076

A/N: my timeline on which version of Barnes is fucked up and a mix of everything honestly // my first ever time writing smut, and honestly I'm open to constructive criticism b/c I have no experience in this area LOLZ

You squeezed your eyes as you stretched your body. Feeling your comforter rise and fall against your skin from your movements. You hung your feet off your bed and stretched them before standing up. You did your usual set of morning stretches, were they done correctly? Probably not, but it was the thought that counts and the only form of self-care you gave yourself. You let out a sigh as you got ready for another day similar to all the rest. You don’t even remember what it felt like to be excited about waking up, but who were you to complain. You used the toilet as you went back and forth in your mind about nothing in particular, your eyes staring at your bed that was quickly losing the warmth it collected from your body. Once done in the bathroom you dragged yourself to your vanity, hearing the faint noise of cars on the street, you began getting ready for work. After changing and grabbing your tattered work bag, you began your journey with all the other commuters.

The day dragged on like any other, talking to coworkers only when they needed something from you. Hearing the usual remarks of “Oh, I didn’t notice you” or “I didn’t even see you there”, you got used to it but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t bother you. Before you had time to dwell on it, it was time to go home. You packed your bag then began your walk home, following the same route you always take during the week. Taking a little solstice in the fact that you were just another face in the crowd, that fact made you feel as if everyone else was alone too. Once home you locked the door and dropped your bag, heading to the bedroom you changed into an oversized shirt and put on your slippers before heading towards the living room. You turned on the tv and lowered the volume for some background noise, making the short trip towards the kitchen to make dinner. You rarely got messages on your phone unless it was from your mom or your phone provider wanting you to update your old phone, so you scrolled mindlessly through various social media newsfeeds. You munched on a vegetable as you waited for your pan to heat up. You tried to not feel bad for yourself, you were the one to blame for the lack of social life but you were in too deep. Too set in your ways. You stared at the steaming pan as you imagined moving across the country.

“Yeah right” you said aloud to yourself as you finished cooking your dinner, eating the food but not really tasting it.

~~~

You repeated the same routine the next day, unbeknownst to you today was the day that Bucky decided you were ready. It didn’t take him long to find a house isolated by miles of forest. Despite its unassuming traditional exterior, the inside was modern as he enjoyed the impersonal nature that the style provided. He spent the majority of his time there making sure the house was locked and secure in case you tried anything. The thought made him laugh a little, knowing you didn’t have it in you but he didn’t want to take any chances. Things had been going his way lately, and finding you was like the universe was rewarding him even more. At first, he considered getting to know you, and doing the whole flowers and dates thing but decided he didn’t have the patience for all that waiting, he’s been waiting long enough and he deserved something good. He settled on a much easier method. Breaking in was easy, old apartments like this barely gave him any trouble. He even had someone hold the building door open for him, just his luck.

The lock felt weird when you opened your door but you didn’t think anything of it, dismissing it as another sign of the building’s old age. He watched from afar as you went about your usual routine. He was beginning to become skeptical at how oblivious you were. He was practically behind you and you hadn’t even looked over your shoulder once. He even made some accidental noises by stepping on squeaky floorboards and didn’t get a reaction from you, he took this as another lucky break. You were tired today and fell asleep relatively easily, considering how long it typically took you to fall asleep. Bucky walked around your apartment as he waited for you to enter a deeper sleep, familiar with everything since he had been in here a few times since first spotting you all those weeks ago. He looked at your book collection, a mix of genres, and looked closer at the few photos you had on display. A majority of the old photos seemed to be of your family from decades ago. He picked up one that seemed more recent, the only one you had up that included you. He recognized the other two people in it, your mom and sister, both busy with their own lives. He already sized up your family and it would be easy to handle them if he needed to.

He walked into your bathroom and went through your medicine cabinet, finding nothing out of the ordinary besides a few nail polish bottles and various allergy medicines. Finally, he noticed the soft snores coming out of your room. He shut the cabinet, staring at his reflection for a second. He knew this was the right thing to do and had no bad intention. He softly grunted at his pathetic moment of self-reflection and took out a needle filled with a small dose of anesthesia. He observed you for a moment as you slept, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows relaxed, he considered for a moment how easy it would be to take you, but reminded himself of the bigger picture. He easily found a vein and waited a few minutes before taking you to your new home.

~~~

You squeezed your eyes shut and smiled to yourself as you thought about how well you slept last night. You hummed as you kept your eyes closed briefly noticing the absence of warmth that the morning sun provided you in the mornings. You thought nothing of it, too distracted by the fact that this was probably the best night’s sleep you’d gotten in months. Despite that you still felt a little groggy, you began to move but quickly felt something rough holding you down. Your eyes shot open as your breathing began to quicken. You became conscious of the rough restraints around your arms and legs. You awkwardly lifted your head up as you tried to look around, it looked like a basement based on the unfinished walls surrounding you, a single lightbulb hanging above you on the unfinished ceiling. You attempted to calm yourself down by deeply inhaling but knew it was a lost cause once you heard the shaky exhale leave your mouth. You knew you couldn’t break free from the knotted rope holding you down. You had weak arms and tried to use your leg strength in an attempt to kick yourself free but felt it begin to sting as it irritated your ankles from the pressure. You sat in a deafening silence and felt completely petrified.

You let out a whimper as you heard footsteps approaching the door. The door opened as you saw a tall, broad man approach you. You were too scared to notice anything about him and began to feel yourself shake, causing you to miss the way he hungrily reacted to your frightened state. A shadow was cast on you as he stood over the bed. From the corner of your eye, you watched as his right hand lowered the comforter to your torso and expose your shirt as you twitched at the action. He smirked in response, your eyes following his hand as it hovered over the comforter as though he was going to do something. It exited your line of sight but your eyes were fixed in place. You heard movement as he straightened himself before speaking to you for the first time.

“Did you sleep well? You’ve been out for most of the day” His deep voice filled the room as you kept shaking, too scared to answer. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears and wondered if he could too, but he was too busy trailing his eyes over your torso. He noticed the way your nipples created peaks on your oversized shirt. He licked his lips before he moved his hand up to grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You did your best at avoiding his gaze keeping your gaze low, you swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to control your shaking but felt it intensify instead.

Still gripping your chin, a little tighter than necessary, and trying to control your shaking body got him hard. You looked so weak like this, it made him excited, a wicked smile painted his face as he looked down at your wide eyes and lips clamped together in terror.

“Look at me when I talk to you, doll”

You had a difficult time looking people in the eyes in general, so you lifted your eyes and stopped at his chin. You didn’t dare go any higher. He squeezed on your chin and heard him let out an amused chuckle. If you weren’t so terrified you would have noticed how out of place it sounded given the situation.

“That’ll have to do, for now, I can tell you’re terrified but you really have no reason to be. I only want to do what’s best for you- for us, I’m only doing what needs to be done.” He didn’t expect a response and stared at you as he let you sit with his words.

He took a moment and let his hand trail down from your chin. He felt the nervous swallow as his pointer finger trailed lower and lower. His finger deviated from its straight path as he placed his palm against your chest, pausing to feel your heartbeat racing. He almost felt sorry as he felt its frantic rhythm. He couldn’t help himself as he cupped your left breast. His thumb gently circling around the hard bud. You scrunched your eyebrows and scolded yourself for getting pleasure from his action. His gentle touch was a strong contrast to the situation he had put you in.

His finger continued its journey down and stopped just above your mound. You swallowed as you felt his eyes staring at you intently, not daring to see if you were right. He lifted his hand momentarily as he moves to sit next to you, hearing the springs groan under him, pushing the comforter towards the bottom of the bed. You get chills as warmth escapes, feeling the crisp air conditioning surround your body instead. Jerking at his touch, he returns his right hand to your body just below your navel this time. His fingers trace down until it feathered above your mound. You held your breath as if any noise from you would assure that he would continue his actions as if he would forget you were there. You felt his pause when his fingers hit the material of your cotton underwear. He slowly traces a short line along your clit, you ball your hands into fists wanting to make him stop. Why was your body enjoying this?

You hold your breath as he gently pulls them down till they were at your knees and returns his hand to its previous place. The empty room is quiet, amplifying the sound of both of your breaths. You feel his middle and ring finger move lower gently stroking your folds. You hear him let out a surprised huff as he continued stroking.

“I was gonna bring lube, but it looks like we won’t be needing it, huh sweetheart?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, he was right. You felt heat building ever since he grabbed your chin, but he didn’t need to know that. All you wanted to do was at the very least was cover your face, but felt the irritation of the rope on your wrists instead. He began back and forth on your heat for a few moments. The room now having the added noise of his fingers slowly speeding up as he stroked you. You shut your eyes as he circled around your entrance, you could already tell his fingers would be significantly bigger than yours. He slowly inserted a finger as you sucked in a quick breath. You could hear him let out a quiet groan as he watched his finger disappear into your hole.

After finding a rhythm he added another finger. You let out a whimper at the fullness of both of his thick fingers filling your hole. It stung at first, hurting slightly you wanted to try and stop his intrusion. Besides your finger, you had never had anything else inside of you. You felt slightly embarrassed by this when you were younger but as you got older you accepted the fact that your lack of social life was a major reason as to why you never had anything close to a romantic partner. Never being social enough to meet someone that you would want to be friends with, let alone sleep with. You felt as though you should tell this man, did you even know his name, that this was the farthest you’ve ever gone with anyone before. Before you think any more about it you open your mouth, nothing coming out at first but it was enough for his eyes to go to your face. He slowed down his pace and had his eyes trained on your face waiting for you to speak as if his fingers weren’t leisurely stroking your soft walls in the meantime.

“I- I think I need to tell you something” The words left you slowly and your voice was shakey as you tried to speak and ignore your oncoming orgasm at his rough fingers stroking you gently. Why did you feel like you owed him this? You briefly thought to yourself. But it was too late to stop now.

He smirked at you as he waited for you to continue on. So far, you’ve shown him nothing but submissiveness. Cementing the fact that he made the right choice when he chose you. He didn’t plan on being this gentle with you originally but he couldn’t help it, feeling as though any other treatment would scare you away. His fingers never stopping their gentle strokes, he watched your lips as your quiet voice trembled on.

“I’ve never really, I haven’t done any of this before. I’m a virgin” the words leave you slowly, you gulp and still refuse to meet his gaze, scared for a moment that you would lose the gentleness he has given you thus far. You knew that wouldn’t stop him, but a small part of you hoped it would be enough for him to stop just for now. For the first time you decided to look at his face, still too scared to meet his eyes you opted to watch his mouth as you waited for a response.

To say he was ecstatic was an understatement. You had chosen to tell him this on your own, he didn’t even get a chance to ask you. He didn’t want to assume but based on his observations of you he had an inkling that this was the case. He felt proud of you, his perfect girl. He smiled gently at you in response. You shivered as his fingers paused their gentle strokes in you as he moved to kiss the top of your head.

“Thank you for telling me, my good girl” it sounded patronizing but your body thought otherwise. Feeling heat shoot straight to your core at his response. He felt you squeeze around his fingers at his response.

Once he felt that you adjusted to his fingers he began to alternate inserting them. Thrusting one and then the other inside of you. Your eyes squeezed shut, you never felt this close to cumming so quickly. Your eyes swelled with tears as you quietly sobbed, reaching your climax. Both of you watched as he pulled his fingers out of your sensitive heat. Covered in slick from your climax. You watched as he moved his fingers close to his face, smirking at you.

“Just a little taste for now,” he said he brought his fingers to his mouth to suck on his two fingers that were just inside you seconds ago. The empty room amplified the sound, your face felt hot as you watched the lewd act feeling your core still throbbing.

He reveled in your obvious embarrassment, humming at your reaction. He wiped his damp fingers on his pants as he got up. You blinked slowly, taking in what had just happened. You had enjoyed what had just happened but felt angry at yourself for that. He shouldn’t have done that, and you had let yourself succumb to his fingers so easily. He watched you, deep in thought with your eyes spaced out. His cock throbbed as if reminding him he needed a release too but he didn’t want to scare you. He had a plan, but you had just showed him that he didn’t have to be as rough as he initially thought with you. And he wouldn’t ever admit it but he couldn’t have even if he wanted to, as soon as he interacted with you it was almost as if he needed to handle you with care. Something that he thought wasn’t in his nature, but for you, maybe he’d try.

He felt his confident demeanor waver for a second, an odd feeling. He needed to get away from her and have a moment alone, so with a quick glance, he turned towards the door and practically ran out of the room without speaking to her.

Too busy thinking, you didn’t notice the foreign feelings your captor had just experienced. Only noticing this broad figure leaving the room as if he was late for something. If you weren’t so busy scolding yourself you would have wondered if you had done something wrong to elicit that action from him.

[cow-smells]

Eli/Hawk x Reader: Changes

Request: Can you do a Hawk x reader where they are dating since a long time and y/n tries to handle with his change from Eli to Hawk? @sophiahardy912

A/N: Thought I’d write all cutesy lovey dovey fluffy smutty things but then this angst came out? sorry if i failed you idk what happened here

Words: 2054

Warning: A few cuss words

----

Eli wasn't... Eli anymore.

Not just in a metaphorical way – he was Hawk now, inside and out. At first it was a refreshing change – you loved Eli back when he was introverted and lacking in confidence, but now Eli loved himself, and that was surely better.

    Confidence is a good thing. Right?

You remembered the day he texted you 'Dig it?' attached to a photo of him – classic brunette gone, dyed down and gelled up to a Blue Mohawk.

The phrase 'dig it' by itself was previously foreign to the boy, so of course the new bold hairstyle was a big shock for you. Not a bad one, just unexpected. Even more unexpected was the new attitude that came with it.

When Eli walked up to you the next day at school, he adopted a strut that came with his new hair and attire. You almost didn't recognize him without one of the comfy sweaters he previously would wear, the ones you would steal borrow when you'd go over to his on date night.

    It had been a while since you had one of those date nights – Eli wasn't fond of spending too much time in public, always feeling like people were staring at his lip – so you'd often spend the night at his house, watching some horror movie late in to the night, laughing together at cheap, unconvincing productions. Or, even better – clinging to him when a movie really was scary, finding an excuse to casually entwine yourself around him. You loved how he would turn red every time, as though you haven't been together for a long time now.

The last date night you two had was... unusual, yet exciting all the same.

Eli had been Hawk for a while now, and things were taking a turn for the worse. At first it was nice – Eli would link your pinkie fingers together under the table at lunch, Hawk would put his arm around you as you two walked down the hallways between classes. Eli cowered when anyone would so much as look at him; Hawk would shut down anyone who tried to start with him.

You didn't mind it, so to speak, when he got in to a fight with his former bullies. You were worried, of course, but Hawk knew how to handle himself. He beat the shit out of them and after years of Kyler and co taunting him, it felt like fair karma at play. You were actually proud. Hawk came home on cloud nine that day and you were all for being his cheerleader; it ended up being a night of great celebrations.

However, these days he was getting exceedingly violent with anyone who would look at him wrong. It was one thing paying back those who wronged him, but the whole karate thing was getting out of hand; it came to a red line for you once you saw his treatment of Demetri, the only one other than you and Miguel who accepted him far before he accepted himself.

You two had gotten in to a serious argument, Hawk stating that Demetri's treatment is his own doing for being such a nerd, you telling him to grow up.

A couple of days went by with you giving him the silent treatment. Hawk thought he'd just slide in by you the next day at lunch, kiss you and everything would be fine – but you weren't having it. If he didn't mind throwing Demetri under the bus so quickly, how long until that was you instead?

Not talking to Eli proved harder to do than you thought. After so long together it was strange, suddenly having this wall between you two. It had only been a couple of days of you riding the bus to school rather than on his motorcycle with him and you already felt an insistent pit in your stomach that refused to go away, no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself with schoolwork and your other friends.

So unsurprisingly, when Hawk texted you asking you to meet him at an unfamiliar address, you agreed.

It was dark out – the only people you saw around the road you were going down were a couple of shady looking dudes, only obviously under the influence.

You checked your phone again to make sure you were going the right way.

    “You made it!”

Eli's voice startled you, making you look up from your phone. Illuminated by the blue florescent lights from the shop he stood outside of, he seemed... relieved.

    “Yeah,” you answered simply, your eagerness to make up disapparating in to an unconfident hesitation. “what are we doing out here?”

    “Look,” Hawk took one of your hands in his. “I don't wanna lose you. And if that means being nicer to Demetri or whoever of those dorks, whatever. I can live with that. But not without you.”

You hated how he knew exactly what to say, even if it wasn't prefect. It was enough.

    “You didn't answer,” you said, allowing a flirtatious tone to creep up. “What are we doing here?”

Eli smiled, a smile that was more Hawk than Eli, and pulled you in to the shop after him, knowing he was well on his way to winning you over.

    “This is my guy, Rico,” Hawk introduced, fist bumping the older man. Between the familiar name, funny looking chair and sketches on the walls, you knew exactly where you were and what was about to happen.

    “Eli?” you tentatively called as Hawk guestued for you to sit in a chair behind the funky-looking one. Rico adjusted said chair and motioned for Hawk to come over. Eli sat on the chair, his back to you.

    “You sure about this?” Rico asked, preparing ink on a side table. “Sure,” Hawk answered confidently.

Naturally, your curiosity got you up on your feet towards Eli's other side – of course you wanted to know what he was getting inked – but Hawk quickly protested.

    “Stay over there!” he scolded playfully. “It's a surprise.”

The machine started buzzing and even though it wasn't you who was getting anything done, adrenaline started rushing, making you a giddy mess, forgetting all about your previous fight. As needle pierced skin, you spent the time waiting making assumptions over what Hawk was getting on him – at first you guessed the Cobra Kai snake, later guessing Sensei Lawrence in a heart – a suggestion that made Eli laugh particularly hard, in that way that he used to laugh when it was just the two of you (this earned a scolding from Rico, who couldn't get the work done if his canvas was jittering about).

It must have been twenty minutes at best before Hawk rose from the chair and turned to you, gesturing to the new piece over his heart – a heart with your name in it.

Was it possible to have your heart sink and jump simultaneously? On the one hand, you were realistic, and there would probably come a day where he'd regret this – a thought that made you sick. On the other hand, it was the most romantic thing you've ever experienced, and it was unlikely for anyone else to ever top that.

What was done was done, so you shoved aside any negativity and allowed yourself to revel in the love you felt, showering Hawk with kisses that quickly turned in to a deep, longing kiss – until Rico politely suggested you take the show elsewhere.

    Apparently “being nicer to Demetri” meant ignoring him altogether, besides some threatening looks. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than the alternative, so you let go of it despite it seeming like Hawk was constantly on the edge.

You were ready for another date night – the first since the tattoo parlor – ready to get away from school and its drama, just to spend some quality time with your boyfriend.

Now that he wasn't shy anymore, he suggested going to see a film in an actual movie theatre, which was exactly what you were doing.

The two of you split up – you needed to go to the bathroom so Hawk stood in line for tickets. By the time you had come out you had lost sight of your boyfriend – the crowd around the ticket stalls had suddenly increased.

    “You looking for someone?” a male voice asked. Turning around, a couple of guys you didn't know were approaching you. “Think you'd have more fun with us.”

Just as they reached you, a hand grabbed your arm. You were relieved to turn and see Eli – but he wasn't even looking at you. His eyes were locked with one of the guys – you could feel the tension in the air.

     “Eli, no,” you whispered firmly. His grip on you tightened, moving you aside – but you weren't going to stand for it. You stepped in front of him, grabbing hold of him as he did to you. “You start something, I walk.” your voice was low, not wanting those guys to hear, but serious enough to make Hawk understand you weren't playing around.

With a grunt, he looked down at you, took your hand and walked away.

You optimistically thought the worst was blown over.

You and Hawk were waiting outside the theatre to be let in, chatting away when Hawk stopped you mid sentence with a kiss.

Another pleasant surprise about Eli's newfound confidence was how willing he was to show affection to you publicly, while before you two could pass off as acquaintances at best.

It was rather random but you accepted the kiss – even when he deepened it, getting closer to you, pulling you closer to him.

His hands started sliding lower.

It wasn't anything you haven't done in the privacy of your bedrooms, but to get that intimate in public, in broad daylight – it was too much for your liking.

    “Eli -” you called, pushing away from him. He didn't allow it.

Pulling your hips to his with one hand on your bum, his other went up to hold your chin, tilting it back to grant him access. He managed to hold you for a moment before you mustered up the power to push him a few steps away from you.

    Hawk was visually surprised – whether because of you or himself, you were unsure.

    “What the fuck was that?” you asked, not bothering to keep your voice down this time.

Despite trying so hard to become this new person, new Eli still had old Eli's tells – and a quick glance he threw aside told you everything you needed to know.

Following his line of sight, the two guys from earlier stood there, watching the scene unfold.

    “So that's what this is about?” you huffed. “some territory marking thing?”

Hawk struggled to gather his words, his bottom lip bobbing wordlessly a couple of times before he spoke. “Look, you didn't want me to take care of it out there, so-”

     “So you do whatever you want with me? Like I'm nothing?”

    “Y/n, you know it's not like that-”

    “So what is it like?”

When Hawk didn't immediately respond, you turned on your heel to the exit. Hawk followed you outside.

    “Come on, Y/n, you know I'd never hurt you!”

    “You just did!” you yelled back. “you... I don't know you anymore, and I say that in the worst way.”

    “What,” Hawk huffed, “you want me to go back to being a pansy? 'Cause that's not going to happen.”

    “You know what's the worst out of all this?” you asked, coming to face Hawk. “at first I thought it was cool, you being all tough. Seeing Kyler become afraid of you. I thought it was great. But now... Now I'm afraid of you.”

Hawk frowned, the realization dawning upon him. “C'mon...” he lifted his shirt to show the heart tattoo dedicated to you. “Doesn't this mean anything to you?”

    “Make it mean something.” you replied with a heavy heart, taking a step back and left, leaving Hawk standing alone in the parking lot.

[bibbykins]

Rocking Chairs and Rocking Cars

A/N: No full blown smut here, but ofc horny thoughts remain! I should be posting the aftermath texts and what not soon, but I hope you enjoy this in the mean time! It’s a bit rushed, but I hope that doesn’t ruin the experience for you! As always, tips are appreciated since I am saving up to buy a house with my gf, but ofc tips are not required! Hope you all have a great day/night!

Note: This is a drabble for The Household’s Bunny Series

Pairing: Soft Yandere! Jungkook x Chubby! Reader x Soft Yandere! Hoseok

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: 18+, crying, lonliness, body image issues, unhealthy workout habits, abandonment, allusions to body dysmorphia, mommy issues, grinding, lustful thoughts, mentions of cumming, mentions of erections, pussy cupping (?), not rlly yandere although this is kinda a soft yandere series, obsessive behaviors, low self esteem, horrible communication, mentions of anxiety, mentions of car shaking

The house was quiet, and somehow knowing that no one else was home made your floor feel that much more empty. Granted, none of the guys came up all that often. Ever the gentlemen, they actively tried not to intrude on your space. Although, you really wish they did on days like these. It was 10am on a Saturday morning, although the lack of natural light could fool anyone otherwise. The clouds were heavy in the sky, cradling the sunlight in a thick blanket of grey, squeezing themselves for all the water they have. The rain tapped on your window, almost mocking you, reminding you that water was the only company you had.

You debated texting to ask if anyone wanted to come home and have a movie night, or build a fort, or just simply sit next to you, but decided you would just be bothering them. You had that very intimate moment with Jin and Yoongi, and they had remained sweet with you, but you weren’t able to be intimate with them again yet. They had been busy and you had been deprived of the very addicting affection. You’re sure they would come to you if asked, but you didn’t want to be clingy. The last thing you wanted to do was annoy them by following them around like a puppy just because they made you cum. They hadn’t explicitly stated they liked you as anything more than a friend, and you never wanted to go through the embarrassment of assuming such a thing again.

With college almost done, you had nothing to distract you from the looming loneliness you feel sometimes, and it was exhausting. You grew up by yourself, and you swore that would change when you were older. You were determined to be surrounded by people who loved you as much as you loved them, and yet, here you were. You were laying on a couch, watching the rain fall, all by yourself in a 10 floor renovated motel, reaping the consequences of high hopes and naivety your child self didn’t understand. You were never good at making friends, not that your plump figure helped you with your social drawbacks either. Although you made peace with your lack of charisma in person and have made strides to loving your body, the loneliness never subsided for long. 

There were few things you loved more than talking to people and having them listen to you and vice versa, and yet it rarely happened. Maybe you had been spoiled by your seven housemates, so it was making this bout of loneliness that much worse. Since moving in, there was almost always someone home making noise or even talking to you. However, they all told you summer was their busy season, and boy, they weren’t kidding. You had caught mere glimpses of the boys this week, only communicating via text and post it notes. 

You pressed your eyes closed for a moment as you listened to the rain. You thought of your mom. Her cheeks were chubby like yours and you remember her crying when she figured your metabolism was the same as hers, and you couldn’t understand why she hated herself so much that she wanted you to be nothing like her. Your mother had always been beautiful in your opinion, and it was a shame she never saw herself, or you, in that way. You thought about forcing yourself to go to the gym with her for hours on end, just to be able to be next to her. You had always been desperate for her company, desperate to be liked by her. Part of you regrets putting your body through that, but then a part of you is happy you were able to spend time with her until she left. 

Ah, yes, the day she left. That’s exactly what you should be thinking about right now, on a rainy day, all by yourself. You cringed when you felt a tear get a little too close to your ear, wiping it away. You were shocked when you felt even more in its wake. You always felt really silly when you cried, but you figured you might as well let it happen if you're gonna be home alone on a rainy day, thinking of all the ways people avoided spending time with you while you tried even harder to spend time with them. Who's next? Jungyoon? The uncle who took you in just to admit drunkenly how much the sight of you upsets him three hours into your 17th birthday. Your dad? No. That's not wise.

You sighed. Maybe if you had learned better social cues when you were younger, you wouldn't be a college graduate with no friends to talk to.

It didn't take long for you to break into full on sobs. You stuck somewhere between angry at the people who didn't want to be with you and sad that they didn't want to. Childishly, you deemed it wasn't fair and all you could do was cry. You hadn't had a day like this in a while, but holy shit did it suck each time.

Eventually, you ceased your tears and were left a red and puffy mess, so you decided to go to the kitchen to depuff your face with some ice. Then the rest of your day could only go up from here. You had your cry, and even though the elevator was going down, your day would only go-

OH NO WHY IS IT STOPPING AT FLOOR 5?!

You couldn't even think of who it could be as you looked in the mirror at the corner of the elevator and wished to evaporate. You had obviously been crying, terribly. Nevermind you were in a cropped long sleeve, short shorts, and thigh highs, your eyes were red and a little puffy, your cheeks were clearly tear stained, and even your lips were swollen. You couldn't, "oh, it's allergies." Your way out of this one.

"I didn't know you were home, Hobi." You murmured.

"Yeah, I just popped in real quick to grab something before I go back to…" Hoseok's smile dropped the instant he saw your face. You didn't even have the chance to look away, but you tried to anyway. He gently gripped your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his, "Bunny, is everything okay?" 

You pressed your lips together before nodding, "Yeah, it's just…" You glanced at his face, surprised to see him clinging onto your every word, "Sometimes, I get lonely." You shrugged as his eyes widened, "I get to thinking about my mom and…" You made vague hand movements as you shrugged.

He thought for a moment, “Even though we all kind of grew up together, we never really treated each other like more than roommates, but you’re here now.” He pulled you into a tight hug and you gasped before relaxing into his embrace. You closed your eyes for a moment as you held him close to you, "We've all been really busy, I didn't even consider how lonely you would feel." He lamented and you shook your head.

"I'm a big girl, I can be alone." Your words were muffled in his shirt, "It's just a little crying-"

"But you don't have to be alone anymore, and I don't want you to cry, none of us do." He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead, "Thinking about my mom used to really ruin my day, doesn't now, so don't worry, but that took time." You nodded, feeling tears creep in again.

"Thank you." You hummed as he pulled back, "Sorry to-"

He shushed you, putting his finger on your lips, shaking his head at your apology.He leaned his forehead on yours, making your breath hitch, "Do you want to go with me?"  He asked softly.

You blinked in confusion, "With you, where?"

His grin only widened and you looked to him skeptically, “Do you trust me?” He asked all too innocently and you nodded, “Then, do you want to go with me?” He asked again as he placed purple-tinted sunglasses on his face.

“I suppose…” You studied his smug face, “Let me go change-” You went to press the next floor so you could get off but were stopped with a soft grip from Hoseok.

“I’m in a bit of a rush, and you look great.” He smiled as the elevator reached the entrance.

You wanted to protest, but you let it be. Surely you would not stick out in the slightly scandalous outfit you were in.Truthfully, it was your body that seemed to make it scandalous to other people. Although, if you had a skirt on, it would just be a typical outfit for you, so maybe it wasn’t so weird? These thoughts ran through your mind as you slipped on some shoes and went into Hoseok’s very nice car. 

So are you gonna tell me where we’re going or…?” You asked as the renowned hair stylist drove with a smirk in response to your question, “Okay Mr. Mysterious, can I ask questions about it until we get there?” You asked cheekily.

He chuckled, “Of course, you can do whatever you want, baby.” His voice was silky smooth and the nickname shot straight to your nether regions and you scolded yourself for it.

“Are we going to a job of yours or am I just running errands with you?” You looked at his unwavering smile as you asked.

“A job, but the client will not mind if you’re there, before you ask.” He stole your next question by answering it smugly. You pursed your lips as you studied him. He was in a lavender dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and sleek navy blue slacks, all of which complimented his black hair. 

You, on the other hand, wore a baby pink turtleneck with the hem ending just barely above your matching form-fitting high-waisted fabric shorts, showing just a sliver of your stomach skin while a lot of your thigh skin was on display with white over-the knee socks. You had taken scandalous photos for your OnlyFans, and if you lifted your arms all the way up, a lacy bralette would greet the outside world. You were just feeling a bit self conscious considering the well dressed man in the car next to you. Sure, you looked cute, but was this level cute appropriate for his job? You didn’t want to make a bad impression and have that effect Hoseok.

“And here we are.” He sang and you snapped back to reality as he parked behind a building that had no defining qualities from the back. The ride went by in a flash and you pouted a bit at not even asking another question.

Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for you as he led you inside with him. The hallways were crowded with people running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Judging by the bits of chatter you could pick up as you scurried behind Hoseok, this was a photography studio and a high-level star was having a photoshoot.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here!” A man that seemed to be in his late 30s sighed in relief when he saw Hoseok, “He is in the worst mood today, and I’m so frightened-who is that?” The man’s wild eyes fixated on you for the briefest of moments and he realized your puffy features and shook his head, “Whatever, just go in there and calm him-”

“This is our housemate, y/n, and the shoot isn’t for another 30 minutes and he just needs hair, right?” Hoseok spoke calmly in spite of the chaos surrounding the both of you as the man nodded, “Great, I just need to touch him up and we’ll calm him down in time to take some good photos.” The man nodded tiredly, “Is the dressing room empty now?”

“Yeah, he kicked everyone out so he could calm down, but that never works.” The man cried out helplessly, “Why is he so frightening?!” Hoseok simply patted the man before navigating the hallways. Frightening? The man shivering looked quite burly and tall, who could be scaring him so much?

The “we’ll” made you nervous, but you held Hoseok’s hand so you wouldn’t get lost until he pushed through a dressing room door, “Hobi’s here.” He chimed and you heard a man behind a partition grunt. You looked around the spacious room to see a comfy looking green L couch along with a wooden rocking chair, which you thought was interesting. Beyond that, there was the typically lavish amount of mirrors and counter space, “I also brought a surprise!” Hoseok sang and you were ripped from your observations.

“It better not be anything dumb-” Jungkook’s voice died on the impact that was emerging from the partition and seeing you. Hise eyes studied your body, namely the slight squish of skin between your socks and shorts, which made his pants feel a bit tight, “Y/n, what…”His voice trailed off when he noticed you had definitely been crying, and not long ago. Right as he was going to accuse Hoseok, he saw you let go of his hand and give him a smile, figuring it wasn’t him that made you upset.

Your eyes brightened when you saw a familiar face, “Oh hi, Kook!” You beamed, “I didn’t realize Hoseok was taking me with him to see you, how nice!” You cheered, “I’ll be out of your way while you work, though!” You went to go sit on the couch as Jungkook nodded, robotically making his way to the chair in front of the mirror. He wore a silky black shirt with a harness around his waist and black slacks with razor thin pinstripes and black dress shoes. His hair was styled mostly to perfection, making you wonder what more there was to do. Alas, you weren’t the professional.

Hoseok looked to the younger man with a smug smile, “Just some last touches need to be done and then you can calm your nerves a bit with our little bunny.” He chided and Jungkook scoffed.

It took no more than five minutes for Hoseok to style the star’s hair into further perfection, “Wow, you look super handsome, Kook!” You cheered, earning a small smile from the man in question.

Hoseo chuckled, “He does indeed.” He cooed, making the younger man scowl, “Now, you have some time to zen out with bunny, use it wisely. I’ll come get you when it’s time.” He patted Jungkook before giving you a wink and exiting the room.

“You having a bad day-”

‘Were you crying?” His voice sliced through yours and you’re taken aback for a moment. With no response, he stood, making his way over to you. He towered over you before leaning down to grip your chin lightly, “Were you?” A hint of worry flashes across his eyes, and you wondered if you were just seeing things.

“Yeah… I was just feeling lonely.” You speak honestly, shrugging, “It’s not a big deal-”

“Why didn’t you call me-or anyone?” He asked, voice rushed as his eyes searched your face for an answer. It’s like an interrogation that you don’t have comprehensive answers for, so you shrug.

“Everyone was busy.” You murmur, “I only cried because I thought about my mom and stuff, it’s okay.” You avoided eye contact with him as you said this, feeling out of your element talking about your mom. This made his mouth part, but he haid no words. He understood what you meant, and that made it all the more harder to comfort you.

Jungkook sighed at how you’ve shrunk under his barrage of questions and sinks down to his knees, his hands going to your waist, stroking the sliver of exposed skin, “Nobody was mean to you, right? You didn’t cry because anyone bothered you?” You smiled at his tenderness before nodding.

You watched his face, studying the cleverly concealed dark circles under his eyes and gave him a sad smile, “Are you having a bad day too, Kook?” You asked softly and he sighed, like he was letting himself relax for the first time before nodding, “I see..” You thought for a moment, unsure how to make him feel better until you remembered, “Did you want to touch my thighs?” You said the first thing that came to mind and before you could be embarrassed, he nodded, "Okay, how do you want me?"

What a question, Jungkook thought, smiling tiredly, "Sit in my lap?" He looked up at you hopefully and you nodded.

"I won't be too heavy or anyth-woah!" You gasped when he lifted you, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the rocking chair, sitting you both down, "I stand corrected." You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands placed themselves on your thighs.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling your thighs in his hands, rocking you both back and forth. In every dressing room, he required a rocking chair, in case he needed to calm down. He debuted at the ripe age of 15 and with no guardian until 17, he was prone to panic attacks. The company sent him to therapy and the rocking chair was introduced. He never let anyone touch the chair, but he couldn't deny how nice it was having you in his arms, cradling his head into your bosom. 

“I like the rocking chair, very calming.” You mused, as if reading his mind and he offered a tired hum in agreement.

The day had truly been terrible. Stage after stage, minimal hours of sleep, and stupid people asking the same stupid question. And yet, here you were, hands stroking the skin on his neck as he lost himself in your form. Your thighs were softer than he anticipated, and he felt himself let out an exhausted sigh, finally relaxing into you.

"You haven't been home a lot, so I get why you're so stressed." You mused into his hair, "But you should go a bit easy on the staff, I just saw a buff thirty-something year old near tears when we came in." You giggled and Jungkook couldn't help but laugh a bit.

"Sungmin is my manager, he can take it." He felt blissful for the first time in a while as he rocked you both back and forth, his thumbs stroking the supple skin of your thighs.

"Still, maybe if people aren't so stressed around you, it might ease your stress." You chided softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his head.

The affection made his eyes flutter closed and he hummed, "We'll see, but don't hold your breath." He joked.

You had never felt Jungkook so calm before. Usually he has something snarky or detached to say. Some kind of non committal or indifferent comment, but he was too exhausted to do even that. You smiled softly at the cozyoment and the affection. It was hard to realize how touch starved you were, dreading when you would have to get up.

Youboth rocked back and forth for an indeterminate amount of time, too wrapped up in the calmness of each other’s presence to say much at all.

Finally, you spoke up a bit, "This is making me feel better. I like the closeness a lot." You hummed softly, "I remember when I was in some club in highschool, we were taking photos with girls on the guys's backs and all the guys scrambled to not have to give me a piggyback ride, so I just stood on my own." You did a short laugh. Jungkook fumed at the idea of stupid people making you feel like anything less than perfect, but you continued, "And now I'm in the lap of a pop star, it's a little funny." Now he felt smug, giving your thigh a small squeeze.

"Sounds like you had some weak ass guys in your highschool club." He snorted, leaning his head up as you settled down onto his lap further, now looking eye to eye with your torsos farther apart, his feet planted firmly on the floor to keep the rocking chair still, "I'll deny I was ever this nice, but," He studies your face for a moment, "You're so beautiful." He sighs out and he watched your face light up, and feels what that does to him, scaring the fuck out of him.

You couldn't find words except, "Can I kiss you?" You breathe and he nods with hooded eyes, and before you knew it, you were surging forward to press his mouth to yours. The kiss was fierce, but he responded to it at the speed of light. His mouth moved in sync with yours before taking control of the kiss, moving closer as he stilled the chair. Your hands were shyly clutching his shoulders, careful not to mess up his hair. One hand traveled to your hip as the other massaged your thigh deeply, thumb inching its way to the inner part. Your tongues intertwine and you gasp needily when he's a mere centimeter from where you want him most. You damn near whine when his hand stops inching closer to your core making him grunt.

Jungkook nearly lost his mind when he feels your nails dig into his shoulder and your hips wiggle in the slightest. He wanted to tell you to just mess up his hair, fuck everything else, and just let him make you cum in his lap. He wants to feel what he’s doing to you, uninhibited. His hand cups your sex and you groan into his mouth. He smirks at how warm it is, how wet you must be from a little bit of kissing, and how wet you will-

KNOCK, KNOCK

You jump, effectively falling off of the chair, and onto the floor just as Hoseok walks in, "Hey Jungkookie, it is time to- Bunny?!" Before Jungkook can even reach out his hand, the older man is helping you up.

"I'm alright, just clumsy." You chuckle awkwardly, before turning to the celebrity, thanking the stars his makeup and hair aren't messed up, "Well, have a good photoshoot!" You beamed, "Let's go get some lunch, Hobi." You spoke rushedly as you took the man's hand, dragging him along.

"Oh, uh, bye!" Hoseok hollers to the dumbfounded Jungkook as he watched the dressing room door close, leaving him winded with a boner.

When you get in the car, your eyes are like saucers and Hoseok can't help his curiousity as he turns on the car. However he doesn’t push until you both are a little closer to home, but before he can even ask you grab his leg and stare at him with panicked eyes, "Fuckfuckfuckfuckwhatthefuckdid- AHHH!" You let out the quietest scream, before looking at him, "How do I go about life this stupid?" You seem to be genuinely asking and yet again, before he can ask, "I kissed Kook and I let him hold my pussy for a moment." You blurt out and Hoseok blinks for a moment. You look to him, waiting for him to freak out but he just shrugs.

"Well color me a bit envious." He muses, before tilting his head in confusion, “When you say he held you pussy-"

“He cupped it and I was gonna let him go further had you not walked in.” You looked to the man as he saw home in sight.

“Ah, I see.” He nods thoughtfully, “So were we wanting to pick something up for lunch or just order delivery, we could cook…?”  

You gaped at him, "Are you not gonna tell me how dumb that was?!" Hoseok shakes his head, "He probably hates me now!" You whined.

Hoseok sighs, "I promise, he doesn't." He reassured you, "Did he… kiss back?" He asks curiously.

"Yes, but I'm not sure what he meant by it." You murmured, "I’m really bad at gathering those kinds of clues. I kissed him because he called me beautiful and I didn't know how to respond and I-"

"You're beautiful." Hoseok interjects, "My turn, my turn!" He parks the car at the house, turning to you with a grin.

"Wait, that's it!" You point to him, "You can tell me what kind of kiss that was." You beamed and he looked at you quizzically, "So kiss me and I'll show you how Kook kissed back so I can understand!" 

Hoseok could not believe his ears. Had people played with your head before? Did you seriously not understand that kissing back meant that they were attracted to you, at the very least. Not wanting to take advantage of you he asked, "Are you sure? You can just describe it to me-"

You nodded, "I don’t want to misrepresent it with my words but I need to know what it meant, but if you feel weird about kissing me I get it-"

Hoseok was watching the chance slip away, so he pressed forward, placing his mouth on yours and groaned when you responded with a force, hand going to his thigh to try and mimic Jungkook's movement. Your tongue finds his way into your mouth and he can’t resist the opportunity to feel your tongue against his. His hand goes to the back of your neck to press his mouth into yours deeper. It was in no time you both forgot what you should be doing.

All you could focus on was how good the affection felt. How nice it was to have someone’s mouth on yours just as needily. You were used to sex and affection being out of convience. You were used to people seeing you willing and figuring, “Why not?” But Hoseok and Jungkook had kissed you with a certain force you had never known. Where Yoongi and JIn were soft, sweet,and comforting, they were urgent, needy, but rough.

Hoseok’s arms wrap around you, bring you into his lap and you feel his growing length beneath you. Against better judgement, you grind down, causing the both of you to gasp, “Fuck, baby.” He groans, gripping you to him harder. His leans down to kiss your jaw and reach your neck, making you press yourself further onto him with a choked moan when you feel him guide you hips as you set a steady pace grinding into him. You groan at the sensuality of hearing his voice riddled with lust and making the windows steamy and the expensive car rock.

“Hobi,” You moan out as he sucks a particular spot on your neck, “Feels good.” You whined, grinding yourself more desperately.

“It does, bunny?” He cooed into your neck, trying to shield his own rising arousal as you  grind onto it desperately. You nodded with a moan and found yourself wishing he would just strip you of your clothes and take you. You would love nothing more than to feel his hands around your neck as he pounded into you, your hips working as wildly as they were then with his hands on them, threatening to limit you, edging you closer, and closer, and-

HONK

You both jumped, not able to go far in the driver’s seat on top of Hoseok after accidentally honking his car horn. You take a moment to look at the position your in and clasp your hand over your mouth, "I did it again!" You whined, muffled by your palm, "What's wrong with me, I get I'm horny but AH!" You groaned from frustration, both sexually and emotionally. 

"Calm down, it's better than okay." The man beneath you strokes your hip soothingly, "I enjoyed it, and if Kook did any of that, he did too." He reassures you, "It's just some consensual kissing, we're all adults, it's okay."

You frown, "But you guys don't need me throwing myself onto you, that's not fair to you." It’s made people recoil from you, you want to say. You don’t want them to recoil from you, you couldn’t take it.

"Arguably, I do need you, in particular, throwing yourself onto me." Hoseok quipped and you rolled your eyes.

"Ha, Ha, very funny, but come on." You deadpan and it only makes him more confused. You don't know how to explain that the odds of a guy like him, or any of them, wanting you, specifically, and not just wanting affection are slim to none in your eyes, judging from past experience alone.

"What?" He asks and you shake your head.

"Ah, forget it." You shrug, "Nothing to fuss about, but sorry I nearly came in your lap-"

"Please do not apologize for something I wanted, almost happening." He groaned and you chuckled, shaking your head, genuinely not believing him, “In fact, I invite you to please hop back on.” He chuckled a bit, so you figured it was a joke. Surely he would be joking about wanting you sexually. 

"You're a funny guy, Hobi." You open the door and hop out, "Well I'm gonna go masturbate or something, and then maybe we can regroup for some lunch when I'm done?" You glance up at the flabbergasted man who nods numbly, too perplexed to even offer his services, "Okay, well thank you for the kiss and what not, the affection is always welcome!" You chirped, "I can give you kisses on the lips more often if you want like I do with Jin and Yoongi?" He nods again and you smile. You give him a chaste kiss on the lips before heading inside.

Hoseok blew out a breath as he sat in his car with a hard on. So the issue wasn't you not being attracted to them. The issue was you not believing they would be attracted to you. Somehow, that was harder for him to dissect, unsure how to prove that he would give you the world if you just mentioned an interest in having it. Not just him, but six other men. To you, kissing or sexual acts wasn't proof that he was attracted to you for being you instead of just another body. They all had to somehow prove you weren't being kissed because of convenience, but desire. All of them were too emotionally stunted up until now to already know how. Yoongi was right, this would be a lot of work. Work they all were willing to do.

Tip Jar

[lipstickstainz]

five times - s. r.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: A collection of the times Spencer says “I love you” without saying it, and the one time he actually does. Warnings: tooth rotting fluff Word Count: 2k, it’s a short one A/N: happy new year guys! since you wanted this to be fluffy, here it is! hope you enjoy! gif not mine.

Spencer didn't know what he had been expecting when Hotch had announced to the team that they would have young additions. He had assumed that the newcomer would be pretty serious so that he would be taken seriously, and that he would be very reserved at the beginning to get to know the team first and not offend anyone. But he definitely wasn't expecting you.

On your first day, you showed up to work in a knee-length summer dress and high Converse, which threw him off right from the start. While JJ and Emily always wore something office appropriate, you didn't seem to mind catching everyone's eye. With an infectious confidence and a big smile on your face, you introduced yourself to the others. While most of the team looked at you as if you were from another star - except for Penelope Garcia, of course, she was incredibly happy to finally know another colorful bird in the midst - Spencer liked that you stayed true to yourself. No matter what anyone else thought of you.

You went through life with an ease that was quite atypical of your profession. It almost reminded Spencer of Garcia, but only almost. You didn't have to look away when someone showed you photos of dead bodies. He sometimes caught himself worrying that the job would eventually take away your cheerfulness.

"'DO NOT TOUCH' would probably be a really unsettling thing to read in braille“, you said as you sat in the bullpen. Your desk bordered his, so Spencer only had to look up from his files to give you an amused look.

"Where did you come up with that?", he asked, a smile curling his lips.

You shrugged before looking at him. "I don't know. But it would be pretty disturbing, wouldn't it? How fortunate that it can't happen to me."

Spencer tilted his head. "Because you're not blind?"

"Because I can't read braille“, you replied with a grin, and he laughed out loud, drawing everyone's attention. Spencer smiled briefly at them and motioned for them to turn back to their work so you could continue talking undisturbed.

He leaned a little in your direction before whispering to you.

"Your head must be a wonderful place to live in."

-

It was incredibly loud and the air was too stuffy to be able to grasp a clear thought. But maybe it was just the alcohol the bartender was pouring out like Penelope had certain nicknames regarding Derek. But it also seemed to be Garcia's goal to get the entire team drunk on her birthday. She had round after round coming to your booth, repeating "one of you is dancing on the table today" several times. You were sure it would be Penelope herself. Or JJ.

You were enjoying yourself with Emily on the dance floor of the club. You were incredibly warm, which was probably 75% due to the alcohol you had already drunk. You were wearing tight jeans and a backless, loose top, and yet your skin was so hot that the clothes almost stuck to you. At first you had worried that Emily and you were too different to become friends, but one day she showed up on your doorstep after an exhausting case and stayed all night. It had bonded you together.

In a quiet moment, you looked to the others and Derek raised an arm, signaling you were ready for the next round of shots. You grabbed Emily's arm and, singing, you squeezed through the crowd toward the table.

"If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends“, you sang, and you dropped into the empty seat next to Spencer, who looked at you with amusement. "Make it last forever, friendship never eeeend“, you sang on, leaning back in Spencer's direction without touching him. When he tried to put his arm around you to pull you close, you pushed him away. "I'm sweaty and sticky, Spence. I don't think you're into that."

But Spencer reached for your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours before pulling you onto his lap. His breath brushed your face and you smelled the alcohol in it. "I don't care. I love touching you."

-

"There's a documentary about the formation of the universe and black holes in theaters tonight“, Spencer said. The team was on its way back from a case in Dallas, and while the others were resting or listening to music, you two were playing chess. Not that it was fair, but you liked the challenge and Spencer finally had someone to play with again. "I was wondering if you would like to join me. This case has been exhausting and I think we could use a distraction." He asked without looking up from the chessboard. His face turned glowing red, which you didn't notice because you were trying not to go checkmate in three moves.

You moved your queen before you looked at him. His shoulders were tense and he was breathing shallowly. Spencer bit the inside of his lower lip nervously. "I'd love to“, you smiled, and at your reply he seemed to visibly relax.

Spencer picked you up at home after you showered and got ready. You were wearing jeans and a loose sweater. Up until that point, Spencer had been sure you couldn't get any more beautiful, but when you hugged him with a sparkle in your eye and a warmth in your smile, he wasn't sure anymore.

"Origin of the universe and black holes?", you assured yourself as you stood outside the movie theater. Spencer nodded, his hands buried in his pants pockets. You smirked. "You have to promise me one thing, though."

"And that would be?", he asked as he paid for the tickets and put yours in your hand. You smiled at him.

"You have to promise me that you will tell me every one of your clever thought processes. I want to hear every comment you make, all right? Even if people around us complain."

It was the second time Spencer and you had done something together outside of work, and you enjoyed his company very much, which of course was partly because you'd had a crush on him ever since he'd once explained something to you about his case that you hadn't understood. Spencer had explained it to you as well as he could, and when you thanked him afterwards, he didn't know what hit him. No one cared about his clever anecdotes or explanations, and the fact that you had even thanked him for it made his heart beat faster. Just as it did now.

Spencer looked at you, pleased. "We're the only ones at the movies, Y/N. No one's going to complain."

"Then you can explain everything I don't understand at your leisure."

You entered the movie theater and took your seats. He handed you the packet of popcorn. "You are my partner in crime. You are my favorite person."

-

"The exhibit was very interesting“, you said as you left the museum. It hadn't been your first visit, but visiting it with Spencer was a very different experience. You liked that he had something to say about most of the exhibits. "Thank you for being here with me."

Spencer smiled down at you. "Well, actually, I asked you to go here with me. So I have to say thank you."

"But I wouldn't have been here tonight if you hadn't asked me. So, thanks for that."

Your apartment wasn't far away, and with each step you hoped the evening wouldn't end just yet. As you stood in front of your apartment complex, Spencer nervously stepped from one foot to the other. "I had a really nice evening“, he confessed.

"Me too." If you didn't want the evening to end now, you had to take the plunge. "I'd never been on a date to a museum before."

Spencer's eyes widened and for a moment you feared you had misinterpreted everything. The looks, the stories and the touches. But Spencer stopped your train of thought. "Neither have I. Well, I had been to a museum before, of course, but it had never been dates, and I'm glad I was there with you“, he babbled, blushing, which made you smile. You liked that you could read his feelings from his face. "Um, maybe we can meet again tomorrow? For dinner? If that's not too much for you?"

You didn't answer him, but put your arms around his neck and gently pulled him down to you. In his face you searched for signs that he didn't want this, and when you couldn't find any, you gently placed your lips on his.

At first he didn't return the kiss, which you attributed to his surprise. He stiffened and it took a moment for the synapses in his brain to realize what exactly was happening. You were kissing him. And you had kissed him first. When his mind started thinking again, his hands settled on your waist and he pulled you a little closer to him to deepen the kiss. When you broke away from each other, he had a gleam in his eyes.

"I recorded a short film about quantum physics that was on TV“, you whispered, opening your eyes while he kept his still closed. "If you like, you can come upstairs with me and we can watch it together."

The short movie played as background music while you sat on your couch and kissed until your lips were swollen and your lungs were gasping for air.When he broke away from you for a moment, all he could do was whisper.  "I'm addicted to you."

-

You had tried to keep your relationship a secret, and had failed miserably.

It had taken a psychopath, a hostage, and an explosion for you to fall into each other's arms and for Spencer to kiss you stormily in front of the team. His fingers dug into your skin and would surely leave bruises, but you didn't care. You had escaped the explosion by a hair and Spencer couldn't help but thank all the gods and pull you close to him as you stood in front of him.

"I thought you had been in the building“, he breathed as he gently pushed you off of him to look at you. "I thought I'd lost you."

A tear rolled down your cheek, which he wiped away with his thumb. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Spence." He pressed another kiss to your mouth before someone cleared their throat. The team stood just a few steps away from you, watching you, which was pretty embarrassing. Except for Hotch, everyone looked pleased and delighted, but you also didn't miss Hotch pressing a bill into JJ's hand.

"That's why you didn't want to go on that blind date I set you up with“, Derek grinned, putting a brotherly arm around Spencer's shoulders. "Pretty boy has a girlfriend."

Nothing ever felt so good as sharing a bed with Spencer after that day. You were half on top of him, he had his arm wrapped around you, and your legs were tangled under the covers. His fingers stroked your bare back and yours danced across his chest. He took a deep breath.

"Are you all right?", you asked, looking at him.

He swallowed. "I know we haven't been together that long and it's probably way too soon, but I almost lost you today and I can't keep it to myself any longer." Gently, he pushed you off of him and propped himself up on his elbow so he had to look down at you. "You're not just my favorite person, Y/N. You inspire me every day and you complete me in every way. You are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with." He put his hand to your cheek and you snuggled against his warm skin. "I love you, Y/N."

- tags below -

@mollygetssherlockcoffee​ / @averyhotchner​ / @ravenclawrandomness​ 

[sunder-soul]

first of all your work is AMAZING- like damn that smut? 👀 but anyway- i’ve had this concept for awhile imagine that reader was the one who made the design for the dark mark for tom riddle? like y/n is an artist and likes to draw, paint, all that jazz, and she saw the symbol in like her dreams or something and decided to draw it. and then tommy boy sees it and takes a liking to it like, “...i could use that-“ i don’t if this is a weird ask or not but i thought it was interesting. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

So this has been in my inbox for so long bc I just couldn’t crack how I wanted to tackle it and then yesterday BOOM I had an idea so here I am!! Hope you enjoy  💖

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. 

Consume

Summary: Reader looks into Tom Riddle’s tea leaves on an unlucky day in Divination. Something looks back.

Word count: 1.5k

Content warning: none.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’ve heard of the domino effect before, but never has it been so grimly demonstrated to you than in that exact moment standing in front of the entire Divination classroom with the only spare seat left opposite Tom bloody Riddle.

It started (or at least, as far as you can tell) an entire week earlier when you’d walked in on Ophelia Greengrass sobbing in the fourth-floor girl’s bathroom during second period. Up until then you’d not spoken more than half a dozen words to Ophelia across your entire time at Hogwarts, but it had felt wrong not to say anything – and as it turned out, Ophelia had been in dire need of someone saying something to her. She’d been dating Lestrange for a little over three months and by the sounds of it things were not going well.

So of course you’d comforted her as best you could but it was hardly surprising when she tentatively approached again you the next day, and the next, and the next, and then every single day for an entire week there had been a new horror story until yesterday you’d finally had enough and told her that she should break up with him.

That, of course, was why he’d confronted you in the corridor that morning on the way to Charms, angrily accusing you of losing him his girlfriend. And that was why you and Lestrange had been caught by Peeves with a watering can full of Bulbadox juice brandished gleefully in his spindly hands.

Which was how you both ended up in the hospital wing for the entirety of first period, Lestrange with boils all over his face and down his back, and you with them on your hands from where you’d managed to shield yourself.

You’d left Lestrange behind complaining loudly as the matron peeled back his school shirt, sprinting all the way up to the Divination tower at breakneck speed, throwing the trapdoor to the classroom open and scrambling inside, the trapdoor falling shut behind you, the very final domino.

“Sorry I’m late, Professor,” you gasp as you spin around to face her. “Peeves caught me and Lestrange!”

The class snickers.

“That’s quite alright, quite alright…” Cassandra Trelawney says, deep and ringing, “we have not yet started, take a seat with Mr Riddle and we shall begin…”

You freeze. Riddle…?

That’s when it hits you.

Lestrange always sat with Riddle in Divination.

And you’re so late that everyone else already has partners.

You turn to see Tom Riddle sitting at the back of the room looking at you with a polite but blank expression on his face. The class giggles again. The vast majority of Hogwarts students are at least somewhat in love with Riddle – beautiful, intelligent, polite Riddle, orphaned and poor but refined and successful. Better yet he barely speaks to anyone, leaving a lot of empty space of endless possibility for people to fill in with their personal daydreams.

He scares you.

Those horrible boys that hang around him remind you of flies hanging around rotting meat. And if they’re the flies, that makes Riddle…

You grit your teeth and step forward, weaving between the other tables and snickering students to take your seat, dropping your bag to the floor and eyeing the tea set on the small table apprehensively.

“Begin your readings!” Trelawney calls.

You frown and turn to Riddle questioningly. “We’re doing tea leaves?”

“Tasseography,” he corrects smoothly, leaning forward and picking up the burnished copper pot with one hand and pouring steaming tea into the little china cup in front of him.

You blink at him silently. There’s something manufactured about his face that you can’t put your finger on.

“Shall I go first or would you like to?” Riddle asks casually, pouring you a cup, too.

“I don’t mind,” you mumble, looking away.

Riddle sets the pot down and picks up his cup in long, elegant fingers, lifting it to his lips. “The instructions are on page seventy-nine,” he says after taking a sip, looking around the room disinterestedly.

You pull out your book and find the right chapter and scan the first few paragraphs as Riddle finishes his tea, sipping absently at your own, and by the time he finally hands you his cup your heart rate has finally returned to normal from running up eight flights of stairs.

“You have a scattered-type formation,” you say, checking it against the diagram on your page, “and it’s north-west oriented.”

“Mhmm,” Riddle says noncommittedly, his dark eyes level on the parchment before him as he takes notes.

You lean forward over Riddle’s cup and frown as you compare it to the pictures in the book. “That looks like shepherd’s crook,” you say, pointing to a cluster shaped like a pinched hook, “which means… either the responsibility to protect, or the exertion of power and authority over a group of people.”

Riddle scoffs very lightly, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he continues to write.

Something about it had clearly struck a chord with him, but you pointedly train your eyes back on your book. “Oh,” you frown, checking his cup again. “Or it’s the old glyph for seven.”

Riddle stops writing. You look up curiously at the sudden lack of his quill scratching evenly on his parchment to find him perfectly still, his eyes on your face. “Seven?” he repeats, tone distinct.

You nod and push your book around to show him. “The number seven used to be drawn like that, too.”

Riddle’s eyes drop to the page and linger there for a moment before he resumes taking his notes – though his expression is much more preoccupied than before.

But something in Riddle’s cup has caught your eye. Beside the shepherd’s crook/number seven is a lump of tea leaves so distinct in form that it’s almost comical – the round of the cranium, the square of a mandible, and gaps in the leaves to indicate two eye sockets.

“Oh,” you say in surprise, pulling your book back around. “Wow, that’s pretty clearly a…”

You trail off, frowning. You’ve noticed the tea leaves below it, the long twisting trail that leads directly into the skull’s mouth. A cold, creeping feeling is curling in your stomach as something about the image before you seems to move, you can almost see the thing writhing, it almost looks like a…

“How are we going?” Trelawney asks, suddenly right beside you.

You jump, looking up at her in panic. “Fine,” you say quickly.

She lifts her brows, assessing you thoughtfully. “Hmm,” she says, before glancing at Riddle. “And you?”

“Fine,” Riddle echoes smoothly. But he’s not looking at Trelawney.

He’s looking at you.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The image worms into your thoughts like a deep root, twisting into places you don’t expect to find it and spreading itself out more and more. The dreams are first, and then the nightmares, and finally the night terrors. The skull hovers before you, its pitch, hollow eyes bore into you, the snake coiling endlessly with its fangs yawning wide.

Something about it is cold and evil, some sort of strange perversion of an ouroboros, the eternal snake broken by the skull’s mouth.

Consuming it.

“What is that?”

Your head snaps up from your parchment feeling like you’ve just been jolted awake from a deep sleep, and it takes you a second to process the sight of Tom Riddle before you, his eyes fixed attentively on the parchment strewn on top of the essay you’re supposed to be writing.

He’d caught you drawing it for the hundredth time.

“Nothing,” you say hastily, sliding it away under a book. “Just a doodle.”

Riddle’s eyes flick to yours. There’s a cold rigidity to his expression that you don’t like. It’s a coldness that feels horribly familiar.

For a moment you almost think he’s going to force you to show him, but after a long moment Riddle looks away and he’s gone, disappearing off further into the library. You exhale in relief and pull out the parchment again.

Drawing it made the thoughts go away for a bit, like manifesting the horrible thing distracted it from its need to live in your head. You lift your quill and carefully write a single word next to the skull.

Consume.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The parchment goes missing the next day.

You never prove that he took it, never even mention it to him, but Riddle’s eyes have a cold glimmer to them when he catches your eye in Divination next, the smallest curl to his lips like he’s daring you to bring it up.

The dreams abruptly stop.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

When you see it next, it’s in a photo on the front page of the Daily Prophet beneath a terrified headline, a spectre hovering just like it had in your nightmares at school years prior. Except this time it’s real. This time it’s above the burning remains of the family home of a prominent Muggle-born politician and Voldemort’s name is a shadow on everyone’s lips.

You stare at it on the page, the snake writhing in ink, the black, hollow eyes of the skull, and you think about Tom Riddle’s cold smile watching you from across the classroom, his manufactured beauty, the boys that hung around him like flies around rotten meat.

He’s named it the Dark Mark.

[d0llpie]

hi its ya gorl seijoh hoe 🤠 how would they all (separately or as a group) react to the reader when she gets protective n savage toward a crappy guy who treated her friend like trash n she talks to the guys abt it?/ love the blog btw <3

Reacting to you slapping a guy

Characters: Oikawa x reader, Iwaizumi x reader, Matsukawa x reader & Hanamaki x reader

Warnings: mentions of cheating, nudes, swearing

a/n: Hiii i made y/n slap the guy cause he was an ass✋🏻 hope you enjoy love :) ,,,also some are in high school and some aren’t so sorry if that’s confusing <33

wc: 2.8k

Oikawa

- Your friend had recently broken up with your boyfriend and Oikawa wanted to come tell you about the rumours he’d been spreading

“No f/n, you were right to dump him he can’t expect you to stay with him when he’s never making dates and only hanging out with you when he’s drunk. That’s not a relationship” you were getting fired up just thinking about how much of a dick your friends ex was. “I know y/n, i just...i feel like i’m gonna regret it i mean i still love him, i know i shouldn’t but..” she sighed and shrugged and you held her hands comfortingly, you knew this was hard but having to build her up after every fight they had was breaking your heart and you were glad she finally managed to cut ties with him. “I know, you’ll be okay, i’ll be here the whole time m’kay? so will tooru and i’m sure he knows someone if you want to go out and have fun to get over him..” you playfully nudged her and she giggled, you were happy to finally see her seem happy. “I dont need rebound sex y/n” she rolled her eyes and you laughed together before your boyfriend, Oikawa approached you both seeming uncharacteristically nervous.

You both looked up at him expectantly “hi tooru, something wrong baby?” he sat down next to you and smiled sweetly at f/n “uh, you broke up with ex/n recently right?” your eyes widened and you slapped Toorus arm “it’s okay y/n, i figured you’d tell him anyway, i don’t mind..and yeah i did, why?” you glared at Oikawa and he laughed awkwardly “well, he’s behind the gym, i was taking a break from practise and heard your name so i listened and he was saying..things...” you looked over at your friend who was growing more anxious by the minute. You knew she’d have a million thoughts running through her head, regretting the break up. You frowned before turning to Oikawa “what things Tooru?” you were growing more frustrated by the second, thinking about that asshole. “His friend asked him about the break up and he said he broke it off cause you wanted more than sex..” Oikawa offered an apologetic smile before rubbing her shoulder “he WHAT?”.

While Oikawa was trying to comfort your friend you were seeing white, blind with rage as you stormed off ignoring your boyfriend calling you. “We should follow her, something bad is going to happen..” Tooru dragged your friend behind you as you continued on your path to the gym. That asshole couldn’t handle being dumped so he lied? what a fucking joke. You were muttering under your breath, effectively clearing the people in front of you away as the avoided your furious aura.

“Oi ex/n!” he turned around with a smug grin on his face and his friends whistled and laughed, clealry entertained “Y/n, what do i owe the p-“ he was cut off by the loud bang of your fist connecting with the bridge of his nose. He stumbled back, holding his nose as a few drops of blood hit the floor, you shook your hand, adrenaline coursing through you “you bitch!” he took a few steps towards you but you were pulled back into a firm chest “Uh, we’ll be leaving now. Don’t bother telling anyone or i’ll let the whole school know about what really happened, including your tiny dick.” Oikawa smiled widely at them before dragging you away.

When you were sitting back with your friend and Oikawa she hugged you tightly “y/n, i fucking love you” you both laughed while Oikawa stood there staring at you “ahem?” he cleared his throat. “Hi baby...?” he sighed before grabbing your hand and pressing a soft kiss against each knuckle “your adrenaline is going to go away and this is going to hurt, i’m getting you ice..f/n, make sure she stays put.” He began to stand up but you grabbed his wrist, wincing slightly “i’m sorry for making you worry Tooru” you leant down pressing a kiss to your forehead “don’t be sorry, i love how much you care about your friends, i just don’t want you hurt, i’m sure he’s worse off though, you threw a good punch i can’t wait to tell Iwa!” you both laughed before he pressed another quick kiss to your forehead, jogging off towards the gym again to grab an ice pack.

“Ugh you guys are so in love it’s gross” you friend pretended to throw up and you laughed at her “yeah” you smiled cheesily and she smiled too, she was happy you had someone so perfect for you.

Iwaizumi

You were having a night out with your best friend since she was feeling down. Her boyfriend had been distant lately so you offered to take her to a club Iwaizumi and you had gone to once to blow off some steam.

You both dressed up took some pictures before heading out. You were happy to distract your friend, she was already feeling better and excited to go out with you. You texted Iwaizumi letting him know you’ll probably crash at f/n’s house and sending him some pictures. He told you he’d stay up and wait for you to text him you got in safe anyway.

When you arrived you bought some drinks for you both and she sculled it down before moving to the dance floor, you watched amused from the bar. You felt someone staring holes into your side and so you turned to meet a very guilty face, with his arm wrapped around some girl. She was looking up at him confused “baby what’s wrong?” you scoffed audibly before making your way over to them. If your friend noticed your absence you didn’t see.

“You know, i wish i could say i was surprised...” he rolled his eyes, guilty expression vanishing as he tightened his arm around the girls waist. “So you’re the girlfriend?” you turned to look down at the girl as she scowled at you and you almost laughed. “Oh so she knows, and no sweetie i’m not.” “I am.” you turned around shocked to see your friend on the verge of tears behind you, looking heartbroken. You felt your stomach drop, you turned around to look at her now ex, wanting the Earth to open up and swallow him whole for being the reason your friend felt like this.

You don’t know what happened but suddenly your palm was red and stinging, raised into the air and he was holding his jaw, fury in his eyes. F/n grabbed your arm, quickly running out towards to the exit. “Y/n, you’re such a badass what the fuck was that?” she laughed loudly, it sounded nice despite her ruined make up and red eyes. “Are you okay?” you asked, taking out your phone to text Iwaizumi, her laugh died down and she nodded, tearing up again before hugging you. You rubbed her back soothingly.

Y/n: Hi baby, soo night out has been cut short, can you come pick us up? f/n is staying the night also hurry there’s an angry blonde girl trying to find us

Iwa: explain when i pick you up. i love you.

Y/n: mhm i love you too <3

A few minutes passed and f/n had stopped crying and was sniffling, sitting in the floor deleting photos of her ex. You heard obnoxious clicking of heels and looked to see her ex and his new girlfriend walking towards you both. You cursed under your breath, alerting f/n to the two new presences. You saw Iwaizumi’a car approaching and when he saw your panicked face he sped up, parking right in front of f/n. He guided f/n to the back seat, letting her lie down, guessing by the sight of her ex boyfriend holding another girls hand what had happened. He could see the way they looked like they were trying to kill you with their glares and came to stand beside you, “can we help you?” he wrapped a protective arm around your middle, smiling sarcastically. “Yeah, control your bitch she fucking slapped me.” he chuckled dryly and Iwaizumis grip tightened, “y/n get in the car.” you gripped his arm “zumi don’t, he isn’t worth it he’s pathetic” he looked down to see your pleading gaze and he sighed, kissing your forehead before turning and walking you both back to the car. “Hey-“ “Shut up man, you lost a good one.” Your friends ex walked off angrily and you both got in the car.

After a few minutes of driving, Iwaizumi rested his hand on your thigh, you could tell he was tense so you rubbed his hand “relax baby, i’m okay..” he relaxed his shoulders and loosened his other hand on the steering wheel. “I know but he’s an ass and i don’t trust him” he was stroking your thigh trying to calm himself down. You looked behind to see f/n “hi, you feeling okay ?” she nodded, smiling at you. “Iwaizumi i just thought you should know she did hit him pretty hard” you both giggled and iwaizumi squeezed your leg, letting out a loud laugh as he brought your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

You spent the rest of the night cuddled up on the couch with your best friend while Iwaizumi made you both food and put on some movies. Iwaizumi watched you both from the kitchen, admiring you taking care of your friend with a love sick grin on his face.

Matsukawa

You were at your best friends apartment waiting for your food to arrive, you were having dinner with her and sleeping over since she just broke up with her boyfriend. They’d been together for ages, he even introduced you to your boyfriend Issei, eventually he got toxic and started preventing your friend from hanging out with you guys.

The door bell rang and you sprung up to go answer it, “i got it, stay here but pause the movie.” you opened the door revealing your boyfriend looking down at you. “Hi baby” you chuckled, surprised as he pulled you into a hug, kissing the top of your head before moving to the lounge room where f/n was.

“Hi f/n, i’m sorry for coming over unannounced but have you spoken to ex/n recently?” she sent you a worried glance and you sat down next to her “Uh you guys aren’t together anymore are you?” you shook your head no and he paused. “Look, i’m really sorry f/n, i was on snapchat and he posted a...photo of you on his private..” she pulled out her phone hastily swiping through, she was stressed as a million thoughts clouded her mind “he removed me...” you looked over to issei who took out his phone.

You held his phone and opened the story, it was f/n naked on a bed with a caption “new whore on the market”, the next was a video of him and some friends at a park, one you recognised. F/n snatched the phone from your hand and started shaking, you gripped the pillow beside you, growing enraged at how far he went and how stressed your friend was. You stood up and walked out of the apartment, Issei followed behind you questioning you. You ignored him and got into his car, driving to the park. Issei stood in the driveway dumbfounded “f/n, y/n’s gone crazy again where’s your car?” f/n was crying now, she came out and pointed to her car parked across the street and Issei guided her to it, rubbing her back to try and calm her down.

You pulled up in front of the park and stepped out of the car, one of his friends snickered “damn she didn’t bring f/n with her, i mean they’re not bad either” they started to laugh and you ignored the growing pit in your stomach, approaching ex/n. The smug look on his face only antagonised your further as he leaned back against the fence. You wanted to wipe that look off his face so you brought your balled fist up and connected it with his jaw. He fell back further into the fence and as held your fist in your hand. His friends started to approach you, you didn’t hear a car door slamming over your own shriek when a firm arm gripped your upper arm. You winced as the grip tightening before an arm encased your middle “issei?” the man loosened his grip on your arm as Issei towered over him. “Let go.” his face looked calm, mocking almost but his voice was dripping with venom and the man let go. “Great.” Issei lifted you up and hauled you over his shoulder putting you in the car.

“Issei i’m sorry i know i shouldn’t have hit him but he was such an ass and f/n didn’t deserve that..” he furrowed his brows as he drove “i’m not mad” you looked at him “really?” he threw his head back and let out a laugh “babe are you serious? you were so badass, if you didn’t hit him i would’ve anyway” you smiled up at him and giggled “are you okay though?” you nodded and he glanced over at you.

After going back to f/n’s house, Issei iced your hand and pressed a few kisses to your upper arm where a small bruise was forming. “I love you, so much baby, i’ll see you later okay? Take care f/n, i’m really sorry, it’s been taken down” she nodded and offered him a smile and you hugged him in return “i love you too, i’ll text you okay?” he smirked at you before kissing you quickly.

F/n and you binged some shitty rom coms and did some face masks while trying to relax after a stressful day.

Hanamaki (sorry his is kind of short)

You were walking around with Makki after your date night, going to get ice cream. “Makki its this way, we’ve been here before!” you attempted to drag your boyfriend by the arm “babe it’s this way, i think i would know” he rolled his eyes “Makki i stg, you’ll see you’re wrong” you stuck out your tongue and he kissed it quickly, you scrunched up your face and wiped it “you’re gross” you both laughed until you heard someone yelling.

You turned to see your best friend looking down at the ground while her boyfriend yelled at her, throwing his arms up and growing more and more frustrated. “Y/n, isn’t that f/n, what the fuck?” Makki started approaching the couple and you quickly followed behind. “Makki wait, he’s really angry what’re you going to do?” you held onto his sleeve as he sped up.

F/n, Matsukawa, you and Makki had been friends for years, attending middle school together and high school. When you and Makki got together you remained friends but f/n quickly grew away from you when she got a boyfriend, barely returning texts, avoiding you at school. You didn’t understand why but you had a feeling it wasn’t malicious, you never liked her boyfriend anyway, so you weren’t mad at her. In fact, despite the circumstances, you were happy to see her, you’d missed her. Makki also missed her, the dynamic the four of you had, he hated her boyfriend.

“Makki? Y/n?” f/n looked up to see you both approaching her angrily. “Oi, can you not pay attention to me for once jesus this is why you were single for so long” your friend cast her gaze back down and you felt a rage bubble up inside you. You’d spent many nights with Makki wondering why f/n hadn’t been speaking with you much, assuming the worst about her boyfriend while Makki joked about him, assuring you he’d never act that way and here he was confirming your theories. You could see Makki tense up before he grabbed his collar “What the fuck do you think you’re doing talking to her like that” he turned to look at Makki and when he did you swung your hand, slapping him. His head whipped back as Makki loosened his grip, turning to you with a massive grin “damn, nice one babe” before he shoved him to the ground grabbing f/n and running away.

You both laughed loudly, dragging f/n away, after a few minutes of running you stopped. “Babe, i told you the ice cream shop was the other way” you whined before you heard sniffling beside you, “f/n...are you okay, i’m sorry i didn’t help you sooner, i wasn’t sure and i’m sorry he was treating you so badly and i didn’t know..” you looked down, grabbing her hands, she smiled at you tearily before pulling you into a hug. Makki joined in, hugging you both as she whispered into your chest “i’ve missed you guys, so, so much.” you laughed with her “i miss you too, stay the night will you? We have ice cream at home” Makki groaned as you sent him a glare “c’mon you two, i’ll call Mattsun, it’s about time we all caught up.” you both nodded and began walking home together.

[juniorgman187]

Fighting Fire With Fire (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader must lower her pride after a date goes wrong and the only one who can rescue her is her mortal enemy - Spencer Reid.

A/N: This was a beast of a fic to write. It’s been in my WIP since September, and I managed to go from 11 pages to 22 pages in three days. It is now my longest fic thus far. I am insanely fucking proud of it and I hope it does well. Category: Angst Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: allusions to ‘catfishing,’ allusions to abduction, dub-con to taking provocative photos, alcohol, mentions of bruises, jealousy, carrying hug which implies weight of Reader (lmk if I missed anything) Word Count: 11.7k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I tried to play nice; I really did, but there was no getting through to him. Everyday started and ended with us fighting fire with fire.

Maybe the reason the two of you butt heads so often is because of how similar you are.

That’s what the team would say when Spencer and I got into one of our daily (sometimes hourly) arguments. 

They constantly encouraged us to get to know each other so that we’d finally see the likeness, and until recently, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him to like me. However, as previously mentioned, my willingness quickly dissipated in light of recent events. 

Voluntarily spending more time than necessary with him would be a recipe for disaster no doubt. 

Somehow, in a matter of a month, Reid decided that he simply did not enjoy my presence, which was the nice way of putting it. 

To be more crass, he loathed me to no end.

Initially, I was operating under the assumption that he wasn’t fond of change, and with me joining the BAU, the change was too much too fast for him, but after four weeks, his attitude toward me never deviated. Yet again, I made another excuse for him, arguing to myself that people are allowed to not like me. I could respect that, but where he lost my respect was how he made a conscious effort to remind me of how much he despised me. Even when I was at my nicest, he still treated me like a scelerate. 

If there was a prize for gaining a mortal enemy in the shortest amount of time, I guess I already won that without even trying. He hated me with a burning passion, for reasons unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that all I’d ever try to do was be his friend. 

For far too long, I kept denying the part of me that knew making peace with him outside of work wouldn’t go well and it’d simply go down in history as another failed attempt of mine to form a bond with him, so it was at this point that I decided to face the facts. 

He didn’t make it easy for me, either. It was hard having to be kind to someone that was only ever out to get me. 

He would constantly correct me but only after I said something incorrectly, just so he could prove me wrong. 

“If each police officer patrols a street, we’ll be able to cover the entire comfort zone.”

“Actually, we’d need three more officers if we want to cover the entire comfort zone. There’s still 2.347 miles that are unaccounted for.”

I never understood why he couldn’t just say his piece before me so that I didn’t look like an idiot, but I suppose that was the point. 

And he had this infuriating, unwarranted habit of judging my taste in cinema and literature. Anytime I told Emily or Derek about a movie I saw or told Rossi about a book I read, he felt compelled to share his antagonistic opinions as if I asked for them in the first place. Sometimes even spoiling the endings for me!

“Rossi, I just started reading Doctor Sleep!” I was so eager to tell Rossi that, so much so that I’d become blind to one dark cloud’s own eagerness to ruin the fun. 

“The hotel burns to the ground, but the ghosts don’t die with it.” 

He said it with such monotony and nonchalance, not even bothering to look up from his own book to watch my reaction to his menacing act. He just didn’t care!

The list of reasons not to like him truly did go on and on, so it was almost insulting how people would compare the two of us. 

They’d bring up the congruence in intelligence, the same affinity for reading, and closeness in age, but it only made me madder. The last person I wanted to resemble was Reid, except today, I gained another glaring similarity to him.

“Look at you two. Did you plan your outfits or something?” Emily playfully pointed out after I walked into the conference room. 

I eyed the doctor sipping at his cup of coffee who swiveled around in his chair to see what everyone else was seeing. Just from a short glance, I spotted his navy blue button-up with white polka dots that was nearly identical to the color and print of my dress.

“Well, looks like one of us has to go home and change.” His lips grew into a mischievous smirk behind the rim of his mug. 

Was that a joke? Did Spencer Reid make jokes now?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I facetiously remarked, taking the only open seat at the table which was next to the jokester himself. 

“I’m kidding. You look really nice today.” He alleged without a hint of irony. He was complimenting me now, too? It was so unfamiliar that it felt like uncharted territory, possibly even a trap.

“Why? Because I’m dressed like you?” I wasn’t going to fall for his words now, maybe the version of me who would do anything to gain his approval would have. She would’ve smiled and said ‘thank you,’ but this me was going to challenge him if that was the last thing I ever did. “Bit of a narcissist are we, Dr. Reid?” 

“Mmm maybe,” He wagered, tilting his head from side to side as if to contemplate the possibility. “Or maybe I just really think you look nice.” 

Without even thinking, my heart skipped a beat. I was utterly repulsed by how I let his words have any effect over me. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to fluster me with mediocre flattery. 

It felt like years that I had to sit next to Reid at the round table before Hotch dismissed the team for the flight.

30 minutes later, and we were on the jet. I’d taken one of the seats at the table opposite Derek and Emily, with Spencer beside me. 

Little things like this I could handle, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started bothering me. Morgan was listening to music and Emily was turned around in her seat, facing the back to talk to Rossi. Reid was playing himself in chess, and it took all of my self-control to not be a total asshole and knock the board and its pieces over and into the aisle. Luckily, I had a good enough distraction. 

Grant: can you ft tonight?

Me: we’ll see. i might have to work overtime. 

For the months that I had been talking to Grant, I was deliberately ambiguous about my job because I wasn’t exactly keen on telling him that I worked for the FBI and that I might not be able to FaceTime him since I was in the process of investigating a series of homicides. That’d surely scare him away and I was never one to flaunt my government job anyway.

Grant: you look stunning today

Me: you haven’t even seen me today 

Grant: don’t need to. 

Grant: you’ll always be stunning to me. 

“Who keeps texting you?” 

I looked up from my screen to see Reid fixated on his game but still engaged in my business. 

“No one,” I harshly replied, making a conscious decision to turn my phone on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear the chime of my text notifications.  

With one nimble side glance, Reid eyed my screen. I nudged him away with extra force.

“Nosy much?!” 

This stunned him. He wasn’t used to my coldness, he probably expected me to smile in a chagrined manner and not confront it - as I would have done - but now I was fighting back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it. 

I knew he could read fast, but how he managed to look at my phone so quickly it was like he never even moved his eyes - I didn’t know. Somehow, though, he managed to capture Grant’s entire username, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my entire conversation with him, too.

“Who’s Grant?” The name rolled off his tongue like he was insulted to even be saying it. 

“No one.” 

He didn’t respond soon after I said this, which I misinterpreted as a little victory for me since I almost believed he was going to drop the subject, but in true Spencer Know It All Reid fashion, he just kept going. 

“‘You look stunning today B-T-W. You haven’t even seen me today. Don’t need to. You’ll always be stunning to me.’ Doesn’t really sound like a ‘no one’ to me.” His recitation of my entire PRIVATE conversation with Grant embarrassed me. 

Did I forget to add his eidetic memory and speed-reading ability to the list of reasons not to like him?

“Shut up!” I nudged him, this time using much more force than the last. I was becoming more and more inclined to push over his ridiculous chess game so that he’d finally take me seriously. 

“Oh, really clever by the way. Vaguely insinuating that you ‘might not be able to call him because you’re working overtime’ just so you don’t have to disclose the true nature of your job.” Spencer’s sarcasm was thick.

“Are you just jealous because the only date you’ve been on was a fake one with a serial killer and not even your actual girlfriend while she was alive?” My reference to Cat and Maeve caught the attention of the entire jet. 

Each member mentally rolled their eyes thinking ‘Here we go again.’ And if that wasn’t their reaction, they were certainly cringing at the fight that was ensuing. 

Things had been suspiciously good between the two of us today so it was about time we argued. We were due for our daily quarrel.

“Oh, that’s right! The only girls who like you are victims in our cases.” Now this comment was referring to Lila and Austin. (I had Penelope to thank for filling me in on all of Reid’s ‘entanglements’ after I was first reassigned).

“Really? You wanna go there?” He sassed back, diverting his attention away fully from his chess game now. “Do you know how many people get ‘catfished’ when using online dating websites? Or the statistics on how many people are raped, assaulted, or murdered by said ‘catfish’?” 

“I’m not stupid, Reid. He and I have been talking for months. We’ve been on calls and Facetime before, too. We’ve just never met in person. Sound familiar?” 

“What Maeve and I had is not at all comparable to what you and this ‘guy’ have. And just because you’ve seen his face before doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer or operating under an alias.” 

I had to scoff. Who was he to label our relationship valid or not?

“What’s it to you anyway? We all know you’d be ecstatic if this guy turned out to be a serial killer or catfish. You’d get to rub it in my face and say ‘I told you so.’” 

This touched a nerve. He hated it when I attacked his nice-guy facade. 

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fine. If you think I don’t care about you, then don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t! It’s not like you’d be able to protect me anyway, Pretty Boy.” I sneered, using Morgan’s nickname for him as an insult got to him, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. 

Hotch had to interject now. “Alright, (y/l/n), Reid, that’s enough. We need to focus on what’s actually important.” 

I settled back down in my seat, facing forward and avoiding eye contact with Reid. 

“Have fun on your date,” He muttered under his breath. “Hope you survive it.”

Bastard.

For the rest of the case, I was on edge. Deliberately avoiding him was a much harder task than one might think. I had to wait at least ten minutes for my coffee, so I wouldn’t be at the machine when he was there, and if I had to guess, he probably took longer just to make me wait in agitation. I had to awkwardly squeeze into a new spot beside Rossi and Hotch when we were delivering the profile. I had to ask not to travel in the same SUV as him. 

And this exhausting routine went on for days. In fact, I’d managed to almost go the entire case without interacting with him. That was until Hotch sent us both in the field to apprehend the unsub. 

“Are you sure?” I asked with clear reluctance. 

“Are you questioning me?” Hotch replied sternly. 

“No, sir.” 

I was already on thin ice being the new recruit, so I knew better than to question any of Hotch’s orders. And as miserable as working with Reid was, I figured he’d at least ease up on the hostility when we needed to be professional. Evidently though, even in the field, he wasn’t willing to work together with me. 

It was a quick decision, not careless in the least, however. The unsub had locked himself in his warehouse and refused to leave unless we were brave enough to drag him out of there ourselves. The ultimatum he gave specified that only one of us could do it and we both agreed that I should go in, seeing as he’d underestimate my strength as a woman, and I’d have the upperhand when I inevitably apprehended him. 

However, he also explicitly told us that I couldn’t come in with a gun - it had to be an even playing field. 

“You are not going in without a gun,”  Reid ordered. 

“We don’t have time to argue about this - I have a spare on me, okay? There are three hostages in there, two of which are children.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I handed him my gun and holster.

Had I let him waste a single second more of my time, we wouldn’t have been able to save the three hostages and successfully arrest the unsub. I saw this as a victory and I was almost willing to celebrate it with him, but it wasn’t long before he let our enmity tear us apart again. 

When we got back to the precinct, I went to the locker room to change, then suddenly, Hotch came in. 

“I’ve been informed that you went in unarmed against a fellow agent’s orders. This matter will be discussed in my office when we get back. I should warn you, (y/n), you do not want to make this mistake again.” Hotch left me with those foreboding words, and I knew, I knew immediately that Reid was to blame for this.

If I took a look in the mirror of my locker, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw that my face was turning a bright shade of red. I was fuming - bursting at the seams from the anger building within me that was desperately fighting to escape. I could imagine myself as a cartoon character with steam blowing out either of my ears. I was about to go on a rampage, and no one - absolutely no one - could stop me. 

The last straw was hearing him come in. This was my opportunity to unleash what was already boiling. 

“What the hell, Reid? ‘(y/n) went in unarmed.’ Seriously?!” I undid the velcro on my vest so hastily out of my blind rage that the spiky side of the velcro strip nearly sliced my finger. “Are you trying to get me fired?” 

“If that’s what it takes to make you realize how stupid of a choice that was, then yes, I do.” He was so calm and collected in his inflection that it angered me all the more. 

“What are you even talking about? What ‘stupid choice’? You knew I had a second gun on me. And even if I didn’t carry it, I still would’ve had my vest on. I wasn’t going in unarmed or unprotected, so why would you tell Hotch that?” 

“In the time it would take you to assess the danger, react, and then reach for the gun at your ankle, the unsub would’ve been able to shoot you twice - if not more. That’s going in unprepared, which is going in unarmed.”

I scoffed in disbelief that he was actually reprimanding me. “Are you kidding? This is all based on a technicality? Did your eidetic memory somehow forget about what happened with Maeve? Because my memory didn’t. I know for a fact that you went into that warehouse without a vest or a weapon. And unlike you, I had a spare and my vest. AND I actually apprehended the unsub. Did you stop Diane?”  

This crossed a line and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back, and clearly, it was much too late to repair any relationship I had with him. We were far beyond the point of no return. 

He was so mad that he didn’t even answer me. The only response I could gauge was from his body language, which by the looks of it, all the signs of anger were plain on his face. He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind. Even his nostrils flared so primitively. His eyes narrowed down at me with a glare that said, ‘I’m the predator and you’re the prey.’

“Yeah, exactly.” I spat when he stayed silent. 

I turned around, starting towards the exit, but I was too furious to stop there, so I spun around and unleashed the remainder of my wrath that had been dying to come out. 

“Look, I get it. I’m the new kid around here, and it sucks when someone new comes in and changes up the team dynamic, but any mistake I make, or any mistake Hotch thinks I make, could send me packing. You’ve been working in this unit for years, and even if Hotch questions your choices, he won’t reassign you. He won’t even threaten it. He’s willing to overlook your mistakes because he knows that what you have to contribute to the team is too vital to let go, but I haven’t even had my chance to show him what I have to offer. So when I do make a mistake, there is nothing for me to fall back on, nothing to redeem me, and no safety net, but you? You have years of experience on your back to break your fall. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a favor by reporting my ‘mistake’ to Hotch. You might be costing me my dream job, and if you think that makes us friends - think again.” 

I stormed out of the locker room seeing red. 

This war was far from over. 

_ _ _

“You’re clenching your fists again,” Emily said under her breath. I was grateful that she said it in a hushed tone, otherwise she might’ve revealed my lingering anger to the whole jet, which wouldn’t have been good. 

I immediately unclenched them, opening up my hands to reveal small, dark C shaped imprints on my palms from where my nails had dug into them. 

I should’ve expected that she would’ve learned at least one of my tells by now. I did have many after all. Cheek biting, fist-clenching, leg bouncing. 

“Something bothering you?” She probed quietly. 

She set her book down to give her undivided attention to this conversation. That was enough to tell me that an excuse like, ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ would not suffice. She wouldn’t be satisfied until I told her the truth, which I surely did not want to tell. So I settled for a half-truth.

“Hotch wants to talk when we get back.” 

From my peripherals, I saw her knit her brows together in confusion. “Is . . . is that it?”

“Mhm.” I lied. 

“But that’s not enough to warrant the fist clenching. Cheek biting - sure - you do it when you’re anxious, but not fist-clenching. You only do that when you’re angry about something.” 

“Oh, so you have figured out all my tells,” I smirked.

“Pfft, I figured them all out the first week you got here, but I won’t tell you the rest, otherwise you might try and hide them from me,” She joked. 

I shook my head playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worked up about something - it’s nothing you need to worry about though.” Habitually, my eyes looked right up in his direction. I caught a glimpse of him sprawled against the couch, sleeping. He was lucky I wasn’t ranting about the little stunt he pulled earlier to Emily. He should be thankful that I was even trying to protect his reputation to her at all. 

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help. Take it from me, someone who really only trusts myself, you shouldn’t hide what you feel.” 

What you feel. 

I clung onto those words. 

What was I really feeling? 

Was I upset that instead of receiving praise for the arrest I made, I was scolded like a child? Was I angry that Hotch believed what Reid had to say about my “problematic behavior” instead of believing in me? 

Or did I feel betrayed that despite my best efforts to build a bridge, Reid was tearing it apart brick by brick? Burning it to pieces with the fire of his rage?

“Thanks.” I bleakly said to Emily. I would’ve told her the truth, but it didn’t feel necessary at that moment. If anything, it just would’ve reflected badly on me. 

Truthfully, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the BAU, and if I wanted a permanent spot here, I needed to make more of them - and fast. 

“Hey, (y/n), we’re all going down to O’Keefs tonight to celebrate. You wanna join us?” Morgan asked, walking up the aisle and crouching down beside my seat to talk to me. 

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to talk with Hotch when we get back,” I explained, smiling politely. 

“We can postpone the meeting till first thing Monday morning. I need to go home and be with Jack, anyway,” Hotch added. 

I didn’t realize he could hear me from where he was sitting, which made me all the more nervous that he might’ve overheard the entire conversation between me and Emily earlier. 

“Looks like I’m free,” I looked back at Morgan. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks.” He winked. 

Judging from the lightness of the atmosphere, everyone, except maybe Hotch and Rossi, would be celebrating at O’Keefs - including Spencer. 

I think I might’ve actually preferred to be scolded by Hotch tonight, instead of being silently glared at by Spencer, but it was already too late to revoke my confirmation of presence. 

Because, if Hotch could hear me from where he was sitting, then Spencer could, too. 

He already heard I was coming, and there was no way I was backing down.

_ _ _ 

In spite of the fact that I could barely hear myself think over the loud chatter and blasting music, I could still feel the rage radiating off of Spencer. You would think with how long his nap was on the jet, he wouldn’t be so cranky, but I guess he just couldn’t sleep off his disdain for me after our minor altercation. 

I wondered if the team could see it, too. The way he was burning a hole into me with his fiery stare. The tension was palpable, as it has always been, but remember - I’m not the one who wanted it that way. 

He started this. I was only making the feeling mutual. 

“So what about you, (y/n)? Are you seeing anyone?” 

I tried to hide my growing smirk behind the rim of my beer, but I knew I couldn’t hide much from them. Of course, right across from me, Spencer was glaring at me expectantly, waiting for the answer he already knew. 

“Oooh, look at her - she’s blushing! Spill.” Penelope ordered, beating her palm on the table so enthusiastically it shook all the drinks on it.  

“Well, there’s this one guy I’ve been seeing for a while,” The second I started speaking, I noticed Spencer rolling his eyes. I figured his apprehension was the only response of its kind that I would receive, but I was very mistaken. 

“How did you two meet?” Penelope giddily asked, nearly jumping up and down in her seat. 

“A dating app, actually.” 

The table went completely silent, and I immediately felt my stomach drop. It was as if I’d just said something very wrong. With just a quick glance in front of me, Spencer was basking in this. 

What a dick.

Emily hesitated to ask. “...Have you two met in person before?” 

Now it was my turn to hesitate to speak. “No, not yet.” 

I took another sip of my drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to hide any part of my face I could to shield myself from the five sets of eyes burning holes into me now, rather than just the one. Trying to make matters better, I spoke all too quickly, nearly sputtering on my beer. “I’m completely safe, though. Nothing sketchy’s going on, I promise.” 

“Of course,” JJ agreed. “We totally trust you,” neglecting to attach the cliche, ‘It’s him we don’t trust.’ But if she had, it would’ve spoken everyone’s bubble thoughts right about now. 

“Just be careful, mama.” Derek’s response felt the most sincere, and I honestly believed he was happy for me, but it didn’t change how much their judgement initially stung. 

For the rest of the night, I didn’t talk. No one noticed. 

Except maybe the last person I wanted to notice. 

I quietly slipped away somewhere in the night when the conversation was at its highest precisely so they wouldn’t question where I was going or if I was okay. If they had asked, the truthful answer to the former would’ve been ‘just outside to get some air’ and the latter ‘no.’

The cool breeze drifted through the door like rising fog and for the briefest moment in time, I felt suspended in the space around me - I’d finally caught my breath. That feeling wouldn’t last long, though. 

I’d intentionally gone outside to compose myself until I came back a person who wasn’t on the verge of tears, but apparently, trying to pull myself only resulted in my falling apart. A ball of yarn unraveling is the closest comparison I can draw to what I must’ve looked like, crying quietly on the street.

“I figured I’d find you here.” 

It was the mere sound of someone’s voice that shocked me, but it was the person whose voice it was that led to the frustration that followed. 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to the team of people who also agree with you about Grant?” 

He was too much of a nuisance to warrant exchanging eye contact with so I simply stared forward as I spoke and wiped the tears away that were still pooling on my lower lash line. I hoped he hadn’t actually seen me crying, but from what I could tell, he was probably standing there long before he said something. And if he was truly looking at me as deeply as it felt like right now, then he’d have noticed my bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and unending sniffling. 

“Is that why you disappeared back there? Because you’re upset they didn’t exactly like the idea of your relationship?” The pain in the ass really tried, he really tried to get me to look at him by facing me and making these gestures with his hands that should’ve gotten my attention, but instead, I stayed put leaning against the wall, keeping my line of sight straight ahead. 

“(Y/n), they weren’t insulting you or judging you -”

“Then why did it feel like it?” For the first time since he’d joined me, I’d looked at him. I didn’t even mean to and I had every intention of denying him that privilege for the entire duration of our conversation, but as soon as I asked him my question, we locked eyes, and I saw it written all over his face. 

He felt sorry for me. 

Now, he could clearly make out how distraught I was from this unobstructed view of my face that was kindled by the dim, flickering yellow glow of the streetlight beside us. And he kept staring, looking into my eyes to read me just as easily and just as quickly as he read a book. 

“All we want is for you to be safe,” His voice crackled momentarily, and it actually touched some part of me for how genuine it sounded. “We weren’t trying to judge you or to insult you, and I’m sorry if it felt that way, but if we want your safety, and you tell us about something that could be potentially harmful, then of course we’re going to be apprehensive about it. That’s how people that care about you should react.”

“So are you saying that I don’t care about myself because I’m engaging in something risky?” Isn’t that the most ironic statement of this year? The definition of our job was risky, and even if this wasn’t the safest relationship on the planet, it was nothing like what we put ourselves through everyday being in the field. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“So what are you saying?” I dared. He shook his head and sighed like he was about to give up, but I needed an answer. “No, please, do continue. Finish what you were gonna say. Since you apparently know everything, 187. Please go ahead - tell me what you think I should do.” 

Tell me what you really came out here to say, I ordered him with my eyes.

“I think I respect you more than you respect yourself, and that’s really saying something. Because if you actually liked yourself as much as I do, then you would realize that subjecting yourself to this nonsensicality of a long-distance relationship is not only dangerous - but insulting to your worth, too. You deserve more than that, (y/n).” He couldn’t have been clearer when he murmured a low and firm, “Much more.” 

The world was spinning on its axis too fast for me to process anything he said before snapping back at him. “So what exactly is it you want me to do?”

With utmost clarity in both annunciation and intention, he told me, “Break up with him.” 

Not a shadow of a doubt in his words. 

Then, like the phantom of the opera himself, he vanished back into the bar, but even if he had stayed, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to him. I was simply rendered speechless.

Circling back to my previous argument, I questioned once more why was it any of his business anyway? I was allowed to do as I pleased and I most certainly did not have to listen to him. And I didn’t. 

But I should’ve. 

_ _ _ 

My Monday morning meeting with Hotch wasn’t nearly as fire and brimstone as I thought it would be. It did however feel like the equivalent to an “I’m disappointed in you” parent speech. In some ways, I related to the average teen who was grounded. Except instead of my phone being taken away, it was my freedom. From now on, I could only follow executive orders that had been given to me. At least for the time being. 

It was clear that, deep down, some part of Hotch knew what I’d done was the right call, but he couldn’t give me any favors. Not until they were deserved on my end. 

Walking onto the jet after our meeting, however, felt more juvenile than the punishment itself. I was a kid again, re-entering my classroom after using the restroom, only to have all eyes on me as I came through the door.

As per usual, the only empty chair was next to Reid. There’d been too many instances of this happening to think it was just a coincidence. At this point, I had to assume it was by design. Whose design however? That I didn’t know.

“Hello, trouble,” He sang when I took my seat. 

I could only assume that this new nickname was based on what took place in Hotch’s office - thanks to him, need I remind you - but I didn’t care to know the origin because that would require talking to him, and for several reasons, that was the last thing I wanted to do. The first of which was what happened less than three days ago. An event we both hadn’t mentioned yet, and I hoped we never would. 

I took every preventative measure in the book. I changed seats with JJ. I moved to the couch. I even started reading in the little hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom of the jet to avoid sitting beside him, but against all my best efforts, he always found a way to bug me. When there’s a will, there’s a way. After exhausting any real reason he had to talk to me, he had to get creative. 

“You’ve been on that same page for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” I heard him say when he walked up to the kitchen to reach for the pot of coffee. Almost expecting I’d ask him what he meant, he added the explanation casually. “It never takes you more than three minutes and twelve seconds to move onto the next page. So either you’re not understanding the material or you’re not actually reading.”

It was utterly hilarious of him to imply that either of those things were definitely the answer. “What if I’m just taking my time reading this page, genius? Ever thought of that?” 

His eyes turned into slits as he leaned in closer to examine me. “You’re blinking rate just increased, too.”

“Stop!” I screeched childishly, pushing him away by his shoulders in an attempt to get him off my back, but he was far from off my back. No, he was right against it. More specifically, his hand was on the small of it. 

Leaning in so close that his lips were practically pressing on the shell of my ear, he whispered, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

He didn’t need to know his words or actions had any sort of effect on me, so I kept the most stoic facial expression on, and I didn’t say a single thing back. He turned back around to leave with the hand on my back being the last thing to go. His lingering touch caused a shiver to run down my spine while paradoxically burning my body from the friction. 

I was disgusted with myself for having let him elicit any sort of reaction from me, even if he wasn’t aware of it. 

“Yeah ... well, d-don’t expect that to be anytime soon,” was my poor attempt at a retort to shut him up.

“Whatever you say, trouble.” 

_  _ _ 

Personal space can be a wonderful thing. Much less so when it’s invaded, however. 

After what felt like the longest flight ever, all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. My wishes were granted when I was able to wash off the stress and exhaustion and slip into a blush pink satin pajama set Grant sent me that I’d been meaning to wear. The plunging neck of the tank top was lined with lace and adorned with the tiniest little bow at the center. To match the shirt, the hem of the shorts were lined with lace that trailed up the small triangular slits on the side of the shorts, where at the vertex of them was the same little bow detail. For such a pure and innocent color as baby pink, you’d think it’d be somewhat less revealing. The longer I started at myself in the mirror while wearing it, the more aware I’d become of the intentions behind why Grant had sent it. 

How cute, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Gifts should always be appreciated, if for no other reason than the effort put into it, but this just felt slimy. There was obviously no valiant romantic intent behind the negligee, which spoiled the delight of receiving something out of the blue from him. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even sure how to thank him for something like this. 

Me: thank you for the pajamas. they’re so cute!

Lying was easier over text message, in case you were wondering what the perks of a long distance relationship were. 

Grant: good, I’m glad you like them. are you wearing them right now? 

But sometimes, when you should lie, you don’t. And you regret it later on - take it from me. 

Me: yeah, they’re super comfy

Grant: great! i wanna see them on! take a pic 

As if to compensate for the indisputable hatred I had for this lingerie and what it stood for in our relationship, I did the only thing I could think that would make him think I really liked them. That I felt good in them. 

I took pictures - not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, Yelp review pictures, though - provocative ones. 

In the same breath I went to take them, though, Spencer’s words rang through my head. 

You deserve more than that. Much more. 

Shaking off the thought of Spencer, I decided against what the little voice in my head that sounded too similar to his would’ve said. 

To add to the illusion, I situated myself within the hotel sheets and used the front camera to capture my chest that was very much on display in this top. In the middle of rolling around the bed, trying to find the angles that wouldn’t show my face of dejection, the door opened. 

Instantaneously, I clawed at the sheets until they wrapped around me like a towel. I was ashamed to admit they provided more coverage than these ‘pajamas’ did.

My shriek of shock must’ve sounded familiar to the stranger intruding on me because no sooner did I scream than they questioned, “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing in here?” I grumbled, struggling to maintain a tight enough grip on the sheets that would keep them from falling and unveiling a sight I desperately did not want him to see. 

“I asked you first.” 

Boy, if you only knew how badly I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “This is my hotel room obviously. Your turn.” 

Returning just the same tone, inflection, and vocals, he imitated me. “This is my hotel room obviously.” Like one of those magic tricks he’d show Henry or Jack, he miraculously flashed a room key between his index and middle finger that wasn’t there before. 

“No, that’s impossible.”

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” That damn smirk was still there when he asked this. Maybe, just maybe, if it hadn’t been so condescending, I would’ve thought his sarcasm was ... attractive. Disgusting, I know. 

“Well, if you actually plan on staying here, then you’re sleeping on the floor or the couch, got it?”

My question went unanswered until I turned around to follow where he’d traveled in the time that I spent pondering how this happened. Now perched at the window, sitting on the arm of the chair in a way that chairs weren’t meant to be sat on, he continued to stare silently at me. 

“What? What is it?” I urged. 

“What’s going on with the …” He made a side to side sweeping motion with his key card. “Bed sheets?” 

Consciously, I shimmied the fabric further up my body. Seeing as there was virtually no way to escape an honest answer, I confessed. “If you must know ... I’m wearing p-pajamas.” My own body was rejecting the shameful admission causing the word to stumble out of my mouth. 

He didn’t need to know any more than that to gather what kind of garments they were. He already figured it out.

“Did Grant give them to you?”

I almost rolled my eyes at the implication. “What makes you say that?” 

“Because I know you,” He punctuated every word perfectly. “And I know that you wear big shirts and sweatpants to bed because you don’t see the point of spending money on clothes that are only made for you to sleep in - especially if they’re clothes that make you uncomfortable like these ones clearly do.” 

Although, I greatly despised the fact that there was even a little bit of a chance that I might’ve agreed with him, I still defended Grant. “It was a thoughtful gesture.”

“Thoughtful, right,” He scoffed. “And which head was he thinking with?” 

I was baffled he had the gall to say such an innuendo. “Spencer!”

How dare he? So what if Grant bought me something provocative because he was physically attracted to me? At least someone was. 

Despite the ferocity plain on his face, he chose not to pursue this conversation. Visibly biting back on words he knew would hurt me, Spencer managed to sound remarkably genuine when he promised me, “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.” 

I want you to, was my very first thought. Oh, God, that’s so fucked up, was my second. 

He underlined his sincerity by turning fully around until he was facing the window. “But we should probably put the sheets back on the bed if you plan on sleeping on it.”

He was so patient as he waited for me to remove the cloth from my body. It almost made me feel guilty. He didn’t grumble or gripe, nor did he pressure me to do it at all. So by rights, there should’ve been no reason for me to take so long to let the barrier fall - he wasn’t looking at me. But I was just so goddamn embarrassed. 

This wasn’t me, and even he knew that. 

“You can turn around now,” I mumbled quietly once my safety net of a bedsheet had abandoned me. My arms were crossed over my chest and my thighs were pressed so tightly against each other as if to limit the surface area that Spencer could scrutinize. 

That never came. 

He did look, I could tell that much. But it wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t rage or annoyance or pity. It was a look of lust. 

A look that made me positively weak in the knees. A look far more sensual than even my racy garments. 

“I’ll just sleep in Morgan’s room tonight, okay?” He offered once he finally broke out of his incapacitation. Grabbing the two opposite corners of the sheets that I was holding, it was a team effort as we arranged the covers where they belonged. It was probably the longest period of time we’d ever worked together without fighting or talking at all for that matter..

Not a single word was exchanged between us while Spencer gathered his things to leave for Derek’s. The room started to feel dangerously empty in the stillness. 

When he slipped past me to make his way out, I caught his upper arm, successfully pulling him back around.

I could’ve been sweet, I should’ve. But that wasn’t our thing. So I settled for what came naturally to us and what would set off the least amount of red flags - I didn’t play nice. “As long as you promise not to hog the entire bed with your behemoth body, we can sleep together -” Catching the words as soon as they came out and what they could’ve implied, I began backtracking. “Sleep in the same bed. Sleep as in rest. Not sleep as in … anything else.” 

Then, in one of those rare moments- he laughed. He actually laughed. Like a real, hearty, sudden laugh. “I know what you meant, (y/n).” 

I’ll never forget the smile that followed the world’s greatest laugh either. 

Oh, God, I’m so fucked up. 

_ _ _

Spencer’s POV

Domesticated animals are smarter than we give them credit for. Studies have shown that pets can actually sense time; They know when it’s time for their owner to leave for the day and when they’ll be coming home, too. 

Animals aren’t dumb - and neither was I. 

Like a dog sniffing out their owner’s imminent absence in the home, I could tell (y/n) was leaving the hotel room for the night. If her current state wasn’t convincing enough, then her behavior throughout the entire day supported that theory just as well. 

Whether it was her phone, the clock on the wall, or her watch, she was evidently keeping a close eye on the time. She did it so often, though, that you would think she would just use simple deductions to figure out what time it was by estimating the time it was when she last checked, but nope. She rarely let more than a minute go by without monitoring the clock.

My suspicions didn’t end there. What’s more suggestive was the anxious fidgeting. She had her tells of anxiety - everyone does - but this was a level of stress I’d never seen her exhibit before, not even in the field. 

She kept cracking her knuckles, even when she’d exhausting all the popping noises she could from them. Her leg-bobbing was another big tell, too. I tend to sit on tables rather than in the chairs at said table, allowing me to feel the earthquake occurring on the precinct floor. Her leg was bouncing up and down so vigorously it was practically shaking the room. 

I would’ve asked her what she was so impatient about, but I feared I already knew the answer.

Grant.

And if I never heard that name roll off her tongue again, it would be too soon. 

That didn’t mean I couldn’t ask where she was going, though.

Pretending to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I barely let my eyes venture far off the page when I loudly asked from the window seat, “So where are you going tonight, trouble?” 

The faintest sound of a chuckle erupted in the bathroom, most likely from the nickname I hadn’t let die yet. 

“Nunya,” was her ever-so mature answer. 

I didn’t want to give her the chance to say ‘nunya business’ like I knew she would, so I quickly interjected with a monotone, “How clever of you.” If she wanted to be a child about this, then so be it. 

“Let’s see. You brought your good heels out of your suitcase, which you only wear on special occasions. And you put on a different perfume than the one you usually use, so I’m assuming it’s new. ... If I didn’t know any better, trouble, I’d say you’re going on a date.” 

She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re creepy, you know that?” 

Seeing the small portion of her face that was embellished with a smile would’ve been enough if only I knew what dress she was hiding in behind that wall. I had yet to see that part of her ensemble, but if I had to guess, it would break my heart. 

“Just saying,” I casually lied while clearing my throat. 

“Well,” I heard her begin from within the bathroom. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Grant is meeting me tonight.” 

Kill me now.

“I thought Grant lived in D.C.” Not that that would change much if he was already here. 

“Yes, he does, but he’s driving all the way here to meet me. Seeee,” She drew out the word. “Would a serial killer do that?” 

I refrained from giving the obvious answer: Yes. 

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on bringing him back here. Otherwise, that’d be terribly awkward, don’t you think?” My allusion to the possibility that Grant would come back here to find me in her bed was borne from the intentions that were a complete contradiction to the words I’d just spoken. It, in fact, wouldn’t be terribly awkward. No, it would be fun. For me at least. 

I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, and the worry on hers as she tried to explain who I was and why I had any right to be in (y/n)’s gravity. 

The room went silent again while I stayed on the same page of my book and, unbeknownst to her, waited for her to enter the room. How long she was taking was starting to worry me, though. 

“Need any help in there?” I called out.

“Nope,” She said through a strained voice that proved she was indeed struggling with something. 

“Really?” I asked once more to give her another opportunity to lower her colossal pride. “Cause it sounds like you need help.” 

“Nope. I’m good.” Liar. 

I knew her too well. I counted down to the exact second when she finally scrambled to ask, “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

“Yyyup.” I’d already resigned to the fact that I would have to help her, bouncing happily off the bed when she finally admitted it and letting myself lose the page I was on as I tossed the book haphazardly behind me. 

I was forced to join her in the bathroom for it was already hard for her to humble herself enough to ask me for help, so she certainly couldn’t be expected to lower her pride again and walk out to a place more convenient for me. 

The first thing I noticed was that it was a space clearly not made for two. It was so cramped that I ended up right against her in order to fit. The second thing I noticed was how she made no movements to distance herself. She was so close to me that I could actually see the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up from where my breath ghosted on the area. The sterile smell of hotel bathrooms had been replaced by the flowery, aromatic scent of her new perfume, and my heart broke all over again. 

Using the back of my fingers, I cast a barely-there caress on her neck to stroke her hair out of the way to clear the path of the zipper. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up again. 

She liked that.

“So do I get to know where you’re going?” I reached for the zipper on the small of her back. “For safety purposes, of course.” 

“Aww, you looking out for me, Dr. Reid?” She teased in a seductive tone while gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail that for the shortest second recorded in time might’ve reminded me of a constantly recurring intrusive image. 

“Always, trouble.” 

The zipper fastened with absolutely no resistance all the way to the top. My eyes flashed to the mirror to catch her expression, which told me everything I needed to know. 

What a pretty little liar. She didn’t actually need my help. 

Comprehending that the realization dawned on me, she gave me what she knew would shut me up. “We’re going to The Rooftop at Lamont’s.” 

How effortlessly she slipped past me without a thank you or a glance in my direction served as a rude awakening.

“Well, you should take an umbrella with you. It looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight.” This was my small way of coming to terms with the reality of the situation. 

“Eh,” She waved my suggestion off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t even think about stalking me!” She warned before exiting the room.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone - my peace of mind having left with her. 

_ _ _ 

The amount of sleep you need varies for each person and is affected by several factors. However, for most adults, 7–9 hours per night is the ideal amount. And I was slowly reducing that optimal quantity, hour by hour, until there was none left. 

I would continue to sacrifice my sleep so long as I was awake for her return. If she’d asked why I was still up, I would lie. Though I wouldn’t look half so pretty as she did when she lied. 

Losing rest seemed like such a small price to pay to make sure I was fully alert in the event that an emergency happened, even if I would suffer the consequences in the morning. But hey - that’s what caffeine is for, isn’t it? To re-energize oneself after staying up to guarantee one’s enemy’s safety. 

Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why Kaldi invented coffee in 750 A.D. 

Besides the thunderstorm, my mind also made great company for situations like these. Granted, the visions it would project kept me up for a reason - they were all so awful. 

There was simply no projected reality where things would turn out alright. 

If she had the time of her life on her date, she would come back to throw it in my face that I’d been wrong, and her admiration for Grant would have deepened. 

Or if he stood her up, she’d be devastated, but instead of letting me console her, she’d push me away as easily as she always did.

In a more neutral instance, perhaps she would admit it wasn’t as great meeting him as she thought it would be and the relationship would fade out for innocent reasons. Even if that seemed like the most favorable circumstance, she would eventually grow to resent me for planting the seed of doubt in her head in the first place.

But nothing- nothing I could have imagined would be as treacherous as what actually happened.

At exactly 1:09 a.m, my phone started to ring. I can’t explain to you what it was, but I just knew - it was her calling, and it wasn’t even her number.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?” 

If she said something beforehand, I couldn’t hear her because the storm was too loud and her voice was too quiet. “Did I wake you up?” 

I reassured her with a tone I didn’t even recognize. “No, no. I was awake. Why? What’s up?” The line went quiet again, forcing me to prompt her to speak in order to find out if she was still there on the call. “(Y/n)?”

“Spencer ...” She choked out a hoarse sob. “I need you. I need you to come get me, please.” 

My eyes clenched shut at the dreadful sound of her sorrow, and I jolted into action. After scrambling to gather the keys to her car that she’d left behind, I fled the room faster than ever before. 

“I’m on my way, (y/n). Stay right there. You’re at The Rooftop at Lamont’s right?” 

The poor thing took the longest pause in history, either from shame or disorientation. “He threw me in the back of his car and drove me all the way to D.C. I …” Her breath caught on her dry throat again. “I, um, I managed to escape and now I’ve barricaded myself in a payphone booth. I haven’t called the police yet. You were the first person I thought to call. I just, I just needed to hear your voice.”

My knuckles turned an unfamiliar shade of white when I gripped the steering wheel, picturing her caged up in a rectangular box, dialing my number instead of 911 just so she could hear my voice.

“Everything is gonna be okay. I promise you. My ETA is 1:28. That’s in 19 minutes. Are you okay being there for that long or do you want to find somewhere safer?”

I could no longer distinguish the difference between talking to her right now and talking to a victim in distress. I was speaking with the same tone and inflection but feeling a sharp pain in my chest that wasn’t there before. 

“I can stay here. Just ... don’t hang up, okay?” The fact that the possibility of me abandoning her over the phone even crossed her mind was more than enough to get me to drive well over the speed limit. 

The list of traffic infractions only grew from there because honestly? Screw my safety or anyone else’s. Her’s was the only one that mattered. She was the priority. 

She was my priority. 

Throughout the entire call, I kept repeating, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Frankly, it was something we both needed to hear. 

It was both the fastest and slowest 19 minutes of my life. Time no longer felt real when I finally found the payphone booth that boxed in my troublesome girl. No sooner did I drive up to the sidewalk than I ran out of the car to sprint the short distance to free her from her coop.

“(Y/n)!” I shouted, swinging the door open and throwing caution to the wind in the process. Immediately, she dropped the phone, not even bothering to replace it onto its receiver. 

The pouring rain had stripped her of her dignity. Mascara ran down her face in pigmented streams of black. Her curled hair was dampened into strings. But worse of all, it hadn’t washed away the darkening bruises on her skin.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She cried as she ran into my open arms. 

Her body collided with mine in such a gentle manner that I had to wonder how that was possible at all or if it was a figment of my imagination. Was our collision actually that gentle or did it seem that way because of how good it felt to have her arms and legs latch around my entire torso, crossing and connecting somewhere in between?

With one arm under her thighs to hold her up, I pulled her impossibly closer to me by cradling the back of her head with the other hand. 

Her small hands found their way into my hair, a new sensation I tried not to indulge in so as not to let my attention stray away from the little life I was holding in my arms. 

She was so cold. 

Shivering from my warm embrace, her teeth chattered as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spencer. You were right I should’ve listened -”

“Shh, it’s okay, (y/n),” I said with the hopes that I could make the pounding heart that was thumping against my shoulder settle down until it reached her standard heart rate of 67 beats per minute. 

After a second of just holding her wordlessly, she spoke again. 

“I don’t wanna fight.” She surrendered so easily to me that I could hardly believe this was her at all. 

“I don’t wanna fight with you either.” 

That was entirely true. Fighting with her was the last thing on my mind. The first was getting her into my car. 

It was easier that I imagined it would be, but then again, it’s easy to do things when you’re motivated in this way. 

Before I loosened my hold on her to shut the passenger door, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if to be absolutely certain this was real and not some cruel dream.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the crook of my neck. From where her shoulder was digging into my throat, I couldn’t exactly respond verbally, so I settled for rubbing my hand up and down her back comfortingly. 

“Let’s take you home,” I basically said to myself seeing as it was too quiet to be discernible. 

“No,” She shook her head rapidly. “Take me to your apartment.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right now. I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

My apartment is closer than the hotel, I reasoned, pretending it was the logic of it that made my heart swell and not the statement I would fixate on for the entire duration of the ride there. 

I need to be somewhere I feel safe. 

And that’s wherever I’m with you.

_ _ _ 

Reader’s POV

Porcelain wall tiles gleamed back at me, mocking my wretched misery. They were much prettier than me, but then again, anything else would be prettier than me right about now.

I certainly wasn’t the belle of the ball in my bare naked state. The fact that I was sitting in a pool of my own washed off dried blood didn’t help either.

I would’ve looked away from the bright white walls, but where else were I to look? Into the pair of eyes that I was deliberately avoiding? The ones that were staring a hole through me right now? No. I couldn’t bear to meet those eyes. So I kept looking forward at the mean walls - those mean, mocking walls.

“Is the water warm enough?” He asked, dipping a finger into the bathwater to test it himself. 

I watched as his hand snuck into the tub and swirled around some water, causing soap bubbles to revitalize. 

For a reason I didn’t know nor could remember at this given moment, Spencer drove me to his apartment. That memory of why I was here was fuzzy, but the rest following my arrival was more vivid. Perhaps because it was all unfolding right now.

“I think I should go,” I murmured. The bathwater had gone cold, and the silence was too deafening. If I didn’t leave now, then I would be trapped forever. 

I leaned forward with my knees still pressed to my chest to protect my modesty while I tugged on the silver drain plug of the tub to release the suction.

“You can’t go home. You’ll be alone again, and who will be there to help you that time?” 

“I don’t need anybody’s help.” I responded curtly. 

“Then why did you call me tonight?”

“Why did you answer?” 

He was stunned by how I didn’t miss a beat with my question, stunned enough to purse his lips in contempt. “Should I have declined your call then? Said ‘no’ instead and let you fend for yourself? You know what - my bad, (y/n). I sincerely apologize that I care about you.” 

I scoffed at his factiousness. “No, what you should’ve done is whatever the hell you wanted to do. But clearly, since you said ‘yes’ and came to my rescue like I’m some victim in a case - you wanted to be there. I could chalk that up to you having a hero complex, but I think it’s time for you to admit you just wanted to see me at my worst so you could throw it in my face like you’re doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw in fury, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve left you in that booth.” 

This crossed a line, but I was just as ready to cross it, too. 

“But I bet you liked saving me. Seeing me as a damsel in distress that you could white knight. You like that, Spence? Does my weakness settle your deep rooted fear of inadequacy in strength?”

Shouldn’t have done that. 

For a second there, I was sincerely scared of the response I might’ve just elicited, so I shot up from the tub and grabbed the towel on the rack, quickly wrapping myself in it and avoiding Spencer’s gaze the entire way out of the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Judging from the loudness of his voice, he was right on my heels, following me close behind. 

“You’re smart. Figure it out.” 

“God, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass? I don’t want to leave you like this.” It never failed to amaze me how he could both show disdain and concern for me in the matter of a sentence. 

“Well, you’re not leaving me like this - I’m leaving you like this.” My clever remark angered him more.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Spencer called out from the end of his hallway, “What are you so scared of?” 

Reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I spun around to throw my arms out to my side in just the same defensive manner as he did. “Nothing! Maybe I just don’t wanna be stuck in the apartment of the man who hates me! Can you blame me?” 

He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pulling at the strands out of pure irritation. “Why do you keep saying I hate you? How can any of what I’ve done for you tonight suggest that?”

He’d chosen his words carefully and for that, he was smart. His inclusivity of the word ‘tonight’ meant I could only reference his actions from the past few hours, which wouldn’t help my case, as opposed to the months and months that he’d given me the cold shoulder, which would have helped my case. But again, he was smart - he had me in a deadlock. I couldn’t accept defeat, but what could I possibly argue against his point? 

My body literally shook from the power of the deep groan that tore through my chest. “God, what do you want from me, Spencer?” I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from him, but my body was resisting all those urges. Lunging forward, I pointed the sternest index finger at him, staring the most unforgiving glare into his soul. “Tell me - tell me what you want! Because when I was nice to you, you-you treated me like shit. And then when I stopped being nice to you, you still treated me like shit. So what -” I had to laugh to alleviate the sheer rage I was feeling. “What the fuck do you want from me? Because it’s like no matter what I do, it’s just not good enough for you!”

His eyebrows had furrowed and his eyes softened. He didn’t look angry whatsoever. No, he looked hurt. 

“Not good enough for me?” He leaned down to my level to look right into my eyes. “You are everything … everything to me.”

With one last breath, I cried out in anguish, “Then why? Why do you hate me so much?” 

He gulped back the lump in his throat - the last barrier that kept him from telling the truth. 

“I ... I never hated you. I just need to be in control of my thoughts and feelings at all times, otherwise, I feel-I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m on the verge of a psychotic break that I’m genetically predisposed to have. But when you came around - I lost all my control. You were inhabiting my dreams, you were stealing my sleep, occupying more and more space in my brain until there was no more room left to take. God, I think about you all the time, and I literally cannot physically stop it. I have no control anymore,” and somehow him saying that sounded something like an ‘I love you.’ 

“The only thing I could control was how I treated you. I thought being awful to you would get you to despise me enough to make me despise you, too, and while it was easier to be angry at you, it was so much worse having you hate me.”

“I never hated you, Spencer.” Never. 

“You should have,” He rasped. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I wish to spend every day proving that I want you. Oh, I want you so bad,” He sharply inhaled through gritted teeth, and I unconsciously laughed in return. His pain wasn’t funny in the least. What was amusing was knowing that he had the same excruciating longing for me that I had for him. 

“I don’t want control anymore if it means I can’t have you.”

He leaned in so carefully that I almost didn't register the movement at all. Our hearts were pounding to the same synchronized beat. We were the shore and the tide one in the same. Our breaths would draw in and out, in and out, as he held my face so gently. We were still the shore and the tide, but more than anything we were drowning in the ocean of ourselves. The rising waters of his admiration threatened to flood every empty nook and cranny of the room until it swallowed me whole. All I could feel was him, everywhere, filling absolutely everything. 

“Wow ... I finally got you speechless,” The cocky bastard hummed happily, letting his words vibrate on the smallest part of my lip.

“Oh, shut up,” I declared through a smirk I needed to fight off before finally closing that nearly imperceptible gap between us. 

All the forces in the world couldn’t tear us apart after we connected. They were no match for the force Spencer’s hands had as they pulled me impossibly closer. The pressure might’ve even been unbearable had it not been for the velvety pair of lips giving me back all the oxygen it stole from my lungs just seconds ago. They were so soft, like freshly washed sheets, like biting into cotton candy, like floating for the first time, feeling utterly weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet. 

Not nearly as sweet as the words that followed our parting. 

“Not enough for me?” He repeated, recalling my previous claim. “You’ve had me since the day you walked in, trouble.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fingers crossed this fic doesn’t flop!

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[viperbarnes]

The Long Last Summer

[B. Barnes] Oneshot

40s Post-War AU

Summary: With Steve off in America again, Bucky finds himself doing his own version of a USO tour through Italy, boosting morale and friendship, or so they tell him. However, a new stationing in the tiny town of Montecarra gives him more reason to want to stay, when he becomes quickly whisked away by wild, carefree and exuberant you.

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of the war, awful awful Italian probably. The reader has a name, but it's still written as a reader insert.

Note: The reader/character in this fic is a black woman. This fic was originally uploaded elsewhere, so if you're a part of the small audience who read it originally please don't panic, it isn't stolen lol. The story is almost entirely spoken in Italian, but doing italics for every conversation was annoying, so just assume that unless otherwise stated! Thank you for reading!

Words: 19.5k [This is very long.... Sorry...]

The hot Italian sun beats down on the town below, the occasional breeze carried overland from the nearby ocean to the west might have been a blessing if that too weren’t humid and warm. Bucky Barnes thinks it should be a sin for it to be so hot so early in the morning, but he’s long past complaining about it. Leaning against his car door, stopped on a hill overlooking the town of Montecarra, Bucky takes another drag of his cigarette before stomping it out. At least he hadn’t woken up in a filthy, sweltering trench, surrounded by hot bodies after another restless night of gunfire filled dreams. At least he was only required to wear his uniform during official ‘work’ hours.

Giving the town, his newest home, one last look, Bucky gets back in the car and makes his way down.

Being a core member of The Howling Commandos these past years, Bucky had earned himself a certain amount of celebrity, both in America and abroad. Especially in Italy. Given that Steve had returned to the States already, and Bucky had expressed some minor interest in staying in Europe a while longer, Colonel Phillips had happily assigned him as a ‘morale liaison’ while the US and other allies sorted out the peace treaties and demilitarisation of Europe.

It made as much sense to Bucky then as it did now. He had come to realise that ‘morale liaison’ was just jargon for ‘dancing, handshaking, smiling, posing monkey’, seeing as most of his time the past two years had been spent shaking hands while smiling and posing for various photos. Usually with politicians. Bucky hated politicians.

Luckily, his newest post, Montecarra, was far more what Bucky had thought he’d be doing when Phillips had given him his orders; helping people rebuild and reclaim their lives in a post-fascist Italy. As he drives through the small town, Bucky thinks briefly that the bulk of it seemed to be almost entirely untouched by the war, the classic Italian architecture and warm coloured buildings homey and welcoming, the cobbled stone streets and walkways looking every part the idyllic Tuscan town, but then he sees it.

Toward the edges of town, Bucky’s eyes catch on a shattered stone building, utterly destroyed. It’s a small ways from the town itself, a little field between it and the nearest houses, and he can’t help but already feel grateful for the fact it looked to be the only place that had been hit by the violence, though he doesn’t deny the unseen scars that no doubt linger on the people themselves.

He quickly looks away and continues on to his residence.

There was no army base or fortifications in Montecarra, the nearest being in Florence, but The people had kindly offered up a small, newly unowned cottage for the military to house any visiting soldiers in during their stay. When he finally gets to be shown around by the nearest neighbour, a friendly older woman, he’s glad that for the time being, he has it to himself.

He gets himself settled, partially unpacks his bags before getting bored and making his way out to the blooming garden, camera in hand. It had been a gift from Steve, sent for his birthday the previous year when the two had not been able to reunite, and although Bucky had much preferred putting pencil to paper before he’d owned his own camera, he’d found in recent months, as the cold receded and the sun came out, he’d picked up a knack for photography.

The fact that this model was an ‘instant’ model, making it so that after each photo he took, a little slip of paper would spit out and slowly develop the image, certainly aided his newfound love for the hobby. When he had been a kid, his Ma would take the family to have their pictures taken once a year, and the results always took days or weeks.

Lifting the camera to his eye, Bucky peeks through and aims it at a tall bushel of bougainvillea, the bright red against the butter-coloured walls of his cottage making him wish the photos weren’t just black and white.

He snaps a few more floral shots, wondering absently if he’ll be able to buy more photo paper in town. With the sun still high in the sky, he decides that he may as well take a short walk, if not to introduce himself to some of the locals, then to answer his question.

Honestly, the unendingly friendly reception he’d received everywhere he went never ceased to surprise him. Two years ago Italy had been the enemy or the soldiers and government at least. For the most part, the people caught in the crossfire had been weary and scared, but helpful where they could be to Allied soldiers. Still, the warmth they seemed to hold him, and other allied soldiers with was always a little startling at first.

By the time he makes it to the centre of town, he’d been kissed on his cheeks more times than he could count, but interestingly, the people of Montecarra weren’t as clingy as he’d found some other towns and cities… After greeting him, they’d happily left him alone, though with numerous and repeated offers to have him for dinner.

Once unable to stand doing nothing at all, and always on the go, the young man Bucky had once been, had evolved into a quieter, more solitary version of himself. He still liked to have fun, mind you, he’d learnt to take enjoyment and pleasure where he could in the army, but his sniper’s life had taught him contentedness with his own company. Bucky was fine being alone, without chatter or noise to distract him. He’d come to prefer it, actually.

Bucky finds that Montecarra’s central space was a large set of four courtyards, separated by various important municipal buildings and shops, and at the centre point, an old communal well that had been made into a fountain. Without thinking, Bucky lifts his camera to snap a shot of the fountain. He loved New York more than anything, and he couldn’t wait to return home, but damn if he hadn’t fallen hard for European architecture.

He’s still waving the little piece of photo paper back and forth to help it develop when loud laughter and the familiar noise of children playing reaches his ears. It startles him slightly, Montecarra wasn’t exactly sleepy, but it was quiet, and the residence all seemed to be of an older sort, he hadn’t seen many children yet, though a look at his watch tells him that might have been due to school.

A small gaggle of children of various ages come skipping into view across from the fountain, chatting loudly and seemingly unaware of the previous peace that had reigned in the town square. Unlike in New York, however, Bucky notices not a single patron of the nearby outdoor restaurant throws them dirty looks or hisses at them to quiet down, if anything, the people nearby pause to watch for a few seconds, not with disdain written on their faces, but soft, gentle smiles, before they return to their business.

A voice calling out from the back of the group, noticeable for its maturity in comparison to the children’s voices, catches Bucky’s attention and he lets his gaze skip over the scene until it lands on you, and suddenly, he’s breathless.

Bucky Barnes had seen a lot of beautiful women in his time, and had been lucky enough to know a number of them too, but you, you are something else entirely.

It’s your smile he notices first, plush rosy brown lips pulled wide in a joyful grin, so magnetising he finds himself unable to look away. Your hair is long, curly and dark, brushed into waves that the humidity and breeze seemed set on ruining, and with one hand you secure your wide brim sun hat as you chase the kids. Your white blouse is laced around the open collar and both it and the bright yellow of your skirt stand out against your syrupy brown skin, smooth and a little shiny from the sun.

“Here! Roberto, Norma, come sit here a moment! Look at the fountain!” You beckon the children, two strays in particular, over toward the fountain, and much like Bucky, the kids seem magnetised to you as well. You float right up to the water, sitting on the edge as the children all gather around, still chatting and playing loudly, though a little more orderly now.

Bucky watches you swipe a hand through the cool water, smiling and speaking animatedly with one of the children. He wonders if you were perhaps their teacher, but he’s snapped away from his thoughts a moment later.

“That man has a camera! Look!”

Bucky blinks, tearing his eyes from you, even as the children, and you, all now turn your attention to him in varying shades of wonderment. He’s still a small distance away, but it doesn’t matter as not even a second later, he’s being swamped by the pack of energetic youngsters.

“Are you a photographer?!”

“Can I see it?!”

“Will you take my picture!?”

The last request sets off a frenzy, the rest of the children all joining in to ask for their picture taken, and honestly, Bucky doesn’t even think he has enough paper for that.

“Hey! Mascalzoni! Leave the poor man alone!” You appear then, hands on your hips, not even two meters away and Bucky thinks he could faint.

“Oh, they’re—” He cuts himself off, switching to Italian.

“They’re fine, really… I just don’t think I have the photo paper for it…” He explains, trying his best to look you in the eye, but not quite making it. You cock your head in sympathy, and clap once, getting the children’s attention once more.

“Come on, stop it. Can’t you see you’ve scared him?!” You say playfully, though Bucky wants to correct that it isn’t them he’s scared of.

“How are we supposed to get more tourists to Montecarra if you’re all scaring them away, huh?!” You continue, crossing your arms and the kids seem to relent somewhat, whining a little as they back up from Bucky. You give him another, apologetic smile.

“Come along, you all better get home before your mothers’ tan your hides!” You say, making a shooing motion that makes Bucky second-guess his teacher theory. Before any of them can begin to move though, he takes half a step forward, holding up his camera.

“Wait, I can— I can take a photo of you all together…” He says, and watches as even your face lights up, though as the children all begin to excitedly gather in front of the fountain, you step away, to his side.

“You don’t want to be in it?” He asks, throwing you a sideways glance and yep, you’re still just as pretty as before. You smile and shake your head.

“No. Not this time.” he doesn’t know what you mean by that, but focuses back on the children, raising the camera and snapping a shot of the children, smiling brightly.

Chaos ensues once again when the paper pops out of the bottom, further exciting the group as Bucky attempts to hold the picture out of their reach while it develops, unable to stop himself from chuckling at how spirited they were. It had been a long time since he’d seen any kid so carefree. Perhaps that was why the townspeople were so unphased by their noise earlier.

After the picture is passed around for all to see, you clear your throat and jerk your head away again.

“Go on, clear out now.” Far more happily the children bid each other goodbye, a few moving in pairs or trios as they split off in separate directions.

Bucky is all too aware that you’re still standing near him, and he focuses on cleaning his camera lens with his sleeve.

“Thank you.” You say kindly, with a slight bow of your head, and he finds himself shrugging and shaking his head.

“It’s alright, really.” he pauses, and then;

“Are you their teacher?” He doesn’t expect the surprised laugh you let out, shaking your own head vigorously.

“Hell no. I don’t have the patience for that! We were just walking the same way.” Bucky blinks, not expecting your language, though he finds it endearing, a little more grounding. He laughs.

“I see.”

“You’re the soldier, yes? From America?” The subject change catches him out for a moment, but he’s nodding a moment later.

“Sergeant James Barnes, ma’am.” He almost salutes, doesn’t and then thinks better of it, giving you one anyway. You cock your head at him, an amused smile pulling at your lips.

“I thought soldiers wore uniforms?” You fold your hands in front of you, and Bucky blinks, down at his casual civilian clothes, and then back at you.

“Oh, I, well, I do, but only when I’m working, these days…” You laugh good-naturedly at his awkward delivery.

“I was only teasing. I’ve heard from Rome that soldiers spend just as much time out of their uniforms as in them.” You say it easily, with a playful chuckle, but the risque connotations don’t go over his head, his eyebrows lifting high in his surprise.

Were you… flirting…? Or was this just how you were?

“Well, Sergeant Barnes, it was lovely to meet you.” You’re stepping back, giving him another smile (were you always smiling? He wants to know, now), and a little wave before you begin to turn. Bucky flounders at your fast retreat and panics.

“Uh, wait!” You look back, and he swallows.

“What’s… what’s your name?” You chuckle and push your hair behind your shoulder.

“Cristina.” You tell him and he repeats it, trying to roll the ‘r’ like you do, which makes you laugh again.

“People usually just call me Nina.” You offer a moment later and Bucky nods, before giving you his own, more commonly used nickname.

“Bucky?” You repeat, almost unsure, but when he nods, mouth dry at hearing his name on your lips, you smile and nod.

“Bucky. I will see you around, Bucky.” And with that, he watches dumbly, awestruck in his place as you float out of the plaza.

—-

The warm breeze carries through the open windows of your house, sending the scents from the kitchen below wafting around the rooms. You’d already finished your work for the day, and the chores your mother assigned you, and with a slight pep in your step, you finish tying the scarf around your hair and grab your book.

“Mama? I’m going to read!” You call out, pausing for a moment to listen for her reply. You hear a faint humming above the radio and quickly take your leave, skipping down the front steps of your home and out of the walled front courtyard.

Montecarra is hot and warm, like it had been every other day this week, but you don’t mind. The streets you pass through on the way to your nook are quiet, with only the occasional Nonna in her garden, or returning from the markets. There had been more people here once, a long time ago, and in your childhood days you remember visitors, passing through and admiring your home on their way to other places. You missed that deeply, but push it from your mind, trying not to sour your day at the thought of your already sleepy town becoming sleepier.

You reach your normal place quickly, little plaza toward the outskirts of town, many of the houses here empty now. One of the homes, a double storied one like your own, has a tall garden wall that sits in the shade of the tall tree behind it. Midway through the wall, high enough to take some effort to climb, sit a series of three empty archways, glassless windows that give a view of the overgrown garden within, and from the other side of the little square beyond.

Nobody came to this part of town, not anymore, and in recent years, you’d found it the perfect place to sit unbothered. Tucking your book under your arm, you hitch your skirt up a little, and use one of the roots that climbs and decorates the wall with green ivy as a foothold. The archway isn’t high, but you certainly couldn’t get to it without a little help.

Once situated, you lean back against the pillar, bringing your feet up in front of you, and rest your book against your thighs and knees. You lose yourself quickly in the words, devouring the stories of far away places, detectives and mystery and murder. When the Nazi’s had been here, you hadn’t been allowed to freely enjoy such things. You’d been hidden away, scared everyday would be your last, but it had never come. They had left, and you had been safe again once more.

It was why you enjoyed sitting outside, in the sun and warm, basking in a world that was purely yours again.

Well, not just yours.

A quiet, but pointed cough makes you jump slightly, and you whip your head to find the source, shutting your book on instinct before your eyes find him, and you smile.

“Good Afternoon, Sergeant Barnes!” You greet, and the man returns your smile, lifting his hand briefly. You had known he was coming of course, your whole town did. He was helping the men rebuild the old schoolhouse, though he seemed to have finished that task for the day, as you had finished yours.

He was a handsome man, with dark hair and blue eyes, his pale skin lightly tanned on his face and arms from days in the Italian sun. He was young, though older than you, likely nearing his late twenties if you were correct. You hadn’t known who he was during the war, but afterwards, you’d had plenty of newspaper fodder to read. You think most of it must have been trash though, because the man the magazines and gossip columns had labelled as a charming, suave ladies man could not be the same one that stood before you now.

“Bucky. Bucky is fine, Senora Cristina.” He replies, his eyes dropping a little as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Well then you must call me Nina.” You reply, keeping up your smile for when he looks back at you. When he realises you haven’t looked away from him, he quickly averts his gaze again, but clears his throat and looks around the empty plaza, waving a hand.

“Quiet spot?” He asks, and you turn from where your back is pressed against the brick, swinging your legs over the side of the wall to face him properly. You nod.

“Yes. The people who lived in this part left. We don’t know if they’ll come back or…” You trail off, pursing your lips briefly, but shake your head. No. No time to dwell.

“It’s a good place to come to be alone.”

“Oh, I can— I can leave if you’d lik—” Bucky’s face falls into anxiety stricken concern as he gestures with his thumb toward the little road you think he must have come from, but you cut him off quickly, laughing.

“I was not attempting to chase you away!” You tell him, and he drops his hand back to his side. For a few seconds he just looks at you, like he’s unsure of what to say, and so you fill the silence the best you can.

“How do you like Montecarra?” Bucky nods quickly, his body language immediately relaxing somewhat. You wonder if you make him nervous because he’s unsure how to speak to women, or if it might be something else.

“It’s beautiful. I haven’t been able to stop looking, you know? We don’t have towns like this where I’m from.” You smile at his clear enthusiasm, and cock your head. You’d never been to America, you’d never even really been more than a few miles from your home, so you can’t imagine what towns must look like there.

“The people are friendly, I mean, everyone is friendly everywhere, but the people here are… they don’t seem to want to be around me twenty-four-seven.” He adds, and then clamps his mouth shut, as if he’d forgotten who he was talking to. You think maybe he hasn’t been around friends in a while. You shrug, and chortle.

“Oh, that’s just how we are. My Papa used to say that in the cities, nobody can leave each other alone because they don’t make real connections… but here and other small towns, we’re all we have, and after a while, you just get sick of each other.”

Bucky laughs, loudly and heartily, and you think it is a lovely sound. He says something in English, you think you hear ‘christ’, but he sobers, still smiling.

“I’d say that’s about right.”

“Though, you should be wary of signora Cavalli… she’s like a venus flytrap, you know?” You say seriously, but with a conspiratorial edge so that he knows you are only mostly joking. Bucky cocks his head in confusion, but chuckles.

“A what?!”

“A venus flytrap! You know! It’s a plant that looks all bright and colourful, but when bugs land on it it snaps shut!” You clap your hands together in demonstration.

“And then it eats them.”

“Are you… are you telling me signora Cavalli is going to eat me?” Bucky asks, eyebrows high and you take a moment to dramatically look him over.

“No. I don’t think you are her type. But she will start a conversation that will not end until either you or her dies, and trust me, she’s really old.” Bucky laughs again, hand on his belly this time, his head thrown back again, and you can’t help but break ‘character’ to laugh with him.

“Right. Avoid signora Cavalli. Gotcha.” He says as he calms, and again, he seems to have relaxed even more, the little pull that you had noticed between his brow yesterday, and earlier, even when he wasn’t frowning, had all but disappeared.

“Sounds like I need your guidance here. Clearly.” He continues, and you can’t help but feel excited by the prospect. You nod vigorously, and hop down from your ledge.

“Oh, definitely. I have lived here my whole life, I know all there is to know!” You tuck your book back under your arm and step nearer.

“I can show you around! There is more to Montecarra than there looks!” You pause and shrug.

“Well, a little more, at least.” Bucky appears torn for a moment, his face scrunching back into a polite concern as he holds his hands up.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, signora, I mean, Nina…” You roll your eyes and fold your arms over your chest.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, signore, but there isn’t exactly anybody else my age around here… really you’d be doing me the favour…” He opens his mouth, but you quickly beckon him in a direction before he can argue, and you hear a faint sigh, and a few seconds later he’s matching your easy pace.

“I did notice that, actually…” He confirms, and you feel his gaze on the side of your face. His hands are back in his pockets, and he walks a respectable distance next to you.

“Well, there weren’t all that many to begin with but all the boys went off to fight, and the girls either got married and moved away, or left to study somewhere else.” You try to keep your voice light and airy, try not to betray your jealousy or sadness.

You had wanted to move to Paris and study, or London, anywhere, but the shadows of war had already begun, and it had been too uncertain. Looking back, you were reluctantly glad you had not been elsewhere. Your mother had needed you too much.

You come to another small courtyard, with a large tree at its center. It was one of the oldest in the town, and this part of the village had been built around it, as was obvious from the uneven and cracked stone ground, where the roots had grown large and disruptive.

You sling a hand around the trunk, slowly circling it in a careful swing, and Bucky oddly does the same, moving opposite you, so you are always on different sides. Oftentimes you were called childish or immature by others in Montecarra, though they never meant you harm by it. You were young at heart, and always would be. You know it was not proper for young women your age to be so restless, but you couldn’t sit still. Even just walking normally was a little boring after a while. You think it’s nice that this American man doesn’t ask you to stop or to stand still.

“You didn’t though?” Bucky asks, and then hurries to clarify.

“Get married or move away, I mean.” You chortle and lean a little further forward to see his face better as you both continually circle the tree.

“I was not good enough in school,” You lie.

“And no man would have me.” You laugh as you say it, not really meaning it. When there had been boys around Montecarra, you’d had no shortage of prospects, though how many of them would have actually married you was another question entirely.

Bucky scoffs, making an odd noise in his throat, and he fixes you with a look of disbelief.

“Well I know that can’t be right…” You smile, but look away at his kind words, before another thought hits you, and you stop moving, holding onto either side of the tree as you lean around it slightly.

“Montecarra must be exceptionally boring for you.”

Bucky stops moving too, and instead leans his side against the trunk, arms crossing over his chest as he looks down at you casually, eyebrow raised in question.

“To be in such a small town, with no women who aren’t married. Compared to Paris or Rome, I mean.”

You gasp suddenly then, and quickly switch sides, making Bucky have to turn too, and you can’t suppress your cheeky grin.

“Unless of course it’s married women who you’re after. No need to worry about commitment there.” You wiggle your eyebrows and Bucky’s face turns into a molten mess of amusement and bashfulness, sprinkled with pink cheeks.

He uncrosses his arms awkwardly and clears his throat uncomfortably, and you chortle, shaking your head. There was certainly part of him you could see being charming and suave, but for the most part, Sergeant James Barnes just seemed sweet. Eventually he just laughs too, also shaking his head, and he looks off for a moment, before he carefully turns to mirror your hold on the tree, leaning just slightly around it to look at you.

He still wears a coy look of meekness when he shrugs.

“You’re a woman who isn’t married, aren’t you?” He says softly, carefully, as if he’s not sure how you will respond, and does not wish to offend.

Offence is the last reaction in your mind though, instead you feel as if the world stops for a moment, and all that exists is you, this man, and the tree between you. Despite the carefulness of his words, his expression is a little harder, his gaze locked on yours more intense and you have to force yourself to look away, pulling back from the tree just to catch your breath and your rapidly beating heart.

Perhaps Sergeant James Barnes was sweet, but Bucky Barnes was a little more savoury than that. Suddenly, some of the things you’d read make more sense, and you find yourself reconsidering your interactions. Had he specifically sought you out? Or had he just been wandering and it was a happy coincidence. You lean toward the latter but perhaps he had hoped to see you again after your brief meeting yesterday?

You wipe these thoughts from your mind as Bucky too steps away from the tree, and fix him with an innocent smile and a shrug of your shoulder as you begin stepping backwards, ready to move along.

“I am.” You say simply, unsure of what else you even could say, but the moment seems to pass, and Bucky finally tears his eyes from you, watching his step as he makes to follow you again, down another narrow street.

You make light small talk with him as you move into busier parts of town, still a little shaken from his flirting (if that was what it was). He doesn’t seem to mind, and you realise you don’t need to fill the silence all of the time. He seems content to just look and watch, but when you do speak, to tell him something, or point out a particular shop, he listens carefully.

When you make it to one of the central courtyards of Montecarra, near the fountain where you had met him yesterday, you see that the afternoon sellers have set up at the market stalls where you’d been only this morning, helping sell. Jobs and money were hard to come by in your town, everything was so small and insular, and in the aftermath of the war, people had cared less about money to pay for goods and services, but rather taking care of each other in any way they could.

You were luckier than most towns, you’d been spared the massive damage of other places, but with resources still low, and many people still getting back on their feet, feeding each other had become a community job. Bakers would gladly accept trade for their bread, and doing chores or work for others had become a reliable way to not only give back but to earn too. The shops that had managed to remain open were supportive where they could be, and it made your heart swell several sizes to know that the war had not driven your people apart.

Bucky seems to take in the sights and smells of the markets with a dreamily like gaze, his eyes roaming over the leftover morning breads, some meats and vegetables that had not been bought or traded earlier in the week and where now for sale far cheaper.

Your stomach growls, reminding you that you have not yet eaten since your breakfast, and you groan. Usually you’d have set off home for lunch, or brought something with you, before returning to your nook, but being with Bucky had distracted you.

He looks down at you in response to your groan and you scrunch your nose.

“I would suggest we eat, but I left my purse at home.” You explain. Bucky blinks, and looks over at the food, then back at you.

“If you’re hungry, I can, I have my—” You tune him out accidentally as your mind conjures up a thought, and stop suddenly, reaching out and grabbing Bucky’s arm in excitement. He stops speaking and stares down at you.

“I have a better idea…!” You say, grinning widely, and he cocks his head, looking slightly hesitant.

You release his arm only to grab the rolled sleeve of his shirt, pulling him along after you down a sidetreet.

“What— Where are we going…?” He asks, and then continues.

“And why do I feel like it’s going to be trouble?” You laugh loudly, and throw him a look over your shoulder, releasing his sleeve at last when you’ve led him through a maze of tiny alleys and narrow streets and out to the edge of town, near the main road he’d driven in on.

“Trust me.” You say, drawing out the words long and sing-songy.

“Give me reason to…” He mutters, but when you look over at him again, you can see he’s only playing the part of exasperated, his lips pulled up in the corners, and his eyes amused.

He follows you as you lead him up a long road, well away from town and towards where the fields and fields of orchards and vineyards begin. When you veer off the side of the road, toward one of the wooden fences, he stops.

“What are you doing?” He asks, a little more nervous than before, and you turn to face him fully.

“We’re going into the orchard to pick some fruit.” He fixes you with a squinted stare.

“Something tells me that we’re not supposed to do that…” You roll your eyes.

“Nobody will know. Besides, we’ll only take a few.” You bat your eyelashes the best you can manage and watch his resolve crumble. When he sighs, hanging his head while shaking it, you know you’ve got him, so you smile widely and quickly return to making your way up the fence.

Bucky at first seems concerned with you climb, moving quickly over to attempt to lend you a hand, but you hardly need it, lifting your skirt and easily scaling the posts before you land on the other side. Bucky stares at you for a moment longer, before planting his hands on the top piece of wood, and in one large jump, vaults the thing entirely.

You laugh at the sight, and cock your head.

“They teach you that in the army?” You tease, leading him away from where you might be spotted by the road, and into the thick rows of trees.

“Brooklyn, actually.” He tells you, and you spy him repeatedly looking over his shoulder and around, as if suspecting some kind of ambush. You pause, nearly causing him to walk into you, and put your hand on his arm again.

“Nobody is out here. It gets too hot in the afternoons, so they do all their daily harvesting in the mornings.” Bucky stares down at you, the little crease between his brows returning, but he nods at your words anyway.

Turning away from him, you once more gather up part of your skirt, lifting it well above a decent length, to use as a basket of sorts as you start inspecting some of the goods on ‘offer’.

“The peaches are especially good this time of year.” You say over your shoulder, reaching out to gently squeeze a few hanging from the nearest tree.

“I— What…?” Bucky asks, and when you look back at him, you see the vague pinkness back in his cheeks and refrain from rolling your eyes. Instead, you plaster on an innocent smile and hold up one of the fruits you’d plucked from the branch.

“The peaches. They’re very ripe right now. Montecarra always has the juiciest peaches. You can’t eat them without getting your fingers and mouth all sticky.” You look away then, placing the peach into your skirt and fight yourself to keep from laughing. Bucky remains quiet behind you, until you hear him let out a slightly shaky breath.

“Jesus fucking christ…” He mumbles in English, and you wipe the grin from your face before he can see it, as he finally steps closer to join you.

You end up with a nice collection of peaches, apples and some figs. You don’t take much, just a few, and by the time you’re walking the road back into town, your grumbling stomach is sated. You spent a few hours walking along the rows of trees, just talking and eating.

Before you properly enter Montecarra, Bucky tosses your peach pits, and you watch them fly through the air and disappear into some of the empty fields beyond. He looks down at you with a rather cute, proud and expectant smile, and you nod, clapping just slightly.

“Perhaps they will grow and we will have our own orchard.” You tell him, and he sniffs in amusement.

“Or we’ll have to explain where we got the seeds from in the first place.”

“Or that.” You laugh, nudging his side.

You notice he’d stopped keeping quite as large a distance between you when you walked, though you don’t know if it was conscious or not. The late afternoon sun bathes Montecarra in orange and red and shadows, and by the time you’ve walked across town to where you live, the sunset is well and truly in motion.

Sensing your time has come to an end, Bucky slows slightly, stopping when you turn back to him, and point to your house.

“I live here.” You tell him, and he shoves his hands in his pockets with a nod.

“My mama will expect me to help with dinner.” You explain further, though you aren’t sure why. You didn’t need a reason to part with him, it was early evening now and you’d spent the better half of five hours walking and talking and stealing fruit together.

You see Bucky’s eyes drift behind you, past the open archway of the wall that held your home behind it, and then back to you.

“Thanks for showing me around today. You didn’t have to.” He says and you smile, but shrug.

“Of course.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer before he nods, pulling a hand from his pocket to give you a parting wave.

“Goodnight.” He says softly, and turns, beginning to make his way back.

You step forward without thinking too much and call out, making him pause and look back at you.

“I— I work in the mornings, but you can always find me at the same place, where I was reading today. From about midday on. I’m always there… if you ever want to see me again.” You try to play it off cooler than you feel, shrugging a bit and giving him a nonchalant grin, but he only watches you.

Just as you start to feel discomfort creep in her shifts, dipping his chin slightly and cocking his head.

“I would like to see you again.” He says at last, and it’s just like earlier, around the tree. You feel a thick tension form between you, and even though he’s several meters away from you now, you feel like he may as well have been directly in front of you.

All you can manage is a nervous chuckle, dropping your eyes to the floor and anxiously tucking some hair behind your ear.

“Okay.” You say, and he must take that as your approval, because he smiles softly, and gives you one last parting nod before he walks away.

You watch him go for longer than you’d like to admit, right up until he disappears and you hear your mama call you from the front door.

—-

You see Bucky most days. After you had finished with your daily workload, you would return as normal to your little archway, only pretending to read until Bucky arrived. Sometimes he would bring his own book, and sit beside you in one of the opposite arches, but most days you spent walking aimlessly, talking about everything and nothing.

He would tell you about New York city, describing the streets and the buildings and the people in such detail you could see it in your mind. He’d show you pictures of places he’d been, other cities and towns in Italy and France and you’d been unable to keep from fawning dramatically over each.

You’d been warned by a few of the older local ladies, that American soldiers were notorious for the dalliances with girls, they’d have them and leave them, moving on to the next place as if it were nothing. But Bucky is different, you think. You weren’t so naive to think a man set on simply chasing what he wanted would change for just you, but Bucky never showed intention to chase. Not really.

He was kind, and sweet, and he never spoke to impress you like you’d seen with some boys before. He listened to you, asked for your opinions on subjects you spoke about and never assumed that you weren’t informed. You had revealed your love for reading to him, and he’d not complained once when you’d ranted for far too long about the plot of your newest book.

He never even tried to hold your hand, which was beginning to trouble you. You had given him plenty of opportunity, walking accidentally too close, and brushing your hand by his just slightly. He’d always apologised or ignored it, and you were becoming frustrated. It was not as if his flirting had stopped, when the opportunity arose he’d coyly spout sweet things that made your stomach churn something awful.

You look up from the page you’d been staring at for the past ten minutes without really seeing it, and blink. Perhaps you were wrong and he was just this way all of the time… but then you remember the moments of intense eye contact when he’d look at you and it felt like nothing else in the world existed at all.

No. no, you decide that perhaps you will have to give him a little push.

“Has d’Artagnan won the heart of Lady Constance yet? Or is love dead?” The voice, his voice, startles you so much you squeak, whipping around to find where Bucky has situated himself against the same wall your archway sits in, leaning on one shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest.

Today he hadn’t changed from his morning’s work, and you have to simply give yourself a moment to take in his uniform. It wasn’t the dress greens you’d seen on men in the newspapers, instead he wears a greeny-brown colour, the material slightly thicker in appearance, rougher almost. In lieu of the long dress coat, he wears a jacket that ends just over where you imagine his belt might be, cinching in his form rather nicely. His shirt bears the same colour as his suit, but his tie is a familiar khaki. Pins and medals and ribbons adorn his chest and you want to inspect each one up close, but you refrain.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya, sweetheart.” He flashes a smile, letting you know he’d noticed your long, admiring stare. Sunglasses cover his own eyes, refusing you access to their cool colour, and you hope he takes them off. Your mouth feels dry but you force yourself to shift to face him, hanging your legs over the side of the wall once more.

“Startled is not scared.” You correct, and watch as he pushes off from the wall casually, making his way to where you sit. He’s tall enough that should he so wish, he could climb into your archway no problem, but he doesn’t, simply resting his folded arms on the ledge next to your legs, looking up at you. At this angle, you can see behind his glasses, to where his eyes fixate on your face.

“You didn’t answer my question?” He probes and you have to think back, unsure of what he’d even asked you.

“Has d’Artagnan won over Lady Constance yet?” He reminds you, reaching out to pluck your copy of The Three Musketeers from your lap and study the cover.

“No, I was going to read more last night but the power went out again and I don’t trust myself not to fall asleep with a candle burning.” You sigh, pushing some hair from your eyes. Bucky places the book gently back down and hums.

“Did you come straight from work?” You ask, switching the subject, and as if he doesn’t notice his clothing, he peeks down at himself briefly, before he cocks his head and gifts you another grin.

“What, can’t a guy wear his uniform around a gal to impress her?” He counters, clearly joking. You scoff anyway and lightly shove his arm.

“I think I’m sick of military uniforms…” You had meant it as a continuation of his joke, but you mean the words far too much to avoid the melancholy that seeps in.

You force yourself to look away, and take a few deep breaths.

Bucky had gotten around to asking you the obvious question of how you, with your brown skin and ‘ethnic’ features, had not suffered during the war. You told him the truth; that your neighbours had hidden you and your mother in attics and basements for nearly five years.

He’d been quiet and pensive on your answer, before telling you he understood why you spent so much time in the ridiculously hot sun. He’d made you laugh, something that you hadn’t ever thought you could do when speaking about your time during the war.

A hand gently, feather-light, curls over your own in your lap, and it takes everything in you not to jump. When you look back at him, his features are sad and serious and he gives your fingers a squeeze.

“Me too, darlin’.”

You want to say something, to maybe turn your hand over and feel his palm against yours, but before you can he removes it from yours, pushing back off the wall.

“I had an idea earlier, when we were clearing the rubble away.” He extends his arm to you, waiting patiently for you to make the short jump down from your perch. Linking your arm with his, he turns you to begin walking, but reaches out and plucks your book from you, tucking it into his jacket.

“An idea? I’m not helping with the mess…” You tease, and he gives you a sideways look.

“No. Riccardo said if I were truly suffering so much in the heat, I should go to the beach.” You perk immediately, gasping softly. You hadn’t been to the beach in so long.

“The beach!” You repeat, and Bucky grins, pride showing clearly through at his effort to delight you.

“I was thinking we could grab my camera, and head on down for the afternoon. I don’t think I have anything to swim in but even just dipping my toes…” You’re already nodding frantically, pulling away from his arm as you clap and do a little jump. You really couldn’t help it, you hadn’t been down to the water in many years.

“Yes! Though, did he tell you how long a walk it was? We should be careful of it getting too dark, my mama has already started—”

“—We can just drive.” Bucky shrugs, and you pause, blinking. Yes, you knew he had a car the army lent him, you’d seen it once or twice even but…

“I’ve…” You trail off and stop speaking entirely, shaking your head, and trying to plaster back on your previous excitement, but Bucky had already seen the slight fall to your face, and he frowns.

“What? What’s wrong?” He steps forward, toward you a little, his hand absently out as if to take your arm, though he drops it a moment later.

“It’s nothing. It’s silly.” You attempt to brush him off but he only moves closer still, right up to you now, and this time, the tension isn’t the same as it had been before.

His head bows down toward you, his frame nearly cocooning yours, if anybody were to be standing behind him, they likely would not be able to see you. His hand does touch your arm this time, comforting, concerned and all of it makes your heart flutter like a million happy butterflies.

“I… It’s just that… I’ve never been in a car before.” You admit, and it really is a silly thing to make such a fuss over. Bucky must breathe a sigh of relief that your dramatics hadn’t been about something more serious, but you don’t see his expression or body language change at all for a few seconds.

“... Ever…?” When he does speak, there’s no amusement in his voice, no awe at how backwards and small your growing up had been that you’d never been in a car. He just… asks.

You shrug.

“We don’t need them here…” His face does relax a little, and he must realise how much he’s been crowding you because he clears his throat and shuffles back slightly, letting his hand leave your arm.

“Well… I think you’ll like it. It’s fast.” He says, before frowning.

“Not— not too fast.” He adds, and you have to smile.

“Well… Why don’t I go put my book away, I’ll find some bread and fixings and you can go change, and I will meet you at your cottage?” You suggest. You didn’t want to go all the way down to the beach without some sort of food, even if he said the trip would be fast in his car. It would also give you a chance to change from your day dress into something that you wouldn’t mind getting a little wet or sandy.

Bucky nods.

“Yeah. Okay. You know where it is?” You roll your eyes.

“Of course.” He hangs his head a little, and lifts his hands in defeat.

“Small town, grew up here. Got it.” You laugh. He’d mentioned once how even though he’d spent his whole life in Brooklyn, knew the streets and the major locations like the back of his hand, there were still places he’d never know where to even start looking for.

You part ways then, and quickly hurry home, the excitement thrumming through your veins once again. Not only were you going to get to go to the beach, but you were going to ride in a car!

You toss your book onto your bed without a second thought, quickly undressing and slipping on a lighter, older dress. It’s faded pale blue told it’s age, but the fabric was thinner, meaning you would have no problem if it got wet. You decide not to bother with stockings, removing both them and your garter in favour of feeling the sand with your bare feet instead, and slip your shoes back on.

Before you leave your bedroom, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and pause. Turning your face from side to side, you inspect your features carefully. You never bothered with makeup, it was expensive and you’d only end up sweating it off, but your eyes do linger on your lips for a moment.

Creeping upstairs, you sneak into your mother’s bedroom. She was out for coffee at one of your neighbours, still, you feel nervousness take hold when you find the small golden tube in her drawer. Taking a deep breath, you uncap the lipstick and lean forwards for a better view, before carefully swiping the deep red colour across your lower lip. You follow suit with the upper, fixing it here and there, and swiping to try and neaten it up, but when you stand back to inspect yourself, you groan in frustration.

You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, and your painted lips and bareface didn’t communicate that at all. Grabbing a tissue, you quickly work to remove the makeup, rubbing at your lips until the bulk of the colour is off. However, when you stop to check again, you find the red has somewhat stained your skin. It only really adds a subtle flushed red over your usually brown lips, but it's still noticeable, and you panic, grabbing another tissue and trying again to no avail.

Time ticks by and you check your watch, not wanting to make Bucky wait too long, and so you pocket the stained tissues and take a last look in the mirror. Your shoddy clean up job would have to do. At least the stains were on your lips and not around them.

In the kitchen you gather up a small selection of items in a basket, just some bread and butter and homemade jam, and tuck an old blanket over the top to secure it all, and so that you could sit on it later. Checking everything one last time, you slide the basket to the crook of your arm and close up your house behind you.

You have to stop yourself from skipping as you make your way through the streets, smiling and greeting those who pass you politely and not like a mad woman. By the time you make it to Bucky’s little cottage, you can already see him leaning back against the car, waiting. He straightens when he sees you, smiling as you slow down, feeling almost hesitant about approaching the car.

“Here, lemme take this…” You let him grab the basket from you and watch him open one of the back doors, placing it on the floor, behind a seat. When he shuts the door again with a click, he turns to look at you in a both expectant and patient manner.

“Shall we?” He gestures to the other side of the car, and you let him lead you around it, swallowing as he pulls open the front side door for you.

“There you go. You know, you’re lucky this is your first car ride. This is a nice car, apparently.” You let Bucky take your hand to help you in, and for the few seconds after he’s shut your door behind you, and you see him jog around to the driver’s seat, you feel an immense awkwardness settle over you.

When he’s climbed in beside you, he gestures to something above your head.

“Here, that’s your seat belt. I know a lotta people don’t bother with them, but… better safe than sorry, right?” You nod, and reach out to grab the little buckle, not realising that the sun had been baking the metal since it had come up.

You rip your fingers away from it with a hiss, cradling them to your chest. Bucky jerks and is immediately leaning over to help you.

“Shit! Sorry, I— I forgot to tell you to be careful of the— here, look, you gotta grab the plastic part…” Your slightly burnt fingers are all but forgotten when Bucky leans right over you, directly into your space as he pulls at the belt, drawing it down and across your body, to your hip.

You watch him click the buckle together and blink up at him when he leans back, face still pulled in a wince.

“You okay?”

“Yes… I just wasn’t expecting it… it didn’t really hurt that much…” He looks like he wants to say something more, his eyes darting down to where you lower your hand back to your lap, and your face, but he eventually settles with a nod.

“Okay. Okay.” He repeats, twisting to face frontwards in his seat again as he begins readying the car. You watch him fiddle with the keys, jumping slightly when the engine roars to life all around you, but you only chuckle at the look Bucky sends you. He lifts one hand from the wheel, to hold onto a tall gear stick in the center console, shifting it a few times before you feel the car begin to move.

Despite your nerves, you can’t help but feel the excitement in your bones, and as Bucky starts to slowly drive along the outer roads of the town, toward the western most side, you can’t stop yourself from staring out the window.

It wasn’t as if you’d never seen any of these places before, but it felt different now. You feel Bucky’s eyes flick over to you every so often, a low chuckle you can barely hear above the car reaching you, but you’re too enthralled to do more than return his smile briefly.

You settle down a bit as you hit the main road. It's still a very new experience to be moving so quickly down a road you’d only ever been along at a walk. Bucky seems content in the quiet, but about halfway through the trip, he changes his hand on the steering wheel, to reach down for something on the side of his door. You watch him fumble for a moment, before he behinds winding a little lever, and you turn your gaze to where the window now rolls down, filling the car with fresh air and the sound of light wind.

“You’ve got one too,” He briefly takes his eyes from the road to point your own window lever out to you, and excitedly, you rush to unwind it. You laugh then, like a child, and lean forward to get a better view, to feel the wind blow over your face. It doesn’t last long though, the second you feel your hair get thrown about, you yip, ducking away with another laugh, but attempting to smooth back your hair again.

Bucky grins over at you, and he shuffles, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, resting his elbow on the window frame casually. With his spare hand, he rests it on his thigh, fingers tapping.

“Lotta women wear a scarf, to keep their hair from getting wrecked…” He tells you, and you make a note for if you ever ride in the car again.

“You were right.” You tell him, finally sitting back in your seat and relaxing. Bucky cocks his head, briefly glancing at you, but mostly he keeps his eyes forward.

“Hmn?”

“I do like this.”

You arrive at the beach in no time at all, the lone western road leading right down to the water. Bucky brings the car to a stop away from the road, on a patch of grass that separates the rest of the land from the sand dunes. On your right, some ways away, the land lifts, creating a rocking cliffside that encloses this section of beach neatly. You knew from your childhood that there were some caves accessible, but you’d always been told to stay well away.

Bucky grabs the basket from the backseat, and you wait for him to catch up with you before you begin treading down onto the sand. The sand is hot and pale, and the smell of sea water calls you, but as much as you’d love to throw yourself toward it, you direct Bucky to a small cropping of rocks and boulders that rested near the dunes, far enough back that the incoming tide wouldn’t reach them, but near enough to the water to be sure your things would be kept safe.

Bucky follows your lead as you kick your shoes off, climbing to the top of the largest boulder easily, it's jagged surface perfect for climbing, as long as you didn’t step on a spike. The boulder stands almost up to Bucky’s chest, and was quite large from a top side view. You beckon him to give you your basket and he watches as you quickly lay out the blanket. When he can see you settling, he joins you, scaling the rock quickly, and taking a seat beside you, where you’ve now begun to pull the bread and spreads from the basket.

“This is a nice spot.” He says scanning the horizon critically. You see his gaze turn up towards the nearby cliffs, scrutinizing them thoroughly with slightly squinted eyes. His face is so intense, you can’t help but look too, wondering what it was he was seeing, but when you turn back to him, he snaps out of it, plastering an easy smile on his face.

You open your mouth to question what he’d been looking at when he grabs the jame, and turns it over in his hands.

“Homemade?” He asks, clearly excited by the prospect, and even though you still want to know what he’d just been thinking about, you let it go, recognising a subject change when you saw one.

“Yes. My mama is very good at cooking. She cooks a lot for other people.” You tell him, buttering a thick slice of bread before handing it to him.

“Do you?” He puts the jam down as he takes the bread and a butter knife from you, beginning to spread some of the sweet, jellied fruit. You scrunch your nose.

“I don’t cook a lot. Mama says I should do more.” You roll your eyes and Bucky snorts.

“Why?”

“So that when I get married my husband won’t be displayed… or something.” You bring one of your legs to a bent position, like you were crossing your legs but only chose to do one, and shift your center of balance to be more comfortable.

The blanket was a nice touch, but it didn’t make the rock you sat on any more homey.

“I don’t understand… why women have to do so much to keep a man. If they love you, shouldn’t they not care about how well you cook or how clean your house is?” You glance at him, genuinely asking. Bucky was, as you well knew, a man, he may have insight you did not. He frowns, mulling over his thoughts as he chews his mouthful.

“I think some guys want a housekeeper more than a partner. I don’t think a lot of mother’s help that, either.” It’s your turn to frown and you cock your head, gesturing he go on. He adjusts a little, and looks off as he speaks, only glancing back at you a few times as he explains.

“It’s a cycle, right? A lady gets married, she looks after her husband, they have kids, a boy and a girl,” He pauses, takes a small bite, chews, swallows and continues.

“Now, as the girl gets older, mother starts to prepare her for when she’ll get married, so she takes on some of the household chores. The son however, he gets looked after right up until he leaves the nest. His food is cooked for him, his room is cleaned, his clothes washed…” You start understanding what he means, and nod slowly.

“By the time he’s serious about looking for a girl, he thinks they should be how his ma and pa were. I’m sure there’s love and affection, but in his mind, if she’s not doing those same things he grew up with, then how much can she really love him?” He ends with a shrug, looking at you, and you have to admit you’re genuinely surprised by his honest point of view.

But he sits up a little straighter then, and points to himself with the bread still in his hand.

“My mother would never let me get away with that.” He tells you solemnly, and you chortle at his deeply serious, over the top expression.

“Oh?”

“No ma’am. When I was sixteen she showed me how to use the machines at the laundromat, and if my room wasn’t spick and span at the end of the week I’d get it.” You laugh at the thought of a woman with Bucky’s same eyes making him remake his bed.

“And cooking?” You press, and Bucky shrugs again.

“I grew up watching her cook, helping her in the kitchen… I ain’t sayin’g I’m good. But I wouldn’t starve.” You laugh again, his stories uplifting on your general view of how things were ‘Supposed To Be’.

“Anyway, the point is, the only thing that makes a good husband or wife is that you care about one another. Everything else is negotiable.” You grin, and nod, look out at the water as he words sink in, before you sharply side eye him.

“Everything except fidelity. I’d cut off my man’s—” You cut yourself off before you can say too much, but Bucky has already begun howling with laughter, leaning all the way back to rest on his elbows, he places a hand to his chest as he guffaws gleefully.

When he calms down, still snickering quietly he nods several times to himself and gives you a look.

“I don’t doubt you for a second, sweetheart.” Your chest flutters again at not just the pet name, he’d taken to using various ones, but the softness in his voice when he says it. It makes you nervous, it makes your stomach feel like the rolling waves of the ocean before you are happening simultaneously in there too.

“Right, well. Let's cool off, huh?”

Bucky rolls his pant legs up to just above his knees before he treads into the shallows, and you lift your skirt just a little as you join him. You wallow about in the water for some time, talking about nothing in particular. At one point, he realises he’d left his camera in the car, and races back up to get it, returning with a piece of photo paper already developing in his fingers.

“Took one from the dunes. It’s a nice view.” He explains as you lean over to peer at the little print. You can make out your figure, distant in the photo.

Bucky takes several more pictures, of the cliffs, of the long expanse of shoreline on the other side… You let him be for a while, moving back up to the rock and the blanket, perching yourself on the edge as you just take in the cool sea breeze and watch Bucky move about, deeply focused.

It was sweet really, though you don’t know how many of the shots look the same.

The warm sun and your general relaxed mood lull you to lie back, fixating your gaze on the blue skies and clouds above. Your skin grows warm and a little moist under such direct sunlight, but it feels nice. You aren’t sure how long you lie there for, you even doze off for a little bit, but some time later, you hear Bucky approaching.

“Can I take your picture?” He asks as you sit up, shielding your eyes for a moment as you do.

“Me?”

“Yeah.” You want to protest that he shouldn’t waste his photo paper on you, but he’s already stepping back and bringing the camera up to check if he’s too close or far.

“Wait, let me move.” You tell him, shifting to sit side on, with your feet on the rock and your knees bent up, like you would sit in your reading nook. Bucky waits for you like you ask, adjusting a little notch on his camera before he lifts it back to his eye, peering through. You expect him to take the photo right away but instead you see his lips part and his tongue swipe out to wet them as he swallows and draws the device away again.

“Uh, your— your skirt sweetheart, it's…” He trails off and gestures at his own thigh, prompting you to glance down at yourself.

Oh.

With your legs up like this, and perhaps with the help of a little sea breeze, your dress had shifted far up the length of your leg, far more than what was proper or should be photographed, and yet, your mind begins to whir.

You cock your head innocently, and hook your finger under the hem, drawing it back even further, until almost the whole side of your leg was on display. As you do, you pop your shoulder forward and rest your chin on it, grinning widely, invitingly.

Bucky just stares for several moments, and you see him swallow again. He seems to fumble with bringing the camera back to his face, and you see his mouth in what you’re certain is English cussing. It only makes your grin that much wider.

He takes the picture, lowering the camera immediately to catch the photo it spits out, though, he keeps glancing back up at you. You only flutter your eyelashes as best you can and make sure to fix your skirt somewhat. You sit forward again, and rest your hands either side of your legs, leaning toward where Bucky still stands.

“May I see?” You ask, and he jerks, starting toward you right away.

“Y--yeah. Of course…” You note with a quiet snicker how he stands at least two feet away from you when he holds out the photograph, and you take it from him, inspecting it.

“This is a good one.” You tell him.

“Yep. Yeah. It is.” He’s aware you’re teasing him now, and you give him a smile over the top of the picture.

“You won’t throw it away?”

“Why… why the hell would I throw it away?” You shrug and hold it out to give back.

“I don’t know…”

Bucky reaches out for it, but just before he can take it from you, you pull it back.

“On second thoughts, I don’t know if you can be trusted with this.” His face resembles a rain cloud, his frown confused and deep.

“What?”

“I think it might end up in the bottom of a box somewhere… I should keep it.” Your lip quirks, and he can see the cogs turning as he realises you’re only playing. He rolls his eyes and goes to grab it from you again, but you pull it away again.

Before he can corner you where you sit, you jump off the rock, ducking to the side as he lunges, making you squeal.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me have it…” You keep moving backwards, even as you turn to face him, the photo clutched to your chest. Bucky has turned to pursue you, though he’s only walking, hands on his hips.

“You’ll have to catch me!” You take off running, unable to keep from laughing as you do, Bucky’s own chortling reaching you as he gives chase.

You duck and weave out of his reach, and even though he’s far bigger and fitter than you, you were smaller, and the drag of the sand didn’t affect you as much. He almost gets you twice, his fingers grazing your dress, and when he does finally catch you, it’s with his arms around your middle, seizing you mid stride and pulling you back.

The momentum sends you both tumbling to the sand, your back hitting it lightly. Bucky falls over you, though he catches himself before he can crush you proper. All you can do is laugh, breathless from the chase and from the fall, and most certainly from the fact Bucky now lays atop you.

He’s laughing too, his face close and his breathe warm. He shifts to lift one hand and pluck the photo from your fingers, still held to your chest, trapped their by his own body. He’s still smiling when he makes a show of placing the photo in his top pocket, and buttoning it close, and then he drops his hand, resting it back in the sand by your head.

“I caught you.” He says simply, and all you can do is nod dumbly. His eyes fall to your mouth, and you suddenly remember the lipstick debacle. You’re about to make an excuse, or explain what had happened, when he leans in, dropping his lips to your own softly. You don’t mean to, but you gasp quietly, heat pooling in your face when you feel Bucky smile, and hear his light chuckle.

He doesn’t stop though, and you gladly return the kiss at last, lifting your chin so he could reach you easier or have more of you, you don’t know. Bucky shifts over you, his knee digging into the sand as he lifts some of his weight off of you, but before you can complain, he’s holding your face, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.

When you part, reluctantly, you’re all too aware of how heavy you’re breathing, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Bucky’s eyes drop to watch for a moment, and you feel goosebumps crawl over your skin, but he looks away, moving to get off of you.

“Uhm… that okay?” He asks, scratching the back of his head a little awkwardly. You’re still just lying in the sand, watching him and trying to catch your breath.

He stands, and leans down to offer you a hand that you accept. You let him pull you to your feet, and by that time you’ve gotten at least a semblance of your sanity back. He’s looking at you cautiously, concerned maybe, but you intend to rectify that.

He hardly has time to catch you as you jump for him, legs wrapped around his middle, your arms around his neck, Bucky lets out a loud, hearty laugh as he makes to secure his hold on you. You lean in and kiss him again, heated at first, but then softer, until you’re only peppering little pecks to his lips.

“I’m gonna go with that being okay, then.” He confirms to himself. You giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush, and realise he’d been walking the whole time he’d been carrying you. He sets you down atop the rock, hands gliding under where he’d been holding your legs, before quickly removing them, like he didn’t want to overstep.

“You had better not lose that picture.” You warn, making him chuckle, and pat his pocket.

“Oh, trust me darlin’. It’s not going anywhere.”

The sun had already begun to set, and so you make quick work of packing up the small amount of belongings you brought. As you walk back to the car, Bucky carries the basket in one arm, and with the other, he reaches out to take your hand, firmly and securely, interlocking your fingers, and you feel your whole being ascend.

He doesn’t let go of your hand in the car either, reaching out to hold it there too, your intertwined hands resting on your thigh. It’s all too short however, and far too soon he’s parking the vehicle and helping you out.

“I’ll walk you back.” He tells you and you frown.

“What? No, you’re already home, I can—”

“—I’ll walk you back.” He says again, firmer, but with a playfulness that stops you from arguing further.

You wait for him to get your basket from the backseat, and when he does join you around at the rear of the car, his face lights up in realisation.

“Oh! Wait. Hold this for a sec…” He gently thrusts the basket into your hands and you blink, watching him jog into the cottage.

He reappears a few minutes later, carrying something long and cylindrical in his hand, and as he approaches you again, he flips it, catching it smoothly.

“Flashlight. For… for if your power goes out again…” He drops it in your basket before he takes it from you again, and you’re so genuinely touched by the gesture you’re frozen for a few seconds.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky frowns, cocking his head, but you snap out of it, leaning in to wrap your arms around his neck, only a hug this time. His free arms wraps around you instantly, and you aren’t sure you’ll ever get over how nice it feels to be held.

“Thank you. That’s very kind…” You say when you pull back. He just smiles at you, before offering you his arm, and walking you home.

—-

He takes you on a picnic.

It’s such a quaint idea that when he mentions it to you one afternoon, after kissing you goodbye on your doorstep, you can’t help but feel your eyes light up like two cartoonish hearts.

Bucky had assured you he would source the meal and perhaps some wine, but he’d need your basket once more, and the next day you find yourself lounging lazily under the shade of a tree, in the empty fields outside of town.

He’d brought bread, fruit and a bottle of red wine that you’d be very excited by right up until you’d had your first taste.

Bucky burst out in laughter at your expression, nose scrunched and brow furrowed, and he gracefully takes your glass from your hand.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, it's an acquired taste…” He chortles, and you gladly let him pour what's left of your drink into his own, but you notice he doesn’t really touch it throughout lunch.

You talk for hours, clearing up the blanket so you can lie down next to one another and gaze at the cloudy blue sky. You ask Bucky to tell you once more about New York City, and as he speaks you gaze at him, gesturing wildly with his hands and smiling back at you every so often.

He was so pretty, for a boy, his eyes so blue, hair dark and lovely and smooth looking. Even his stubbly chin and cheeks, where you could clearly see he’d shaved just this morning look nice, and without really thinking, you reach out and brush the backs of your fingers over his jaw.

Bucky stops speaking, turning his head slightly to regard you softly, but you don’t stop. From the way he spoke about the war and missing his home, you think maybe it has been a while since he’d felt such gentle touches.

“See somethin’ you like, darlin’?” His smirk is barely a smirk, it's far too soft for that, but there’s still a hint of cheekiness in his gaze that draws you in. Laughing quietly, you rise to your elbow, leaning into his side where he’d previously been lying a respectable distance from you and press your lips to his jaw, then his cheek, and at last his lips.

Bucky kisses you back immediately, like he always did, lips moving softly against your own, carefully cupping the side of your face and pulling you down against him even further. Your heart races when he sits up without breaking apart from you, pushing you back so your positions are reversed. Out here you were practically alone, and even if somebody did come driving down the main road, with the tall grass nobody would be able to see you.

You wrap your hands up behind his head, tugging him down more, until he’s leaning against you fully, his forearms encasing either side of your head, a knee slipping between your own as your tongue slips between his lips. Your nearly come apart thena nd there when he moans, muffled by your kiss, but erotic all the same, and he seems to move more feverishly, kissing your quicker, bearing down against you harder.

You resist the urge to wrap a leg around him, but instead let your fingers scratch gently at the back of his neck, feeling yourself sink further and further into bliss with each tiny stroke of his tongue against yours, and each press of his clearly hardening length between your thighs.

You almost unhook your hands from his neck to lift your dress when he pulls back. At first he simply lays his forehead against your own, his eyes shut tight, and you watch him with rising disappointment and heavy breathing as he gently shifts his weight off of you, and dips his lips to kiss the tip of your nose, and then chastley at your lips.

“I uh… this probably isn’t a good idea…” You deflate, but push it aside. If he did not wish to go further, you wouldn’t pressure him. Still, the gentle ache between your thighs resists, begging for friction, for satisfaction. Bucky looks down at you, lips kissed raw and pupils dilated and it takes everything in you not to go for his pants then and there. He smooths down what he can of your hair, tucking some wilder pieces behind your ear before he kisses your nose again, and lays back down beside you.

On the walk back, the both of you are oddly silent, and although it isn’t uncomfortable, you still don’t like the awkwardness. You always felt like you could be truthful with Bucky, and you didn’t want to change that now, so tugging on his hand a little you slow your pace.

“I would have had sex with you, you know?” You squint at him and he blinks rapidly, face blushing quickly as he checks around to make sure there was nobody else present.

“Wha— I wasn’t—”

“—I’m not a virgin. I know what I’m doing.” You further assert, and he only continues to cough awkwardly, trying to reign in his clear embarrassment.

“Men aren’t the only ones who like sex. You always think us women are so eager to wait and ‘save ourselves’.” You roll your eyes then, and walk past him.

You don’t look back, but soon enough he’s hurrying to fall in beside you once more, taking your hand again even as he swallows.

“I never said you were, I just… I guess I’m not used to ladies talkin’ about it so… well, at all…” You side-eye him wryly and shrug.

“Look around, Bucky. In a town this small, there isn’t much else to do except each other. But all the boys have left now…” You shrug again, and this time Bucky laughs, letting out a slow puff of air.

“I guess.” He wears a look on his face like he wants to say something else, but he stays quiet. You slow down as you approach your home, and you’re about to ask when he stops just short of the steps leading into your front courtyard, and takes both your hands.

“I guess I wouldn’t want to take advantage. I’d want you to be sure.”

You purse your lips and roll your eyes again.

“I’m not a naive little girl.”

He laughs again and draws you near, quickly checking about to make sure no neighbour would spy the kiss he presses to your lips.

“And I’m not a boy.” The words send a thrill up your spine, and now more than ever you wish he hadn’t pulled away earlier. You swallow as he looks down at you, eyes intense and fiery and this time it’s your turn to swallow.

“I— I know…” You manage, and for a moment you can’t stop staring at one another.

Eventually, Bucky squeezes your hands and nods his head toward your home.

“You’d better—”

“—Oh! Yes… Goodnight…”

Bucky watches you as you make your way to your door and tips his hat when you look back at him before you close it.

“Goodnight.”

—-

Bucky can’t sleep.

It's late, he really should have been asleep hours ago, but he can’t stop thinking about you and what you’d said. As much as he curses himself for not seeking out the moment when he’d had you under him in the field, he’s also glad. You deserved more than a quick rut on a picnic blanket, and yet his mind wanders to Parisian nights, except all the women in his memories are replaced with you.

Would you be loud? Quiet? Would you say his name, drawn out and breathy? He decides he wants to find out.

It takes him no time at all to walk to your house, and when he’s climbed the side wall of the enclosed courtyard into the back garden, he sneaks on around to the open window on the first floor.

Surprisingly, you were either far from asleep yourself, or you had been suspecting his visit. You sit up in bed right away, but smile and hold a finger to your lips as you creep across to the window. Bucky leans against it comfortably, holding your hand when you half climb through to sit on the sill, legs dangling out beside him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, though your demeanour seems to be far more girlish, far more pleased-but-scandalised than you had been earlier, talking so frankly about sex. Bucky gives you his best smile and shrugs.

“Wanted to see you. What’re you doing awake?” He nods to your bed, the book and torch clearly lying amidst your sheets.

“I was reading.”

“I can go if you’d—”

“—No!” You whisper, socking him lightly in the shoulder, as if it were a ridiculous thought to even suggest he leave. In the moonlight he thinks you look lovelier than ever, and he scoots closer, until he’s resting his arms across your thighs and gazing up at you softly.

“We have to talk quietly though, my mother’s room is above mine and her window is also open…” You point, and Bucky looks, see’s the curtains billowing slightly out, and he nods.

“I’d let you in, but I think you might dissolve into a blush.” You tease him, and Bucky immediately perks, eyes lighting up at the challenge. He pulls his arms off of your lap and cocks his head.

“Well I’m here, aren’t I?” He asks slowly, letting a hand gently curve up your calf. Your nightdress covers you from the knee up, but he ignores it, reaching underneath to massage softly at your thigh.

You don’t take your eyes off of him, even when he lowers his gaze to carefully push your knees apart. If anything you seem to lean back on your palms, watching him intently. Bucky meets your eye again when he snakes his hand further, forgoing your leg entirely to press the pads of his fingers against your core, eliciting a sharp inhale from the both of you.

“You don’t wear underwear to bed?” He can’t help but ask, pants suddenly restrictively tight and you breathe out slowly, clearly trying to remain quiet as he lets his fingers simply glide through you slick.

“Only when I’m expecting company.” You tell him, and he chortles, stepping closer and pressing his lips to yours.

Your head angles back for him, letting him set the pace of the kiss and gently, Bucky presses one finger inside. You almost gasp, but he kisses you harder, pulling back again just slightly, so your lips brush when he speaks.

“Gotta be quiet, remember?” You nod vigorously, eyes not even opening to meet his, and Bucky leans back further, content to watch your head lull back and mouth part in the softest breathiest moans he’s ever heard as he slowly pumps his one finger in and out of you.

He’s laser focused on the task at hand, even despite his rock hard cock, and soon he’s adding another finger, slowly letting them sink deep into your velvety wet heat, his pride stoked when you further part your legs for him. He uses his free hand to push your nightdress up around your hips, and he nearly groans at the sight. Licking his lips he sets his eyes back on you, leaning in to nip and kiss at your neck, finally letting his thumb press down against your clit, massaging in circles as slow as his strokes, and he feels your muscles flutter.

A third finger joins the others and this time you seem to reactively grip his wrist, your other hand flying to slap over your mouth as your brow furrows deeply. Bucky knows he’s breathing hard, and after adjusting himself briefly in his pants, he pulls at the thin straps of your nightdress, getting it only half down one shoulder, but it’s enough.

He wraps his lips around your exposed nipple, swirling his tongue and nipping experimentally, feeling your hand wrap around the back of his head in approval. He stares up at you, desperately wanting to see your face when he finally pulls you apart and he’s rewarded only a few minutes later, his fingers fucking you far quicker, his thumb working faster.

When you finish, your cunt squeezes his digits relentlessly in waves of pleasure, and you make strained, soft little mewls as you attempt to remain quiet. Your hips shift and twitch and he doesn’t draw away from your breast until you’re blinking back down at him, gently pulling his hand away from your clit with bashful little laughs.

“At least… at least I won’t have to change any bedsheets…” You pant, and Bucky chuckles, leaning forward to kiss your lips properly, feeling your naked chest heave against his when he does. Your eyes seem dazed, and your face warm, but when he pulls away again you swallow and gesture to his own clearly bulging pants.

“I can—”

“—Not tonight…” And he means it.

“I just wanted… I just wanted to see you.” He says, and your gaze shifts from purely lustful to something softer, and you smile, dipping your eyes away for a second.

Bucky takes the moment to enjoy his view, your dress pulled up to your hips, your pussy still clearly on display, and your sleeves hanging well down to your elbows, breasts bare, nipples hardened and exquisite. He fights the urge to reach out and start all over again, maybe get his mouth on you this time…

“S’alright?” He rests his head in his palm and you chortle quietly, nodding.

“Yes. Yes, better than… than anything with other boys before…” He gets the feeling you aren’t just saying that to stroke his ego, the blissed out look on your face and the oddly bashful demeanour you’ve taken on requiring him to believe that he really had just properly blown your mind. He grins triumphantly, and leans in again, kissing your lower lip.

“I told you I wasn’t a boy.” He kisses you full again, loving the feel of your hand reaching up to hold the back of his head to you.

“I know.” You say when he forces himself back. You watch him as he carefully pulls up the sleeves of your shirt, covering you up again, and then fixes the skirt too, until you’re mostly modest.

“You should get some sleep, sweetheart.” He tells you, and you hum, reluctantly climbing back through your window and standing on the other side. He kisses the back of your hand, but when he goes to pull away, you don’t release your hold on him, tugging him back slightly, and he blinks at you curiously.

Your eyes have taken on that same lustful expression from before and you cock your head.

“Will you think of me?” You ask, and at first, it doesn’t quite click.

“When you wrap your hand around your cock when you get home, will you think of me?” Bucky nearly chokes, nearly climbs right through your window and ends all the tension there and then, but he manages to hold strong, realising you were still somewhat teasing him.

“Darlin’ I will think of nothing but you, soaking wet and waiting for me…” He squeezes your fingers slightly, noting the approval in your eyes even before you nod.

“Okay.”

“Goodnight.”

“It has been, yes.” You finally let him go, watching as he clambers quietly back over your side wall.

And Bucky does think of you when he gets home, he strokes himself to the thought of your mouth and your cunt, and your tits bouncing in his face while he has you on his lap. It’s honestly the filthiest his mind has been since Paris nights drowned in alcohol and women he didn’t bother to get the names of. He knows your name though, sighs it again and again as he thinks of you.

He falls asleep hard and wakes up in the morning the same way, unable to stop thinking about you.

—-

In the days following Bucky’s midnight visit, you feel a giddy sort of happiness thrum constantly through your veins. Even now, as you sit up in your archway, trying to focus your mind on the letter you write to your distant aunt (you think you’ve met her all of once, but she’d written to you and your mother regarding your health and wellbeing in the aftermath of the war, so you felt obliged to reply). You find yourself able to write only several lines before you’d look up, searching, hoping perhaps Bucky would show, but even you know it’s too early… he’d still be working.

Part of you debates going to watch, the idea of seeing him labouring away in the hot sun, hopefully with his shirt removed, leaving him in only a singlet top… your stomach stirs at the thought, but you shake your head, and concentrate harder on your letter.

You manage to succeed too, losing yourself in describing Montecarra to your relative who’d never once left England, as she’d explained. It isn’t until some time later that movement catches at the corner of your eye, and you barely refrain from looking up as Bucky finally ambles into the courtyard. He must sense your buys-ness, because he doesn’t greet you as he nears, he just stops for a moment, before he continues forward.

At first you think he may approach you to wait, but instead he swiftly climbs into the open archway behind you. You take the time to pause in your own actions to peek at what he’s doing, only to find him sitting in mirror of you, his back to the same pillar yours is. After he settles he twists back and nudges your arm.

“Got any spare paper, darlin’?”

You try to pretend you hadn’t been watching him, but his grin says you’ve been caught out. Gathering a few pages from under your small stack, you hand them back to him, his fingers over your far too suspect for you to think it is anything other than purposeful. Still, you can’t help but smile, even as you settle back to finish off your letter, hearing him uncap a pen.

You find yourself referring back to your aunt’s letter to answer and reply to all of her questions and queries, and once again you almost forgot Bucky is there, until tugging on your sleeve draws you out of your reverie. You turn to look, expecting to be greeted with his lovely face, but instead, all you see is his hand, holding a page folded into a little rectangle.

Your chest flutters at the thought he’d been sitting writing something for you, and so your letter is quickly abandoned in favour of taking the little note. Bucky seems to remain as if he were oblivious to his own actions, humming quietly to himself as you unfold the paper and gaze down at the words.

‘Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?’

Again, your heart stutters, and you can’t hide your smile as you put pen to paper, drawing up your response. You refold it and hand it back the same way he’d offered it to you; tugging on his sleeve and holding it out. The page is plucked from your fingers quickly, and you try to distract yourself by turning back to your true task, only to be pulled from this once more when his hand reaches back, searching. You watch for a moment before he wiggles his fingers expectantly and you snicker, adjusting your hold on your paper, so that you can place your hand in his own.

You sit there like that for the rest of the afternoon, Bucky humming happily, your hands interlocked at an almost awkward angle, and you try your hardest to finish writing your damned letter.

He picks you up from your home later that evening, finds you waiting for him out the front. You hadn’t dressed up in a long time, and so when his gait slows and his eyes roam over you as he approaches, you can’t help but feel self-conscious.

You’d worn a simple red dress, but it was the nicest one you owned, the only one appropriate for dinner out. This time you’d committed to the lipstick, painted your lips red and done your best not to talk yourself out of it. You’d left your hair down, let it fall in loosely styled waves, and all together you felt part-movie star, part-fool.

Bucky whistles lowly, just quietly as he nears, and you have to scoff and roll your eyes, hiding your embarrassment as he draws you in, hugging you just quickly before he pulls back, hands on your waist still, to inspect you closer.

“You look beautiful.” He tells you, voice soft and sweet and you know he isn’t pontificating, or trying to woo you.

“Thank you.” You reach out to smooth over his collar and finally force yourself to meet his eye.

“You look lovely, too.”

You feel lost in a slight high as you walk to the only real restaurant in town, in the main square. In the early evening the streets are quiet, only the occasional passerby, but the cafe remains open, seeing to a few quiet patrons, plus yourselves out on the terrace.

Bucky helps you with your chair and takes your order for you, pours you your drink… it's so normal and yet you’d never really experienced an evening like it. When your food is long gone, he scoots his chair around to sit closer to you and holds your hand softly in his while you talk aimlessly. You aren’t at all worried about being seen or judged, in fact the few moments in which you catch a passing couple take a look at you, you see kind eyes and sweet smiles, only making you feel dizzier.

“You enjoyed your meals, I see?” The owner, an older man named Matteo who you’d known to live in Montecarra for as long as you can remember, stops by to clear up your plates, and you nod enthusiastically.

“Wonderful, we’ll have to come back.” Bucky says, squeezing your fingers as Matteo smiles widely and agrees.

“Maybe next time I will have figured out how to work this named record player, then you will have music as well!” You and Bucky both seem to perk as Matteo throws a thumb over his shoulder, and Bucky straightens in his chair slightly.

“I can give it a look, if you’d like?” He offers, eyes already glued to the record player sitting atop the counter only a few meters away. The older man gives him a shrug and a gesture that clearly reads as ‘go for it’, as he finishes collecting the plates and patters back off to the kitchen.

You watch Bucky move over to the counter, fiddling with the player, though you can’t really see what he does. You know he’s fixed it however, when he throws a grin back at you, and plucks a record from beside the machine, pulling it from it’s sleeve and carefully placing it down on the turntable.

Music immediately begins wafting through the air, an upbeat tune you think you’d heard on the radio before, and Bucky comes speeding back over to you, hands held out even as he pulls you from your seat.

“Dance with me?” He asks, though he’s already wrapping his arm around your waist, and you move yours to his shoulder and hand respectively. There isn’t much room between the tables on the sidewalk, and although the song is happy, it’s not a rousing jazz tune, so you find yourselves simply swaying in each others embrace as the French lyrics begin to join the band.

You end up close, so close you forget anything else exists around you, Bucky’s forehead pressed against your own, your chests similarly compressed, as if neither of you could exist apart.

You have to laugh, thoroughly intrigued and enthralled when he begins softly singing the words to the song. It’s so different to hear him speak in a language that wasn’t Italian or English and it makes your chest ache for a reason you don’t know.

“I wish I could speak French.” You say quietly, Bucky’s lips quirk up but you shake your head.

“You must be so amused by how quaint I am… never been in a car, never left my town… never learnt any languages…” You don’t mean to sound so melancholy, but it hits you then, the ache in your heart stems from just how wonderful Bucky is, and how plain you are in comparison. But he’s frowning as you finish, shaking his head and adjusting his grip on you, wrapping you up even further.

“Never. I think you’re worldy in other ways…”

Your purse your lips, but as he opens his mouth to continue you cut him off, changing the subject.

“Can you tell me about New York again?”

Bucky’s expression falters, then lifts into a sweet smile, and you know his mind has wafted away to distant city streets.

“Of course…” He talks for ages about all the shops and stores available, about all the tiny apartment buildings and the decor, and his home block in Brooklyn. He tells you about the parks and the weather, and a place called Coney Island.

“... I think you’d like it.” He finishes, and you hum, having closed your eyes now, head to his shoulder as you attempt to imagine all that he describes. You feel him open his mouth to say something, to continue, but he doesn’t, hesitating and then remaining quiet, though he holds you firmer again, and you relish in the warmth of it.

Eventually, you have to let Matteo close up, and you bid the old man thank you and goodbye as you walk away hand-in-hand. Before you can get too far however, you stop, tugging on Bucky’s hand so you have his attention, the warm Montecarran breeze blowing your hair about.

“My mama doesn’t expect me home until morning.” You tell him, seeing instantly how his eyes change.

“Why’s that?” He manages to ask, stepping close again and you smile, shrugging.

“I told her I was watching some children in town overnight.”

Bucky hums at your reply, frowns as if in thought.

“Sounds as if you may need somewhere to stay, in that case.”

Bucky takes you back to his cottage, all quiet laughs and lingering touches as he leads you inside, placing his coat and keys down on the table, but any pretence is lost as soon as you kiss him. Clothes scatter around the small space, a gingerbread trail leading to his bedroom where he lays you down and peels the last of your underwear off.

Oddly, you feel less nervous about him seeing you naked than you had in your dress, maybe because he’d already seen you mostly this way, or maybe because at least naked it was real and you couldn’t pretend or hide, it was more honest.

You itch to touch him, but you don’t get the chance right away, his kisses leaving your lips quickly to travel down and soon you’re gasping, hands clutched tightly in his hair as he buries his face between your thighs, hands holding your legs apart as his tongue and lips work quickly over you, bringing you over the edge faster than you even thought possible. By the time he’s kissing you again, your mind is a haze of filth and desire and you guide him into you quickly.

Bucky is an excellent lover, his pace and angle perfect, his weight above you welcome as he thrusts into your warmth, desperate and wanting. He isn’t boring either, doesn’t end the night quickly, instead nearing his pleasure and stopping each time, drawing it out. He instructs you in various positions, making your belly spark with his knowledge of the female body, nearly sending you into a fritz when he takes you from behind, leaves you scrambling to hold on to something as you cry out into his sheets, his cock relentless as he fucks you through your orgasm, finally finishing with you, his hands curled around to pinch at your nipples, making your cunt bear down on him even more as you fall into a sweaty, moaning and panting heap.

He fetches you water, helps you fix back your hair in your still slightly dazed state, and pulls you near again, skin to skin as you drift off to sleep, lips pressed to one another even as your mind begins to wander.

In the morning you wake him with your mouth around his length, swallow him back as much as you can as he’s drawn from slumber by the pleasure, his hand reaching down to messily clutch at your hair. You watch him come apart for you, eyes fixed on his tilted head, creased brow and open mouth as he jerks into the back of your throat, hot warmth spilling forth that you swallow with ease.

He swears and curses as he rubs his eyes and you crawl up to lay beside him once again, finding his eyes looking at you as if to make sure you were real.

“Good morning, Sargeant.” You tease, only to have him cuss more, his chest heavily quickly up and down. You chitter and brush the slightly damp hair back from his head, a kiss to his cheek as you withdraw from the bed.

“Where’re you goin’?” He asks, blinking himself properly awake and you throw him a glance as you hunt for all your belongings.

“I have to go home, my mother does expect me at some point…” You explain, and he rubs a hand over his face once more, seeming to deflate a little.

“Right. Of course.”

You’re fully dressed when he manages to pull himself to sit on the edge of the bed, still naked, still just as fine as the evening previous. He looks up at you as you step nearer, braiding back your hair before you place both hands on his shoulders.

“Thank you.” You say simply, leaning down to peck his lips chastley. He hums against you, kissing you back and quickly you’re no longer pecking his lips, your hands roaming down over his shoulders appreciatively, his hands reach up the back of your skirt, pulling your underwear to the side and—

You gasp, giggling as you pull out of his reach, shaking your head and wagging a finger at him like a naughty child.

“No! No, I have to go home!” You tell him, even as he sighs, falling back to lie on the bed again. You can clearly see his hardening length and you fight yourself to just climb atop him once more.

“I will see you later!” You say pointedly, tossing a shirt onto his lap, to hide him from you, and you see him grin, chortling even as his hand travels lower, removing the shirt and wrapping around— you turn your back, flustered and tempted, but you leave his little cottage, determined to get home before your mama woke, so you could wash and change.

—-

Somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind, he knew it wouldn’t last forever, but the end comes sooner than he’d expected.

He stares at the small pile of pages in front of him, their words all making sense in his brain, he understands what they all say, what they’re telling him, but at the same time, he comprehends absolutely nothing after the words ‘The United States Armed Forces herby discharges you with honourable service records…’

He was going home. They were sending him home.

At last he’d be able to hug his mother, see his sister, Steve, all the other fellas… he’d get to go home and really start his life post-war. He’d been waiting on this letter for months, a year even, more perhaps. At one time, it had been all he’d wanted. And yet, all that fills him now is a sense of dread, muddled with a bit of guilt, because he knows he really does miss his family, but…

When he sees you later that afternoon, sitting up in your nook like always, he can hardly bring himself to return your smile, sparkling and bright as always, for him. You pick up on his mood immediately, even if you poke fun. He knows he can’t delay, they expected him on his flight home from Rome tomorrow. The army loved their damn punctuality.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, face falling a little when he only half-heartedly chuckles at your joke, his eyes downturned, afraid to meet your own. He swallows, and shoves his hands in his pockets, squints into the distance.

“They’re sending me home.”

A beat passes.

When he finally looks back at you, he catches the tail end of devastation leaving your features, replaced instead with a hopeful, sincere grin.

You grab his hand, pulling them from his trousers.

“Bucky! That’s wonderful news!” You say excitedly, but he can only purse his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that! You don’t want to spend your whole life here, do you!?” You snort a little as you knock him in the shoulder, and he smiles thinly.

No, he didn’t want to live the rest of his life in Tuscany, but he’d been getting used to having a little slice of it around lately.

Your over-excitement fades, and you lean in to him cupping his cheek.

“You’ll get to see your mother, and your city… I know you miss them all…” He can’t help but frown at a spot on your dress, avoiding your eyes like a pouting child.

“I’ll miss you, too, though.” He mumbles, and you smile, scrunch your nose and shake your head.

“In no time at all this will all be a happy memory.”

Bucky wants to protest, lifts his gaze to argue with you, but the sharp, almost panicked look you give him as you shake your head again stops him.

“No, Bucky… Don’t. Please don’t make this sad… you’ve made me…” Your voice is cut off as you sniff, the shininess to your eyes spilling over just slightly, even though you smile softly.

“You’ve made me very happy, for quite some time. Let us leave with that.” You wrap your arms around his neck, hiding your face away and Bucky sighs, pulling you closer too, and resting his head atop your own.

He glares, frowns aimlessly at a nearby wall, barely even seeing it, focusing all his energy on swaying gently with you.

“Alright.” He says, voice a little rough. You sniff into the collar of his shirt, and he smooths his hands down over your back.

“Alright.”

—-

“We rented out your room to a shoemaker. You’re gonna have to sleep on the couch until we can convince him to leave.” Becca says flatly, half her words muffled as she’s drawn into Bucky’s chest. He holds her there tightly for several seconds before pulling back.

“Oh yeah?” He rubs at his chin.

“Don’t think the shoemaker will sleep heads to toes with me?” He wonders, and Becca scrunches her nose, laughing at the image.

Winnie Barnes shakes her head and lightly taps her daughter.

“Becca don’t cause trouble. Bucky, we left everything exactly the way it was.” His mother tells him, before hugging him for the sixth time since he’d landed. He just grins, and hugs her back each time. He’d missed her. So much.

They eat dinner together, Steve and Peggy come too, and afterward, the blond makes Bucky pull out his camera. After quickly pulling some choice images out of the pile, he lets Becca and his mother rifle through, telling them about each photo as he remembers it, the act rather therapeutic. He really had been gone for so long.

“Oh… who's this?!” Becca coos, half reading, half awed, and Bucky absently leans over to get a look.

His heart stops for a moment when he lays eyes on you, your smile wide and full of glee, the wind blowing your hair wildly about, your hand lifted to hold your hat on your head. Maybe he takes too long staring, maybe it’s just something about a sisters’ intuition, but Becca whistles, then gasps as she plucks another photo from the pile now tipped on the floor.

“Here she is again! And here too!” Even his mother gives him a sideways glance, but he can’t bring himself to feel too bashful.

He clasps his hands under his knees where he sits on the carpet and hums.

“Nina. I met her in a little town called Montecarra.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She is.” he confirms, as Becca continues to find photos with your face peppered throughout. He should be embarrassed about the amount of pictures he took of you, even ones where you aren’t doing anything but reading, but he really doesn’t.

“She your girlfriend?”

“Becca!” Winnie scolds, glaring at her daughter, but Bucky only laughs.

“I wasn’t lucky enough for that.” He shrugs, and his mother fusses.

“James Barnes, any woman worth her salt—”

“It’s not like that Ma… it’s just…” He trails off. He doesn’t want to say something to suggest he didn’t want to be here with them, because he desperately did. But he missed you.

“Well… I came home.” He shrugs, and his mother’s eyes fill with understanding. She purses her lips but frowns thinly, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

Becca frowns too, but she recovers quickly, pulling out a new photo and asking him about the features in it.

She pulls out the ones of your face, but she doesn’t mention them again.

Bucky settles in. He truly comes home. He stops feeling like he’s living out of a suitcase. He finds a job, granted it isn’t hard, with the SSR setting up an office in the city, he barely had to ask for a job. On Fridays he went dancing with Becca, acting more like a chaperone than a participant, and on Sunday’s he went to church with his mother, holding her hand through the service and making nice with the old ladies after.

He settles in. He’s home.

And then, there’s a knock on the door.

It’s well after any kind of appropriate hours for visitors, but not late enough into the night that anybody was in bed. Winnie sits by the radio in the living room, listening to her stories while Becca scrawls out a letter. Bucky had been reading when the knock came, and he waves a hand towards the women when he stands.

“I’ll get it.”

“Who on earth calls at this time?” He hears his mother wonder aloud as he makes his way down the hall to the front door.

Swinging it open, Bucky feels ready to send off whoever it is, but he stops dead in his tracks. All sense leaves him, aside from sight. He’s only able to stare slack-mouthed as you blink back up at him.

He’s never seen you in so many layers before. It was winter in New York, but Montecarra seemed to be perpetually hot, so the most he’d seen you in was a light jacket… standing before him now, on his front steps, you have a coat, a scarf, gloves, a hat and he thinks those might even be earmuffs around your neck.

“I… Hello…” You begin, your voice heavily accented when you speak English, and even though Bucky shakes himself out of his stupor, he’s still dumbfounded.

“Hi…”

“I… I’m new to the city, and I thought perhaps you will… show me around?” You seem to be thinking hard about your words, speaking slowly to articulate them. You scrunch your nose when you finish, clearly unhappy with the outcome.

Bucky can’t even bring himself to respond. He’s down the two steps separating you in seconds, hands cupping both your cheeks as he kisses you, again and again, in quick succession until you’re laughing against his lips.

“What— how— what are you doing here?!” He stops and starts, but eventually gets some version of his thoughts out. He speaks to you in Italian, not wanting you to feel limited, and you shrug, gloved fingers splayed across his chest.

“My Aunt… the one from England… she offered for me to join her in America, for better opportunities…” You trail off, and Bucky decides you could tell him any reason and he’d have been satisfied.

“I’ve been learning English.” You say, and he nods, thumb stroking over your cheek. He can’t stop looking at you, he can’t believe you’re here.

“I can see that.” He replies, in English, and watches as you slowly understand.

“Buck? Who's at the door— oh! I- I’m sorry, I—” Winnie, with Becca just behind her, stops in her tracks at the door, cheeks tinged red at catching such an intimate moment, but Bucky can’t bring himself to pull away. He see’s Becca’s eyes flash with recognition, her face lighting up.

He forces himself to pull back slightly, guiding you forward.

“Mama, Becca, this is Nina… from Montecarra.”

——

“I thought you said you’d worked in all the kinks!?” You whine, only slightly impatiently, though Bucky can understand why.

“Worked out all the kinks, baby. ‘Out’.” You roll your eyes and mutter in Italian.

“I’m going to work you out in a moment…” You say louder, and Bucky relents, holding up his hands as he finishes fiddling at last.

“Okay, okay. I’m coming! Get ready!” He tells you, quickly rushing around from one side of the camera he’d set up on a pile of books, the little wired control he holds in his hand flashing red.

“Come bambino, please smile for Mr Camera!” You bounce the tiny baby boy on your lap, earning a bout of giggles, just as Bucky slides in next to you on the stairs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and placing his free hand on his son’s back.

“Ready?”

“Five minutes ago…”

“Say ‘Montecarra’!”

He presses the button, and the camera flashes.

Thank You Very Much For Reading!

[ectoentity]

Warped Mirror

Decided to write something based vaguely on the “Spork AU” idea. Instead of Episode 1 Danny meeting Episode 50+ Danny, though, I was curious about a Danny who never became Phantom meeting one who had. This first part is just establishing Human!Danny’s world.

I’ll post it to AO3 when I have the rest of it finished.

---

Three kids stood before a giant machine in the shape of a door. It should have been humming along and glowing green, with a great hole to another world in the middle. Instead, it was cold and silent. 

“They spent years working on it,” Danny explained, “and then nothing. Mom and Dad have been moping in their room all day.”

Tucker looked around at the portal and the hodgepodge of computer parts attached to it. “It’s probably a loose wire somewhere. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“In the meantime, this would make for an awesome picture,” Sam said with a smile. She held up her polaroid camera. 

“Oh no, you’re not getting me anywhere near that,” Tucker immediately walked away from the portal.

“Come on! When they get this thing working we’ll never be allowed near it. Besides, it’s not like it’s going to do anything right now.”

“Then why don’t you get over there and let one of us take the picture?” Tucker asked.

“Because neither of you know anything about lighting or framing a shot. Please?” When she saw that Tucker was not going to budge, she looked over at Danny with wide, pleading eyes. 

He looked anxiously at the portal. So far none of his parents’ inventions had really worked, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t dangerous. Still, Sam was right. It was pretty cool, and getting a picture with the thing could be a good way to keep a memory.

“Yeah, okay, let me put on a jumpsuit in case there’s a live wire or something.”

Ten minutes later he was suited up in the white-and-black safety jumpsuit his parents had made for him. It wasn’t really a hazardous materials outfit - there was no full hood or respirator, or even goggles. It was made of something that was supposed to repel ectoplasm and certain chemicals that his parents used and was insulated against minor shocks, so it would have to do. 

“Oh, no no. I’m not taking your picture while you’re wearing that,” Sam announced. Danny was about to argue, but she reached over and pulled the sticker of his dad’s face off of the suit. “Now you’re good.”

Danny laughed. “Good thinking, Sam. Wouldn’t want to be immortalized in your photos with that on me.” He walked up to the portal. It was a massive piece of machinery, nearly six feet in diameter and deep enough to fit a car. He paused at the entrance. It was hard to imagine it as anything other than a creepy machine in the basement. If it had worked, it would have opened into a whole other world. 

Tucker, meanwhile, was watching while anxiously tapping a foot. He had expected Danny to give in to Sam’s pleas. He was so predictable and utterly clueless. One of these days they would both realize that they were both desperately crushing on each other and they’d-

There was something plugged into the wall. Tucker wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a bad feeling about it. 

“Hold up!” he shouted. Tucker went over and unplugged the cord from the wall outlet, and checked around for more outlets just in case. When he didn’t find anything else, he called back, “Okay, I think it’s alright now.”

“Good thinking, Tuck,” Danny’s voice echoed in the portal. “Hey, Sam, is this good?”

Sam set up her shot. “Looks great! Just hold there a second.” She counted down before the flash went off. The camera whirred and produced a polaroid. “Lemme take a couple more,” she said before swiftly doing so from slightly different angles. “That should be good!”

Danny started to walk out of the portal. Something caught his foot. He tripped and fell backwards, flailing his arms wildly in hopes that he would catch something. His right hand hit the side of the portal. It stabilized him for a second, but then the wall clicked. Danny stared down at his hand, a chill lancing up his spine. He hadn’t hit the wall. His hand was resting on a button marked “ON.”

“Oh my god,” he blurted.

“Danny? Are you okay?” Sam called. He could hear them both scrambling toward the portal. 

“I’m good! I just tripped!” Danny got out of the portal as fast as he could. “My parents put the on/off buttons on the inside! If Tucker hadn’t unplugged it…” All three teens stared at the portal. Danny could have died, just for tripping over a stupid wire.

Finally Tucker gulped and broke the silence. “Want to see if your parents can get it to work now?”

Danny shook himself out of it. “Yeah! I’ll go ask if they forgot about that.”

They all but ran out of the lab.

---

The Fenton RV sped down the street, ghost alarms blaring. In the back, Danny got his weapons together as quickly as he could with all the jostling and swerving. They’d let Dad drive; time was of the essence.

“A level six!” Jack crowed from the driver’s seat. “Maybe even a seven! How long’s it been since we saw one like that?”

“About four months,” Danny grumbled. He still vividly remembered when the town had been drawn into the Ghost Zone and besieged with an army of skeleton constructs. He was not looking forward to a repeat of that hell. The Fenton Blaster in his hands whined as he attached the power source. 

“We’ll have to be careful, Jack,” Mom cautioned as she always did. “We don’t have the Ecto-Skeleton this time.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t call in the Guys in White?” Danny asked. They might not be the best ghost hunters, but they did have a lot more firepower.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Danny! I’m sure we can take care of this before they even notice something’s happening. Besides, your mom and I are still dealing with the paperwork from the last time they showed up.”

Danny shuddered. He was extremely glad that he didn’t have to deal with that aspect of ghost hunting. 

His dad pulled up to the mall with a loud honk of the horn and squealing tires. Danny and his mom ran out, blasters held at the ready. Dad backed them up with one of the Fenton Bazookas. 

The mall was already evacuated. Some people milled around outside, anxiously talking amongst themselves. In the year and a half since the ghosts had started attacking the town, people had gotten frustratingly complacent about them. The invasion a few months back had shown most people just how dangerous they could be, but a stubborn few always were more concerned with getting good pictures than their own safety. 

“Make way!” Mom shouted. “We’re here to take care of the ghost!” The crowd at least did part for them. A few people shouted at them. Some of it was words of support. A few tried to describe what they had seen - it was green, it was wearing all white, it was terrifying. Only a few made jokes or jeered at the Fentons as they passed. That was annoying, but it was a hell of a lot better than it had been a year ago. 

The deserted mall was an eerie sight. Everyone had left in a hurry, leaving lights on and store music still echoing through empty halls. The Fentons’ footsteps seemed far too loud. The weirdest part was that everything seemed intact. When the technology ghost raided the mall he usually left trails of rubble and discarded packaging everywhere. The box ghost would leave piles of everything that he dumped out of his beloved boxes. Various other ghosts had attacked the mall in the past, and they almost always left signs of their passing. Why was this one different?

“Come out, ghost!” Dad shouted, his voice easily carrying through the empty mall. “Let’s make this quick!”

“Curious.” The voice was quiet, but had the same unnatural echo of all ghosts. Danny held up his blaster, but he couldn’t tell where the voice had come from. Beside him, his mom turned on her miniature Fenton Finder. It beeped alarmingly quickly. 

“Two o’clock!” Mom shouted as she fired. Danny was only a moment slower, trying to fire a little ahead. The blasts didn’t connect with anything. 

“I mean no harm,” the ghost said. Its voice was way too close for comfort. Danny turned to his right and shot where he thought it was, but he still missed. 

“What do you want?” Danny asked. He didn’t really care. No matter what their obsessions were, ghosts only ever wanted to spread chaos and pain. Still, sometimes he could distract them by talking back. 

The ghost appeared in front of them. It was tall, with dark, green-tinged skin and a lighter beard. Its eyes glowed a soft yellow. A white robe and hood covered most of its body, rippling in a nonexistent breeze. 

A green beam from the Fenton Bazooka blasted towards the ghost. Its torso split apart to allow the beam to go through it. Danny grimaced. It was so gross when they did that. He followed his dad’s lead and started shooting the ghost. The ghost blocked all of his and Mom’s shots with a series of small green shields. 

“This is entirely unnecessary,” the ghost huffed. It had the audacity to look bored. 

“Then why not just go back to the Ghost Zone and leave us alone?” Danny shouted, annoyed. He ran off to the side, flanking the ghost. It finally started dodging the ectoblasts. If anything, though, the ghost just looked amused. 

“Oh, I shall. First, though…” The ghost flung its hand out towards Danny. He winced, anticipating the burn of ectoblasts. He took a step back and his foot sank. With a shout, he fell into the glowing green portal that had opened right behind him.

[calumxkisses]

Sleep On The Floor | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: life’s getting dark grey, lucky for you, Calum is ready to show you all the colors - or maybe that’s what you dream about.  

a/n: hi beautiful angels, i’m back! sorry for being away fr such a long time but i was studying and trying my best to stay alive. today’s also my birthday and i wanted to thank all of you for loving my past serie. i love every single on of you.

this imagine its inspired by the song: sleep on the floor 

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The music is loud, the same songs are repeated continuously but the constant talk and the drinks make it difficult to notice the monotony of these parties. It is a monotony that you relive every weekend since you started working in the music industry and it doesn’t depend on the place, the week or the event, the same things repeat themselves over and over again.

Dark grey. It’s the color that you best associate to this situation. It’s that color that makes you think about factories, workers in line, controlled by rules and by a world that leaves no room for creativity, for change, for a better world. You remember that Charlie Chaplin’s movie that your professor made you watch in school and the way he ends up living an adventure. Will that happen to you too? It’s just a party, you think, but because it’s a party you shouldn’t feel this way. 

You’ll take a plane tomorrow and you’ll end up in another city that you won’t visit because there’ll be no time. After the concert or the interview, you’ll end up in some hidden place dancing and drinking and the day after another plane or bus will be waiting for you. And when the tour ends, you’ll be able to breathe. 

The girl in front of you keeps talking about the promotion she got at work, but you stopped listening to her a long time ago. Didn't she get the promotion last week? Or was it another girl? Maybe she was the one who had just returned from a business trip? 

Across the room, a few steps away from you, Calum, Luke and Roy are talking about the new album the band is working on, the new genre they are experimenting with and the lyrics they enjoy writing but will never release. They spend their days like this, searching for new sounds and writing lyrics about salads and strange places where they get lost.

You look around before your gaze gets placed in front of you and you notice that Calum is looking at you too, his curly hair with shades of blonde free from any beanie and he’s still wearing the leather jacket. His eyes stare at you and a little grin forms on his lips. Without realizing it, you slowly approach each other. 

“It doesn't look like you're having fun.” 

“My stomach hurts from how much I’m laughing.” You say in a sarcastic tone, your face expressing your emotion. 

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Calum knows you. He knows your need to break free from the world and the way you love everything that is extraordinary. He needs that too, he wants to have the possibility to just be him and not the bassist from 5 Seconds Of Summer, but he’ll never tell you this, he won’t give you the satisfaction of being right. But you know. 

“No, I'm just tired of always doing the same things.” You say dramatically, sighing.

“Then let's do something different.”

“Like what? Playing hide and seek instead of beer pong?” 

“No, let’s leave. We have a couple of hours before this party ends and nobody will notice our absence anyway. Let’s do something different for once.” 

You smile. He’s trying to relieve your suffering and you appreciate that.  

Calum walks away for a moment and when he returns, your jacket is in his hand and no longer on the couch. He throws it at you and offers you his hand. “A Taxi is already waiting for us outside. What do you think?” His smile is wide on his face, but not as big as the one that forms on your face when you grab his hand and drag him out.

You both laugh as you get into the car, your adrenaline is running high and you already feel better. The driver smiles at the scene, Calum whispers something in his ear and then sits back on the seat, his eyes following your body before looking in your eyes. 

“I didn’t know you could speak French.” You say looking at his face. 

“There’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me, love.” He says before looking in front of him, mentally trying to remember the name of the streets. His side profile is lightened by different colors as you pass all the different neons of the shops of the city.

The window on your right is slightly lowered. You rest your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, the wind brushes your face and the noise of the city is like a melody in your ears. Calum kisses your hair and rests his head on yours. 

You’re in a car, just the two of you stuck in traffic, yet you feel like you are in a different world, in a world of constant change, where everything happens only once and you are ready to treasure every second of it. 

You don’t know how many minutes have passed by before Calum taps on your shoulder and whispers, “Look.” before pointing to his left. You open your eyes and the Arc de Triomphe lights up the city. It’s a masterpiece that reigns in the French city. It’s fully illuminated and stands powerful in the center of the rotunda.

“Wow.” It's the only thing you can say as you get closer to the window to get a better look. The driver chuckles at your reaction. You are too distracted by the beauty of the monument to notice the way Calum looks at you, lost in the way the lights illuminate your face and the way your hand is in his, as if they were made to hold only each other. 

All the cars are driving past the monument as if it was nothing, probably used to the view, but you can’t get enough of the magical feeling that you feel just by looking at it.

As the Arc de Triomphe is now behind you, you sit back in your seat, your mouth still slightly open from the astonishment of the sight. They might have been some of the most intense minutes you’ve ever experienced.

“Everytime we finish a show here, we always ask to pass by here. After the confusion of the concert, this view always manages to bring peace. Usually we are always exhausted but we try to stay awake as much as possible to not miss this view.” He whispers, looking out and smiling at the memories. 

“I know how much you daydream and how much you like these views and as soon as they gave us the tour dates, I immediately asked to let you come with us. I knew you would like it.” 

The idea that Calum has thought of you, especially in this occasion, warms your heart. He’s not a person who expresses what he feels, he finds it difficult to open up to the world and to the people around him and you know that that's his way of showing that he cares, by gestures, thoughts and small details.

“Thank you, Calum. We passed here yesterday and it was magical in the sun, I didn't expect to love it even more at night.”

The car crosses a bridge and the Seine is illuminated, leading you to fall even more in love with this city. It is definitely the most romantic city in the world, as everyone says.

“Close your eyes.” Calum whispers, taking your hand and putting them on your eyes.

“Wait, why? What are you doing?” You ask but he stays silent. Your heart beats fast. 

Before you know it, the car stops and Calum talks to the driver. You are tempted to open your eyes and peek but the idea that he has decided to surprise you makes you feel too much guilt to do it so you decide to keep your hands on your face.

Calum opens the door, “Give me your hand but keep your eyes closed, okay?” You nod before holding out your hand. He grabs it and, being careful not to hurt you, he gets you out of the car.

You walk  for a while, the noise of the stones is loud as you walk on them and the wind ruffles your hair.

“Keep your eyes still closed for a moment.” He whispers in your ear making you feel chills all over your body.

You feel him moving away and you try to use your senses to understand where you are. You hear people talking in the distance, the noise of some cars behind you as you play with your fingers to entertain yourself while you wait. You aren’t afraid, there’s no single cell in your body that feels fear, you trust him too much to think about the idea that he left you there. He would be ready to climb the highest mountain and cross the hottest deserts to come to you, there’s no emergency that’ll let him leave your side. 

Since the first moment his eyes saw you, he knew that he couldn’t let you go.

You feel someone stand in front of you before you hear him speak: “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

Calum is standing in front of you, he’s looking straight in your eyes to see your reaction. He’s holding a red rose in his right hand and a huge smile is on his lips. Behind him, the Eiffel Tower is majestic, a source of light in the dark of the night. You’re left speechless, the magic you’re living is impossible to explain with words. It seems like billions of stars are joined by surrounding the structure, illuminating it and making it something eternal.  

There are a few people in the distance, taking photos of the structure and laughing at each other. 

There’s a musician on the side of the tower, she’s playing songs that you’re not familiar with and yet they seem to be perfect for this moment. They might be love songs, or even sad songs, but the melody envelops the atmosphere that surrounds you, making you look like the protagonists of a dream.

“Calum.” It’s the only thing you’re able to say. He’s standing there, between you and the Eiffel Tower, one of the most beautiful attraction in the entire world and yet his beauty almost steals the spotlight. But he’ll never know.

He grins and turns around to admire the structure. You reach to take your phone from the pocket of your jacket and take a picture of him, of the Tower, of everything that is surrounding you. Something to look at when you’ll need to think about a happy memory. 

“I’m in love. That’s it. I know what love looks like now.” You said admiring the view. 

“With me?” He looks at you smiling.

“You wish, don’t you?.” 

He laughs and there’s no sound that could be better than that. Not even a view could be more beautiful. Calum Hood laughing in front of the Eiffel Tower, in the middle of the night, surrounded by stars is a sight that no one will ever experience and you hold this moment close to your heart.

“I’m moving here.” You say after a few minutes of silence. 

“You can’t.” 

“Why?” 

“I can’t live without you.” Your heart skips a beat. “How am I supposed to wake up on time and to go to all my appointments if you don’t remind me?” You both laugh. 

“Fine, I’ll honor you with my presence for a little while longer.” 

“Thank you.” 

For a moment, you look straight into each other's eyes. The world seems to stop, except for the Tower and the music in the distance. Calum takes a piece of your hair behind your ear and you can see your reflection in his eyes. 

“It’s getting late, we should go.” He whispers close to your lips.

“Do we really have to go?” You want to close your eyes but you can’t seem to leave the sight of his face. A face that you see everyday but that you can’t get enough of. 

“Yeah but this’ll be our little secret. A place that you can escape to when you’re tired of the world. It’s gonna be here-” He says before pointing to your mind, “-and here.” He stops pointing to your heart and for a second you stop breathing.

“We have too many secrets, Calum.” You say as he takes your hand and walks towards the Taxi. You can’t see his face but his body language is telling you that he’s smiling.

He opens the door of the car and gets in and you follow him, not before looking at the Eiffel Tower one last time and taking a deep breath. 

The drive back to the party passes quickly and silently, your head is again resting on Calum's shoulder and his head is resting on yours, your hands are intertwined as you play with your fingers while the stereo plays slow, almost inaudible music.

“We are here.” The driver says with a strong accent and you realize that you're back in that building. You both get out of the car and while Calum pays for the ride, you look around you. 

“It’s okay to escape reality every once in a while, as long as you remember to come back to reality to me.” He whispers while you get inside the house and you look at him confused before noticing the scene in front of you. 

As you enter through the big door, you see that everything looks exactly as when you left. People are doing the same things they were doing before and while you throw your jacket on the couch, you notice that the stereo is playing the same playlist it was playing a couple of hours ago. 

Calum is back at talking with Roy and Luke, he’s holding a drink and he’s laughing at something his friend is saying.

You go back to the group you were with at the start of the party, nobody seemed to have noticed your absence. The girl in front of you keeps talking about the promotion she got at work but you’re not really listening. 

You look around before your gaze gets placed in front of you and you notice that Calum is looking at you too, he gives you a questioning look and winks before turning his attention back to his friends.

You smile.

[redrobin-detective]

Just one single glimpse of relief

TW: OC death, death themes

“Hey,” Sydnee looked up at the sound of the voice. It was familiar, safe, and it stopped her tears for a moment. She can’t remember where she was or what she’d been doing. All she knew was that she was scared and upset and didn’t know what to do. It felt like she’d been crying forever when the voice appeared. “Hey there, it’s Phantom. Can I come closer?”

Sydnee gasped as the town hero, Phantom, approached her slowly. Syd was a bit of a nerd and she couldn’t get enough of those superhero movies. She always tuned in to Phantom’s fights on TV; he was as close as she’d get to a real life Superman or Captain Marvel. She’d never seen him up close before though. He was younger than he appeared on TV, not more than his early teens. Sydnee, almost 24, was hit by a wave of mortification over how they’d described the hunky, we-thought-he-was-older kid on Margarita Night. This day just got better and better, not that she remembered it.

“How are you doing?” Phantom asked quietly, floating near her but not getting too close. He was watching her warily but not unkindly. She saw how some folks treated him, he was probably worried she’d throw a shoe at him. “What’s your name?”

“Sydnee, with an extra e not a y. Uh Tanner, Sydnee Tanner,” she mumbled. Ugh why were words so hard. Her head felt fuzzy and very far away, she thinks she was going to start panicking again. What was she even so upset about? “I don’t know what’s going on. Where are we and what happened. I don’t- I don’t remember anything.”

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly, floating a little closer. The soft glow he emitted brightened up the dark place they were in. Was she in a collapsed tunnel? What had she been doing here? She’d never been claustrophobic but the debris and rubble of the place seemed to close in on her. “Hey, hey, just look at me.” She turned and met his kind eyes, soft and easy. “We’ll walk through it together. What is the last thing you remember?”

“I was late to work,” Syd said, the memory popping up before her. “I um work at the Donut Delights bakery in that strip mall next to the middle school. My cats had knocked over some of my houseplants in the night so I had to clean them up and was running behind. I open the store on Wednesdays - oh it’s Wednesday! - so I knew I’d be in trouble. But I made it, just barely. I was starting up the ovens when.” Syd furrowed her brow and took in the hero before her. The one who was almost never seen outside a fight. “There was a ghost attack, wasn’t there?”

“Welcome to Amity Park,” Phantom said grimly. “I’ve been here a couple times; the jalapeno bacon topped donuts are my favorite. My mom and sister buy them sometimes if they want to bribe me into doing something.”

“You weirdo, only crazy people eat that weird flavor,” Sydnee chuckled. “You have a family?”

“Of course, we all have a family out there somewhere. What about you?” He asked gently. There was something about the soft way he was talking to her, the way his eyes flickered around the dark like he was looking for something. He had news he didn’t want to tell her and she wasn’t ready to hear it. Not yet. Just a few more minutes of denial before she faced the revelation she couldn’t bear to touch yet.

“Yeah, mom and dad and two younger sibs. Folks divorced forever ago, I barely remember them actually being together. Mom is is living it up in Dubai working as a pastry chef in one of their fancy hotels. Dad’s an auto-mechanic down on Maple street, Duke’s Car Services. Pretty sure you got tossed through the window a year ago.”

“I’ve been tossed through many windows but I know the place you’re talking about. So a big family, any friends? Boyfriends? Girlfriends?”

“I have a boyfriend,” she continued on hastily, taking the distraction for what it was. “I like him, a lot and we’ve been dating since high school. Everyone says I should marry him and we’ve talked about it, casually, but I’ve never dated anyone else and wonder if I should see other people first. You know, test the waters before I settle down with my high school sweetheart like my folks did and look how they turned out.”

“Mhmm,” Phantom hummed nodding, encouraging her to continue.

“DeShawn is great though, he’s very supportive and sweet in his own kind of absentminded way. He’s got epilepsy real bad though, I have to drive him everywhere since he’s always at risk of a seizure. Annoying sometimes but its nice, you can learn a lot about a person from a conversation while you’re alone together.”

“Very true, I’m learning a lot now,” Phantom smiled. “What about your siblings?”

“I have a brother and a sister, Kennedy is finishing his sophomore year of college and Janelle will be a senior in high school. She was a surprise baby, one last attempt of my parents to reconcile before the big D. It didn’t help but I got a great sister out of it, she’s a real firecracker.”

“Janelle,” Phantom’s eyes lit up. “She’s the one always dying her hair. I see her in the hallways of Casper, she’s hard to miss. I think she draws too, she won an art award I think.”

“Yeah!” Sydnee said enthusiastically, she reached out and grabbed ahold of Phantom’s arm. It was cold but solid. It reminded her that she really couldn’t feel anything, nothing but him. “Yeah, I swear her hair is a new color every time I see her. It’s a dark purple now, it looks pretty good on her. She was a peachy orange for picture day last year. Mom called her up screaming when she saw the photos.”

“I thought it looked cool,” Phantom grinned, “not that I was there for picture day. Ghost attack, you know. My mom was upset with me too.” They laughed lightly for a minute before it gently petered off leaving them alone in the dark. Sydnee didn’t have any feeling in her toes, in any part of her. She felt light and disconnected and all over out of sorts. She was pretty sure she knew what had happened but she couldn’t face it yet. But talking to Phantom, it seemed a little easier.

“I remember the attack now,” Sydnee stated quietly. “It was a big ghost bear only it was the size of a pickup truck. It rammed into the store there was chaos and screaming. It was so loud, the screaming of the customers, the bear, building coming down on top of us...” her lips wobbled. “We’re still in the store, aren’t we? I haven’t wanted to turn around because... because I know my body is buried underneath the concrete back there.”

“Yeah,” Phantom breathed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get here in time. Most everyone in the area got out but you and a few others in the store got trapped under the rubble. Mrs. McDaniels who lived on Eustis street and was the first woman in her family to go to college plus Eddie Drake who came down from Chicago to check out the ghost stuff with their boyfriend and was a tattoo artist.”

“Did you talk to them too?” She questioned in surprise.

“Briefly, Mrs. McDaniels didn’t stay long, just long enough to tell me, and I quote, “stop wasting time on her dead ass and get to the others.” She already passed on. Eddie, they didn’t take it well. We talked for a while and I think they need a little more time to accept it, see their loved ones first. I warned them that the longer they delay death, the harder it is and the more you lose yourself. You’re the last, all the way in the back of the store. When you’re ready, I’m going to bring your body out.”

“Thank you,” she whispered before breaking out into hysterical laughter. “God I bet I’m a wreck, I think I put my shirt on inside out I was in such a rush this morning,” she sniffled. “What do I do now, as a ghost? I don’t have to, like, attack people, do I?”

“No,” Phantom sighed. “Most ghosts are just normal people, no one else but other ghosts will see you and you’re not going to be strong enough to interact with the real world for a long, long time. You can stick around a bit if you want, watch over your family but it’s like I told Eddie, you forget things pretty quick. Or you can move on, that part I can’t help you with but I’ve helped a lot of others go that route and I’m told it’s easy.”

“Easy, then why haven’t you?” She questioned angrily, the full weight of the situation crashing over her. She shoved him and he floated back passively. “I’m a freaking ghost and you’re here talking to me like you’re my therapist or something. Who’s gonna take DeShawn to his appointments? Or praise my sister’s creative messes? Or badger Ken into picking major? My life is over and you think you can float there and lecture me about it being easy to move on!”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Phantom soothed, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry Sydnee, I wish I could turn back the clock an hour, two hours, and prevent this from happening but I can’t. I’ve tried to mess with time and it doesn’t end well for anyone. I just want, I just want what’s best for you now. You can stay or you can go but I want you to make the decision that you feel most comfortable with. That’s all I can do for you.”

“I think I’d be sad,” she said, crying again, “being able to see everyone but not talk to them, to watch them cry over me. I don’t want to forget them either.” Phantom watched her, easily and earnestly. “What made you choose to stay? Why didn’t you go?”

“I’m a little complicated but I can tell you, when I’ve done all I need to here, I’m not hanging around a second longer than I have to. Being a ghost has it’s perks but it’s also, it’s being stuck in a place you longer fit, watching the world go on without you.”

“Okay,” Syd hiccupped. “Okay, yeah okay.”

“Okay,” Phantom nodded. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, please don’t,” she grabbed his hands again. “Please I don’t, I know I died alone but I don’t want to do... this alone. Please stay, ugh, calling you Phantom is weird sorry.”

“I don’t know if it’s any less weird but you can call me Danny,” Phantom, Danny, laughed. It was an ordinary name for a superhero but it fit. There was a special thrill in knowing the ghost boy’s name but it’s not like she was going to be around to tell anyone. It was scary, to think of not existing but also sort of comforting, like a long nap with nothing pressing to get up for.

“Can you tell them that I love them, in my place? I know it’s a lot and I’m sure you’re super busy saving the town and everything-”

"It’s not a problem. I’m sure they know but I’ll be happy to pass on the message,” he smiled and it made him look so young. For a second she was struck by how sad it was that she was relying on a kid a decade younger than her for support. But he was here and he was kind and he was what she needed right now. Maybe one day, he’d have his own person talking him through this last step. 

“Okay, Danny, thanks really. For talking, for staying. I’m scared but I, I think I’m ready.” She closed her eyes and squeezed his hands tightly. “Do you, will it hurt?”

“No,” he said, his voice warm despite his inherent chill. “No, Sydnee. No, the hurting is all over now. All you have left ahead of you is peace. Thank you for all that did, you’ll be missed.”

“I’ll see you on the other side. Goodbye.” The world faded to a pinprick, consumed by light. The last thing she saw before she went into it was a stranger’s smile. 

XxX

“Here’s the last,” Phantom said solemnly, delicately setting a broken body he’d carried out of the dilapidated building and on the sidewalk next to the others. “This is Sydnee Tanner, she was the only employee in the store at the time. She has cats at home who will need taking care of. Her dad works at Duke’s Car Services along with siblings and a boyfriend.”

“Don’t know how you know all that but thanks for getting these folks out,” Sheriff Newton sighed. “Damn shame. Keep up the good work kid, we’ll save the next ones for sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some rather unhappy news to break to several people.”

“Do you mind if I tag along? I have a few messages I need to pass on.”

[tefilovesreading]

It’s a match! Part. 1

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem!Reader

Word count: +1,7k

Warnings: language, mention of alcohol.

A/N: This is a mini series, I’m not sure how many parts it’s gonna have and there’s gonna be some texts in between. LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED. 

Edited by: @theamazingtomholland

MASTERLIST // PART 2 // PART 3

She felt her hands start sweating as she saw the small circle slowly filling up, letting her know that the app was being downloaded. She knew what a dating app was, how it worked and what was its purpose, but never created her account, not that she needed it before because she had a boyfriend. Her roommate, on the other hand, was well acquainted with dating apps, and they’d spent nights swiping through the profiles together. 

Now that she was single for the first time since she graduated from high school, her roommate and best friend had convinced her to download Tinder and have fun.

“You don’t even have to go and meet the guy, Y/N,” Jo had said with a beaming smile to encourage her when they met for coffee earlier that day, “just have a look and see if you find someone you’d want to talk to.”

She nibbled on her lip when the circle filled up entirely and the icon appeared on her screen, bright and inviting. Putting her phone down, she decided she’d create her account later, for now, downloading it was more than enough.

In her sophomore year, she broke up with her boyfriend because they couldn’t find time to be together, too busy with classes, exams, and part-time jobs. But that didn’t last long, ‘cause they got back together after three weeks. 

Those three weeks ignited a spark in her, suddenly things were more exciting to her, and she didn’t feel like she was acting how others expected her to. Y/N felt a kind of freedom that made her go on a date with her co-worker, sure they just went for a coffee together once and decided that they were better off as friends, but that small rejection made her want to make that spark disappear.

Being with Lance made things easier, they knew each other since they were little, and that meant she didn’t have to open up to let him know her flaws and fears, because he knew her like the palm of his hand. Being with him made her feel safe, even when they were apart during his first year of college since she was a year younger than him and was still in high school when he left for college, but that safety net vanished when Lance decided he wanted to spend time overseas after he graduated from college. And it was useless to wait for him if he wasn’t even sure he wanted to come back.

Eight months later, Y/N felt that spark reigniting again, making her feel like she was missing something. Ever since Lance left, she spent too much time afraid to put herself out there. How can you let someone into your life and trust them to not hurt you? After all, she trusted Lance for so long just to get hurt because they didn’t want the same things, and their paths went in different ways. But Y/N knew she couldn’t hide much longer, she wanted to go out, have fun, go on dates and meet new people, she just didn’t know how to start.

Her phone vibrated with a new notification from her best friend, and she snorted at her text.

Jo: Any matches yet heartbreaker???

If only Jo knew she still wasn’t able to bring herself into making an account. Maybe she could choose the pictures first, plan her bio, and then create it. Planning that out was definitely better than staring at the app icon.

Y/N: Not yet, but I’ll let you know ;)

After an hour of scrolling through her photos, Y/N chose five pictures where she looked decent. Hell, she looked really hot in one or two of those, and she wasn’t going to act as if that wasn’t true.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself after her account was finally set up. 

It was a strange feeling swiping through the profiles, reading their bios, and rolling her eyes at some of them. But after a few minutes, she started enjoying it, not even feeling bad if she didn’t match with a guy.

She smiled at the simple bio on her screen and swiped right, not even bothering to go through his other photos. He was cute, he seemed like he liked to have fun, and even though he was cute, he was also hot. A dangerous mix, but a really nice one.

It’s a match!

“Honey I’m home!” her best friend sang, entering  the living room.

“Shit Jo!” Y/N scolded the girl, “you scared me.”

“Why?” Jo faked an offended look, “were you sending dirty messages or something?”

“Oh shut up,” Y/N said, handing her phone over to her friend with a sheepish smile on her face, “check out my last match.”

“Okay, so he likes outdoor activities, he plays the guitar, and he has a cute smile,” her friend listed, swiping through his photos, “what are you waiting for, Y/N? Send him a message!”

“I was actually waiting for him to send one first,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up, “you know I suck with conversations over chat.”

“But what if he’s waiting for you to talk to him, and you don’t do it,” Y/N looked at her friend and knew she was already making up a whole movie in her head, about how they could be soulmates, but they would never know if she didn’t send him a text.

“Fine!” She huffed and took her phone from her friend’s hands, “Do I send him a hello or what?”

“No, that’s too dry,” Jo replied, “you should ask him about where he took that picture, the one where he’s in the snow.”

She bit her bottom lip to distract herself from the fact that she felt as if her stomach was tied up in knots. He was really cute, and she had a good feeling about him, almost as if the universe was telling her to go for it, meet up with him and have fun.

Hesitating at first, she let her finger hover over the little “send” button for a few seconds, before pressing the screen and sending the text.

Y/N: Hey! Where did you take the first pic? The place looks great

“What now?” Jo looked at her with one of her eyebrows arched.

“We wait, you idiot.”

“I need to do something,” Y/N locked her phone and got up, “if I stay on that couch waiting for a reply I’m gonna end up with no nails.”

“I did your nails last night, Y/N, don’t ruin my work,” Jo complained, “why don’t you cook dinner today?, and I’ll wash the dishes, so you can text with that guy if he replies to you by the time we’re done eating.”

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that it was your turn, Jo” she pointed out but made her way to the kitchen anyway, “and you better wash, dry, and put the dishes back in the cabinets.”

Cooking was the perfect distraction, and the glass of wine she drank while they were eating helped her loosen up just enough to check her phone without feeling like she was getting back some important results.

Charlie: It’s in Canada Charlie: Sulphur Mountain Trail! Charlie: I like your smile btw

She smiled with excitement when she opened the app and saw those three messages, and just as she was about to respond, Charlie sent another one.

Charlie: How was your day??  Y/N: It was good, pretty relaxing actually Y/N: Yours?? Charlie: Great! I went hiking with a friend, so now I’m just chilling at home Y/N: I’m assuming you’re into hiking, don’t you??? Charlie: Hahaha yeah you’re right Charlie: I guess I enjoy being outside, it keeps my mind occupied

Y/N: I get it, I’m not really into outdoor activities Y/N: I mean Y/N: I don’t mind going on a hike once in a while, but I prefer reading, painting, or playing some music  Y/N: To keep my mind occupied 

Five texts in a row. Was that too much? She didn’t want to appear intense, but she also didn’t want to send just one massive text and type it for way too long.

Charlie: You play an instrument?? Charlie: I love music Y/N: Yeah I play the piano Y/N: I just don’t have one with me now, so I haven’t played in a while Charlie: Oh! That sucks! Charlie: When I moved here I think I packed my guitars first and then the rest of my stuff

Y/N let out a soft laugh at his text, he did seem like the kind of guy to pack random stuff before things that he might actually need. She should’ve done the same, she missed playing the piano, and now that she was miles away from her parents’ house it wasn’t like she could just go and play. Especially because she didn’t even know how to drive a car.

Y/N: Should’ve done the same if I’m honest Y/N: Where are you from? You said you moved here

After reading his answer to her last question, she groaned in embarrassment because it was the most obvious answer, and yet she didn’t notice it.

Charlie: I’m Canadian

She lost track of time talking to him about things they both enjoyed doing, what was their favorite movie, favorite musician, and to her surprise it was so easy to talk to him about small things like that could help you a lot to get to know another person. Y/N got startled when Jo touched her shoulder to get her attention.

“I’m off to bed, babe,” Y/N dodged when her friend tried to ruffle her hair as if she was a little kid, “don’t go to bed too late.”

“I won’t mom,” she replied jokingly, “sweet dreams, Jo.”

With a heavy sigh, Y/N typed a message, telling him that she needed to get some rest and that she was hoping they could keep talking the next day.

Charlie: Do you mind if I ask you for your number?? Charlie: I’d love to call you or FaceTime with you if you’re okay with that

“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered, wishing her best friend hadn’t gone to bed already. Of course, she wanted to give him her number, but was she supposed to give her number to the first guy she talked to on Tinder? “fuck it, I’m doing it.”

Y/N sent him her number and after telling him goodnight, she closed the app and got ready for bed. She really had a good feeling about this whole thing, and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was, because the feeling started even before they even matched. 

Maybe it was just fate doing its work.

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

Alone | Tsukishima Kei/Reader

Characters: Tsukishima Kei, Reader, Sawamura Daichi, Sugawara Koushi

Pairings: Tsukishima Kei/Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating

Word Count: 893

Summary: This doesn’t really have a summary, just something I wrote when I was feeling alone

A/N: I haven’t had any motivation to write anything lately, so I’m slowly working through that. But! I figured I could post this instead, something I put on AO3 just over a month ago (literally 8 days before I broke up with my boyfriend so as you can see, baby noodles was in her feels)

------

You were alone, and that was okay, you were used to being alone.

There were always times when you didn’t feel alone, and there were times you were suffocated by your sadness. Despite being in darkness, you still look for the light, even in your husband, Tsukishima.

You didn’t know when you two started to grow apart, you were so happy in high school, you were alive and filled with love. And then slowly, so slowly, things started to change. Maybe it was because he said ‘I love you’ just a little less, or when his eyes didn’t linger on yours after a kiss, or maybe it was when you started to see the marks on his neck after he’d come home late; you were hopeful, but you weren’t stupid.

Some nights you wondered what you were waiting for; there wasn’t going to be any grand gesture that could change his mind, so why were you still here? Why did you bother setting up a candlelit dinner on your anniversary?

Maybe it was your last hurrah. Giving him a chance to prove that he did still love you. Giving you something, anything to work with.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as the door echoed throughout the home - he was late, the first time in a year you’d asked him to be on time and he couldn’t even do that. You didn't try to hide your disappointment as he sat down opposite you, not even looking bothered by your tears.

“Happy anniversary.” You mumbled, standing up, dinner untouched.

His fork froze in the air, meeting your eyes for a second before he returned the gesture. It was empty. Everything he said had no meaning.

You’d tried to talk to his friends, but they said that was just how he was. That he didn’t show much love to those things he cared about. They were blissfully unaware of everything. And yet you couldn’t hate them. You couldn’t hate him. But you knew being alone, truly alone, was better than pretending you were okay.

The divorce papers were heavy in your hands, taunting you of everything you were. You’d always wanted to be a married once type of woman, and maybe that would be true, you doubted you could heal from this. But wounds heal.

“I got you a present.” You gently placed them next to his plate - he barely glanced at them, carrying on eating your food.

That was your sign. You moved throughout the house, once happy memories long vanished into a thick tension. Your room made your heart ache, you’d cry by his side as he slept peacefully, blissfully ignorant to you. Legs were heavy, the eggshells you walked on broke beneath your feet as you started to pack up your clothes.

You lightly stroked the front cover to your photo album that held the times where you were so pure, too innocent, in love and naive. You knew that soon the smile would fade on your lips, you’d be surrounded by people, but alone.

You tried not to react when he came into the bedroom and sat next to you, the papers in his hand. If you were honest, you’d expected more of a fight. “Are you sure?” He asked, voice shaking lightly as you opened the photo album, dropping tears on its contents.

“Yes.” A lump formed in your throat.

“Okay…” he was quiet, watching you with tender eyes as you ran your hands over his smiling face. That once warm smile would soon be good. 

“If only we had known,” you said, brushing away the tears. Looking up to meet his eyes. You’d expected sadness, and maybe there was, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to try and search for something that wouldn’t help. You reached a hand up, cupping his cheek, teasing your heart. He closed his eyes, reminiscing about the first time you did this. He’d felt such a joy that day; now he just felt nothing. “I used to tell myself we would be okay, that we’d get over this, or I’d listen to your friends when they said this is just how you were.” He opened his eyes again, some sadness trickling in them.

“I know.” He sighed. There was a moment of silence before you dropped your hand and he spoke again, “I wanted to love you.” His grip on the papers was tight, crinkling the edges. You hummed, smiling softly.

“I know.”

He didn’t try to stop you as you finished packing away your things. He stood by your side as you called Daichi to come pick you up. He walked you to the door when he arrived, holding you once more, it almost made you stay. But you pulled back; he held on for a second longer before dropping his arms.

As Daichi drove you back you held back your break down, he put on music to distract you, and for that you’re so grateful.

You broke down in Suga’s arms, finally confessing everything that had been happening. They were so disappointed in themselves that they hadn’t tried to help, that they hadn’t listened to you. But you didn’t blame them. They were just doing what they thought was right. How could you hold that against them?

You lay in the guest room that night.

This time, you were truly alone.

------

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[binxyu]

He was obsessed with the beauty of colors. Even if he could not see them without you, he adored the way they showed up on his canvas. His biggest fear was losing them and, with that, you. Too bad his biggest fear came true...

>>Pairing: Park Seonghwa (dom) x fem!reader (sub) ft. Jung Wooyoung | artist!seonghwa x photographer!reader

>>Word Count: 4.8k

>>Genre: Mini Series (Pt.2) / Requested / Smut & Angst

>>Warnings/Kinks: Arguments, begging, breast play, cumplay, fingering, hair pulling, marking, photographed nudity, praise, public sex/exhibitionism, size kink, spitting, and unprotected sex

<- previous part

The museum felt so dull and empty without Seonghwa’s works in them. It had been months and you had yet to see one new work from the artist.

You knew you should’ve moved on by now, especially due to your photography career soaring.

Everything was going perfectly. Everything but your love life.

Wooyoung was now just your friend and the person you thought was your soulmate was no where to be found.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized you missed Seonghwa’s touch and the spark it brought to your skin more than the color of his eyes. You just missed him.

Now, you were realizing that maybe colors weren’t as essential as you thought.

The auction had started hours ago in that same museum, your photographs up for sale among many art pieces. You had been struggling so much after your soulmate’s disappearance that your rent was way past due and the only option was to sell your work.

And what shocked you the most was that your old photographs were selling much faster than your new ones. The old ones that were entirely in black and white.

As you looked at them, truly analyzing everything about them, you realized why. Those photographs were candid, an ethereal way of showing your pain.

While they were dull to you, they told a narrative to everyone else.

“So, can you pay your bills now?”, a smile spread across your lips when you heard the familiar voice, turning around to see Wooyoung standing there.

He looked good. A suit on to hug his curves and his soulmate clinging to his arm. They really were perfect for each other.

Basically, the story of the two was that they were tied to one another by red strings and they had found each other while you were with Seonghwa.

It made you sorrowful when you realized that meant Wooyoung had known the entire time you weren’t meant to be together, but those feelings quickly disappeared when you saw how happy he was.

“Yeah, I might even have some money leftover for groceries”, you grinned and Wooyoung shook his head, patting your’s as he stared at the final photograph you had left after the auction was over.

It was your most recent work and you knew it was probably too dispirited to catch anyone’s attention. Yet, you still brought it with you. The meaning of the photograph was too important to not bring it along with you.

In the photograph, you were there with your back to the camera surrounded by items that you believe represented how heartbreak felt. The light of the sun was shining through the window on your curled up form and it looked awfully dull the more you looked at it.

A loveless life is dull.

“Buy yourself a nice meal then. Wait, get a good meal and then travel. You’ve been in Seoul your whole life. Maybe it’s time to get out of here for a while”, you had actually given that some thought. What was even keeping you here? Was it the idea that maybe you’d get Seonghwa back?

“I’ll plan a trip to Jeju soon. I’ve always wanted to take photos of the ocean there”, Wooyoung grinned from your words, thinking you were finally moving on with your life. The trip was more of a distraction than anything else, but it wasn’t entirely a lie. You had always wanted to take photos there.

“Want help getting the most affordable tickets? I know a guy”, there was that business man you had dated before. Wooyoung traveled all the time so of course he could find the most affordable pricing.

“No, I’m going to do this on my own. Thank you though. I’ll see both of you again soon”, the woman and Wooyoung nodded, giving you a small wave as you moved to leave the museum, your photo tucked in your bag to keep it safe.

However, something caught your eye and had you rooted to the floor.

There, hidden behind some of the tarps for the auction was a new painting. One with the initials PS on it.

You quickly moved to take a look, noticing quickly the familiar beauty and chaos that was your soulmate’s art style. In the center there was a girl and you immediately knew it was you.

Holding up your photo, it was almost an exact replica. The only distinct difference was that Seonghwa’s painting had hope in it. It was just another painting to everyone else, but you realized quickly that the tiny painting painted on the wall in the art was the one you made together.

Except, it seemed glued together. Like it had been ripped to spreads only to be put back together like a puzzle.

“Oh, Seonghwa. I’m so sorry”, before you could stop yourself, your fingers were tracing the painting, memorizing every edge. It was so despairing aside from that glued painting.

You snapped out of it and forced yourself to leave, slipping your photo back into your bag as you tried to contain your tears.

The walk to your apartment wasn’t a long one. You had purposely chosen one close to that museum because you knew that was where you belonged.

You opened the door, greeted by Bruce, your tiny Pomeranian you had been given. Wooyoung’s soulmate believed he was the key to getting over your loneliness and, while you loved the black and white fluffy dog, you weren’t exactly sure if that was true.

He barked and you crouched down to pet his head, watching as he smiled and tilted his head just so you could scratch the perfect spot. A laugh fell from your lips as you moved to sit down on your bed, setting up your computer on your lap.

“Want to go to Jeju with me?”, Bruce just barked and you took that as a definite yes.

Your plane had landed a few hours ago and you had quickly found your way to the beach once all of your belongings were in the hotel you were staying in.

Bruce walked beside you as the wind blew through your hair, the sound of the waves filling your ears.

As you approached the middle of the beach, you saw a man painting along the shoreline. His brush moved in quick strokes along the canvas as he stared out at the ocean.

It made you smile seeing someone else so deeply into art here.

Then, you realized why he had chosen this spot to paint.

The sun was setting and it was right at the spot the artist was looking at. The vast array of colors was right above the ocean.

You instinctively got out your camera and took a photo of it. You looked at the shot to see that you had accidentally gotten the artist in it and, while it did add some depth, you refused to take photos of others without permission.

As your finger hovered over the delete button, you felt eyes on you. You looked up to see the artist staring at you, your world suddenly going grey.

“Seonghwa?”, the name felt paradoxical. It was filled with sadness but also happiness.

The man’s eyes found your’s and both of your worlds were colorless.

Bruce tugged on the leash, snapping you out of whatever trance you were in.

“I missed you”, his voice croaked, tears welling up in his eyes as he looked you over. While he couldn’t see the color of your skin or the rosiness of your cheeks, he could tell you were doing well. You were healthy and that was all that mattered.

“Sorry”, it was all you could get out from the emotions clouding your thoughts. You turned to walk away, gripping the leash in your hand tighter as you tried to quickly get away.

You yelped when Bruce started running back, pulling you along with him until you were standing so unbearably close to Seonghwa. Your chest was almost touching his as your dog rubbed against his leg.

“Why are you trying to run again?”, you looked down at the sand below you. Seonghwa could finally see you in all your glory as the colors came back since you weren’t looking.

The only thing he couldn’t do was look into your eyes. That’s what he wanted most.

“I’m tired of running so I get it’s cowardly, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m just so confused”, you spoke honestly and looked up, trying to be brave and finally face your problems. Especially when the main one was right in front of you.

“I think I found some answers. I’m going to assume you saw my painting”, of course he would know you did. His painting flooded your head and you were thankful you took the time to memorize all its bold features.

“I did. Our painting?”, it felt wrong to say our in reference to the painting you two made while you were in love. It wasn’t like it was in your studio.

“Do you know why I glued it back together?”, you searched his eyes for an answer other than hope but you could not find one.

“Hope?”, Seonghwa chuckled and put his hands gently on your shoulders, looking for any sign that he should remove them before he continued.

“More than that, I found answers. It was a test. A test we sadly failed at first, but maybe there’s hope to pass it now”, Seonghwa bent over and picked up Bruce to keep him calm, petting the puppy’s head as he waited for your response.

“What test?”, the artist smiled and your heart swelled at how hopeful it was. He really wanted this to work.

“It’s a rare test that some people with our connection have to go through. We have to look past the outside and into the inside. Basically, we have to keep loving without the colors”, it seemed so simple coming from the man’s mouth. He seemed so excited and, yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about the ifs.

“Will we be able to see colors again? I don’t want to take that from you”, it was true. You could make it without them because your black and white photos sold faster than your colored ones but Seonghwa needed those colors in his paintings. He needed those brilliant shades in his work.

“Some got it back and others didn’t, but I can do without them as long as you’ll look at me”, his voice dripped with aggressive honesty, no room for argument on your side. You nodded as you let the information seep into your mind.

“Let’s start with this”, he pointed at Bruce and the dog licked his cheek, making you giggle. Seonghwa grinned when he heard the noise. He may have missed that most of all.

“That’s my son Bruce. My friend gave him to me”, you pat the dog’s head and Seonghwa nodded, stroking the puppy’s back before he set him back down on the sand.

“Try painting?”, the question made your head spin as you looked over at the easel, shaking your head immediately.

“I’m definitely not a painter. That looks way too good to ruin”, Seonghwa shook his head and took your free hand in his, walking you towards the place his art supplies were. There it was, that spark that went through you when you touched.

“If I do this then I get to teach you how to take a proper photo”, you put your pinky out and his hearty laugh made your cheeks turn redder, not that he could tell.

“Deal”, his pinky wrapped around your own and that was a promise made. The first of many.

“Okay, pick up a brush and let’s start”, you looked down at the many brushes along the bottom of the easel and you just grabbed one. You have never painted before and it really showed.

“Maybe not the biggest one I have”, he chuckled and took the big brush out of your hand, getting a much smaller one and putting it into your hand.

“Okay, lets try to paint around the sun”, Seonghwa gestured first to the painted sun he made and then the real one across the ocean. He purposely looked away so you could see the colors, forcing himself to keep his eyes off of you.

You collected a little bit of the lavender-tinted paint on his palette and started to paint. Seonghwa looked over at the canvas and chuckled, watching how messy you were making it.

“Like this”, he came up behind you and his big hand encased your’s, guiding you to smooth out the paint. His chest was pressed against your back and the last time you two painted together came back, causing your hand to shake a little nervously.

“You’re doing well. Don’t be nervous”, Seonghwa smiled and you should’ve known he would’ve thought your shakiness was because of the painting. Well, it was but not this specific painting.

“Okay, do we move onto the next color now?”, the man answered with a simple “yes” and he let go of you. While he enjoyed being so close to you, he did want to see you do it yourself.

You did exactly what Seonghwa had done before but with orange this time, the color reminding you of a tangerine as your brush moved across the canvas.

“It’s simple when you get used to it”, that comment made you laugh, turning to look at the man.

“Seonghwa... this is a sunset. The shit you paint is much more complex”, you shook your head and went back to painting despite the lack of color now there. He was staring at you.

“Did we go too fast? Is that why this happened?”, your eyebrows furrowed as you thought about it. You two really did go fast. As soon as you had found out your destiny, you dropped everything and ran off with Seonghwa despite not knowing much about each other.

“Do you think it’s a trick to get us to get to know one another?”, it sounded ridiculous coming out of you, but it did make sense.

“Probably. Does that mean nothing is wrong? We can still be together?”, you grimaced at the overly complicated question.

“I don’t know. We’ll figure that out I suppose”, you tried to get around giving him a definite answer because you truly didn’t know. The whole situation was so confusing and you had to curse the universe in your head.

The rest of your painting was silent. Seonghwa played with Bruce in the sand as you focused on the art. You were slowly realizing why the man loved painting so much.

It was peaceful and away from the harsh reality around him. He could create whatever world he wanted on this little canvas and there was no limits. No limits like you had created.

“Pretty good for your first go”, Seonghwa commented as he looked over your work. It was a tad bit more messy than if he had done it but it was impressive.

“I have a good teacher”, you teased and smiled, feeling proud of doing something out of your comfort zone.

Your entire life had been a routine of activities and places you were familiar with. Now, the world felt boundless. That’s how Seonghwa made you feel.

“Well, it’s your turn to be teacher now”, the man poked your side and you would’ve did it back if Bruce wasn’t desperately pulling on the leash.

“Come with us? I can once Bruce is back in the hotel. He’s tired of the outside now”, you chuckled as the puppy barked at you as if to agree. Seonghwa nodded and walked beside you down the beach and down the path to your hotel.

Once the dog was back in your room, you followed behind Seonghwa. He had mentioned a beautiful hiking trail not too far from here. You were realizing that he had probably been here the whole time. Maybe you weren’t the only one who had run away.

“So, what is your favorite animal?”, your head turned to look at the man, the question making you laugh softly. It was true that you didn’t know that about each other. Maybe this walk would be good to actually know one another.

A scream tore through your throat when you were thrown into the lake, your clothes clinging to your wet body.

You glared when your head returned to the surface, the freezing water biting at your skin. Seonghwa just laughed, waving your camera in the air like it’s just some flimsy piece of paper.

“Be careful with that!”, you scolded him and he immediately stopped, like a puppy that was found eating the furniture.

“Sorry sorry, but look how good it turned out!”, you swam over to the rock below him, leaning up on it like a mermaid peering up at her human prince.

He crouched down and showed you the photo. It was a photo of the exact moment your body had penetrated the water, the waterfall right behind you. It was beautiful.

“Now who’s the good teacher?”, you teased and Seonghwa moved to lay on the rock, looking into your eyes.

“You are. I genuinely love photography now”, he chuckled and it felt like the world had stopped as you look into each other’s eyes.

“It’s a screenshot but for reality”, you giggled and lifted yourself up with your hands, placing a little kiss on his forehead.

“Do you have anything I can change into?”, you asked as you realized your shirt was doing very little to cover your upper body now.

“Just take this”, he helps you out of the water and respectfully turns around, taking his hoodie off and passing it to you.

You put the hoodie on and it engulfed your smaller form, going down to your knees because of how oversized it was.

“Okay, you can look now”, Seonghwa nodded and turned around to face you, trying to hide his smile when he saw how adorable you looked.

“Ready to go back? It’s probably midnight now”, Seonghwa motioned to the moon shining above the trees. You stood there staring at it for a moment before you nodded, letting the man take your hand in his as he guided you along the path.

It was your last day in Jeju, a daunting knowledge that had you awake before even the sun rose. It had already been a week but you didn’t feel like it was enough time.

Your feet sinked into the sand as you hurried to try to get a clear photo of the sunrise.

You eventually found a bolder to set up on, sitting on the cold surface once your camera was out. It was so peaceful but also eerily quiet.

Well, until a certain someone found you.

“Hey, come to see the sunrise too?”, Seonghwa came to sit by you, his arm wrapped around you as if you were going to fall off the rock.

“Yeah, I was wondering how beautiful it must be if the sunset is as gorgeous as it was”, you nodded and felt a weight on your shoulders, the need to get everything out. To figure it out.

“Last day, huh? Aren’t you leaving in the morning?”, Seonghwa watched you nod and he pouted, that cute little pout that made your heart melt.

“Yeah. Actually, why don’t you come back with me?”, you looked at him, hope in your eyes ever present.

“I would but my friend is sick here. I have to be here”, so he didn’t run off. He was running to help someone in need.

You nodded understandingly, your mind trying to come up with something but only silence filled the air.

“Hey, before you leave, I wanted to ask something. Was there anything I could’ve said back then to make you stay?”, you knew what he was referring to. After the colors left, you had run off and drove to your apartment, not even looking back.

“Honestly... no. I was so confused and scared. I just wanted you to have it all and if that meant breaking your heart then I was okay with it”, a sigh left your lips, feeling guilt fill your stomach.

“I think I would rather be completely blind then lose you again”, the confession caught you off guard and you turned your entire body to face him.

“Like I’d ever let that happen”, you shook your head and Seonghwa cupped your face in his hands, looking over every feature he could. He wanted to remember it all when you were gone.

“Like I’d let you stop me”, he was so serious that it made you gulp, your heart pounding against your chest. He leaned in and finally closed the gap between you, his lips molding with your’s perfectly. Sparks erupted through both of your bodies and it caused your body to shake as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

His hands trailed down to your waist, waiting for any protest from you before he moved them to your ass, squeezing the skin under your panties. The dress you were wearing did the bare minimal of protecting your lower body from the man’s hands. Not that you minded one bit.

Seonghwa pulled away from the kiss, looking up at you as he pulled you into his lap. His expression was filled with so much raw emotion, nothing hidden.

“Do you want this? Do you want us?”, the second question lingered in your mind. How would this work? You had no idea. Especially when he was stuck on this island, but you knew what you wanted.

“Yes, I want you, Seonghwa. But, you have to keep painting. I need to see your work in the museum”, Seonghwa chuckled and nodded, pecking your lips as he snuck his finger into your panties, moving it up and down your slit to collect your wetness.

“Here’s the catch though, you’ll have to go to other museums to see them. Get out there, princess”, you huffed in annoyance and the man smiled teasingly. After a week, the black and white world became comforting. It was simply a sign that Seonghwa was only looking at you.

Maybe the world was black and white because colors would only distract you two from what mattered. It wasn’t how brown Seonghwa’s eyes were. It was how caring he was or how he made you laugh. That’s what is important.

Seonghwa pushed two of his fingers inside of you, scissoring your cunt open as his other hand lifted your dress up to reveal your breasts. He almost wanted to scold you for wearing no bra, but your breasts looked way too perfect under the moonlight for him to care.

A whimper sounded in your throat when his fingers started to hit that spot inside of you and you felt a cold substance on your chest. In the center of your torso, Seonghwa had spit and his tongue was now trailing up it to your breasts. His lips wrapped around the bud and sucked, only furthering your pleasure as you rocked your hips against his fingers.

It felt so perfect and right. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces and it oddly reminded you of the painting you two had made together. Glued together like a puzzle.

“You’re so beautiful and smart. You’re just amazing, okay?”, it was definitely more of a statement than a question but you nodded, a vibrant smile on your face. With Seonghwa, every insecurity felt minuscule. Nothing mattered but how you both felt with your bodies against each other.

“And you’re just as amazing”, a soft moan mixed with the words and that only made it more impactful. Only he could have you making those sounds.

“You want more?”, the gentleness of his voice made a shiver run up your spine. Not even the openness of your actions could bother you.

“Please, give me more”, he read your meaning loud and clear, taking his fingers out of you. It felt so empty without them there but you knew something better was coming.

He unzipped his pants, letting your dress fall back down. He pulled his jeans and boxers down, letting his cock free and your mouth practically watered at the sight.

He moved your panties too the side, in too much of a hurry now that the sun was finally riding. You spread your legs and sunk down onto his dick, your head falling back blissfully as it stretched you out.

“Shit, I forgot how big you are”, you whined, moving your head into his neck and he licked the skin of your neck before he started to suck on it. Without his real canvas here, he would have to recreate the artwork you two had made on your skin.

“And i forgot how tight you are. Wait, let me make sure”, you could practically hear the teasing tone in his voice as he bottomed out in you. His hand moved to lift your dress up a little, showing off the bulge in your tummy.

“There it is. Look how good you take it”, Seonghwa sounded so proud as he stared at it, moving his hips a little just to watch the bulge move.

“I only will take your cock. Only your’s”, it was so validating to hear you say that as your hands found their way into his hair, running through the messy locks, “you can move, baby”.

He didn’t need to be told twice, his hips moving up and down as you bounced on his cock. The angle from being on top had you already moaning, joyful tears welling up in your eyes as bliss overtook your body.

“Princess, look”, neither of your paces faltered as you turned your head to look at the sunrise. You smiled once you saw all the colors surrounding the sun. Light shun upon your bodies slowly and the warmth felt amazing.

“Wait! The photo!”, you looked over at your camera which was sitting beside you and you stopped bouncing to grab it.

“No, let me”, Seonghwa smirked and took the camera, holding it out to your side. Your bodies were perfectly in view of the lens and you blushed as he took the photo, your naked bodies now in your camera roll.

“Now, whenever you look at a sunrise you’ll think of me”, he grinned and you playfully slapped his chest before you took the camera and took an appropriate picture of the sunrise.

You put the camera down and looked at the man again, his eyes meeting your’s.

“Hwa...”, your voice faltered when you saw something unfamiliar.

Orange. Purple. Red.

Right on your soulmate’s skin.

“You- you see it too?”, the sunlight shining on both of your skin was now visible even if you were looking at one another.

“Yes! Fuck, you’re so pretty”, you couldn’t help but say, tears spilling down your cheeks as you took in everything about him again. The gentle tan of his skin, his rosey lips, and even the color of his veins.

Seonghwa’s thumbs gently wiped away your tears before he tugged on your hair to bring your lips to his, his hips slowly beginning to move again. You moaned in his mouth, rolling your hips to meet his as you felt his dick rub against your walls.

“I love you”, you whispered against his lips as you felt your orgasm building up. Seonghwa smiled, a beautiful smile you had missed in all its glory.

“I love you too”, his cock twitched inside of you and he started to rub your clit, your pussy clenching around him in response to the stimulation.

“Cum together?”, you asked, resting your forehead against his as you tried to catch your breath.

“Be together? No matter the distance?”, you didn’t expect him to answer with more questions, but you knew your answer to them and you knew his answer to your question.

“Always”, you nodded before you felt your orgasm run through your body, clenching around the man as your cum coated his cock.

Seonghwa had the decency to pull out of you, releasing on your thighs and stomach. He really was going to make you his new canvas.

His fingers smeared the seed on as much skin as he could get to and you giggled, shaking your head.

“All I know is that you better answer every single one of my calls after this”, you became painfully aware of the vulnerability of being seen now. Seonghwa chuckled and gestured to the ocean.

“And you better get that cum off of your skin before the early birds get here”.