#It's silly! Nothing wrong with a bit of silliness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elixirfromthestars · 18 hours ago

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college au & friend to lovers, oh I’m so here for this!! 🥰🥰

More under the cut ᯓᡣ𐭩

The door swings open within seconds, revealing Bucky’s easy and bright grin. He leans against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, hair slightly tousled, perhaps from running his hands through it. God, he looks great.

^ He’s so pretty I can’t with this visual 😩💕💕

Bucky exhales a short sigh, but his smile stays in place. “Told you, it’s not a big deal.”

^ Excuse me, it was the day the love of my life was born so yes it’s a big deal 😌💖

But he doesn’t make much of his birthday. He doesn’t like attention when he hasn’t earned it.

^ Stooooooop 🥺🥺🥺

Which means you have been assigned a very specific task - keep Bucky in his apartment until it’s time.

^ Oh, I’m so curious to see how our reader will pull this off 👀✨

“No! Nothing’s wrong with ice cream.” You force a laugh, waving your hand dismissively. “I just figured we could chill here for a bit.” You bite your lip, then continue. “We could bake you a cake?” You would love to face-palm yourself right now. Why would you even say that?

^ I love our reader she’s so silly 😂🩷 I’m so bad at keeping secrets, I would’ve spilled the truth already 💀

Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, his own bottle loosely held in one hand, he tips his head back and studies you. “That how we’re playin’ it, huh?”

^ Yes sir 🙂‍↕️✨ these lips are sealed 🤐✨

“Is this me deciding?” he muses, voice smooth. “Or are you just gonna tell me no again?”

^ You cheeky little— 🙄💕

“But I need my lucky charm,” he laments, throwing his head back against the cushion as if this is some great tragedy.

^ If that man said that to me, best believe I’d say screw the assignments!!! My baby needs me 😭🩷🩷

Miss Nelly, the sweet older woman who lives next door to him and Steve. The one they always help carry groceries up the stairs. The one who has trouble with her hip sometimes. If Bucky thinks she might have fallen, or perhaps tried to carry something on her own, of course, he wants to check.

^ He’s such a sweetheart, it’s so endearing 🤧💖💖

You throw the door open and basically slam it shut behind you before he can follow.

^ lmao I love her 🤣🩷

Right outside, Sam and Steve are standing there - in front of the open door to Sam's apartment where a chair lays with its backside on the floor - wide-eyed, looking about as guilty as two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

^ these two silly little idiots are going to end up ruining the surprise 😅💀 it’s so funny imagining these two big muscular boys trying to sneak around and be stealthy 😂

“So you gotta do your part. Go back in and stall him some more” A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know - offer him a good time.”

^ I mean... I’m not objecting to that suggestion… 🙈💗💗

“No, doll.” His voice is lower now, thoughtful, putting together a puzzle in his head. “What’s going on with you?”

^ Our reader is soooooo much stronger than me I would’ve spilled so much already 💀

His expression shifts again, humor creeping into the smirk on his mouth. “Doll,” he starts, voice light, amused. His hands slide up to rest on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. “Did you plan somethin’ for me?”

^ OH— 🫣

Bucky’s expression softens immediately, his amusement fading into something quieter. He straightens up, tilting his head tenderly. His full attention is on you. A gentle crease in his brows forms. “Why are you nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, lower.

^ the way he softens up immediately ahhhhhhhh 😭🩷🩷🩷

“Because.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Because I think we need to talk.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. The entirety of Bucky shifts and you just want the ground to eat you up right this second. Because now he looks so worried. So genuinely concerned.

^ oh no girlie…why would you say that 💀 whenever someone tells me that my blood pressure SPIKES 😅

“You walked me all the way back to my apartment.” Your voice turns quieter as if you are speaking more to yourself than him. Perhaps you are. Saying those things out loud makes them seem so much more important. “And then you got sick for three days.”

^ As if I couldn’t fall more in love with him 😭💖💖 He’s such a sweetheart, it’s make me yearn for a guy like him 🤧💗💗 Like where can I find a guy that will give me his jacket in the rain and walk me to my apartment?? 😭🩷🩷

Bucky notices your struggles. He sees them. Plain on your face. His thumbs brush over your skin in careful strokes. “And you took such good care of me.” His tone lightens, trying to pull you out of whatever hole you’re sinking into. “Remember that part?”

^ And our reader took care of him??? 🩷🩷 These two silly little idiots in love, I need them to kiss!!!! 🙈💕

Or you could finally come clean about the feelings you have held in your heart for so long. Feelings for your best friend.

^ YES PLEASE 🫶🏼🫶🏼

You see heads peeking through the small gap, cautious, bodies frozen in an awkward crouch as if that makes them less noticeable. Steve and Sam. They are trying to slip in without a sound, their movements so unbelievably slow, exaggerated. They resemble cartoon characters sneaking through a heist.

^ not these two again 💀 what are they up to now?? 👀

“Kiss me,” you blurt, and it’s not soft, not sweet, not anything carefully planted - it’s desperate, panicked. Bucky’s whole face just goes wide, pure shock filtering out anything else. Another bump. You’re not sure Bucky even heard it, but your lips crash onto his with urgency. Bucky freezes. And when you say freeze, you mean freeze.

^ AHHHHHHHHHHHHH 🙈💖💖💖💖

He sinks into the kiss, his body softening, folding inward toward you. His fingers slide up your legs, brushing tenderly against the fabric of your pants before settling on your hips, cautious, like he doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want to take too much. Then, his lips move. It’s a slow, searching motion, testing the waters, trying to figure you out. His mouth is warm, his lips so much softer than you imagined. And hell, did you imagine.

^ what. a. kiss. 💗💗💗

His hands tighten, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you forward to the edge of the seat, into his chest, his grip growing needy, desperate. He seems to have been starving for this, like something in him has just broken loose. The kiss turns deeper, heavier, a push and pull of breath and movement. He kisses you with searching urgency, trying to memorize the exact shape of your mouth, the way you feel pressed against him, the way you taste.

^ I’m not okay 🫠💗💗💗💗💗

Your name is a breath that leaves his lips with the kind of care reserved for wishes made on falling stars. It sends another shudder through you, and his grin turns brilliantly wide. “That the present you were talkin’ about earlier?” he breathes, voice still hoarse, still dazed.

^ Yes. 🙂‍↕️✨ And if you want more I’m more than happy to give you more. 🤭💕💕

“Yeah, baby?” he drawls, and the way the new nickname rolls from his tongue so seamlessly makes your next inhale shatter midway, breaking into uneven pieces. You almost feel like choking.

^ YOU CAN’T JUST DROP THE PET NAME LIKE THAT AND EXPECT ME NOT TO GET ALL GIDDY 🤭💕💕💕💕

Tilting his head, Bucky feigns deep thought, but his eyes stay on you at all times. “Would that involve two idiots tryna sneak around behind my back?”

^ oh 😳 he knew all along?? 🫣

“You were actin’ all off from the beginning, doll. Knew somethin’ was up,” he states, voice a little softer, until he turns on his playful teasing voice again. “Flawless execution, sweetheart. Didn’t notice a damn thing.”

^ You cheeky menace 🙄💗💗💗

His expression gives way to something soft. He bites his lip again, before bringing your hands up and kissing them softly, twinkling bright blue eyes trained on you and the deep flush that spreads along your cheeks. Perhaps Bucky Barnes finally has a reason to start celebrating his birthday.

^ Yes he does 🥰 Oh, he most definitely does 🤭🩷

My lovely, I loved every second of reading this!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼 You already had me so hooked with the college au & friends to lovers, and then as I read more and more it gave me rom-com/sitcom vibes and it made me adore it even more!! 🥰🥰 Bucky is such a darling menace in this and our reader is so relatable, I absolutely loved the dynamic of these two so much!! 🥹💖💖Apologies for taking so long in getting around to read this, life & other personal stuff got in the way 🥺🩷 Your third entry is one of three of my final and most largest ones to read, and I promise to get around to it as soon as I can 🫶🏼🫶🏼 Thank you so much for participating multiple times in my writing challenge, it warms my heart so much to know you were inspired over and over again by it!! 🥹🩷🩷

Supposed Distraction

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: It’s Bucky’s birthday and you and your friends are planning a surprise party. That leaves you with the task to distract him while the others prepare.

Prompt 1: “I think we need to talk.”

Prompt 2: “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Prompt 3: “Kiss me.”

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: friends to lovers; reader is embarrassed and rather terrible at attempting to distract Bucky; Bucky is smug; Bucky is worried; Sam and Steve are idiots; feels; pining; tension; Bucky is a sweetheart

Author’s Note: This is another entry for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge by @elixirfromthestars ♡ I hope you’re not getting tired of me participating, my dear, but I couldn’t help it. Especially since you were the one inspiring me to write this about college!bucky. I'll have to thank you for that!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Masterlist

You always knock four times.

It’s instinctive at this point, muscle memory more than conscious thought. You don’t even remember when or how it started, but it's always fours knocks.

“Hey, doll,” he greets, voice warm. “You’re early.”

You arch a brow, stepping past him when he shifts to let you in. “It’s your birthday, Buck. What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone, huh?”

Bucky exhales a short sigh, but his smile stays in place. “Told you, it’s not a big deal.”

“‘Course it is, Buck,” you argue, almost indignant at the thought. Because if anyone deserves a day where people get to celebrate him, it’s James Buchanan Barnes.

But he doesn’t make much of his birthday. He doesn’t like attention when he hasn’t earned it.

It’s why he loves the mound, standing there under stadium lights with all eyes on him, but loathes things like this - birthdays, personal praise, anything that forces him into a spotlight just for existing. You suppose that’s just part of who he is.

You saw him earlier, in university. You shared one class today. He walked in a few minutes late, baseball cap pulled low, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

You had been waiting for him, barely able to contain your excitement as you nearly launched yourself at him in the hallway with a cheerful happy birthday, Bucky!

He had only blinked, slightly startled at your enthusiasm before huffing out a laugh when you crushed him in a tight hug. But he hadn’t complained, only chuckled softly, winding his arms around you and pressing his hands to your back, waiting for you to be the first to pull away again.

You told him he'd receive his present later the day with a grin and Bucky only rolled his eyes with a fond smile, letting you have your moment.

But what Bucky doesn’t know is that there is a surprise party awaiting him later, planned by you and your shared group of friends - because somebody has to make sure that today doesn’t pass like it is just another day.

Sam’s apartment is the only logical choice, given that his roommate dropped out and no one had rushed to fill the space yet. That means lots of room, plus an open invitation to make a mess.

The only issue is that Sam’s apartment is directly across the hall from Bucky and Steve’s.

Which means you have been assigned a very specific task - keep Bucky in his apartment until it’s time.

Not that you had much say in the matter. The moment the question came up about who would be the one distracting him that long, every pair of eyes landed on you.

You are his best friend, but - and that’s how you see it - so is everyone else. Still, they seemed to believe that you could hold his attention for long enough, that you could keep him engaged enough not to notice the shuffle of footsteps and suspicious voices beyond his door. That it would be you who he doesn’t mind having around, lingering in his space.

Honestly, you didn’t argue.

There is not a reason as to why you should. Any excuse to spend time with Bucky is a good one.

After all, you love the guy. But that’s a problem for another day.

You drop your bag on the worn-out armchair by the window, the same spot you always claim when you are here.

Bucky’s jacket is slung over the back of the chair, and the second your bag lands on it, the scent of his cologne drifts up - clean, something woodsy, something him. It distracts you for a second, but then you turn to face him again.

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans after closing the door again.

“Where’s Steve?” you ask casually, like you don’t already know he is across the hall, making sure everything is set up for the surprise. But you don’t know what he told Bucky.

“He said somethin’ about running some drills with the rookies, helping out the coach, or whatever,” Bucky answers, tilting his head in that unconcerned way. He slowly makes his way toward you. “Guess one of them nearly took his own damn head off trying to hit a curveball.”

One of your brows lifts amused. “And Steve’s the guy to fix that?”

Bucky smirks. “Well, y’know how he is. Someone fucks up a throw, suddenly he’s gotta be the one to teach ‘em how to do it right.” He shakes his head, like the whole thing is ridiculous.

“Yeah, sounds like Steve,” you state, trying to suppress a knowing smile.

You lean your hip against the kitchen counter, arms loosely crossed, trying to keep it casual. The apartment is small, with the kitchen bleeding into the living space, a single couch, and a coffee table taking up a lot of the room. You love it.

“So, what do you feel like doing?” You tip your head toward him. “You’re the birthday boy, you get to decide.”

Bucky scoffs, lips curling, finding your antics amusing. But then, he actually seems to consider it. His hands slip from his pockets, arms crossing as he leans back slightly against the table. His gaze falls to the window. Sunlight spills in, casting golden lines across the floor and making your hair gleam.

“You wanna go get some ice cream or somethin’?” he suggests. “It’s warm out.”

You blink, caught off guard. Bucky isn’t usually the one to propose going out. It takes a little coaxing most days, a push to get him moving and leave his apartment to meet your group of friends somewhere outside. You wonder what he would have said if anyone else were the one distracting him.

But you can’t take him up on it. Because you can’t let him leave and potentially find out.

“Uh-no,” you say, a little too quickly, a little too firmly.

Bucky’s brows lift, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “No?” He huffs a laugh, shifting his weight onto one foot, arms still folded. His voice takes on that slow, teasing drawl. “You just asked me what I wanna do, doll. Thought I got to decide? Y’know, birthday and all that.”

You just started this distracting thing and you are already messing up. Great.

You scramble for a way to walk it back, to keep him here without making it obvious. “Yeah, you know, I just-” You glance around as if the answer is hidden somewhere in the room. “Why don’t we stay inside?”

Bucky watches you, eyes narrowing just slightly, trying to puzzle you out. He doesn’t look suspicious. But there is a curiosity in it.

“Why?” he drags the word out, tilting his head. “Something wrong with ice cream? We could also go get some tacos maybe-”

You would love to face-palm yourself right now.

Why would you even say that?

There will be plenty of cake at the party. Cake that’s already been ordered, picked out, baked yourself, and waiting across the hall. And yet, here you are, offering something completely unnecessary, completely ridiculous.

God, you are terrible at this.

Bucky’s blue eyes are on you, considering, lips parting, about to say something.

Panic rises.

“Or not,” you blurt, stepping forward too fast, too sudden, hands coming up in a vague, dismissive gesture. “Yeah, maybe not. That’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”

You shift where you stand, fingers twitching at your sides. You don’t get nervous around Bucky - at least, not like this. But something hot and uncomfortable starts to creep up the back of your neck.

A slow smirk pulls at Bucky’s mouth as he watches you with so much amusement in his eyes, enjoying whatever the hell this is turning into.

“You alright over there, doll?” he asks, voice warm, teasing.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He tilts his head, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. “Cause you’re actin’ a little funny.”

You open your mouth, a retort or something like it ready, but Bucky suddenly leans in just a fraction, gaze sweeping over your face like he is searching for something. And yeah shit, you need to shut this down. Now. Or you’ll be a hot mess on the floor.

“Just forget it.” You shrug and then move away from him, toward the fridge, suddenly very interested in whatever’s inside. “You want something to drink?”

You don’t look back at him immediately, don’t give him a chance to see the way you feel your face warm up. Instead, you grab two small bottles of orange juice, shoving one in his direction as a distraction.

Bucky takes it easily, but that amused smirk does not waver a tiny bit. He is still watching you.

Bucky is no idiot. And if you’re not careful, he’s going to catch on fast.

You twist the cap of the bottle a little forcefully, the plastic groaning in your grip. The cold of it seeps into your palm, but it’s not enough to steady the way your heart is beating a little too fast. Taking a sip of the juice, you try to swallow past the lump in your throat.

He has always been observant. Even more so when it comes to you. You wish, just this once, that he'd be a little more dense.

“You gonna tell me what’s up with you today?” he asks, voice colored with curiosity, dipping just enough into concern that you flinch internally.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

It’s defensive, but all it does is amuse him. His lips curve, his brows shoot high, the lines on his forehead creasing in exaggerated surprise.

Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, his own bottle loosely held in one hand, he tips his head back and studies you. “That how we’re playin’ it, huh?”

You shrug, taking another sip of your juice, using the movement as an excuse to break eye contact. But you know it does not deter him.

Bucky makes a thoughtful noise, shifting his weight. “Y’know,” he drones out, tone lazy but eyes sharp and smirk sly. “Usually when people get all cagey like this, it means they’re hidin’ something.”

You shoot him a hopefully flat look. “Wow, Barnes. That’s some real detective work. You want to get a notepad? Maybe a magnifying glass?”

His smirk widens. He seems thoroughly entertained. You don’t like it.

“Depends,” he teases, leaning in just a fraction. “Do I need ‘em?”

Your pulse spikes. Bastard.

With an obvious eye roll that unfortunately lacks the conviction you tried to portray, you cross the room, shoulders set, and let yourself drop into the armchair where your bag still rests with a heavy thud. The cushions soften the impact. Trying to feign the usual comfort you feel sitting here, you tuck one leg under the other, leaning back. Your hands tighten around the still cold bottle of juice.

Bucky doesn’t move right away. He is still standing by the counter, bottle in hand, eyes never leaving you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you ask, reaching for the remote, already trying to steer this back into safe waters.

Bucky exhales through his nose, humor lining the corners of his eyes. His stance is easy and relaxed, but he looks at you like he knows something is off.

“Is this me deciding?” he muses, voice smooth. “Or are you just gonna tell me no again?”

There is no accusation in his tone, just that familiar Brooklyn drawl that makes everything sound like an inside joke.

He finally moves, dragging his body toward the couch. He doesn’t plop down like you did. He settles himself with intent and leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his entire focus trained on you like you are the most interesting thing in the room.

You swallow.

“You’ll get to decide,” you promise, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glances at the dark TV screen, then back at you.

“Nah,” he claims. “Let’s talk.”

Your stomach drops.

Bucky never lets things go when he is curious. You see the spark in his eyes, the glint of amusement, the way the corners of his mouth twitch with that smirk. He knows you are acting weird. Maybe he doesn’t know why, but he sure as hell knows something is up and he is going to dig.

You inhale deeply, fighting the urge to groan. But all you do is force a casual shrug, stretching your arms over your head before letting them drop back into your lap. “What do you want to talk about?”

Your fingers fidget with the label on the bottle, a nervous little movement you don’t mean to make. Bucky’s gaze flickers down to your hands and you freeze, immediately stilling them, letting the bottle rest in your lap and shoving your hands between your thighs.

His eyes snap back to yours, lips curving up.

“You,” he says simply.

You roll your eyes, feigning playful annoyance, because if you don’t, you might actually combust on the spot. “Oh, come on,” you scoff.

For the next few minutes, you actually manage to let a conversation drift to normal things. The familiar back-and-forth. You talk about classes, you being annoyed at that one professor who has a habit of trailing off mid-lecture, forgetting what he is actually supposed to talk about. Bucky tells you about his brutal morning training session that left half the team groaning like old men.

You bring up his next baseball game, the one you won’t be able to make because of an assignment, and Bucky whines.

He doesn’t just complain a little but rather goes on about it for minutes on end. Arms flailing, huffing dramatically, groaning like you just told him his dog died.

“You could just skip,” he protests, lounging back into the couch.

“I can’t just skip, Bucky.”

“But I need my lucky charm,” he laments, throwing his head back against the cushion as if this is some great tragedy.

You roll your eyes but there is warmth rising in your chest. “I’m sorry, Buck. But I did come to all your games last month.”

“Yeah, which is why you owe me,” Bucky retorts, sitting up again, gesturing with his hands. “I hit a homer 'cause you were there. What if I suck without you?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you laugh, but Bucky grumbles under his breath, not quite over it.

It starts to feel normal. Easy. You begin to believe that you might actually pull this off. That you can keep him here, keep him occupied, long enough for your friends across the hall to finish setting up.

But then a loud thump echoes from the hallway.

Your spine goes rigid.

Bucky’s head snaps up, his grin replaced with a furrowed brow.

Another thud.

Yeah, so, that was that.

You fumble for your phone and type out a quick text to Sam.

Y: What are you guys doing out there?

The reply comes almost immediately.

S: Just keep Barnes inside.

You would love to curse loudly right now. Because thank you for nothing, Sam.

Bucky is already standing.

“What are you doing?” you ask, standing up as well, your voice perhaps a little sharper than usual.

Bucky glances at you briefly. There is a tiny bit of concern in his eyes. “There’s something goin’ on out there.” He gestures toward the door. “Think I should check. Might be Miss Nelly.”

Something clenches in your gut.

But that is not what is happening out there.

You rush to step between him and the door. “Let me check.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You wait here, doll. I’ll be back in a sec-”

But you don’t let him finish.

You throw the door open and basically slam it shut behind you before he can follow.

Yes, that was perhaps a little rude. Yes, that will probably only make him more suspicious. Yes, you could have come up with something better. But you certainly did not have the time to think about what exactly.

You would have laughed at the sight if not for the fact that you just slammed Bucky’s own apartment door basically in his face without an explanation.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” you hiss, voice low, exasperated.

Sam lifts his hands in a calm down gesture. “Listen-”

“No, you listen,” you snap, whisper-shouting, barely resisting the urge to grab them by their collars and shake them. “He’s two seconds away from walking out that door.”

Steve grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “We, uh, we miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated?” you repeat, eyes narrowing.

They both exchange a glance.

You sigh in frustration. “Where’s Nat?”

“Out with Bruce getting drinks,” Steve answers, folding his arms. “Wanda, Clint, and Laura are inside, decorating.”

“Look,” Sam starts, raising a brow. “We’re bustin’ our asses for this dickhead, and you’re the one who came up with the whole thing in the first place.”

“That’s not-”

“So you gotta do your part. Go back in and stall him some more” A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know - offer him a good time.”

Your eyes narrow, hands on your hips. “Sam.”

Steve sighs, shaking his head, but there is an unmistakable smirk tugging at his lips.

You glare at them both, spinning on your heel before they can make this worse, yanking the door open and stepping back inside the apartment.

Bucky is exactly where you left him.

Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. Lips parted slightly, caught between confusion and suspicion.

He is wearing that what the hell was that expression.

You swallow and shut the door more forcefully than necessary, the sound echoing slightly.

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just fixes you with a stare so focused, so piecing, seemingly able to look right through you. It makes you shift where you stand, suddenly hyper-aware of every nervous tick in your body.

“Alright,” he starts slowly, carefully, eyes falling to the door before turning back to you. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Not Miss Nelly,” you quip, attempting a light and assuring tone.

It does not work.

Bucky still doesn’t blink. His jaw works. He doesn’t buy a damn thing you’re trying to sell him.

“No, doll.” His voice is lower now, thoughtful, putting together a puzzle in his head. “What’s going on with you?”

You try to press down the lump in your throat.

“You’re actin’ real weird.” His words aren’t harsh, not even accusing. Just observant.

He cocks his head slightly.

Why did the others think you could withstand the way his eyes root you to the spot without flopping down to the ground as a puddle.

You are so screwed.

You push yourself out of the conversation, walking over to the armchair again and trying to find something to keep you busy while plopping down.

“It’s nothing, Bucky.”

Your fingers curl around the juice bottle, bringing it to your lips, but the cold liquid doesn’t do much to cool the heat crawling up your spine. Your thumb works at the label, picking at the paper until it peels away in small, curling strips.

Bucky blows out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face before slowly making his way over to you.

Crouching in front of you, he braces his forearms on his knees, his eyes intently locked onto you.

The sudden closeness forces you to suck in a breath and your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hands.

Shit.

Your next inhale is a little hesitant. The air thickens. “No.” It sounds too stiff.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. He is smirking so wide. Enjoying this so much, the way you squirm in your seat before him.

You push forward, shaking your head. “No, Buck. I did not.”

“You sure?” He almost laughs.

“Yes, I just-” You are floundering, drowning in your own words. How can you save this now?

“I’m nervous.” Well, at least that’s not a lie.

Bucky’s expression softens immediately, his amusement fading into something quieter. He straightens up, tilting his head tenderly. His full attention is on you.

A gentle crease in his brows forms. “Why are you nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is softer now, lower.

And guilt hits you.

How do you get out of this?

But, hell, he is so close, too close. His eyes are so blue, too blue. His gaze is so intense, too intense. You are feeling hot, too hot - your brain isn’t working, it’s overheating, and your mouth is suddenly moving.

“Because.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “Because I think we need to talk.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

The entirety of Bucky shifts and you just want the ground to eat you up right this second.

Because now he looks so worried. So genuinely concerned.

You feel yourself start to sweat. Where is this going? Why can’t you stop this? Why did you even start it?

Bucky’s face drops to a frown so deep, lines are forming. A hand of his moves, palm landing lightly on your knee.

“We can talk, doll.” His voice is even softer now, barely above a murmur. “Is something wrong? You alright?”

You just stare at him.

Your heart is hammering.

What the hell are you doing?

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as your fingers keep worrying at the torn label, peeling off strips that crumple beneath your fingertips. It’s the only thing you want to focus on right now with Bucky’s proximity and his intense gaze.

But then his hands replace the bottle and he grasps your fingers, wrapping around them and stilling their fidgeting.

Something electric rushes through your veins so quickly, you couldn’t catch it if you tried.

This is getting way too serious.

Too intimate in a way that sends your pulse skittering up your throat.

You feel like a deer caught in headlights, your body tensing up, lungs forgetting how to work properly. Because this is veering dangerously off course, heading straight for a conversation you’re not sure you’re ready to have. You never thought you’d ever be ready.

But you started this. You walked straight into it with your own words, and there is no backing out now. So you might as well be honest now.

No time like the present.

Bucky must feel the way your hands begin to tremble in his hold, because he adjusts again, shifting closer, his knees pressing against the base of your chair. His thumbs trace over the backs of your hands. His frown deepens.

Why does he have to be so worried? It would make things so much easier if he remained casual and easy. But really, that’s how Bucky always is. Worrying so fast when it comes to you. You can’t really blame this on him now, can you?

His voice drops lower, soft as a whisper. “What is it, sweetheart?” His eyes are full and searching. “Talk to me.”

Air hitches, stalling between your ribs before pushing forward in a rather trembling exhale. Your lungs barely feel full. Your eyes dart away from his, searching the room, the floor, anywhere but him.

“Did I upset you? Is it something I did-”

“No!” you rush out, hastily. “No, you didn’t do anything, Buck.” God, now he even goes that far. This is bad.

Bucky softens a tiny fraction, but he keeps sweeping his eyes over your face, latching on the details, trying to study you, trying to read what this is about. “You can tell me, doll. Always. Whatever it is,” he coos so sweetly, and it makes you want to cry.

How do you even start this?

You open your mouth. You’re certainly not ready to climb the whole mountain, but perhaps you can try a small hill.

“Do you-” You swallow, trying to sound as if you are simply reminiscing. “Do you remember that time after your game last year when it started pouring the second we left the stadium?”

Bucky blinks at the sudden turn. Confusion enters his features but the worry only deepens. “What?”

You push forward, gaze fixed on the arm of your chair as if it might give you the courage you need. “You gave me your jersey, even though I already had a jacket and you were the one soaking wet-”

Bucky’s brows pull further together, his head shaking slowly, not knowing what to do with your words. “Doll-”

His hands squeeze yours gently. “I mean- Yeah, I remember.” Confusion also settles in his tone. “But what’s that got to do with-”

“I don’t know,” you cut in quickly. “I just-” You exhale a deep sigh. “I think about that a lot.”

Bucky says your name like it is something delicate. Something that might slip away if he is not careful.

“Look at me, please.”

You try, but it’s hard.

It means staring into those impossibly blue eyes that see too much, that strip you bare without even trying, that try to coax something out of you, you didn’t even plan on letting go.

But you force yourself to lift your gaze and it is worse than you expected.

He is watching you with an intensity that makes you stop breathing. His stormy eyes are so full of concern, so desperate to understand what is going on in your head, searching every inch of your face.

His lips are parted slightly. His breathing is sharper. Uneven.

“What’s going on, hm?” he coaxes, so softly, so full of patience you don’t deserve. “What’s this about? You still feelin’ guilty?”

Your heart plummets like a stone.

“Doll, there’s no need to, alright?” His hands squeeze yours, grounding, reassuring. “We talked about this.”

God, why does he have to be so good?

His voice is so warm. Warm like sunlight, like home. It makes the sting behind your eyes grow stronger.

You don’t want to cry.

You don’t want to feel this way. Don’t want to ruin his fucking birthday like this. This is getting so out of hand right now, but what should you do? You are so tangled up in trying to figure out what to say, things you are too much of a coward to finally admit out loud.

You nod, swallowing and swallowing but the clump of emotions stays stuck in your throat. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out flat, like you are detached from it. “I do. Sorry for bringing it up.”

Bucky’s lips press together, and then he sighs so deeply, his chest rises and falls profoundly.

“Doll,” he murmurs, straightening up, arms beside you tensing as though he is holding himself back from doing something. “That’s not what you wanted to talk about.”

He’s right.

“Darlin’, please,” he urges, and god, the way that word falls from his lips makes you shudder. His voice is barely above a whisper now, full of something genuine, something tender, something that makes him sound like he wishes you would just talk to him, and it makes you want to shrink down to something he can’t see anymore. “What is it?”

You could lie. Again.

You could laugh it off, steer the conversation away, keep pretending.

You could drag this out further until the others are ready, leaving him worried and slightly upset.

You could tell him the truth about the party.

Or you could finally come clean about the feelings you have held in your heart for so long. Feelings for your best friend.

Drawing in a breath, you straighten slightly. Your hands, still held in his, still shaking, squeeze back. His eyes never waver from your face, tracing the contours of your features.

You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help much. “Uhm,” you croak. “I- I wanted- I need to tell you something.”

His fingers twitch around yours. His features fall into a deep concentration. He doesn’t rush you. Just watches. Waits.

And god, his eyes are pools you never learned to swim in.

You look away, at the wall behind him. “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while now, I guess. But-” You inhale a quivering breath. “But I was afraid. Because I don’t know how you’ll react.”

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His chest rises and falls deeply, almost mechanically. There is something almost spellbound in the way he stares at you, completely locked in, completely yours. The only sign that he has heard you is the subtle press of his fingers against yours.

His head dips in a nod for you to go on.

You wet your lips. “I, uhm-”

But then something catches your attention.

The door to Bucky’s and Steve’s apartment opens.

Painstakingly slow.

You stiffen.

Bucky is still so enamored with what you were saying, he doesn’t seem to notice at first. His back is to the door.

You see heads peeking through the small gap, cautious, bodies frozen in an awkward crouch as if that makes them less noticeable.

Steve and Sam.

They are trying to slip in without a sound, their movements so unbelievably slow, exaggerated. They resemble cartoon characters sneaking through a heist.

Sam motions at you wildly, gesturing at Bucky, at himself, at the hallway, mouthing something like distract him! Keep him busy.

They almost make it, but Bucky catches the small reaction of you, the surprise. His senses are too tuned in to every little thing about you and with his brows knit together, he shifts to glance over his shoulder.

You don’t think about anything.

Your hands rip from his, and before he can turn fully, before he can see those two idiots, you grab his face.

Bucky jolts, startled, his breath hitching audibly. His skin is warm beneath your palms, the sharp angle of his jaw fitting perfectly against your hands. His wide eyes snap back to you, dumbfounded, searching.

He blinks at you. Then blinks again. Then simply stares.

His lips part slightly, breath brushing over your skin.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

This is close. Too close. Closer than you’ve ever been. Well, but not closer than you’ve let yourself imagine. But having him here in reality is something else entirely.

Sam throws you a thumbs up over Bucky’s head and a wiggle of his brows and the both of them disappear from sight into the hallway.

But you just made this worse.

And you are still holding his face between your hands.

Bucky’s lashes flicker, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t fight it. Just stares at you like you’ve done something earth-shattering, like you’ve just rewritten every unspoken rule between you in a single, desperate motion.

Your pulse is a drum against your throat.

You see Bucky’s pulse thunder in his neck.

But he doesn’t move. You don’t move either.

He doesn’t breathe. You don’t know if you do.

He watches you. You watch him back.

“Doll?” Bucky practically breathes the question.

You swallow hard. Opening your mouth doesn’t help with finding words, so you shut it again. Slowly, you pull your hands away from his face.

But Bucky still doesn’t move.

His breath is still broken, his lips still parted, his brows still slightly drawn, stuck somewhere between surprise and something so deep, you’d be falling endlessly.

He is leaning in just the slightest bit, as though his body hasn’t quite caught up with his mind, not even realizing he is doing it.

And you hate the way your chest aches at the look in his eyes.

There is so much all at once and the more you stare, the harder it gets.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, dropping your gaze.

But there is movement in your peripheral.

Steve and Sam are creeping back out of the hallway, lugging something that looks like Bucky’s speaker system from his room.

And god help you, they are still moving at a snail’s pace, their motions so exaggerated, so painfully slow and obvious that you want to scream. You grit your teeth.

Fortunately, Bucky is still just staring at you, stunned.

The two are just about to reach the door, so close to getting through this ridiculous charade, when Sam’s end of the box bumps against the shoe shelf.

The sound isn’t loud, but it’s enough. Enough for Bucky’s head to instinctively turn toward the noise. Enough for his body to shift just slightly.

Your brain short-circuits.

Like completely.

Totally.

Lacking any sense.

Not only do you pull his face back.

You pull it in.

“Kiss me,” you blurt, and it’s not soft, not sweet, not anything carefully planted - it’s desperate, panicked.

Bucky’s whole face just goes wide, pure shock filtering out anything else.

Another bump.

You’re not sure Bucky even heard it, but your lips crash onto his with urgency.

Bucky freezes.

And when you say freeze, you mean freeze.

Every muscle in his body turns to stone. His hands flex before going rigid, floating in the air. His breath stalls. His spine goes straight, and the grunt he lets out - so low and gravelly, caught deep in his throat - reverberates into your mouth.

But behind him, Steve and Sam go as still. Dead silent.

You can feel them watching, their eyes practically bulging out of their skulls.

For a full few seconds, nothing happens.

But then, there is a shift. You don’t see it, but you know it. The way their disbelief turns into something smug - something amused and downright delighted. You feel the way Sam’s mouth probably stretches into that toothy and knowing, cocky-ass grin. You feel the way Steve simply looks happy.

You don’t pull away.

Instead, you wave one frantic hand behind Bucky’s back, motioning wildly, trying to get them to move.

You open an eye to see them still staring, Steve blinking rapidly, Sam grinning like a fool, nudging Steve.

But then, finally, they start creeping out of the room again.

They are gone now.

Bucky still isn’t moving.

He’s not breathing.

He’s not reacting.

And the tension stretches so tight, you swear the air could snap in half.

Because this isn’t just a distraction anymore.

This isn’t just a cover-up.

Your lips are still on Bucky’s.

Your hands are still gripping his face.

And his are trembling where they hover near your knees, as if he wants to touch you, wants to move, but his brain is still struggling to catch up with what is happening.

Then the tension snaps.

Bucky exhales against you.

It’s not just a breath - it’s a surrender. A sharp and shuddering exhale that stirs against your lips, warm and tentative, as if he is trying to feel what is happening, trying to understand the shape of this moment.

His hands flex and twitch against your legs, but he is hesitant, as if waiting for something, waiting for you to pull back, waiting for this to be some kind of mistake.

But you don’t pull back.

You don’t want to pull back.

And that’s when he melts.

Then, his lips move. It’s a slow, searching motion, testing the waters, trying to figure you out. His mouth is warm, his lips so much softer than you imagined. And hell, did you imagine.

He makes a sound - low and unsure, a hum deep in his throat that vibrates against your lips. His movements are careful, almost disbelieving. Like he is afraid this will disappear if he lets himself want it too much.

But then something changes.

Your nails lightly run over his neck, thumbs over his jawline.

And you feel the exact second the hesitation snaps.

He pulls you in.

The kiss turns deeper, heavier, a push and pull of breath and movement. He kisses you with searching urgency, trying to memorize the exact shape of your mouth, the way you feel pressed against him, the way you taste.

His lips part, just for a moment, and then he dares to press in a little more, tilting his head, fitting his mouth more firmly against yours.

He makes another sound - this time rougher, needier - a groan that slips through the space between you.

You can feel the want in the way he kisses you, in the way he angles his head to take more, to taste more, and damn if it does not overwhelm you.

The way his fingers tighten their hold, his thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, needing to feel your warmth.

And the way he breathes you in, each exhale shaky, each inhale sharper, like he is drunk on this, on you.

Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tangling in the strands at the nape of his neck, and the second you pull just so slightly, he makes a sound.

A gravelly noise that shoots straight through you, heat curling at the base of your spine.

He is kissing you like he can’t help it anymore. As if he has been waiting for this exact moment, for you, for so long that he’s past the point of fighting it.

You thought he’d pull away. You thought he’d startle and demand an explanation, eyes sharp with suspicion, voice laced with confusion. But he doesn’t.

His lips only press more firmly against yours, his nose sweeping against your cheek, his chest rising and falling unevenly, breathing erratic as if he is just as lost in this as you are.

Your heart is hammering so violently in your chest, you think he must hear it, must feel it where your body is pressed to his. Your hands are slightly trembling, sliding to curl into the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him. Because you have to hold on. You have to anchor before you fall, before you slip too deep into the intoxicating pull of him and lose all sense of self.

But maybe you already have.

Because he is kissing you as though he’s afraid this is a dream, testing the edges of reality with every careful, exploring movement of his tongue and lips.

He tastes like something warm, something safe, something like the orange juice you two have been drinking, something wholly Bucky. Every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours, is stealing a coherent thought from your mind.

This was supposed to be a distraction. This was supposed to be a lie.

But hell, it’s not.

It’s everything you’ve ever wished for.

When you pull away, both breathless and panting, his forehead stays against yours.

Your pulse is so fast, so fluttering, and you know he can feel it, the way it thrums in your chest, in your throat, in the slight tremor of your fingers still curled loosely in his shirt.

His hot and shuddering exhale fans over your lips and it’s maddening how much you want to taste them again, how much you want to fall right back into him.

You open your eyes.

His are already on you, so close, so intent, so devastatingly blue that they don’t help at all in trying to regain a healthy breathing rate. There is something in them, something soft and devoted, something awed, like he can’t quite believe you are real, that this is real.

A shiver works its way down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its way and Bucky sees it. He feels it. His grin widens, slow and boyish almost, something that makes him look young and light, like something is lifted off his shoulders.

Your name is a breath that leaves his lips with the kind of care reserved for wishes made on falling stars.

It sends another shudder through you, and his grin turns brilliantly wide.

“That the present you were talkin’ about earlier?” he breathes, voice still hoarse, still dazed.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. Smiling. Grinning. Like a fool. God, you can’t stop. It’s lifting your cheeks and making you feel giddy in a way you haven’t felt in so long.

“No,” you whisper back, voice airy.

“Don’t matter,” Bucky’s voice is full of affection, of something certain. His hands slide up, one cupping your jaw, thumb skimming over your cheek, the other finding the nape of your neck, fingers weaving into your hair. Holding you there. Holding you close. “Best damn present I’ve ever gotten.”

His tone is so sincere, so full of adoration, that your breath turns upside down, and you can’t do anything but feel the way butterflies are dancing in your stomach.

Heat floods your face and Bucky’s fingers flex against your skin, his smile turning impossibly brighter.

His eyes are shining with something you don’t think you’ve ever seen in them before. It’s breathtaking. It’s promising. It’s worshipful.

It’s everything.

You guess you owe him a little bit of an explanation.

There is guilt pooling in the hesitation before you speak. “Buck?” you start, voice quiet.

“Yeah, baby?” he drawls, and the way the new nickname rolls from his tongue so seamlessly makes your next inhale shatter midway, breaking into uneven pieces. You almost feel like choking.

His voice is so full of warmth, so soft, so fond. He is smiling at you and his eyes are sparkling as if you’ve just handed him the world. He is kneeling in front of you, patient and content, as though he’s got all the time in the world if it means spending it with you.

Something dizzying rushes through your veins, sparking at the base of your spine. You have to take a moment, a single, shaky pause to shove the giddiness down for later, to not let it explore the wide landscape of your heart and mind.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, still at the edge of the armchair. Your chest almost brushing against Bucky’s. “I, uh- I do have something planned for you.”

Bucky is beaming. His amusement spills over into something so brilliant and blinding. His entire face lights up, so open, so full of adoration that it makes a feeling of pure bliss explode in your chest, sending delightful shivers down to your toes and hell, you don’t think you can handle it.

“Oh, do you?” he muses, dragging the words out slow and teasing. There is something beneath the syrupy sweetness. Something like mischief. His brows raise, eyes glinting, his lips twitch, and you know he is about to be a menace.

Tilting his head, Bucky feigns deep thought, but his eyes stay on you at all times. “Would that involve two idiots tryna sneak around behind my back?”

You blink at him.

Bucky’s grin turns wolfish and he bites his lip to suppress a laugh.

Groaning loudly, you press your hands to your face and Bucky lets the laugh out. It’s full-bodied and wholehearted. His chest shakes, his shoulders lift, his body tilts into it. And it’s such a good sound, such a lovely sound, so rich and free. It makes your own lips curl despite the frustration of the ruined surprise.

Bucky reaches up to gently pry your hands away from your face. His grip lingers, thumbs tracing over your knuckles, his touch so easy and natural.

Perhaps Bucky Barnes finally has a reason to start celebrating his birthday.

“But oh baby! Your smile.. Felt like warm sunshine after a heavy storm.. Overdose of it, is still not enough for me..”

- Zankhana

#elixirscinema #marvelstoriesepic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#lovely mutuals ♡🎀♡#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader

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buckyspancakes · 2 days ago

Text

apologies ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

bucky x fem!reader

summary - the thunderbolts* team’s mission goes wrong and you’re worried out of your mind when you don’t hear from bucky. but you shouldn’t worry because he makes it up to you in his own way ;)

warnings - 18+ mdni (you are responsible for the media you consume), oral (f receiving), p in v, dirty talk, little bit of fluff

notes - post thunderbolts* – reader and bucky already have an established relationship !!! and as always ty @luvemmdubb for beta reading ilysm

word count - 2.5k

You swore on everything good in this world that Bucky Barnes was going to drive you up the damn wall.

You sat at the counter of the kitchen in the New Avengers building as you ran a hand through your hair, staring at the tablet in front of you. The team had gone out on another recon mission, something about having to run surveillance on a warehouse used by, yet again, another group of mass weapons dealers. When they had left, Bucky had pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead, reassuring you that it was going to be quick and easy. Simple and nothing out of the ordinary.

You should have known better than to believe that.

Grainy black and white security footage replayed in front of you, reliving the combat that had broken out between the team and men at the warehouse. To put it kindly, the team had sort of gotten their asses handed to them. From what you could tell of the footage, your team had been caught off guard and out numbered. They had tried to fight but it looked like they had taken a really bad beating.

Shortly after the security footage had cut out, presumably by a stray bullet, Val had called you, telling you an extraction team had gotten them out and that everybody was alive. Bob had appeared from whatever alcove he was hiding out in and rubbed a hand over your back, offering you an awkward yet comforting smile. You had smiled up at him, squeezing his hand in thanks before he retreated back to wherever he had camped out with his current read.

You glanced down at your phone. Nothing. It had been hours now and Bucky still hadn’t let you know he was okay. You’d take anything at this point: a text, a call, a fucking email. Hell, you’d even take Morse code.

The two of you had talked about this on multiple occasions, agreeing that if anything went awry on a mission that the other wasn’t on, you’d check in as soon as possible. It didn't have to be this huge paragraph, it could be a simple “hey” or one singular letter or one of those silly emojis Bucky had taken a liking to after you’d shown him how to get to them on his phone.

But exactly 5 hours and 28 minutes later (not that you were counting or anything) and you were still in the dark. Not a single smiley face cat or a lone thumbs up. Nothing.

The pit that sat in the bottom of your stomach felt like it weighed tons, pressing down on you as if trying to smother you from the inside out. You had full faith in the team, knew they were skilled and could handle their own when it mattered most but anxiety still gnawed at you, chipping away as the minutes continued to tick by into hours.

You continued to stare at the footage on the tablet, waiting for something to change, some notification to pop up saying ‘Hey the team is just dandy!’ even though you knew it wouldn’t.

Your head whipped around at the sound of several pairs of boots on tile. The door to the floor slid open and the – now disheveled – New Avengers stepped out. You winced as you took them in, the cuts and bruises and exhausted faces plastered on them all.

Yelena was the first to see you, waving sheepishly at your glare. When you simply raised a brow in response, she cleared her throat, waving a hand behind her at Bucky to motion him forward.

“I think she’s mad. Make her not mad,” she mumbled, twisting her head behind her but never letting her gaze slip from you.

Beside her, Ava snorted softly as you shoved off of your stool and slowly stalked to stand in front of them. Bucky pushed forward from behind the group. Alexei muttered something about how scary you were when you were quiet like this, to which John responded by shooting him a look.

Bucky tilted his head with a hesitant smile, pushing hair and dirt from his tired face. “Doll, look we –”

“Nuh uh,” you tsked, shaking your head. Glancing at the group behind him, you pointed to the side towards the hallway. “All of you go get cleaned up and get some rest. Val is expecting you first thing in the morning for mission reports.”

They nodded, the group dissipating in quiet mumbles and sympathetic glances back to Bucky as the other four turned to go to their rooms. Bucky moved to go as well but your hand darted out, grabbing his metal arm. “You don’t get to leave just yet.” Without looking at you, he closed his eyes and groaned inaudibly, turning on his heel to stand in front of you. You blinked up at him, your glare hard and unwavering.

“Look. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, okay? We were supposed to be in and out. Just go in, get the layout, get an estimate of how many people were inside, then come straight back, but we weren’t ready for an ambush.” Bucky tried to explain, hands situated on his hips as he looked down at you, daring to meet your eyes. “They knew we were coming, I don't know how, but they did. And after that first shot it all went to hell and I got sidetracked and I'm sorry I didn't call.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, tentatively stepping towards you. Your gaze softened momentarily. You swallowed, rolling his words over before nodding.

“I know. But you can’t just not tell me. I had to hear it from Val that you were okay. And I know that you had more pressing matters at that moment, I am well aware of that, but Buck, you said if shit like this happened you would let me know.” You chewed on your bottom lip, arms crossed, turning your head away from him to look out at the city below you.

He nodded, ducking his head. “I know that, doll. I’m sorry, okay?” Bucky stepped closer, tilting your head with his hand to face him. The feeling of his cold, metallic hand against your flushed skin sent a shiver down your spine.

You met his steely blue eyes as you nodded softly. At your nod, his shoulders slumped, tension vanishing from his face. Bucky smiled softly, pulling you into his chest. Your arms twined around his neck, leaning into him.

Bucky rested his chin on your shoulder, nose brushing against your neck, lips pecking your shoulder through your shirt. You rolled your eyes as you pushed him back gently, swatting at his chest.

“Go shower. You aren’t getting in that bed covered in whatever that is.” You motioned at his shirt which was now ripped and littered with dirt and blood. Bucky smirked, leaning down into you once more.

“I will but you know you like me when I’m all ratty like this.” He smirked harder at the red blooming across the apple of your cheeks. You scoffed, hitting his chest again.

Bucky grinned, stepping even closer, your chests brushing. He kissed your nose before bending down and hooking an arm around your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder.

“James Buchanan Barnes I am not doing this right now. I’m still pissed off at you. Put me the fuck down.” Your fist met his back as he laughed, deep and rich, sliding a hand over the back of your knee and giving it a possessive squeeze.

Your vision swayed as he started forward, hauling you towards your room. The door to your room opened and Bucky flicked the light on with his free hand before stalking towards your bed and tossing you down unceremoniously.

You flopped back on the bed among the untucked blankets and sheets with a soft oof, hair splayed around you like a halo. Bucky grinned above you, holding your wrists with his hands as he caged you in. You rolled your eyes, tugging your wrists to no avail.

“I’m still mad at you,” you muttered, meeting his eyes as he moved to rest his knee between your legs.

“I know, but I’m hoping I can make it up to you,” Bucky hummed, low and raspy, as he gathered both of your wrists in his broad metal hand. He ducked his head to your chin, leaving a trail of scalding, sloppy kisses down your neck and towards your collarbone. Your knees twitched at his side as he hovered above you, desperate for connection, desperate to soothe the ache that had begun to grow between your thighs.

In one fluid motion, Bucky had slid your shirt off of you, and continued his path with his mouth over your chest, brushing against the swells of your breasts. He toyed with the edge of your bra with his teeth, grazing your tender skin, sending a shiver through your limbs.

You felt him smirk into your skin at your shiver, slipping a hand between your back and the cotton sheets beneath you. Your bra shifted forward, loosened by his hand, as he slipped it up and over your arms.

Holding your gaze, Bucky dipped lower, exhaling gently onto your exposed nipples. He hummed against you, before kissing around the now-perked nipple and taking it into his mouth. Working the soft flesh with his tongue, he took the other in his vibranium hand, rolling the bud between his thumb and pointer finger.

Underneath him you squirmed, a mix of pleasure and need swirling inside you like the beginnings of a thunderstorm in mid-July. You felt it coiling in your belly, tight and hot and consuming, as he worked at your chest, pulling soft, wordless moans from your lungs.

Bucky traveled lower even still, kissing along your ribs, down along your stomach, and across the waistband of your underwear. He hummed as one hand toyed with the tiny silk bow in the center of the lace elastic.

“You just casually wear these?” He glanced up at you, eyes teasing. You groaned, rolling your eyes, as he flicked the bow with his forefinger, slipping it under the elastic and popping it softly against your skin

“Shut up,” you huffed, face turning scarlet as he slipped the fabric off of you. Bucky inhaled sharply as he nudged your clenched thighs apart.

“Spread your legs for me, doll. That’s it,” he muttered, peppering soft kisses along the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs. Your fingers threaded through his hair as his nose brushed just above where you wanted him most.

You tugged at the ends of his hair and he glanced up. You nodded gently and he smiled, kissing your belly before licking a stripe up your folds. You gasped, back arching slightly as he teased your core with his tongue, darting in and out just enough to make you grind your teeth in desperation.

Bucky pulled back, blowing a puff of cold air against your clit, making you groan his name, the side of your cheek pressed firm into the mattress beneath you. “Taste so fuckin’ good for me.”

He gripped your thigh, hoisting it over one shoulder while bracing himself against the other as he dove into you like a man starved.

His tongue worked at you meticulously, pressing into your harder with each grunt and whimper you let out. Bucky grunted against you, a sound hard in his chest, that sent a white hot flash of heat down your trembling spine.

“Buck…” you exhaled, voice quivering. Bucky looked up from where he was situated between your legs, face flushed with something raw, almost primal, tongue stilled inside of you. “Need you,” you gasped, “Now.”

Bucky laughed lowly against you, sending a tremor through you once more as he sat back, resting on the backs of his thighs. “For somebody who was mad at me just a little bit ago, you sure are needy now, aren’t you, doll?”

You attempted to glare at him but it was lost on him as he tugged his black shirt over his head. Bucky leaned up over you once more, pulling your head up as his hand cupped the back of your head, capturing your lips in a kiss. This time, a more gentle kiss, more sincere.

He stood from the bed, slipping his belt off and stepping out of his battered jeans. Despite having seen him this way dozens of times before, you still blushed, biting the inside of your lip as he tossed his boxers down beside his jeans.

Bucky situated himself back between your legs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone as he toyed with your clit with his fingers. His head hovered near your ear, the scruff of his 5 o’clock shadow tickling your cheek as he uttered filth into your ear, sucking at the skin just under it as you whined. You grasped at his face with your hands, pulling him into a deep kiss, opening your mouth as he teased at your lips with his teeth.

On top of you, you felt Bucky’s hand move from between your legs. You gasped into his mouth, eyes fluttering as his tip nudged at your entrance.

“Let me make it up to you,” he mumbled, resting his forehead against yours. You nodded, half conscious eyes blinking up at him, brimming with a mixture of need and anticipation.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, moving to rest his head in the junction between your neck and shoulder as he pressed into you. You gasped, thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he sunk into you completely.

“Fuck…” he mumbled, ragged and tense, as your hips bucked up into his. “You can get mad at me anytime you want if this is what it takes to apologize, doll.”

You whimpered at both his words and at the way Bucky lifted his hips, sliding out of you and pushing back in. Slowly but surely, his pace sped up, ramming in and out of you. An amalgamation of moans and grunts, sweat and sex, heat and intensity, filled the space around the two of you. Your bodies connected together in soft thuds, matching the pace of the need thundering through you both.

You tensed around him and he groaned, lips attaching to the tender spot underneath your ear as he braced himself against your arms.

“I’m sorry baby,” he panted beneath thrusts, punctuating each word by hitting that spot inside of you, “I’ll call you next time, I fucking swear it.”

You whined, as Bucky filled every inch of you, babbling back at the praises that tumbled recklessly from his mouth. You gasped, hands spasming underneath his vice-like grip as you squeezed around him, body tightening suddenly. You blinked, stars swimming across the horizon as he continued to rock into you, riding out your high as you relaxed back into the bed underneath you.

Bucky came undone, panting into your shoulder and pressing deep into you with one concluding grunt. He stilled, remaining inside of you, before holding himself over you on his forearms. You blinked up at him blearily, exhaustion taking over your face.

He smiled at you lazily, face flushed and glowing in the soft light. “Am I forgiven now?”

You laughed weakly, reaching up to push a strand of hair away, plastered to his temple by the light sheen of sweat that coated his face.

“I dunno. I think you should try apologizing again.”

#bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #buckyspancakes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #thunderbolts #the new avengers

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theegyal · 2 days ago

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FADED [ Annie X Smoke ], Fanfiction.

SINNERS (2025)

This chapter contains an OC created by me. Lottie

Fanfics theme : Slow-burn, Smut, Angst (A LOT) , social dynamics portrayed, multiple romance, unrequited love, love triangle

CHAPTER 5

The young woman turned around. She grabbed her small bags, knelt in front of her niece's stony grave, and whispered a quiet prayer before standing to leave.

As she walked down the dusty road, her voice rose in a soft hum. She greeted her aunts and uncles who worked in the plantation with a cheerful wave and a warm smile. The morning heat clung to her nubian silken skin, but her spirit kept light— until the sharp purr of a car engine sliced through the air behind her.

"Ain't that lil' Lottie I see!"

She froze where she stood. Her heart skipped. No. It couldn't be. Were they back in the Delta? Last she heard, they was still hiding out up in Chicago. But fate didn't care much about her nor those stupid feelings she still harbored.

"Hey! You ignorin' me on purpose now?"

Charlotte turned slow, composed, her voice calm, as she gave the younger twin a respectful nod.

"Mornin', Sir Moore."

Stack tipped his hat with a crooked smile, letting the car idle beside her. Sunlight glinted off the hood, and sweat gleamed on his temple—same grin, same devilish yet charming smile, like nothin' ever changed.

"Don't go callin' me Sir now," he drawled. "Ain't like I grew up in Chicago."

Charlotte offered a thin smile, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

"Don't get me wrong" she said, eyes straight ahead. "Just tryin' to be proper, is all."

Stack leaned on the steering wheel, studying her.

"You were always proper. Even when you had them dusty knees chasing chickens 'round ya granny porch."

She chuckled, dry as summer weeds.

"That was a long time ago."

"Not that long," he replied, paused seconds to minutes "Ain't like I forgot how ya used to look at me."

She stiffened just slightly, her chin tipping up with quiet pride. Her soft, rounded cheekbones—dark like blackberries—lifted in a smile joyful yet melancholic.

"That's all dead now."

" Oh, you tell me, sweetheart !"

Silence stretched long between them. Stack opened his mouth like he had more to say—but thought better of it. The breeze kicked up a veil of dust as Charlotte stepped past him.

"I best be goin'. I came to see my sister, but she seems a lil' too busy."

"Charlotte," he said, his voice suddenly, gentler. Not the flirting, sensuous, honeyed tone women were used to hearin' from the unfamous Stack

She stopped her walking but didn't turn.

"Yeah?"

"I ain't forgot nothin'. Not what I said back then. Not why I left."

Finally acknowledging his presence, Charlotte face the man standing beside the truck. Holding her perfect fake jolly mask, she grotesquely advanced toward him, manly tape on his shoulder and let out a grin far too wide to be real.

"Yay! Why ya worrin' 'bout silly things, dandy? Ain't like I'm the kinda gal you'd wanna fuck anyhow, huh?"

Her laugh came out too big, too bright—like a pot about to boil over. But he didn't catch the crack in it.

"Ha! You sure ain't changed a damn bit, lil' Lottie! Want me to drive you somewhere?"

She didn't flinch.

"Reckon that'd be kind of you," she said, flashing another one of them fake-bright smiles as she climbed into the passenger seat.

Inside, her chest ached. Her stomach tightened so hard it almost made her puke. She didn't look at him, didn't dare.

The truck rumbled to life and kicked up gravel as they pulled off the roadside. For a minute or two, nothing but engine noise and the music sounds of the birds. Then he cut a glance at her with that boyish grin that always twisted her up.

"Lawd, girl. You been eatin' good, huh?" he teased. "Done filled out like your mama. You and Annie both—ain't no tellin' y'all apart from the back these days."

She gave a sharp, dry laugh, turning her face to the window.

"Mmhm. Guess we gettin' thick in the hips and all huh?"

But inside, the words struck hard. That's all he was seeing. Her weight. Her body. Her softness. A reason to poke fun or act big-brotherly. That same body—the one that used to stiffen hot whenever he walked past it, the one that held love for him for years even when he barely noticed—was now just some joke.

He was not flirting with her. Never touched her like he used to embrace Mary or fantasized about making love to her sister Annie. Lord, she had been around too long for him to see her as a woman.

She swallowed hard, blinking fast.

He didn't know. He didn't know every time she looked at him, it hurt. Every single time.

The truck hit a bump, jostling them. She gripped the side of her seat, still smiling like nothing in the world could shamble her heart.

"Where we headin'?" she asked, voice light.

"You tell me, Lottie."

He said her name too sweet.

Don't you dare.

Smoke was tidying the woman table, gathering the scattered herbs, cups, and fabrics she'd left behind. How dare she order him around like that? And yet—he never truly resisted her commands.

"Oh no!" Annie suddenly shouted, a hand flying to her mouth.

"What?" Smoke asked, straightening, immediately alert as he moved toward her.

"I think... Lottie already came. She was supposed to be here today."

"Charlotte? You sure?" he asked, brows drawn. "Ain't she still livin' in Louisiana?"

"Yes, but things got worse with the white family she was worked for. They no longer need nanny for their boy no more and the old man started moving weird on her..."

Both clenched their teeth in silence. It was common to hear such stories. Very hard to swallow when it's happened to your kin.

After a beat, Smoke spoke again.

"Let me buy y'all a house. You and Lottie. You could open one of them home restaurants you always talkin' about. Charlotte could help out."

"Elijah—" she started, her voice caught somewhere between protest and gratitude.

But he cut in, firm but tender.

"Let me help you, Annie. Quit bein' so damn stubborn."

He leaned his head, caressing her cheek with a soft kiss...

"Leave me by Mama Aida's shop, please," the woman said.

Stack narrowed his eyes. He saw straight through her now. Mama Aida? Everybody in the Delta knew the old woman didn't just sell juice—she ran a damn whorehouse. And he sure as hell wasn't dumb enough to think Lottie came all the way out here for pineapple juice.

"If you wanna work that kind of job," he snapped, "should've just said so and come to Chicago with me!"

Charlotte sucked her teeth, sharp and loud.

"Her pineapple juice is tasty. And here, I know my sister can find me easily."

Shit.

"Listen, I didn't mean to—"

"Fine. Don't worry."

"I should've known better. Annie would never let you—"

"You still in love with her?"

Now it was Lottie's turn to freeze him cold. Stack blinked, stunned. He hadn't expected her to ask that. Sure, he had feelings for the voluptuous Annie at the time. But never in his life did he think her little sister knew.

He opened his mouth. Nothing came. He rather lie than tell the truth

"She Smoke's girl," he finally muttered.

"That ain't the question I asked," Lottie said, annoyed. "I bet you still are. She's... wonderful."

That last word tasted bitter off her tongue. Of course Annie was wonderful.

Everybody said so. And Lottie loved her sister, truly—but sometimes, she hated her too. Hated how Annie could be so blind and inconsiderate to what people were feeling.

"You must tell her how you feel," she said quietly.

Stack didn't answer. The words hung, stoned as the heat pressing through the windshield. Lottie folded her arms and leaned into the window's breeze, watching the road blur as silence drew long between them.

They rolled into the square just as the town stirred from its slow morning. Market stalls spilled over with produce. Chickens clucked somewhere. A preacher boomed his sermon to nobody in particular.

And then—

"Shit" Stack exclaimed.

Lottie followed his gaze. There she was, crossing the street in a summer dress too fine for Delta poor heather, holding paper parcels like they didn't weigh a thing. Right beside Mary, a tall, blonde woman strode with her chin high, white-gloved and high-nosed, like the whole town need to clear her path from their presence.

Mary spotted the truck first. Her eyes lit up, when she saw the man.

"Staaaack!"

Lottie watched as the woman dropped her parcels right there in the street, arms flung wide like a girl greeting her soldier home from war. Lottie's feet felt nailed to the earth. She turned her face away, eyes fixed on the cracked paint of the storefront beside them,

Mary crashed into the younger twin like a wave, kissing him full on the mouth passionately. He kissed her back. And, not in haste, not out of politeness, but slow, deliberate. His hand found Mary's back, smoothing over her dress like she was precious, like he'd missed her.

Lottie eyes shifted from the front store to the sky, blinking hard. It was all she could do not to cry right there in that fucking truck.

Stack, sensing her quiet retreat, peeked at her out the corner of his eye—and then leaned in deeper, pulling Mary closer, letting the kiss stretch. He wasn't just kissing Mary anymore.

He was making sure Lottie saw.

Leonhard, slow at catching up, ultimately arrived. Her eyes narrowed. She looked from Lottie to Stack, then back to Lottie again.

"Oh," she sneered. "I see you back around too. How charming."

She looked her up and down—greyed boots, plain long skirt, obsidian skin shining under the sun.

"I suppose it was only a matter of time before Annie came sniffing back after her scraps."

Lottie blinked slow. A beat passed. Then she smiled, all teeth, mocking the gracious Leonhard . She stepped outside the truck and menacingly pulled toward the white woman.

"Oh, honey, bless your lil' bleached heart,"

she drawled, voice thick like molasses.

"But I ain't Annie. And trust me, she wouldn't be caught dead wearin' them tired shoes you totin' 'round."

Lottie smirked angrily. Never had she met this white bitch in the town. Although her kin, she done seen it back in Louisiana. All of them—pretentious, jealous, and full of unsolicited anger.

"Though if I squint real hard, you do kinda favor them chickens we keep out back. Bougie. Nervous. And just 'bout as useful."

Leonhard flushed red to the ears, stunned silent.

Lottie gave her a single up-and-down look, then turned to Mary with a half-shrug. "Y'all better head on back to that lodge, you do know me, Mary" she paused "the town 'bout see somethin' it don't need to."

Mary released Stack's embrace and rushed toward the young woman.

"Little Charlie, please don't be—"

"Ain't got no damn dick in m'pants, Mary. Name's Charlotte."

This foreigner had done angered her. Ain't nobody got the right to run they mouth 'bout her sister. And if it weren't for them old folks sittin' around, watchin', she would've had that heifer eatin' dirt

"Imma walk," she tossed over her shoulder—mostly for Stack.

The midday heat sat heavy on her shoulders as she marched through Deltatown's crowed streets. The whispers followed her like flies—people peeking over crates, some smirking, some shaking their heads like they knew better. She didn't stop. Not even when she passed the little girls playing jump rope, their song twisting offbeat in the dusty air.

Mama Aida's shop came into view — a weather-beaten porch slouched under creeping vines, jars of pickled okra lining the dusty window. The door creaked as she stepped in, the scent of lemongrass, old wood, and sweet pipe smoke resting in the air.

Annie looked up from the little table near the back. She was sitting stiff, hands folded in her lap, like she'd been waiting a while. Across from her, leaning in the shadowed doorway between rooms, stood Smoke—tall, still, pipe clenched between his teeth.

Lottie paused. She hadn't realized how much weight she'd been carrying until now.

"Hey baby," Annie said, "We was waitin'."

Lottie didn't answer right away. She shut the door behind her, walked a few steps in, and then sat down without invitation.

"I ran into them," she said finally.

Annie blinked. "Who?"

"Mary and another white swan"

Elijah took the pipe from his mouth and let out a slow stream of smoke. "Stack was with 'em?"

Lottie nodded before adding

" Swan lady mistaken me for Annie. Called me a stray dog pickin' up scraps."

Smoke shifted his silhouette and knocked ash from his pipe into the dish nearby. His irises darkened, teeth bleeding from clenching "You did good not swingin' on her," he said, glancing at Lottie. "I know you wanted to."

Lottie gave a small, hollow laugh. "Lord knows I did. Would've had her pickin' her teeth outta the dirt if it weren't for them gossip mongers sittin' nearby." She exhaled harder

" And you !" She pointed at the older twin "I ain't wanna hear 'about your story. You better clean up the mess you made and put my sister in" she stood up from the chair, grabbed her weighted bags, ready to go back Annie's home "I sure you want no smoke with me"

Annie chuckled, she definitely peeped what her sister did. The young woman loved to play onto people face. Well as much as Smoke was not having it, he did not scold her off.

She was right. It a was the mess he got in first. He must deal with it without staining Annie of the situation.

" I'll deal with everything. Right before dusk. I promise" he said.

"Hmm." Annie replied "I will ask cornbread and Slim to invite sum new face to your Juke..., Lottie and I will come too, tonight. You—"

"She'll be gone by then" he swore before heading out Aida Shop.

Driving their red car through Delta's mud and dust, Smoke arrived in front of the lodge where resided the two unwelcome guests.

Their truck was parked just outside. He immediately understood his twin was around.

The room was humid with perfume and warm skin. Mary's laugh curled up from the sheets, soft and smug. Leonhard leaned over Stack's shoulder, loose hair brushing his chest as she whispered something stupid in his ear.

He didn't answer. Just sat back against the headboard, shirt open, mouth slack, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Their hands roam on his body. One traced the lines on his chest, the other played lazy at his waistband, but it didn't pull him in.

He was thinking of someone else.

Someone who didn't bat her lashes or bite her lip to get her way. Someone who stood straight when others ducked. Someone who called him on his lies without raising her voice.

Which one of them was it ?

Someone knocked. Mary jolted upright, clutching the sheet. Leonhard rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, but Stack was already halfway to the door, chest bare and pants slung low on his hips.

He pulled it open.

Smoke stood there.

"Put your shirt on."

Stack blinked. "Now?"

Smoke didn't repeat himself.

Stack swallowed whatever words were trying to come up. Turned back, yanked on a shirt, didn't bother to button it right.

Realizing who was standing in from their rooms, Leonhard rushed alongside the dandy, toward the exit.

" Moore wait—"

Smoke told his youngster to wait up in the truck. Had some business to settle with that eccentric doll first.

“Get in the car. Got some shit to handle,” he said

Snatching Leonhard violently by her arm, he dragged her to a dark alley.

“Head back to Chicago today,” he shouted, his face clouded with fury

“Why?” she shot back. “So you can parade this—”

Smoke's fist slammed against the brick with a thud!

" You better swallow the poison you were ready to spit" he threatened, inhaling his cigarette's smoke "Ain't forget what you did to me," he snarled dangerously

"This is not Chicago. This is the South. Clarksdale” he whistled through his teeth “And down here, your lies fly no high”

Smoke burnt the absurd distance between them. Then, crushed the hot ashes of his cigarette right near her eyes.

“Aargh!” Leonhard yelped, clutching her face.

“ I bet you don’t wanna share fate with your old man” he growled deadly

Putting the pieces together, Leonhard unveil the truth that had been denied to her for so many years.

Elijah Moore killed her father.

And he will politely do the same with her

Smoke abandoned the woman in the alley.

He would love believe she was not dumb enough to stay in the town.

He rushed back the truck, jumped on the driving seat and purred the engine.

“You need to be more responsible Stack. What the fuck was that ?”

Stack smirked, cocky as ever.

“You said it. Fuck, I was fucking them. Ain’t what we useful for ?”

“Tch.”

“Well, to be fair, something can ease my hunger.”

Smoke lifted a brow, curious.

“Let me pound Annie’s cake”

TAG LIST BELOW :

@bigjh ; @boonoonoonus ; @saralance03 ; @stormynovashambler ; @lsc72 ; @prettyisasprettydoes1306 ; @unholyxthoughts ; @lizbehave ; @tadjoa @queenofklonnie22 @katezy2x @m0netm0netxo12 @prettygirl2800

#sinners #annie x elijah #smoke x annie #annie sinners #fanfiction #smoke sinners #stack x annie #elias stack moore #unrequited love #love triangle

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notbecauseofvictories · 2 days ago

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Not unhinged people (just a bit charmingly odd) but I can strongly recommend T. Kingfisher for very human romance and deeply loveable characters. Her books are more like romance-adventure than classic romance novels, but if you haven't read any, I started with Paladin's Grace, or Swordheart is an older one in the same setting that might be a little closer to the vibe you're looking for.

I do like Kingfisher's work, and Swordheart especially---but I would argue that she comes from the Plot-First school, rather than the Romance-First approach more common in curtsies and cravats historical fiction I tend to read.

Plot-First novels focus most of their energy on the plot; the energizing question of the narrative is not "how do these two people fall in love?" but "how do the characters meet this challenge/solve this mystery/win this contest or fight/grow into themselves/etc?". The romance happens, of course it does! But it's intended to be narrative seasoning rather than the main course. This tends to be more common in fantasy novels---Mercedes Lackey does this, and C.L. Wilson, Gail Carriger, Emma Bull, even Elise Kova; I would argue that Olivia Atwater and Alice Coldwater flirt with it, though not always consistently. That said, it's not impossible to do with historical romance---Eva Ibbotson's romance novels are a delight, and she is very much a Plot-, Setting-, and Characterization-First writer.

However, romance novels (by definition!) tend to overwhelmingly fall into the Romance-First bucket---"how do these two people fall in love?" is the engine that makes the narrative go. While there is an ostensible plot, it largely serves to drive the romance forward. To be painfully clear, there is nothing wrong with this. As long as you accept that initial premise, you and the author will get along swimmingly; there will be carriage accidents or someone will trip into a pond, miscommunications will abound, kisses will be stolen behind a chaperone's back, and all will be well. I wouldn't be here if I didn't like this premise; I read a lot of these and have an entire folder of very silly ebooks to prove it. My objection is not that people write Romance-First novels, but that people write them badly.

The truth is, if you are writing a Romance-First novel, there is nothing to distract people from the romance. With Plot-First, you can throw in some shenanigans, drop A Clue for the characters to discover and whisk your reader away from a romantic moment that didn't land---but you can't do that with Romance-First. If your romantic moments aren't landing, the book collapses in on itself. My suggestion is therefore that writers stop trying to come up with different ways for an 18th century British duke to be Secretly Woke, and make it so that his 18th century British duchess is also unhinged, bad at communicating, and lacing his sherry with arsenic.

#you can't make me say 'romantasy' I hate that portmanteau with all my heart.#if it's in a summary or blurb I will not read the book.#.......like when romance novels list the tropes (''enemies to lovers!!!!'') in their summary; it makes me want to claw something.#also none of the novels talked about above feature unhinged protagonists.#for that you have to go to horror. or big swiss.#credit to big swiss for being the only fiction novel I've read that IS unhinged. and divine for exactly that reason.#from the bookshelf

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anime-in-new-albion · 1 day ago

Text

Twisted Wonderland Reaction ~ Overblot Nightmares

Summary: You have a nightmare about another Overblot. How do they react to that?

Pairing: Overblot!Twisted Wonderland X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffyish Reaction

Word Count: 2057

Warning: Fear, terror, overblots

Masterlist

A/N: I hope I did them justice!

Riddle Rosehearts:

“RIDDLE!”

Said housewarden jolted awake at your scream. Stumbling out of bed, he made his way to the guest room where you were staying, as it was much too cold for you to be staying in Ramshackle. He saw you sitting up in bed, your hand clutching your chest as you tried to regain control of your breathing. As soon as you spotted him, you bit your lip and looked away.

“I’m sorry Riddle. I didn’t mean to wake you. You can go back to sleep now.” You murmured.

He shook himself slightly, trying not to appear ruffled. “Are you alright? You sounded as if you were in distress. Is there anything I can do to help?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m fine, really. Just a bad dream, that’s all.”

“A bad dream? What was it about?”

“Don’t worry Riddle. It was nothing.” You tried to assure him. “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.”

He frowned before asking if he could sit on the bed with you. When you agreed, he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, as if trying to find the right thing to say, before finally saying, “I don’t know what your nightmare was about, and I don’t want to overstep your boundaries and pry. But if you need anything, anything at all, I hope you know that you can come to me. I want to be there for you when you need me most.”

Your heart ached at his words and, despite your better judgment, you hugged him. He was stiff as a board at first but eventually melted into the hug. Tears welled in your eyes and you knew you had to tell him. It was no use keeping him in the dark about it.

“I dreamed you overblotted again. It scared me so much because it felt like you weren’t going to change back. I don’t want to lose you again, Riddle.”

He froze again and you couldn’t help but wince slightly. He pulled away only to look you in the eyes and use his thumbs to wipe away your tears. “Hey, it’s okay. That would be really scary and I’m so, so, so sorry for putting you through all of that. You didn’t deserve to go through it once and you don’t deserve to go through it again. I promise you I will try my hardest to never overblot again.”

Pulling him into a hug, you buried your head into his shoulder. “As long as you try, that’s all that matters to me. You mean too much to me. I don’t want you to suffer like that ever again.”

He held you tighter. “I promise to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I love you.”

Riddle flinched before melting. “I love you too.”

Leona Kingscholar:

A sharp gasp and a shifting of weight caused Leona to crack one of his eyes open. “Herbivore, quit moving around. I’m trying to sleep.”

“S-sorry.” Your voice wavered slightly. “Just go back to sleep. I-I’ll be right back.”

Before you could get off of him, he wrapped his arms around your lower back. “I can practically smell the anxiety rolling off of you. What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously not nothing.”

“You’ll just think I’m being silly.”

“Spit it out already.”

“I just had a nightmare, that’s all.” You turned away from him and he could tell it was serious. If you were being silly, you wouldn’t be avoiding eye contact. Gently, he took your chin in his hand and turned so you were facing him, giving you an unimpressed look.

“About what?”

You shook your head. “No-”

“If you say nothing again, I’ll find another way to get it out of you.”

Sighing, you said, “If only to save myself from your torture later, I had a nightmare that you overblotted again. I know, it’s silly, but it felt so real and I was so scared…”

As you trailed off he sighed. Pressing the back of your head so you were laying on his shoulder again, he muttered. “It won’t happen again. You know how I know that? It’s because I have you now. That’s how I know.”

You were glad you were on his shoulder so he couldn’t see your blush. “I’m glad I have you too.”

“Now go back to sleep already.”

Azul Ashengrotto:

It was just a nightmare. A bad dream. It wasn’t real.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But the truth is, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. It felt so real. No matter what you did, you could still see it, hear it, feel it. You didn’t know what to do. All you knew was you had to at least try to make it through the day.

Arriving at Mostro Lounge, you tried to suppress a yawn. With that vivid nightmare, you didn’t sleep much last night. But you didn’t want Azul to know about that. You didn’t want to worry him. Besides, you were just a little tired. It wasn’t worth worrying over in the first place.

“Koebi-chan! Look at you! You look like a wreck!”

Of course, just because you could probably fake it in front of Azul, didn’t mean you could fake it for the Tweels. The Leech brothers appeared on either side of you. Floyd had his signature smirk, though Jade looked ever so slightly worried. He gently pressed a gloved hand to your forehead.

“Are you sick? Is that why you don’t look well?”

“Who’s not well?”

You wanted to groan but you were too tired to try to act like nothing was wrong in front of Azul anymore. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

He shook his head. “You look more than a little tired. Here, you can rest in the VIP room. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you while you’re here.”

As Azul took your hand, you allowed him to lead you to the VIP room, where he set you up with some pillows and blankets. He nodded at the cocoon he had wrapped you in, providing you with optimal warmth and comfort. With pink cheeks, he brushed some hair out of your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Sweet dreams. I’ll wake you up in an hour or so, alright?”

You nodded and closed your eyes, sleep rushing to claim you. However before you could drift on and he could attend his duties at the Lounge, you grabbed his hand. In a voice thick with sleep you said, “Promise me you won’t ever overblot again. I don’t think I could handle it if I lost you again. You mean far too much to me to watch you torture yourself like that again. Promise me that you love me just as much as I love you and you won’t ever let your doubts get in the way of that.”

Though you couldn’t see it, Azul was shocked. One, because you said all of that right before falling asleep. Two, because you did care for him just as much as he cared for you. He’s always loved you but was too afraid of saying anything. Now he knew you loved him. Now he knew what to do.

Kissing your forehead once more, he whispered. “I promise. I love you too, my heart.”

Jamil Viper:

You should have known better. You should’ve known how hyper aware he was. For Seven’s sake, he has been Kalim’s servant all his life! Yet that didn’t stop you from sneaking to his room in the middle of the night, just to make sure he was all safe and sound.

When you confirmed he was in bed, looking completely normal, you let out a soft sigh. It was just a nightmare. That’s all it was. And it wasn’t true. Now you could go back to sleep.

“Are you going to stand in my doorway all night or are you going to tell me what you’re doing up this late at night?” He called out to you.

You felt your cheeks warm and you rubbed the back of your neck, “I just needed to walk around a bit, that’s all. I thought it would make me feel sleepy.”

Jamil sat up and rubbed one of his eyes as he frowned. “You’re a very bad liar. Tell me what’s wrong or go back to sleep, alright?”

“But I’m not lying!” You countered. “I just had a bad dream, that's all. And it woke me up, so I’m walking around so I feel tired again. So you see? I’m not lying.”

“Hmmm.” He looked you up down, as if judging to see if your story measured up.

You felt nervous and you didn’t know why. You wondered if it had anything to do with your nightmare. You shook your head. No, that was ridiculous and insulting. Jamil wouldn’t overblot just because you accidentally woke him up. He is too level-headed for that.

However, what he did next surprised you. Moving over, Jamil patted the empty space. “C’mon. Maybe this will help you fall asleep.”

Unable to argue, you crawled into bed next to him. As he pulled you close, he whispered, “I’m not going to ask what the nightmare was about. Just know that it’s over and it’s never going to come true. If you still think about it, just squeeze. I’ll protect you from harm.”

Your heart melted at his words. You decided to snuggle up close, causing him to chuckle. “Thank you Jamil.”

“Of course, diamond.”

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil knew something was open when you arrived at a photoshoot late and yawned. As soon as you sat in the hair and makeup chair, he started lecturing you about better sleeping habits. He was even more concerned when you didn’t try and fight back or say a word. You looked like a zombie, staring straight ahead and barely acknowledging what he was saying.

Something happened last night.

Before Vil could ask about it, the two of you were called to set. He tried to put on a show like he always did, but he was anxious. He tried his best not to let it show, but he kept shooting worried glances your way. But you didn’t seem to notice. It was really starting to freak him out.

Eventually, there was a five minute break and he whisked you to the green room. Sitting you down on one of the couches, he staged a small intervention.

“What’s with you today? You’re hardly paying attention and you seem more dead than alive. What happened to-”

Before Vil could continue, you burst into tears. He was caught off guard momentarily. Then he sat down and patted your back. “Please, potato, tell me what’s troubling you. I hate seeing you cry like this. Tell me what I need to do to fix this.”

“I had a very scary nightmare last night.” You explained. “You overblotted and I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry, but I was so frightened I couldn’t sleep at all last night. And then you were so upset with me for not sleeping and now you’re upset that I’m ruining your photoshoot. Please don’t overblot! I don’t know if I can save you again!”

Your answer shocked him to the core. He didn’t know you cared about him like this, or that you worried so much that you were losing sleep over him. He was touched, but he didn’t have time to be grateful for your sentiment. He needed to stop these waterworks before your makeup smeared too bad.

“Oh, my sweet potato!” He cried. “I’m never going to overblot again! These have just been minor inconveniences today, that’s all. I’m more worried about you than the photoshoot. I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, that’s all. Please don’t cry, potato.”

Eventually, you stopped crying and he pulled you into a hug, trying not to think about how his suit was probably being wrinkled and ruined. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He assured you. “Do you think we can keep going today?”

Pulling away, you nodded, sniffed, and wiped your nose. “Yeah, I can keep going.”

Vil gave you a tender smile and patted your cheek. “Excellent. Now let’s fix your hair and makeup, shall we?”

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soobkwann · 2 days ago

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~ Why don’t we kiss since we’re bored? ᯓ★

SYNOPSIS: nothing wrong with kissing your homies…right?

PAIRINGS: Choi Soobin x Hueningkai (implied future of Choi Soobin X Reader X Hueningkai)

WC: 1,788 || ☆

Warnings: NSFW (18+, mdni), m/m, Soobin x Kai, potentially poly (?), dry humping, voyeurism ( could be implied the reader watched them for a bit ), they all just horndogs and ZESTY ngl… (LMK if anything else!)

A/N: Likes and reblogs are heavily appreciated ! Also thank you to my friends for reading my draft and gassing me up 😛

It was supposed to be the average group hangout; you and your five best friends joking around under warm fairy lights, ignoring the dumb romance movie, getting drunk, and waking up to a bunch of wasted guys huddled on your small couch—the usual.

Tonight’s atmosphere was different, not bad different, but different in a way that had you *extra* excited for tonight.

Only Soobin and Kai could make it, typical given they’d never miss a Saturday night hang out. Getting to eat all your food, drinking “unlimited” alcohol, ~~(getting to see you)~~ it was literally heaven on earth for them.

Yeonjun couldn’t make it, “I’m being busy catching up with an old friend.” he claimed over the phone. Beomgyu told you off with an abnormal emergency; “ Can’t come, fishes need a bath-“ And Taehyun…just didn’t want to come, typical, you really admired his honesty though.

The presence of those three would be missed, of course. Thankfully, “The two coolest guys could still make it.” (Their words..)

So here you three are, still enjoying the moment, stuffing your faces with snacks while trying to avoid choking from the funny jabs the other makes. Y/N notices they are running a bit low on drinks :

“I’m gonna go get us some more soju,” she upped and left the living area to get refills from the kitchen.

“Alright,” “hurry back!” The two boys said in unison, as Y/N went to grab drinks, she couldn’t shake the feeling of something exciting happening, especially since it was just those two alone with her. It’s silly, maybe it’s the alcohol throwing her off but she’s always felt like there was tension between the three of them.

Yeah, that’s definitely that alcohol talking.. There’s no tension, all the lingering stares, subtle touches-, that’s just what friends do, totally.

—

Back in the living room, Soobin and Kai were still joking among themselves and half-watching the movie. The laughter seemed to die down once it settled your presence was gone.

It got quiet, not completely silent due to the TV providing background noise —but there was a silence between the two that felt caused heavy tension. Not an uncomfortable silence, just the fact that they’re quite buzzed taking over.

Soobin and Kai just sat there, Kai playing with his fingers and Soobin watching the dumb film he chose.

“Wonder what’s taking her so long,” Kai said, interrupting the dazed silence.

“Probably drinking it all without us.” Soobin joked, both the boys giggling among themselves. Once that got old it was back to silence… where is she with those damn drinks..

“Since we’ve got nothing to do,” it was Kai breaking the silence again, this time he had this look as if he’d just came up with a million dollar idea.

Soobin looks over at him “Hm?” he replied mindlessly. Kai’s lip quirked into a subtle smirk, his eyes were fox-like as he turned over and made eye contact with Soobin on the other side of the couch.

“Since we’ve got nothing to do,” he repeated, staring at Soobin with a vixen gaze “Why don’t we kiss?” he said simply, like it was normal between them, like he was plotting this moment for a while.

Soobin was taken aback, his eyes widened slightly, he wasn’t shocked, he was amused. He knew how his friend got, especially when he was left alone with his mischievous mind for too long.

“You,” he took a breath. “You want to kiss? Right now?”

Kai slowly crawled over, eye contact never breaking. “Why not?” that same cocky expression still written on his face.

Soobin could almost laugh at the sight. His friend, looking at him as if he was prey, sensually licking his lips as if he was craving the taste of Soobin.

“You’re drunk aren’t you” Soobin chucked, cocking a brow. His friend must really be out of it to suggest something like this so casually.

“No,” Kai replied, a smug smile tugging his lips. “We’ve just got nothing better to do” he continued matter-of-factly. Soobin just stared like he was being tempted by a drug dealer.

“shit, why not,” Soobin thought.

Suddenly, Soobin inched slightly, Kai took the hint and immediately scooted to leaned in, capturing his lips against Soobin’s. It was so foreign, but so familiar. It felt like their lips belonged together-, like the softness of their lips were meant to be conjoined.

They’re lip locked on the couch for a while, fully processing the fact that; they’re kissing each other. It was like jumping over a hurdle.

Getting tired of just resting there, Kai took the initiative and grabbed the back of Soobin’s head, gripping the short, black strands on the back of his head.

Soobin moaned, startled by the sudden roughness, not that he minded. His pretty noises only pushed Kai further, prompting him to insert his warm tongue into the other boy’s mouth.

Their tongues meet, the clash of soju and saliva making this impulsive moment even hotter. Soobin doesn’t know what to do with himself, or where to put his hands, so he just sits there, letting Kai explore his mouth, and grab his hair, Kai’s other hand goes to the side of his neck and he leans in impossibly closer, practically almost straddling the other boy.

Soobin takes this as a sign to grab his waist, keeping him steady, and starts to explore the muscular backside his buddy has been sculpting in the gym right before his eyes.

The room is hot and heavy. Tongues swirling, grabbing, and grinding against one another.

Fuck, they’re both hard.

Kai takes the hand that was once on Soobins neck and sensually glides it down to his perked nipples, hardened through his shirt, the slight pressure causing Soobin to shiver as if he’d been shocked, turned on by these acts of impulsivity.

Kai continues his quest exploring Soobin’s body, rubbing on his defined abs, trailing down to the hardened cock that’s piercing his pajamas pants, leaking tip soaking a wet spot through the silk material. Kai pulled back and smirked at Soobin’s immediate attempt to bring their lips back.

“You’re turned on from just a bit of kissing?” Kai asked condescendingly as if he wasn’t also. Soobin rolled his eyes and connected their lips again, this time he’s the one gripping Kai’s soft hair. He doesn’t care about teasing, he wants to finish what’s been started.

Intimately in their own world, the film completely disregarded. They don’t have anything else on their minds other than getting a release.

They’re both panting. Soobin rutted his groin against Kai’s hand, moaning into his mouth pathetically like he was in heat, he’s already so close, just a bit more and he’ll be at his be at his climax.

Soobin, so focused on his on pleasure doesn’t notice Kai taking his hand atop of his clothed cock, helping him get off too. Once he felt the hardness between his finger tips he squeezed earning a loud moan from Kai.

“Fuck,” Kai panted, he instead locked hands with Soobin then positioned himself right on top of him, rolling his hips quickly, aching for a release. Soobin moans at the sudden humping, leaking cock tip kissing Kai’s as he lifts his hips and matches his pace, equally as desperate.

“Make me come,” Soobin demanded, Kai couldn’t help but giggle at him trying to make demands while being such a mess underneath him. He couldn’t even let out a new snark remark, too distracted by the knot in his tummy being so close to snapping.

They were both so close, hot breath fanning against each other, clothed cocks stimulating each other, pajama pants beyond soaked. They probably looked like two animals in a rut. None of that mattered, both of them just wanting to come.

Soobin throws his head back and lets out a high pitched moan he’d be embarrassed about any other day, he couldn’t careless right now, he’s so close to snapping, one more grind and he’ll-

“What’s going on in here?”

Fuck. Now she wants to come back?!

—

Y/N stood before them, box of soju in her hand, cheeks burning but still keeping her composure. The sight of them having a heated make out on her couch surely aroused her. She clenched her thighs together as if it would stop the heat forming between her legs from soaking her panties.

Y/N sucked in a breath,

“You guys got too impatient waiting on drinks and decided to slurp each other’s faces?” she said in mockery, silently praying it’s not noticeable she was heavily turned on by the previous sight.

Soobin and Kai stared at her like they’d been caught red-handed by the police committing a misdeed.

Soobin couldn’t even comprehend her words, cock still painfully hard and brain fried from being so turned on.

Kai on the other hand just started at Y/N, noticing the way she shifts her legs uncomfortably, like there was something aching in between them. He brought back that smug expression that Soobin is all too familiar with;

“You’re not mad are you?” He started. “Or jealous?” Y/N stared at him blankly. She couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh, the nerve of this guy.

“I’m not mad or jealous, I’m just,” she pauses, collecting her thoughts. She places the box of drinks on the floor beside the table and takes a good look at both Soobin and Kai. They look so out of it, like they were having the time of their lives. Together. Without her.. On her couch.

“Damn, maybe I am jealous,” she thought.

She takes a step closer to the edge of the couch in front of both of them and says something that gives them the idea she’s been possessed by Kai’s boldness.

“I’m just wondering why you’d think to do this without inviting me,” she claimed, biting the bullet. Something in her chest said she wouldn’t regret her sudden words.

Soobin and Kai look over at each other, smirking ear to ear. It looked like they were plotting telepathically.

Suddenly Soobin shifted right side up back on his left side of the couch resting his arm across the top. Kai followed promptly, sprawling over the right, leaving a snug space in the middle between for Y/N.

It was Soobin’s turn to be bold now, legs open on the couch, member still visibly hard beneath the wet patch in the middle of his pants, a preview of what she was getting into.

“We’ve got some room for now,” Soobin said lowly, as if he was daring her to come closer.

The erotic expression on both the boy’s faces told her everything she needed to know;

She’s about to get wrecked.

Part. 2?

#˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ :: soobkwann writes!#soobin #soobin smut #soobin x reader #soobin x y/n #soobin x Kai #huening txt #hueningkai x reader #Hueningkai smut #txt smut #txt x reader #txt scenarios #txt x you #txt x female reader #yeonjun x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #kpop smut

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siriuslysatorusimping · 1 day ago

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The Theft (Gojo Satoru)

They stood in silence, a decade of distance stretching between them. The weight of everything left unsaid hung in the air. Until he stepped forward. A single stride across the chasm separating them. ... “You know," he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear carefully, "on top of breaking my heart, she stole my favorite sweater." - WC: 3.4k

Kiko's Masterlist | AO3 💕 | ko-fi ☕️

AN: I talked about this briefly on the stream on Wednesday, and it's finally here! I wrote it with Goinko in mind. But no names are mentioned, so it can be read as an x reader, too. In fact, literally no one is specifically named in this one. Fic and title are inspired by The Theft by Atreyu, which is the song included in the story. It's not required to listen to it, but I think it would add to the experience! This is a different format for me, as I usually don't like including song lyrics in a story, but I felt it worked for the narrative! Fun fact: the basic plot of this story is one I've had in my drafts for almost fifteen years... but it hit me not too long ago that it would be perfect for Goinko! It's a lil angsty, a lil fluffy, a lil bit of tension, and a lil slow burn... Hope you guys like it :)

The Theft

“Hi everyone.”

The woman’s calm voice echoed slightly as she greeted the small crowd. She stood confidently in front of the microphone, a gentle smile on her face. Her eyes, however, darted anxiously around the room.

“We appreciate you being here tonight for our little spur of the moment show. And we appreciate them accommodating our silly request.”

The owner let out a loud scoff from where he stood behind the bar, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“It’s been a bit since we had the chance to ‘come home,’ so to speak, so we wanted to do something special while we’re here. For those of you who don’t know, we played our first-ever show in this bar more than ten years ago. Just a young cover band who had no idea what they were doing.”

“And you’re saying you do now?” the owner called, raising his eyebrows.

She laughed, along with the rest of the band, the sound resounding when all of their mics picked it up.

“You’re not wrong there,” the guitarist replied, playing a quick, playful riff.

The drummer tapped a quick beat in agreement.

“We’ve just gotten better at pretending we know what we’re doing,” the woman teased, drawing chuckles all around. “Anyway, we’ve got a short one planned for tonight, but we hope you enjoy a little walk down memory lane with us.”

As the evening wound down, she took a long drink of water before releasing a labored breath.

“I hope everyone else has had as much fun as we have tonight. We’ve got one more before we call it a night. Seems fitting to round things out with the first song we ever released, yeah?”

The sight of the small bar she’d spent countless hours in packed to capacity with people brought a hesitant smile to her face. Ten years later, it was comforting to know almost nothing had changed about this place.

“A fun fact about this song,” she began, licking her dry lips as she grasped the mic stand tightly, “is that I actually wrote part of it in this bar. I think I was sitting at a booth somewhere in the back when I scribbled a couple lines on a napkin and prayed that I wouldn’t lose it before I got home.”

She knew exactly which booth it was. The same booth they always sat in together. Except she’d been all alone.

Back where I started… I’m empty without you, and I want to disappear…

“I’ll admit I was a few drinks deep by the time I wrote it, so while I’d thought it was genius at the time, sober me the next day took a while to figure out what the hell to do with it.”

As the crowd laughed, she grinned sheepishly. She’d been more than a few deep. And really, the hardest part had been reading her half-legible drunken scribbles the next morning.

“It was worth it, obviously, because it got us to where we are today. Thank you all again for spending your evening with us. We hope to see some of you tomorrow at the show.”

She stepped back, taking another large gulp of water while the band began playing. As the music filled the room again, her eyes scanned the crowd absently, unseeing. Even after so long, she still struggled with her nerves.

Taking a deep breath, she rested her hands on the microphone, letting the words flow out of her.

He bends and he breaks If he gives, they will take away His passion, his pain, his grace He exhales… a thousand black flowers explode Into butterflies as they’re away

The untold piece of the story she’d shared weighed heavily on her mind. The fact that she’d written the song to cope with the heartbreak she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried. No matter how many drinks she used to try to numb everything. Heartbreak she’d had no one to blame for but herself.

Rip them out, take them Burn to coals as they crush him Leave nothing that resembles the soul of a man See him numb, see him crushed See him numb, see him crushed

Questions still haunted her. What-ifs that would never be answered lingered in her mind constantly. As she took a breath, her eyes moved to the booth she’d referenced, noticing the man sitting there, and she faltered before tearing her eyes away.

Rip them out, take them Burn to coals as they crush him Leave nothing that resembles the soul of a man Leave him numb, leave him crushed Leaves him numb, leaves him crushed

Her gaze was drawn back to the booth. Had he been there the entire time? A woman sat beside him, wide-eyed as she leaned forward in her seat, clearly listening intently.

One of a thousand of her questions finally answered. A reply she never expected to ache so deeply when it had been so long. A twist in her chest that she shoved down as deep as it could go.

Took the fire inside one too many times He’s burning over and out as he flails Up against the raging tides No more sides Everything you ever wanted to see: See it in his eyes One more time One more time

One last look at his eyes was all she allowed herself, a fleeting glance as she took a labored breath and continued.

Climb down to test the waters My hands feel like they’re rusting away, yeah So I’ll pace around like a lamb before the slaughter I’ll stay here as long as you’ll let me

The words she wished she told him. Words she wished she’d had the courage to say instead of running away.

Decisions been made obvious So I will return where I started I’ll stay there Unfinished I’ll wither away

Though she felt the pull to look back at that booth in the corner, she focused on everything else. Anything except the knowledge that he now sat in the booth they’d spent countless evenings together — despite his distaste for crowds, despite how much he despised the smell of alcohol — with someone else.

Rip them out, take them Burn to coals as they crush him Leave nothing that resembles the soul of a man See him numb, see him crushed See him numb, see him crushed

As the music faded, her eyes wandered back to the booth before she could stop them, only to find it empty. It seemed silly for her chest to ache, for it to sting so deeply when she knew better than to think any other outcome was possible.

She knew better than to hope that he might want to talk to her.

Blinking quickly, her attention moved to the audience before her as they clapped, her answering grin somehow feeling genuine and forced at the same time. She felt an arm around her shoulders as her bandmates joined her, bowing instinctively alongside them.

“Thank you all again for spending your evening with us!”

They moved to the bar, each of them ordering a drink and she faintly registered her bandmates’ voices as they joked with the owner about how much better they sounded now.

“Yeah, yeah, too bad for you, I had to listen to your soundcheck earlier–”

Her ears rang slightly as she stared forward, exhaustion settling in her shoulders and regret rising in her chest. She couldn’t help but feel coming here tonight had been a mistake.

The drink in her hand tasted sour, but she forced herself to take another sip, then another, and another, finishing it swiftly.

“Gonna get some air,” she informed the others, pushing herself to her feet and waving off the offer to join her. “I won’t be long.”

Stepping out into the cool evening, she pulled a deep, cleansing breath into her lungs. Her mind raced, the shock of cold air doing little to help ground her. Still, she lifted her head to stare up at the sky. The stars seemed dim as they twinkled weakly, but the moon shined bright enough in their stead, almost drowning the lamps along the quiet street.

A whisper of her name reached her ears, so soft she thought she imagined it until she noticed the shadow from the corner of her eye.

Turning, her heart stuttered as she faced the familiar figure standing just a few meters away, his hands shoved in his pockets.

They stood in silence, a decade of distance stretching between them. The weight of everything left unsaid hung in the air. Until he stepped forward. A single stride across the chasm separating them.

“I’m… surprised you’re here,” she finally murmured, her throat dry.

He looked down for a moment, seeming almost sheepish.

“Heard you were putting on a show like the old days, and I couldn’t miss it.” He lifted his head again, his eyes burning into hers. “You look beautiful.”

Another step, this one larger, and he stood directly in front of her, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

He looked just as handsome as she remembered. He still towered over her, his hair strategically messy and his face perfectly blemish-free. The only signs of his age were slight wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, obvious indicators of frequent smiles and laughter.

The weight of his stare anchored her in place, his eyes still more brilliant than the moon above.

Beautiful, flawless, untouchable. A statue carved from marble and far too precious to be around someone like her. His family had made that clear every chance they got.

“It’s good to see you,” she whispered. “How have you been?”

“Getting by,” he replied, his voice just as quiet. “Working. Old man is set to retire soon so I’ll officially be taking over when he does.”

No surprise there. He’d been expected to take over almost his entire life. One of many reasons his family had wanted him to have nothing to do with her. An odd sense of relief filled her knowing he’d been successful. It seemed to confirm she’d made the right choice all those years ago. All she’d wanted for him was to be happy and successful, even if those came at the cost of losing him.

Words escaped her now as she stood in front of him, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his observant gaze.

“What about you?” he asked, his eyes searching her face. “You made it big.”

A slight nod and a smile were all she could manage, but she couldn’t deny the pride in her chest at his words. She’d gone and made her dream come true despite everything saying she couldn’t.

“I heard the show tomorrow is sold out, too.”

“I’m… guessing you won’t be there.”

The statement made him hesitate briefly before he slowly shook his head.

“I don’t have tickets.”

Somehow even though it was the answer she expected, the words dug into her chest and nestled inside her ribcage. She hated that it bothered her so much when she knew it wasn’t something he enjoyed. It wasn’t his scene.

The treacherous part of her mind couldn’t help but wonder why life was cruel enough to put him in front of her after so long just to give her a sense of false hope before ripping him away again. But she knew that this was never meant to be anything more than a glance at what could have been in a different life.

Him being at the show tomorrow would have changed nothing, anyway. It wasn’t like she would have been able to see him.

Nodding, she stepped back, willing herself toward the door.

“I should get back inside,” she murmured, fighting the urge to lean into his presence. Staying near him was dangerous. “It was– it was good to see you.”

“Wait.” He grasped her hand, the simple touch sending a spark through her veins. “We should– let’s catch up sometime. If not now, then–”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She wanted to. She wanted to catch up. She wanted to keep hearing his voice. She desperately wanted to pretend that things were different. But she knew better than to let herself be swept away by the fairytale that was them. There wasn’t a world where they caught up without her yearning for more. And she wasn’t willing to intrude on the life he’d built for himself. It wasn’t fair to either of them, or the woman she’d seen sitting beside him during the show — the woman she could only assume was his wife.

“Why not?” he asked. “It’s been years, and I’ve missed you.”

She’d missed him, too. More than she could ever say. But she wouldn’t be an intruder in his life.

“You know why,” she replied, ignoring how her chest ached as frustration threatened to rise. He knew she wasn’t the type to be the other woman. At least he used to know. But even worse if he thought they could just catch up because he felt nothing at all. “I won’t– where’s your wife?”

He blinked slowly, his brow furrowing.

“Wife? What are you talking about?”

“The woman who was here with you.”

“Her?” His face scrunched at her words before he released a quick breath through his nose. “You mean my assistant? She’s probably home, or at a friend’s, gushing about getting to see you live. I only sat with her because she’s the reason I found out about tonight and I didn’t want to be an ass and avoid her outside of work.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he raised his eyebrows in challenge.

“You can talk to her and ask,” he offered drily. “She might faint from excitement at meeting you first, though. She’s a big fan.”

He held his free hand up, wriggling his fingers to emphasize the lack of a ring. It made no sense to her. It was one of the expectations on his shoulders for most of his life.

“But your family–”

“They’ve taken enough of my life from me,” he cut her off, rolling his eyes. “They tried to set something up a few years ago, but I told them I didn’t care if they gave the company away to someone else just because I wasn’t married.”

“You can’t just tell your family–”

“Well, I did.” His eyes seemed to twinkle down at her now as he tugged her closer. “I never wanted the company to begin with. I wanted to be with this girl I met in college. She was really pretty, had an incredible voice, and she put up with me and my dumb family with a smile. But they somehow convinced her she didn’t deserve me.”

Swallowing thickly, she tried to keep her jaw from trembling.

“She wouldn’t listen when I said I didn’t care what they thought, and I was too stupid to realize that they’d already done what they wanted.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear carefully. “You know, on top of breaking my heart, she stole my favorite sweater. Been waiting for a chance to ask for it back.”

A snort of laughter escaped before she could stop it. Leave it to him to bring up something so ridiculous and silly.

“You’ve been waiting a decade for a sweater?”

“It was a nice sweater,” he defended, a smirk pulling at his lips now. “And she looks really good in it. She always looked great in my clothes.”

The statement had memories flooding her mind, the countless times she’d plucked his shirts or sweaters from the floor of his room. How he’d always teased her about liking them more than she liked him. How he had looked at her whenever he said they looked better on her, anyway.

His arm snaking around her waist forced her back to the present, his breath fanning across her face as he leaned down.

“I–” She fought the heat climbing her neck, her eyes flitting down to the loose sweater she wore. She didn’t want to admit she’d worn it because she’d been thinking of him. That a part of her had hoped he would show up. Hoped deep down in a place she wouldn’t even admit to herself that he hadn’t forgotten her entirely by now. “It’s a comfy sweater.”

“That’s why it was my favorite.” His voice held a teasing edge as he lifted her chin to meet her eyes again. “I’ve missed you.”

The words had his lips brushing against hers, and her heart pounded at the familiar sensation. Her eyes slid closed as she tilted her head back a bit further– the door to the bar shot open, startling both of them, his hands releasing her as she jolted back.

“There you are! We were getting worried– ope.” Her bandmate stopped abruptly, eyes darting between them as a sly grin formed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, uh, interrupt. Just letting you know we’re getting ready to head out for the night.”

They disappeared through the door before either of them could reply, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. They would never let her live this down. The others would probably be standing right inside the door waiting to ambush her.

“I should go,” she murmured reluctantly, meeting his gaze again as dejection bloomed in her chest.

This really was it. They’d gotten so close to… what? Reuniting? What did she think would happen? There had never been a real chance for them to work. Not really.

“When will you be back?”

“We’re touring for another six months,” she replied, “and after that… Well, this isn’t exactly home for me anymore.” Pausing, her gaze dropped to the ground, her hands fiddling with the sleeves of the sweater. Despite the part of her screaming not to, she just couldn’t help herself. “I won’t– I can’t ask you to– but if you want, we could stay in touch, and I could–”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate, cutting her off and pulling her close again. “I’d love to keep in touch. I want to talk to you.”

Relief filled her so quickly it made her dizzy, the smile on his face knocking the air from her chest.

“I’ve missed you, too,” she whispered, the admission feeling more like a confession. “I know it’s never really been your scene, but did you at least enjoy the show tonight?”

His smile grew as he nodded.

“Your voice was just like I remembered,” he replied. “It really took me back. Had me feeling nostalgic, wondering how things would’ve worked out if I’d told my family to screw themselves earlier.”

They both knew that never would’ve worked. Not back then.

“Still such a sap, huh?” she teased anyway, drawing a chuckle from him. Glancing toward the door, she released a quiet sigh. “I should go before more of them come out here to snoop.”

Retrieving her phone, she held it out for him to take.

“I… know it’s been a long time, and I travel a lot, but I– I really do want to stay in touch,” she said, watching him enter his contact. “I know it’s not fair to ask you to wait–”

“I’ve waited ten years, sweetheart,” he cut her off, smirking. His tone had a teasing lilt to it as he handed her phone back. “Another six months is nothing.”

She bit her lip to fight the smile, sharing her contact with him before shoving her phone back into her pocket.

“I guess that’s fair,” she conceded.

His arm around her waist tightened, and he leaned down again until she could feel his breath mingling with hers.

“Just don’t keep me waiting forever,” he whispered before pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek, “because I expect you to return this next time I see you.”

He tugged the collar of the sweater playfully, a smirk on his face as he released her and stepped back.

“You’ll have to take it from me,” she teased. Excitement shot through her at the sight of his eyes narrowing, and she quickly retreated to the door. Meeting his eyes over her shoulder one last time, she asked, “Until next time?”

“I’ll see you then.”

AN: What'd you guys think? I enjoyed writing it 😊 I thought it was cute and sweet. Thoughts? Questions? I might continue it to show some of their relationship in the past and/or write their reunion after her tour ends... 🤔

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