#help. the second answer is so incomprehensible

[steddiehyperfixation]

steve harrington's phone number

@steddiebingo prompt: van | 1.7k words | T |

“Stupid- useless piece of shit!” Eddie barely manages to pull his coughing, spluttering van over to the side of the road before it chokes to a stop with a dying wheeze. “Fucking drama queen.” He gets out and gives the side of the van a good kick, chastizing it for its very loud and inconvenient death. 

Just his luck it would decide to break down here, on a nothing stretch of road several miles outside of town. Too far to walk but not all that long of a drive if his stupid car could’ve just toughed it out a little while longer. “You really couldn’t have held on for like ten more minutes?” he grumbles, kicking the van again. The van, of course, does not answer and remains quite dead. Eddie mutters a few more curses and pulls his jacket tighter around himself against the late November chill as he wanders around to the front of the car to pop the hood. 

It’s an entirely useless gesture, popping the hood. Even before he opens it he knows he’s still not going to have a single clue what’s broken or how to fix it. The inner workings of a car are utterly foreign to him, an alien language of metal and grease that he stupidly never cared to learn. He stares blankly at the incomprehensible jumble of machinery before him, cursing himself for all those times he’d evaded and complained his way out of Wayne’s attempts to teach him how to do his own auto repairs. His uncle’s boring handyman lessons would’ve really come in handy right now, if only he’d had the foresight to listen. 

With a huffed out sigh, Eddie slams the hood back down. He’s going to have to call someone.

Thankfully he can see a roadside payphone not too far off in the distance, about half a mile out maybe. He rummages through his pockets and paws around the front seat of the van for any spare change he could use. He’d just blown through most of the money he had on him at a record store in Indy, but he manages to scrounge up enough coins for one call. Just one. So he has to choose wisely. He starts his trudge to the payphone while he runs through a mental list of options, feeling increasingly frustrated and hopeless as he crosses each of them off one by one. 

A tow truck is too expensive. His uncle is at work. Half his friends can’t drive, and not a single one of them knows anything about cars anyways so they wouldn’t be much help beyond a ride home (and he’d really rather not have to just leave his van on the side of the road). He needs someone who’s free, can drive, and has enough of a working knowledge of cars to possibly be able to give his van enough of a second wind to make it home. 

Which is how he finds himself in a dingy little phone booth punching in Steve Harrington’s number - a number he’s never called before yet somehow memorized, recalling it clearly in his mind’s eye in the scrawl of Steve’s handwriting on notebook paper. 

“Harrington residence, Steve speaking,” Steve’s voice comes through the line, automatic and rehearsed.

“Okay, I’ll make fun of that weirdly formal greeting later,” Eddie decides, “but right now, uh- man, I really hate to do this, but do you happen to know anything about fixing cars?”

“Eddie, hey,” Steve sounds almost startled to hear from him. “Um, yeah, I mean, I’m no expert or anything, but I know enough to get by. Why?” 

“My van just broke down on my way back from the city and I was hoping you might be willing to do me a huge huge favor and come out here and see if you can help me get her started again.” Eddie puts all the desperation he can into his voice, which really isn’t hard. His distress is 100% genuine. “Please? I’m desperate here, Harrington. I’d be forever in your debt, I’ll-” 

“Okay,” Steve says before Eddie can start bargaining. So simply, so easily. He really wasn’t expecting it to be that easy.

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll help you. Where are you?”  

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god- thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I owe you my life, seriously-” 

“Munson,” Steve cuts him off again, repeating his question, “where are you?” 

“Right, yeah.” Eddie gives his best approximation of where he is and Steve promises to be there as soon as he can before hanging up. Feeling a little bit lighter now, Eddie treks back to wait by his van.

The sun has just dipped below the horizon, streaking the sky with pink and gold, when Steve’s BMW pulls up and he steps out of the car bathed in the orange glow of sunset, looking every bit the rescuing angel. A dashing hero straight out of a fairytale; Eddie can almost picture him with a sword in his hands instead of a toolbox, a noble steed behind him instead of a car. 

He expresses only a satirized version of that sentiment, clasping his hands over his heart and gasping theatrically in greeting, “Harrington, my hero!” And he grins as Steve rolls his eyes in response. 

“Hi, Eddie.” Steve approaches, plunks his toolbox on the front of the van and leans against it. “You know, I’m surprised you called me. It didn’t seem like you were ever going to.” 

Eddie shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I just- I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to help me. I’m sorry if me calling you, like, freaked you out for a second there.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow and his head tilts like a confused puppy. “Why would you calling freak me out?” 

“Well, I mean, you only gave me your number in case something happened with the kids, right?” Eddie states. “So, I didn’t mean to make you worried at first that there might’ve been, like, a Dustin emergency or something.” 

“Oh…” A number of emotions flicker across Steve’s face as he seems to come to some sort of realization, and his expression ultimately settles on vaguely amused. “Right, yeah. Totally.” 

Now Eddie’s the one who’s confused, feeling like he’s missed a punchline. “Is that…not why you gave me your number?” It’s not like it had actually been explicitly stated, but they’d just been talking about the kids right before Steve had written his number down, so Eddie had just assumed that was the reason. 

“No, it-” Steve shakes his head and smiles, a little bit fond, a little bit like he’s still sharing some kind of inside joke with himself. “It’s not important right now,” he decides. “Let’s just figure out your van first, alright? What was going on with it before it broke down?” 

“Well, I don't actually know,” Eddie says, “but she was being very loud and dramatic about it.” 

“Huh, I’ve heard of pets developing similar personalities to their owners but I’ve never heard of cars doing it.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

Steve grins, pushing himself off the front of the car so he can open the hood and take a look. He immediately starts to tinker around with some stuff. Eddie has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, but he sure looks good doing it. There’s a cold breeze in the air, getting colder by the minute with the slowly darkening sky, but something about watching Steve’s arms as he works a wrench into the machinery has Eddie feeling strangely warm. 

Steve’s talking, probably trying to explain what he’s doing or what’s wrong with the van, though Eddie’s not catching a word of it. He couldn’t pay attention even if he tried, and not just because he’s distracted by Steve’s arms. The other half of his mind is still stubbornly stuck on the whole thing about Steve’s number, racking his brain trying to figure out why the hell else he would’ve given it to him. 

He spends way too long replaying that moment, and all their previous and subsequent interactions, over and over again in his head before his memory finally starts to give notice to all Steve’s lingering glances, subtle once-overs, and suggestive smirks.

“Holy shit, you were flirting with me!” Eddie blurts out the realization as soon as it hits him. “When you gave me your number - you were trying to hit on me!”

Steve, who had been interrupted mid sentence, barks out a laugh. “Now he gets it,” he teases as he glances over at Eddie. “You know, I couldn't figure you out for a while. All this time you never called but would still say hi to me when I picked the kids up from Hellfire, I figured it was some sort of soft rejection. But you really were just completely oblivious, huh?” 

“No yeah, I just have fucking rocks for brains apparently,” Eddie says, shaking his head self-deprecatingly as he rushes to reassure him, “I was definitely not rejecting you. Definitely, definitely not. Believe me, if I’d’ve known- I would’ve called so fast, man. I mean, trust me, your phone would’ve never stopped ringing.” 

“Good to know.” Steve smiles, his eyes so golden and warm in the dusk it almost seems as if the sun is on its way back up. He returns his attention to the van, just for half a second to give the machinery one last tweak, and then he straightens and closes the hood, wiping the car grease from his hands off on his jeans as he announces, “Well, your car should start now, if you wanna test it out and make sure. And then we can, uh, continue this conversation?” 

Eddie nods, hops back in the van, and turns his key in the ignition. It rumbles to life, and he lets out a laugh like a cheer. “You’re a goddamn miracle worker, Stevie!” he shouts.

“Glad I could help,” Steve calls back proudly. 

Eddie revels in the sound of his not-dead van for a moment longer before he takes a deep breath, turns off the engine, and jumps out to stand in front of Steve again. “So.” 

“So.” 

There’s a brief beat of buzzing silence. Eddie finds he doesn’t have all that much left to say, and he’s feeling far too giddy right now to be able to stand through some sappy discussion about how they feel about each other when it’s entirely unnecessary. He suggests instead, “Do you wanna just skip the conversation and go make out in the back of my van?” 

Steve grins at him. “Absolutely.” 

[sweetcalebb]

Bad Fight

⋆˙⟡ you and caleb have a fight after he decides to put some stranger in his place, stripping you of your autonomy. again

cw: angst

a/n: this is for my avoidant girlies 🫶🏻

──★ ˙

The tension was suffocating. Tonight was supposed to be a fun and relaxing—a rare break from both of your jobs. But Caleb had ended up telling some guy off for looking at you and ruining the whole night.

God.

What right did he have to just.. do that?

You sounded like an asshole, but Caleb was always hovering, always trying to play the knight in shining armor. But you weren't the little girl that needed saving anymore and he didn't seem to get that.

Now, you were silently walking up to his apartment a few steps behind him, your chest tight and your cheeks burning from frustration.

When he let you in, you didn't even thank him. Just walked past. And it killed him. He sighed, running a tired had through his hair before shutting the door and following after you.

"Hey, are you seriously still upset?"

Heat shot up your spine. It was that 'seriously' he threw in there that really made the churn in your stomach worse. He said it like he couldn't believe you were mad at him, like what he did was so noble.

But you pressed your lips into a hard line, refusing to answer.

"Okay. So that's a yes."

Still nothing.

Wordlessly, you shrugged off your coat, then draped it over his couch. You knew you were being a bit childish. The cold shoulder? Yeah. That was never the way to go, but you didn't trust your voice right now.

Caleb let out another sigh, taking a few steps forward. "I'm sorry I screwed up our evening," he breathed out, hand twitching at his side like he wanted to touch you. "But I'm not sorry I told that weirdo to back off."

You paused, desperately trying to swallow back the thousands of angry words trying to spill out.

Stop it.

For a moment, it was silent. Just you trying to hold it together, and Caleb, standing there, waiting for you say something. To snap at him, yell at him, anything.

But you never did.

"Can you at least..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. "Can you at least look at me? Or say something?"

You licked your lips, the words just on the tip of your tongue.

Reel it in.

He means well.

Slowly, you turned around. You stared at him for a second, thinking of your words carefully before finally opening your mouth.

"I.. I know you mean well, but what you did back there—it didn't feel good. It felt.." you paused, afraid of what this might cause, "humiliating."

A flicker of hurt passed through Caleb's eyes.

Humiliated?

The word rang in his ears, made his jaw clench and his brows pinch together. He humiliated you? Him caring humiliated you?

He couldn't help the small scoff that slipped past his lips. It wasn't mocking. Wasn't angry. Just disbelieving. "So me caring about you was embarrassing?" The hurt crept in unbidden and he hated it, but he couldn't stop it.

"Did you even see the way he was looking at you?" he asked, voice edging on something rougher.

You sighed. "Caleb—"

"He was being disrespectful," he continued. "Basically undressing you with his eyes."

Your breath quickened, your stomach burning with frustration. "And I could've handled it myself."

"How?"

For a second, you hesitated. How would you have handled it? Would you really have said anything? Sure, you could say you would've, but if Caleb hadn't stepped in back there, would you have? Really?

"I would've said something," you responded, the words weak, even to your own ears. And Caleb caught it. The waver in your voice? He didn't miss that—the sound that told him you weren't sure, but still answering just for the sake of argument.

"Right."

Heat rushed through your veins at that single-word. Right. Right, as if it was impossible for you to defend yourself.

"This is the problem," you spat, instantly regretting the bitterness that laced your words, but committing to it anyway.

"What is?"

"This!" you said, exasperated, hands making some incomprehensible gesture between him and yourself. "You don't even let me try to protect myself."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. This? As in him? Something hot and ugly was crawling up his throat. He should've stopped it. In any other circumstance—where he hadn't seen some stranger ogle you like you were some piece of meat—maybe he could've been calmer.

But he had watched some guy ogle you, and now he was the one in the wrong for standing up for you?

"You think I like always being the one to step in?"

Caleb should've shut his mouth right then and there, but the words were already out. He couldn't stop now.

"You think it feels good to always be on edge," he continued, voice rougher than he intended, "wondering if I’m crossing a line or just doing what you won’t?"

The last had more bite than the rest and your breath instantly caught in your throat.

Then, in a fresh wave, it all came back, frustration washing over you.

"You're not listening!" you seethed. "It doesn't matter what I can and can't do! I'm not asking you to play hero!"

Your voice shook with the weight of your emotions. "You choose that on your own, and I keep asking you not to!"

Caleb huffed, shaking his head as he took a small step back. "Okay, so next time I should just watch?"

Your throat closed up, angry tears welling in your eyes.

Not now.

Please not now.

"No, that's not what I'm—" You paused, trying to swallow back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You hated this.

You hated crying out of frustration.

"That's not what I'm saying," you finished, your voice losing the bitter edge it had just seconds ago.

Caleb let out a soft exhale. He caught the slight shake in your voice, the way you'd silently pulled back.

Fuck.

He was being an asshole.

Caleb softened, but for a while, neither of you said anything. You wouldn't even look at him, and that alone was devastating. Caleb hated that he'd done this, that he'd let himself get carried away, trying to prove he was justified rather than listen to you.

His voice came out quieter when he spoke again. "What do I do? I mean, I can't—I can't just watch people do shit to you. But I also can't defend you." He let the words settle before continuing, "So what do I do?"

You ran a shaky hand down your face. "Forget it. Just—" You shook your head, turning on your heel and rushing toward the guest-room, the one that was reserved just for you.

Panic flared in Caleb's chest. "Pips—"

But you were already gone, slamming the door behind you.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his heart pounding in his ears. The apartment was suddenly quiet. Empty.

You always slept in his room when you were over. Even after fights. Even when things got messy.

So he waited up in bed for you.

10 minutes had gone by, and nothing.

15 minutes. Still nothing.

Then 30. And it was becoming painfully clear you weren't coming to bed with him tonight.

He knew he should give you space, so he tried to sleep, but he kept replaying your fight, kept replaying the way the angry set of your brow softened the moment he'd gone too far.

Then he thought about the tears in your eyes—

God, the tears.

He was horrible.

Caleb couldn't stand this. With a heavy breath, he reached toward his nightstand and grabbed his phone, thumbs moving shakily across the keyboard.

Caleb: i messed up.

Caleb: i didn't hear you.

Caleb: i'm sorry.

Caleb: can i still kiss you goodnight?

Meanwhile, you were in bed, cheeks puffy and eyes rimmed red, staring at his texts. You wanted to say yes. Wanted him to come in through the door and fix everything with a little kiss and a few sweet words.

But the fight kept replaying in your head. The bitterness, the almost mocking lilt he couldn't quite hide.

It hurt.

Too much to just let him in again.

You: not tonight.

[sleepy-steve]

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

“Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.” 

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.” 

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

[simp-for-love]

I got you

Mattheo Riddle x femReader

After a grueling day, you can finally relax in your dorm. And your loving boyfriend is more than happy to help you with that.

Warnings: MDNI, smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, praise kink, swearing, established relationship, soft!mattheo, aftercare, using of 'baby girl', 'good girl'

A/N: I didn't intend to write smut, but the last few days got the best of me draining my soul. Hope my work will help you feel better as much as it does me.

Thanks to a sweet angel, Jess, for proofreading my first smutty work 💕

It was rare, but it happened. The kind of day when everything just felt like too much. Too noisy in the Great Hall during breakfast, too hard to understand the material in class, too incomprehensible to write down your answers for homework, too annoying to hang out with your friends — even though you loved them with all your heart. Everything today was just too much.

You walked to your dorm after spending two frustrating hours struggling over your Potions essay. No matter how much you tried, the words didn’t feel right, and the more you stared at the parchment, the worse it got. You knew you could do better — but not today. Not when every ounce of energy and focus had drained out of you. Maybe if you went to bed early, you could rewrite it tomorrow morning?

With a heavy sigh, you tossed your bag to the floor near the table. The day felt like an endless stretch of torture, and you were finally free — finally in the quiet comfort of your room. Here, you didn’t have to be anything but a lazy bundle wrapped in a blanket, free from responsibilities and expectations.

You opened the closet, reaching for something more comfortable. Your fingers brushed against a familiar grey shirt — Mattheo’s. It was oversized and soft, and even after multiple washes, it still carried the faintest scent of him. You slipped it on along with a pair of wide, comfy shorts, hoping the feel of his clothes would ease some of the tension humming beneath your skin.

With another dramatic sigh, you plopped onto your bed, letting your tired body sink into the mattress. Your eyes felt heavy, the weight of the day pulling you under as you burrowed deeper beneath the blanket.

For a few blissful minutes, the silence wrapped around you like a cocoon, and you let yourself breathe — slow and deep. But just as your mind began to drift, a knock at your door pulled you back.

Your brows furrowed in irritation. You didn’t want to see anyone. Not now. You ignored the sound, hoping whoever it was would get the hint. But then the soft click of the door opening made you lift your head slightly.

The annoyance faded the second you recognized the guest.

"Hey there, baby girl," Mattheo’s voice was warm, smooth like honey, and the sight of him sent a flutter through your chest. His dark curls were tousled as if he’d run his fingers through them on the way over, and the usual edge in his eyes softened when they landed on your form wrapped in the blanket.

He crossed the room, settling on the edge of your bed. His hand found you immediately, brushing down the curve of your shoulder and along your hip through the duvet — a touch so familiar, so comforting, it made your whole body relax.

“I haven't seen you since class," he murmured, his tone playful but laced with quiet concern. “Thought I’d come check on my girl.”

You sighed softly, feeling the weight of the day loosen slightly at his presence. “Just… tired,” you admitted, your voice muffled as you tucked your face into the blanket. “It’s been a long day.”

Mattheo hummed in understanding, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along your side. “Poor thing,” he said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know I’m always here for you.”

His words settled something fragile inside you, melting the last traces of tension. Without a second thought, you shifted closer, and he took the invitation immediately — lifting the blanket and sliding in beside you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed softly in your ear.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know,” Mattheo whispered, his lips brushing against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his body seeped into yours, easing the ache that had followed you all day. His hand never stopped moving — gentle, absent-minded strokes along your back as if he was determined to chase every last trace of stress away.

For a moment, you let yourself melt into him, your body softening under his touch. But then Mattheo shifted slightly, and his fingers trailed up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His lips pressed a soft kiss against your temple — tender and lingering.

“You work too hard,” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your skin. “You should let me take care of you sometimes.”

Before you could answer, he tilted your face gently toward him, brushing his lips across your cheek. The kiss was featherlight, but it sent a shiver down your spine. Another kiss followed, this time at the corner of your mouth, lingering just long enough to make your heart stutter in your chest.

His thumb traced along your jaw, tilting your head slightly to give him more access as his lips trailed a slow, deliberate path across your face. Each kiss was soft, unhurried — like he had all the time in the world to remind you how much he adored you.

“You’re too sweet to me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

Mattheo's hand slided down to the small of your back, his fingers splaying possessively but gently over the curve of your ass. He pulled you closer until every inch of your body was pressed against him, from your soft breasts to your long, slender legs. He wanted to absorb your warmth, your soul, your goodness. He wanted it to seep into his bones and heal all the broken, jagged pieces of himself.

"Too sweet?" he scoffed quietly at your words. Salazar, if you only knew how he was afraid that one day you would get tired of him. Of his darkness, of his recklessness, of his demons inside. No, he could never be too sweet for you. He just liked to show you his appreciation for your presence in his life, his awe of your existence, his utter and deep love for you.

“I’m not sweet,” he murmured quietly, but the teasing edge in his tone softened when he pressed a kiss to the delicate spot just beneath your ear. “I’m selfish. I just want you all to myself.”

The heat of his breath against your skin made your stomach flip in a familiar way. His kisses wandered lower, trailing along the curve of your jaw before he found the sensitive spot on your neck. His lips lingered there, soft and warm, as he placed an open-mouthed kiss against your pulse.

A quiet sigh slipped from your lips, and Mattheo hummed in satisfaction, clearly pleased by your reaction. “That’s better,” he said, his voice huskier now. “You’re finally relaxing.”

His hand slid from your butt under the blanket, finding the bare skin of your waist beneath his oversized shirt. His touch was gentle — slow, almost teasing — as his thumb stroked lazy circles over your hipbone.

“You smell like me,” Mattheo murmured against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin with every word. “I like it.”

His confession made your chest tighten in the best way. You tilted your head slightly without realizing it, giving him better access as his mouth continued its exploration — kissing, nipping softly, then soothing the spots with his tongue.

“Mattheo…” His name slipped from your lips, barely more than a breath, but it was enough to make him pause. He lifted his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours, and the warmth you found there made you swallow.

"I'm right here," he murmured softly, brushing his nose against your. He pecked you gently, upper lip at first, then the lower one. "Gonna be a good girl and let me help you relax, yeah?" His tone felt better than any soft and warm blanket, making your heart stumble on its rhythm. The familiar heat pooled down to your stomach.

"Yes. I will, Matty," you whispered in his lips, feeling the anticipation tingling in your body.

His warm smile made something clench painfully in your chest. Mattheo's hand moved further, from your hipbone to your stomach, running his fingers there slowly.

"That's it," he murmured softly. His hand moved further, his touch was careful. It was obvious he knew exactly where to go, where to touch, where to kiss. His calloused fingers slid with confidence and gentleness against your heated skin, as he took on the mission to leave no inch of your body untouched, and his own body shivered in response to the sensation of you — feeling every dip and curve under the shirt, his shirt that you were wearing.

He pressed his lips back against your skin, a soft kiss here, a soft kiss there. Your body responded every single time, your muscles relaxing under his touch.

Mattheo felt the tension in your body ease with every touch and kiss he placed. This was exactly what he wanted — you to relax, to let go of the worries of the day, and trust him completely.

His thumb traced a slow, soothing circle over the sensitive skin of your hip, his gaze roaming your face, taking in every detail — every flutter of your eyelashes, every soft exhale of your breath.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured quietly. "So damn beautiful." It was as if he couldn't believe you were real — that you were his, in his arms, letting him touch you, kiss you, make you feel good.

As his thumb continued its journey, tracing a path along the waistband of your shorts, his lips found that spot on your neck again. He sucked gently at your pulse point, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

Mattheo's words and actions made your body shiver, the sincerity in his voice making your breathing uneven. You lifted your hand, fingers tangling into the dark mass of curls at his nape, tugging him closer.

His touch was slightly rougher now as Mattheo played with the waistband of your panties. He wanted to feel your entire body respond to him, to have you arch your back against his hand.

Mattheo shifted slightly and gently tugged at the fabric, his lips moving to your ear. "Don't move," he whispered gruffly, his tone commanding. "Just let me take care of you."

The possessive edge in his voice made you swallow. You could hear the want and need in his words — the hunger for you, for your body in his hands.

His lips left a trail of kisses along your jawline as he continued to explore. His hands moved more confidently, his fingers dancing over your skin as he slowly pushed your shorts down your already trembling thighs.

Mattheo's hand skimmed along the bare skin of your legs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you, in his oversized shirt, underwear, and nothing else, sprawled out in front of him on the bed. "You have no idea how beautiful you are," he murmured, his words a soft exhale against your neck. "So good for me. So fucking beautiful."

There was a note of reverence in his voice, as if he was worshipping you with every word. His hands began to move again, his large and warm palms sliding up the inside of your thighs, spreading them gently apart.

His hands went to remove your panties, his touch caring and soft. In his position, he was laying between your legs, his face was just above your mound. You tremlled at the sight of his eyes on you. "You look so perfect like this," he said in a low, a bit hoarse voice.

Mattheo leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel his hot breath. His lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, his tongue darting out to tease you. Then, in one smooth motion, his mouth was finally on you.

He started off slow, tongue tracing patterns along your folds, exploring, tasting. Mattheo knew exactly what he was doing, each movement calculated to give you pleasure, to worship you in the most intimate way. He took his time, every touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as if he could savour you.

"Oh fuck," you gasped softly. His tongue found your sensitive bud, and he circled it, flicking it tenderly before taking into his mouth, suckling and tugging gently on it in all the right ways. You couldn’t help but moan, your fingers burying in his hair, holding onto him as if your life depended on it. He continued to pay worship to you with his mouth, like you were a holy place he had long waited to pay a visit.

"Such a good girl, letting me take care of you," he cooed lowly as he sank a finger deep inside you, reveling in the tight heat that welcomed him. He moved slowly, savoring the slick glide as he pumped his finger in and out in a leisurely, steady rhythm. Your body reacted immediately to his presence, soft gasps and moans spilling from your lips.

Every stroke of his digit made your body arch, your breathing ragged and uneven. It felt so good, but yet not enough. "Mattheo," you whined breathlessly, your voice a quiet plea. "Please..."

"Shh, baby girl. It's okay. I got you," he murmured, returning his mouth on your clit. A second finger slid inside, joining the first one in their steady pace. You felt like heaven to him, like the best thing he had ever tasted. His name slipped from your lips, a moan that was music to his ears.

The wet sounds of your heat filled the room, punctuated by your own ragged pants and the occasional whimpers that escaped your mouth. Mattheo continued his ministrations, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to bring you pleasure that you deserved. He could feel you getting wetter under his touch, responding to every move he made. He knew he was good, but the way you always reacted to him, the way you trembled and moaned, made him feel a surge of masculine pride, made him feel like a god.

"I love making you feel good. Love how I can make a pretty, intelligent girl like you whimper like that," he murmured, his tone a seductive and satisfied purr.

The pleasure he was giving you felt endless, a tidal wave of sensations that threatened to drown you in ecstasy. But nothing could prepare you for the moment when he curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that made you see stars.

The blissful feeling was building, mounting with each flick of his tongue, each expert stroke of his fingers, each praise he was giving to you. Mattheo was relentless in his mission to make you feel wanted, needed, loved — his focus entirely on you. And you fully felt it.

His name spilled from your lips, a mixture of a moan and a plea. Mattheo responded to each of them with a low, satisfied hum, his eyes never leaving your face. He wanted to see every expression, every twist and gasp. He was drinking in the sight of you, completely focusing on your pleasure, on bringing you to the edge and making you feel good, just like you deserved.

The feeling of his fingers and lips on you was nearly overwhelming, and you couldn't help but whine, your voice catching in your throat. Your hands gripped his curls, desperate for something to hold onto, as you felt the tension coil low in your stomach. You were so close, and he knew it by the way your walls started to flutter around his fingers.

"Come for me, love," he coaxed against your skin, the words vibrating through your core. "Be a good girl for me and let go."

Mattheo's words sent another jolt of pleasure through you, and your body obeyed, clenching around his fingers. You felt yourself tipping over the edge, your fingers curled in his curls almost painfully as the tidal wave of the climax crashed over you.

He could feel you arousal gushing around his hand, essence dripping down onto the bed. The sight and sound of you coming undone on his fingers and mouth filled him with a deep sense of pride, possession, and love.

Mattheo didn’t stop. Even as you trembled and bucked against him, he continued his assault, his mouth and tongue relentless as they dragged every last aftershock from your trembling body. His lips and chin were covered in your juices, and the scent of your arousal only made him feel more hazy.

Just before he could overstimulate you, Mattheo carefully withdraw his fingers and mouth, placing the last gentle kiss on your inner thigh. He sat up, licking his fingers with a small smile on his lips, looking like a sated cat under the sun.

Then he bent over to the night table, taking your wand and casting the cleaning spell on both of you before gently pulling your shorts back on. With a satisfied smile he looked down at you, eyes shining with something warm and soft, something that made your heart flutter.

"Feel better, baby girl?" he murmured quietly as he slid back up the bed, gathering you in his arms, his body a comforting weight against yours.

"Always. You're mine to take care of, love," he said quietly in your hair, placing a gentle kiss on your head.

"Mhm," you hummed softly, nuzzling in the crook of his neck. "Thank you, Matty," you mumbled, feeling your body go limp as the tiredness of the day finally caught you in this relaxed and sated state.

[yoonjae20]

5 Times people outside of the immediate Batfamily find out that B is married and the one time the world meets his husband [Bruce/Danny; Spirit Halloween]

Surprise, surprise! Due to immense positive reaction to the last Spirit Halloween Oneshot, I wrote another Oneshot interconnecting with the previous one. As you can see per the title it's a 5+1 Oneshot! Inspired by PaperPuffin's "Batman's Husband" over on ao3.

Read on ao3. Masterpost.

Previous. Next.

1.

Barbara stretches her arms above her head and winces at the pop her joints make. It’s well into the early hours of the next day and it has been a long night – there had been an Arkham outbreak which needed all hands on the deck. After 5 stressful hours every Rogue was captured and back behind bars – all that remained were the reports they needed to fill out.

“I’ll head off for the night, I want to get at least a little bit of sleep before I have to go open the library,” Barbara announces over the comm.

“Thank you for your help today, Oracle,” Bruce grunts and Barbara is about to put down her headset when she hears paper getting shuffled around before the distinct sound of ceramic being settled down echoes through the comm.

“Thank you dear,” Bruce’s voice is surprisingly soft and Barbara wonders who brought the man tea – Cass perhaps? There’s some incomprehensible murmurs before Bruce hums thoughtfully. “I’ll probably be done in about 20 minutes or so – just need to finish this report. You can go ahead to bed – I’ll follow you in a bit.” Some more unclear mumbles, but distinctly male before Bruce snorts. Then there is the distinct sound of lips meeting each other. “Good Night, I love you.”

Barbara feels like she intruded on a very intimate moment and she quickly logs out of the comm system before she bursts the bubble Bruce seems to have settled in. 

She places her headset next to her keyboard before rolling backwards and only then she lets out the squeal she had been holding in. Since when has B been in a committed relationship? She’s so gonna milk Cass for the details – she needs to know everything. 

2.

“Where’s Bruce?” Steph asks as she meets the rest of the Batfamily in the manor for movie night.

Normally the man never skipped out on those unless on an out of world mission.

“On a date,” Tim says absentmindedly as he scrolls through their selection.

Steph’s face scrunches up.

“As in Brucie?”

Jason snorts.

“Actually no,” he says. “Do you remember Bruce’s ring?”

“Yes?” Steph answers, uncertain where Jason is going with this.

“Yeah, apparently he’s married.”

“Wait, what?” Steph doesn’t believe her ears. Bruce Wayne? As in - brooding, stoic Bruce Wayne, who goes out at night in a Furry Costume to fight crime? “For how long?”

Jason turns to Tim who startles with all the attention on him. 

“26 years,” Tim states and Steph almost chokes on her spit. 

“No way.” Steph shakes her head. “That would mean he’s been married since well before like either of us all knew him!”

“Believe me, we were also quite shocked,” Jason mutters, before adding something under his breath. “Should have known that even his taste in men is quite peculiar.” 

Tim starts their movie, but Steph can’t focus for a single second. What the hell is ‘peculiar’ supposed to mean? 

3.

Lois opens the door to see Bruce standing before it – along with a gift bag where a bottle of champagne is peeking out of it.

“Bruce!” Lois greets him warmly. “I’m glad you were able to make it!”

The man grunts before handing her the gift bag and following her into the house.

“Clark is doing a little errand, but he’ll be here soon enough.”

Bruce just nods and Lois settles down the gift bag on her kitchen counter, pulling the champagne bottle out. Her and Clark are celebrating their 15th wedding anniversary and the latter had wanted to invite Bruce to a simple, quiet dinner in their house in Smallville. 

“Where are the boys?” the man questions when he sees that their table is only set for three people.

“Jon said he had a hang-over with Damian and Kon is on a mission with the Teen Titans.”

Bruce hums and soon Clark arrives back from his errand and they sit down at the dinner table.

In the middle of the meal, Clark opens the Champagne bottle with a loud pop before filling three glasses. Clark raises his own glass as he clears his throat.

“To another 15 years!”

Lois echoes the sentiment while Bruce nods stoically. 

Their glasses clink as they toast to each other and then they finish their meal. Bruce still sips on his first glass of champagne when Clark broaches the topic.

“This would have been even better if you also had someone at your side, Bruce,” the man says. “Doesn’t it get lonely?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow and Clark coughs at the man’s deadpan expression.

“Just imagine if we could have celebrated your 15th anniversary too!” the man tries to save the conversation and Lois snorts at her husband fumbling. 

“What Clark wants to say is that we wish for your happiness and that we sometimes wonder if a partner would achieve that,” Lois helps out and Clark shoots her a relieved smile. “We've never really seen you date anyone – and those headlines about ‘Brucie Wayne’ don’t count, you know?”

“That might be because my 27th wedding anniversary is coming up,” Bruce says as if he is talking about the weather.

Clark sputters while Lois’ eyes widen. 

Bruce raises his right hand and Lois’ eyes focus on the ring on his ring finger – it only now really registering for Lois. It had almost become invisible over the years. Bruce’s lips twitch into a faint smirk.

“Or do you guys think of this as decoration?”

Lois' eyes twinkle as she suddenly pulls out her notepad. 

“Tell me everything.”

4.

A knock on his window makes Jim pause in his reading. The world outside is dark and Jim groans when he sees the time displayed in the corner of his screen. 03:57 am. He had been supposed to be home more than a few hours ago to eat dinner with his daughter.

His joints creak when he stands up from his seat — walking over to the window. He’s not surprised to find a looming shadow lingering behind it — quickly letting Batman in.

The man enters, landing softly and without a sound before he hands him a file. Jim purses through it — quickly recognizing it to be one of his recent murder cases.

“Red Robin made a breakthrough,” Batman explains gruffly. “He wanted you to receive this as quickly as possible.”

Jim nods before settling the file on his desk, before sinking back into his chair.

“I hope you are not planning on going back on patrol.” Jim rubs his tired eyes as he shuts down his computer. “While you may be a Cryptid, even you need your sleep.”

Batman’s soft snort surprises James.

“Actually I wasn’t,” the man claims. “My partner was very adamant about the fact that I would deliver this file and then go straight back to the Cave no matter what happens.”

Jim pauses. ‘My partner.’ The way the Batman had said it so casually surprises Jim. 

He barks out a laugh.

“Good that there’s someone other than Agent A looking out for you then,” he teases as he watches the computer turn black. “You need it.”

Batman huffs out a breath and that’s as good as a laugh for the man than anything. 

“Update me on the case,” the man says in lieu of a goodbye before disappearing out of the room with a swish of his cape.

Jim leans back in his seat, snorting. He never expected anyone to tame the Dark Knight — but apparently even the impossible is possible. 

5: Wayne Enterprises staff 

The Board Meeting dragged on. It was one of those rare times that Bruce actually attended them - normally he left those to Tim, but the boy hadn’t had time this time.

Once again Lucius applauds Bruce’s ability to stay patient even when Tiffany from HR drones on about unnecessary gossip — only smiling politely and nodding once here and then. 

They had gone over the new developments and their future goals already and were well into their allotted one hour time slot. Most of them knew by now that these meetings often overrun and could go well up to two hours if no one (most of the time either Tim or his assistant) cut it short.

Normally Bruce is well versed in being the picture perfect CEO - kind and never once complaining. However this time Lucius notices the man glancing at both the clock opposite to him and his watch that he is wearing multiple times as they near the one hour mark. Lucius can even hear the man audibly grit his teeth and his left eye twitching once Tiffany goes on another tirade.

It’s 10 minutes past their allotted time slot that Bruce seems to have enough — he cuts off Tiffany's rant about one of their engineers with a firm, “Well if that’s everything — I have to get going. My partner and I are celebrating our anniversary.”

Then he promptly leaves the room after dropping that bombshell. Not a millisecond later when the door closes the room erupts in hushed whispers. Lucius doesn’t doubt that by the end the entire building will know about the man’s “mysterious” partner. Lucius quietly schedules a press conference for the next day.

+1

The media gets wind of it by the next day — because of course they do. Each headline is more extreme than the next and Danny has fun teasing Bruce by reading each one out. 

The interview Lois had forced Bruce and Danny into would probably go up either tomorrow or today now that the cat was out of the bag so to speak, but he probably would still need to address the general public in the press conference. Bruce silently thanks Lucius for his foresightedness in scheduling a press conference for today – Bruce had been tired yesterday, the exhaustion loosening his lips. While he didn’t want to hide away Danny now that he was back, he had wished for more time to announce it on his own terms. 

Bruce stands in front of the mirror as he adjusts his tie and Danny stands behind him, chin on his shoulder and arms around his waist. 

“You’ll do fine,” Danny cheers up Bruce. “Just deflect to the fact that an exclusive interview is going up soon and keep it short and simple.”

“You are not one who has to address them,” Bruce grumbles. 

“Do you want me to?” Danny’s voice is uncharacteristically serious. 

Bruce turns to see the man instead of looking at him through the mirror. Danny runs a hand through Bruce’s styled hair before settling it on the man’s cheek. A finger brushes Bruce's lips before Danny pulls him in for a soft kiss.

“You know I would do everything for you, darling.”

Bruce huffs out a fond breath and settles his forehead against Danny’s.

“I know,” he confirms, before linking their hands. “Together?”

“Together,” Danny affirms with a grin. 

Danny changes into a nice dark blue suit – complementary to Bruce’s blue tie and together they step on the stage to address the news. Both of them smile as they wave at the flashes of the cameras.

“Hello Gotham,” Bruce greets. “This is my husband – Danny.”

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by a nate bargatze sketch

Eddie’s least favorite thing people say when they find out he’s gay and married to a man is when they ask who the “man” of their house is, because…it’s fucking stupid and wouldn’t be funny even if it didn’t rely on patriarchal bullshit that Eddie didn’t buy into even before he and Steve had three daughters.

The thing is though…there definitely is a man of their house, and it’s Steve.

And if Steve isn’t home, it’s their oldest daughter, Moe.

Eddie knows this is true because there’s someone coming to their house to work on…something. All Eddie caught when Steve brought it up was, “We’ve been in this house for almost twenty years. I’d rather deal with it now than wait until it’s causing problems.”

So it’s either the roof, the water heater, or the furnace.

(He thinks).

Every once in a while Eddie gets frustrated enough about this to want to get more involved – he helped Wayne out with this shit all the time when he was a teenager, and he worked as a mechanic well into his twenties (up until he got his first book deal and was able to quit and write full-time). It’s not that Eddie can’t understand all that stuff – no, it’s Steve insisting that he take on all that kind of stuff in their life together so that Eddie didn’t have to that did it, and now it’s been so long since he exercised that part of his brain that it’s basically gone dormant.

The nail in the coffin is when Steve says, “If he shows up before I get back – do not engage. Get Moe. She knows what this is all about.”

She totally does, is the thing, so Eddie just replies, “Got it,” and prays that Steve gets home from the hardware store before the contractor arrives (is he a contractor? Eddie doesn’t think he even knows what a contractor is).

Naturally, not even five minutes after Steve pulls out of the driveway, a dark blue van pulls in.

“Ah, shit,” Eddie mumbles, and then he calls upstairs, “Moe. The guy Pop was talking about is here.”

Moe calls something incomprehensible back (hopefully it’s I’ll be down in a second) because by the looks of it this guy is already halfway to the front door.

Unfortunately for Eddie, Moe is not down in a second and he ends up in a conversation about water heaters with…not a contractor, he’s pretty sure. A plumber, maybe? Doesn’t matter – just a guy who’s gonna fix – or maybe it’s replace? – their water heater…for some reason.

“So where’s the heater?” the not-contractor-maybe-plumber asks.

“Uhh…” Eddie hesitates, and thank Christ, Moe appears at the top of the stairs.

“Basement,” she says, “Anode rod was replaced three years ago but the rest of it’s been there since we moved here in ‘04.”

The guy launches into a whole water heater spiel, and Eddie realizes halfway through he’s not trying to engage with Moe at all. He’s directing it all at Eddie as if Eddie is hearing anything more than Charlie Brown-esque phone call mumbling. He concludes with a question about…something related to tanks maybe? Or maybe it was tankless. Eddie has no idea. Moe answers it because she knows what the hell this guy is talking about, but still this asshole is looking at Eddie for confirmation.

“Dude, I dunno why you're looking at me,” Eddie tells him, and then he points at Moe, “My daughter works on airplanes. I write books. I'm telling you – you're better off listening to her.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

beautiful - april 26 - jegulus - CW: mention of blood - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 513

James wouldn’t have heard the screams if he hadn’t been up, heading back to his room from the loo. It was a coincidence, really, but a lucky one, all things considered. Even though there was a very obvious silencing charm on Regulus Black’s door, his yelling could still be heard–just a little–from the hall.

Without thinking about it, James slipped inside, shaking and tense, ready for a fight, though he’d left his wand behind in his room. His instincts had completely taken over–every inch of his body reacted to the distress of the younger boy that he’d been quietly admiring for far too long. He’d been doing his very best to give Regulus his space ever since he’d appeared on the Potters’ doorstep, bloody and disoriented, two weeks ago. They’d had something–he wasn’t sure what, but something–before. Something clandestine and pure. But Regulus had been so scared that he tried not to push, to just enjoy what he was given: fleeting glances and quick kisses in dark classrooms. He figured the best thing for the younger boy, after arriving somewhat safely,  was time with Sirius, so he stayed away. But his resolve broke completely the second he heard those screams.

“Reg?” he whispered, shutting the door behind himself and quickly walking to Regulus’s bed, where the Slytherin was positively thrashing in his bed, yelling out incomprehensible words. “Reg, love, hey–”

Unsure if he was doing the right thing, he sat on the edge of the mattress and shook the boy gently, continuing to murmur his name, along with comforting nonsense he wasn’t really thinking about. After a few more screams, Regulus jumped a bit and his eyes wrenched open to lock with James’s own.

“J-James?” he stuttered, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he nodded, reaching forward to tuck a few damp strands of Regulus’s dark, curly hair behind his ear. “I’m here. You were having a nightmare.”

“Sorry,” Regulus mumbled, grimacing and beginning to turn away. “Sorry I woke you, you can go.”

But James could see him shaking. “I can–can I–stay?” he asked nervously, gesturing to the bed.

The look Regulus gave him was one of suspicious shock. 

“Just to hold you! I’m not asking–that would be–I just want to help,” he stammered, realizing how it might sound. “I don’t like when you’re scared,” he added in a small voice.

For a moment, Regulus almost smiled. “Get in, then,” he said, pulling back the blankets.

Eagerly, James joined him, pulling him close, revelling in the feeling of holding his very heart against his chest. “You…you look beautiful,” he said, knowing it probably wasn’t the time, but completely blown away by everything that was Regulus, gray eyes staring up at him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

Again…almost a smile. “Thanks, Potter,” he murmured. “I…I’m glad I’m here. With you.”

It was the closest Regulus had ever gotten to confessing feelings, and James felt warmth and joy wash over him in gentle waves. “Me, too,” he answered, pressing a kiss to Regulus’s forehead. “So much.”

[marisolls]

tender is the hand.

your hands have a strange clarity, have you been walking among the stars?

dulce maría loynaz, tr. james o’ connor, from absolute solitude: selected poems

cw. angst no happy ending. 1.4k wc. less dialogues.

with you, or rather, through you, tsukishima kei understands how important the hands could be.

before anything else, he takes care of his own. one that’s littered in dried or broken skin, visible scars, rougher palms and long, callous fingers. has the purpose to block to secure his win, with tight, determined fists. and this is how he’s known that to find meaning, doesn’t necessarily have to be rational.

sometimes, the passion comes in the form of a child still believing stars can fall from the sky, or in each night one can pluck the moon and let it glow on the ceiling before they sleep. sometimes, you find love in the most mundane, and incomprehensible ways.

from simpler things like, patting yamaguchi through his anxiety, writing with his penmanship you always ogle in awe—it’s so pretty and neat, you’d mumble under your breath—as well as helping his mother through the kitchen even though he finds them tedious (he can’t admit that he sucks). where the first was to offer support to a friend, the other a basic skill taught since three, and the last his responsibility as a younger sibling. they’re all incredibly common, something that he perhaps could never in his lifetime wonder; who would even notice these things?

the answer arrives at eighteen and he’s holding your hand for the first time on new year’s eve, where there are fireworks in the making inside his melting ribcage, where your palms are pressed warm and— fuck, why are you so soft?

suddenly it becomes so apparent in the face of something new that there’s so much more he can do with the hands, so much more he can learn because of you.

with you, they become something else entirely. in brushing your hair out of your face when you doze off on the couch. in rubbing slow, absentminded circles on your back when you lean against him after a long day. in discerning and memorizing by heart the way you like your drink. adjusting the way he kneads dough when you try baking together. in picking up the softest, warmest gloves for you when winter rolls around.

he used to think that strength was only in how firm his grip was, in how tightly he could hold onto things he’s afraid to lose just to keep it from slipping. but oh, with you, he learns that strength is sometimes weaved in your name, in the feeling of your pulse on your wrist against his thumb when you pass him his glasses, hands lingering on the taste of your tangible presence, in the way he turns goo for no reason other than you call him kei so intimately, in the way he loves without restraint, without any fear of losing.

that the most meaningful victories aren’t about blocking something out—but about letting something in.

at nineteen, and then twenty. he commits himself and permits his hands to become instruments of care, of love. they wipe away stray tears, thread through your hair, adjust the blanket over your shoulders when you’re sick. or when you threaten him to wake you up after 30 minutes to continue your studying, only to grace you a forehead kiss and leave you snoring soundly.

at twenty-one, he almost forgets what life was like before you.

it’s second nature now, the way his hands search for yours, the way he instinctively reaches out—to fix your scarf, brush an eyelash off your cheek, squeeze your fingers when you mumble about a long day. his hands soften overtime, you comment, even though he's still playing volleyball and his skin still bleeds and he's still so humanly and awkwardly tender. you say, as if forever is a thing that exists with you, that he'll always remain soft in your heart.

he wonders when exactly he decided he would marry you. maybe it was the first time you said that to him on a random tuesday, or the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder, or when you sat on the floor with him after a rough game, your shoes and his shoes and all the stuff in your apartment haphazardly thrown everywhere, too tired to clean up tonight, linking your pinkies together in quiet communication. i’m proud of you through and through. i root for you. i love you.

maybe it was always meant to be you.

the ring is in his pocket. has been for months.

but there’s time.

(there’s always time.)

until there wasn’t.

life doesn’t pause for him to find the confidence to be ready—dreaming is nothing compared to having the will to chase it. and he dreams of a life with you, had a future laid out, tucked away in the lines of his palm as if it will preserve you too, he dreams so much that he takes time for granted, and time has come to bite him next.

because a week later, he was kneeling on cold hospital tiles, hands gripping onto yours, desperate, trembling. he wasn’t sure what he was praying to—science, fate, some cruel god—but he was praying, because your fingers were limp in his, and this wasn’t supposed to happen, not now.

he didn’t even notice anything at first. you’re so you—still laughing, still teasing, still fitting against his side like you were meant to be there. but the signs are there. a cough that lingers too long. the way you press your fingers into your temples as if trying to will away the exhaustion. the quiet, tired smiles.

and then there’s your hands.

the ones that have always known him. the ones that traced over his knuckles absentmindedly, the ones that fit so easily in his own. they’re colder now. thinner. your grip not as strong as before.

something in him starts to panic. but you smile, and you kiss the inside of his wrist, and you tell him,

don’t look at me like that, kei.

but how could he not?

when the hospital visits start, it becomes real. and kei, at twenty-one, who is committed to love you and have your tomorrows and maybe forever and hopefully forever, realizes that nothing he does can stop what’s coming. he can hold you. he can lace his fingers through yours. he can press his hand against your back as you sit through test after test, but he can’t fix this.

he asks you anyway.

because if there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that you are the only person who has ever made him want more. more than just the court, more than just winning, more than just the quiet loneliness he once thought was enough.

he asks. maybe he does it in the hospital room, voice quiet and firm, surprisingly calm despite the quiver of his lips and his dry mouth and tight chest, and cold, shivering fingers. trying to pretend like things are normal. maybe he doesn’t even get the words out, just slides the ring onto your finger with the softest touch and watches the way your eyes widen.

and you smile.

and you kiss him.

and you say yes.

and for a little while, he lets himself believe in forever. in your existence where forever is a thing. in your eyes that held him captive since the fireworks burst his chest. since he was eighteen and navigating how love can be both easy and not.

you grow weaker. your hands—your hands, the ones that have always reached for him, always held him steady—can barely grasp his own anymore. because there are nights when he watches you sleep, watches your chest rise and fall, and prays to a god he doesn’t even believe in to let you stay a little longer.

he wakes up to god’s answer that forever is cruel.

just like that.

and tsukishima kei, who has always known the weight of losing, has never felt anything like this. because no loss on the court, no failed block, no missed point, nothing could ever compare to the unbearable emptiness of his hands without yours in them.

and the ring. the ring is still on your finger. maybe it’s selfish, but he doesn’t take it off. he lets them. because you said yes. because with you, he learns that he doesn’t have to clench his fist to keep something that’s already his.

he does tighten his grip at some point, through the pool of tears, as if holding on hard enough might somehow bring you back.

the last thing tsukishima kei learns from you is the unbearable, stabbing beauty of hands. they hold things. and they let things go.

pls don’t kill me i’ll write a happier version of this 🥹 if u wish

[psiqueromance]

after hours. l.jn

text divider

You sighed, your head aching from the interrupted sleep. You looked at Jeno, who was sleeping peacefully next to you, face down on the bed with his arms around the pillow that supported his head, his chest rising and falling gently with each slow breath that came from his half-open mouth.

You wondered if you should really wake him up at such an early hour, wondering if it would make him angry, his night's sleep being interrupted because his girlfriend wanted to eat a specific food that wasn't at home – deep down you knew he wouldn't mind, your boyfriend being too sweat to get upset over something so silly.

Slowly and lazily, you approached Jeno from behind him, one arm resting on his pillow to keep your balance while your other hand came to rest on his shoulders. Looking over his shoulder, you smiled softly at how peaceful your boyfriend looked sleeping. You shook him lightly, so as not to startle him but enough to wake him up. "Jeno?" you whispered close to his ear, kissing his cheek.

At first there were no answers, only your boyfriend's low snoring being heard, but after a few seconds of insistence it seemed that his slumbering state had ceased, a low whine sound coming from his lips as he rubbed his eyes. "Babe, are you awake?" you asked him softly.

Jeno opened his eyes, half closing them as he tried to see the time on the clock on the nightstand next to him. "Babe, it's late, what are you doing up?" He murmured, almost incomprehensible, turning over with his eyes closed again and hugging you around the waist, making you lie down on the bed again as he hugged you and put the blanket back over your body, in an attempt to go back to sleep.

You felt him put his head in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your chin. "I want to eat ramen from that Yuzu shop." You said determinedly, noticing your boyfriend take his face away from your neck and look at you with a judging look. "It's two in the morning." He said as if it was obvious.

"I know, honey, but I woke up with an absurd desire to eat that spicy ramen... I won't be able to sleep if I don't eat it." You said with the best puppy eyes you could muster, Jeno looking at you with that same judging look before sighing and getting out of bed.

The next thing you knew, you and your boyfriend were out in the middle of the night in your nightclothes.

Since you left the house, Jeno had kept his arm around your shoulders, pulling you as close as possible, probably to warm you both up on that cold night, and to have a sense of protection over you.

You looked up, finding your boyfriend still trying to shake off the sleep by rubbing his eyes. The sight of your boyfriend in that way was cute, but you couldn't help but feel bad about taking him out of the comfort of his bed to go out into the cold and windy streets of Seoul. "Sorry, I really need that ramen."

Jeno met your eyes, smiling lazily before placing a kiss on the top of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. "It's okay y/n, there's nothing I wouldn't do for my girl."

You smiled, lowering your head to hide your embarrassed expression.

Jeno opened the glass door of the establishment, the place empty but much warmer than outside. After letting you in first, your boyfriend comes in and closes the door, leading you towards the variety of instant ramen stacked up, each one in different flavors. "Spicy?" he asked you, looking down, you nodded watching him take the package.

You sat on one of the white stools that was in front of a pink counter, leaning your elbow on it and resting your head on your hand, watching your boyfriend put the ramen in the weird machine that put the water in the ramen to boil.

After a few minutes he came back with the small plastic bowl with the ready ramen inside, he placed it on the counter in front of you and gave you the small packet with the sauce. He sat next to you, resting his head on your shoulder as he watched you put the sauce in the bowl, mixing it with the rest of the noodles. "Do you want some?" You spoke quietly, noticing Jeno's imminent sleepiness.

"Nah, I told you these instant foods are bad for health, they can cause cancer and stuff..." he said with a sigh. 

"If you say so..."

After a few moments, you were about to finish eating, when you felt Jeno lift his head from your shoulder. "Actually..." You smiled, knowing that the man couldn't resist a good spicy ramen.

He didn't need to say anything else before you offered him some of the food, turning to him with your chopsticks between your fingers. He smiled, always loving the habit of you always feeding each other.

A few minutes passed and the food was finished, the two of you stood up, both full and very sleepy. While you paid on the computer with the card your boyfriend handled you, Jeno hugged you from behind, his head in the crook of your neck as he breathed slowly.

After paying, you turned in the man's embrace, lifting his head and giving a peck on his lips, smiling after. "All done."

He smiled before pouting his lips. "Can we go home now, babe? I'm sooo sleepy." Jeno said, throwing his head back in an exhausted voice.

You giggled, kissing his cheek. "Yes Jen, we can go."

He smiled without showing his teeth, his eyes shining with the love that was reserved for you. Jeno tightened his grip on your waist, bringing you impossibly closer. "You know I love you, right?"

"I love you too, sleepyhead."

[pucksandpower]

Under the Influence

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc knows three things (1) wisdom teeth have nothing to do with being wise (2) his face looks like a chipmunk and (3) he really really really loves his girlfriend

Warnings: mention of minor medical procedure

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand. Bleary eyed, you reach for it and squint at the screen. 37 missed calls and too many texts to count, all from Charles.

It’s the big day — your boyfriend is finally getting his wisdom teeth removed this morning. You had wanted to go with him to the oral surgeon but Charles insisted he would be fine on his own.

Clearly, that was not the case.

The phone starts vibrating again and you swipe to answer. Before you can even say hello, Charles’ slurred voice comes through the speaker. “Ma choupinette! I misssss you!” He draws out the last word for several seconds. You stifle a laugh at how loopy he sounds from the painkillers.

“Hi, my love. How are you feeling?” You ask gently.

You hear some shuffling on his end of the line.

“I feel ... so good! I can’t feel my face though. Is it still there?” More shuffling noises. “Yep, still here! Wow, my cheeks are soooo big and fluffy now!” He descends into a fit of giggles.

You grin and shake your head. Your poor Charles is definitely still under the influence of the drugs. “I’m glad you’re not in any pain. Are you home already?”

“Yep! Safe and sound in my bed. But it’s so lonely without you here. You should come over and cuddle me!” His words come out muffled, no doubt because his mouth is still numb.

You glance at the clock — it’s still relatively early in the morning. “I would love to but I have a few things to take care of first. I’ll come by this afternoon to check on you though, okay?”

Charles lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiine. Hey, did you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world? And you’re so nice too! I’m the luckiest ...” He trails off into incomprehensible mumbling.

You have to press your hand to your mouth to hold in your laughter. Anesthetized Charles is even more adorable than regular Charles. “Thank you, my love. You’re very kind. Now get some rest, I’ll see you soon.”

“Okayyyy, bye bye gorgeous!” Charles singsongs before hanging up. Still chuckling, you set your phone down to start getting ready for the day. Your productivity is short lived however, as your phone immediately starts buzzing again.

Charles is calling you back.

With a mix of amusement and exasperation, you answer the call. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Charles’ cheerful voice exclaims, “I forgot to tell you I love you!”

You can’t help but laugh out loud this time. “I love you too, Charles.”

“Yay!” He cheers. In the background, you hear a woman’s voice telling Charles to stay in bed and get some rest. It must be his mother looking after him. Thank goodness for her help today.

You talk Charles into hanging up and leaving you be for now. As entertaining as loopy Charles is, you do need to run some errands. You eventually make it out the door and head into town. While perusing the aisles of the grocery store, your phone buzzes again. Expecting it to be Charles, you don’t even look at the screen before answering with an amused, “Yes, my love?”

Instead of your boyfriend’s sleepy voice, you hear numerous screams and squeals on the other end. Before you can ask what’s happening, the chaos turns into a bunch of people chanting “Say it again! Say it again! Say it again!”

Your stomach drops. You pull the phone away to look at the screen. Sure enough, Charles is broadcasting on Instagram Live and waving at an alarmingly large crowd of fans gathered below his apartment. Dreading what you’re about to witness, you bring the phone back to your ear. The chanting continues until Charles finally obliges.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I love you sooooo much! You’re the bestest, most bootiful, charming girl in the whole universe and I love you more than racing!” His confession is met with deafening squeals from his adoring devotees. You stand frozen in the cheese aisle, one hand clutching your grocery basket, cheeks flaming red. This is not exactly how you hoped your relationship would go public.

Charles is still slurring sluggishly into the phone, rambling on about how perfect and wonderful you are. You try to get a word in edgewise to stop him but his fans keep egging him on.

“Charles, honey, maybe you should get off Live and rest ...” you attempt feebly.

He gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you my girlfriend? Y/N? Is that you?”

You sigh, resigned to your fate. “Yes Charles, it’s me.”

The screams somehow increase in volume at this admission. Charles laughs with delight. “Guys, this is my girlfriend! Isn’t she the coolest? I’m the luckiest guy ever!”

Despite your embarrassment, you can’t help but melt a little at his ear-to-ear grin and heart eyes on the screen. He looks utterly smitten, even in his disoriented, post-op state. His fans seem to be eating it up too, flooding the comments with things like “My life won’t be complete until someone looks at me the way that Charles looks at Y/N” and “Charles is boyfriend of the year!”

You spend the next 15 minutes gently trying to persuade Charles to end the livestream and rest to no avail. He is having far too much fun gushing about you and interacting with his followers. You field a few questions from curious fans, keeping your answers light to avoid revealing too much. It’s clear they are enthralled by this lovestruck version of the normally private Ferrari driver.

Finally, after Charles has told the story of your first date no less than five times, his mother comes to your rescue. She appears on camera and tenderly tells Charles the “show” is over and he needs to sleep. He pouts adorably but allows her to tuck him back into bed and take away his phone. Just before the Live ends, he blows a loopy kiss to the camera and says “Love you, mon chouchou!” The fans go wild in the chat before the feed cuts out.

You slump against your shopping cart in relief. Your phone is already flooded with texts from friends and family who saw the Instagram fiasco. You shoot off some quick reassurances that you’re both fine and it was just the medication talking. Bagging the rest of your abandoned groceries, you check out as fast as possible. There’s somewhere you need to be right now.

Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on the door of Charles’ apartment. His mother opens it with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry about earlier dear, the anesthesia made him a bit out of it as I’m sure you noticed.”

Charles perks up when you enter his bedroom. “You came!” He mumbles happily, making grabby hands at you. You settle onto the bed next to him and he immediately nuzzles into you like an affectionate kitten. His mother slips out to give you two some privacy.

You run your fingers soothingly through his hair. “How are you feeling now, my love?”

“Mmm ... sleepy. And really happy you’re here." He smiles dopily up at you. “Did I do something silly earlier? I don’t really remember.”

You debate downplaying it but figure he’ll find out eventually when the internet explodes. “You may have repeatedly declared your undying love for me on an Instagram Live ...” you say sheepishly.

Charles’ eyes go wide. “No way, really? Wow ...” He blinks slowly, processing this new information. A sly grin spreads across his swollen face. “Well it’s true. I meant every word.”

You kiss his forehead tenderly. “I know you did. Now get some more rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Charles looks up at you adoringly. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you more,” you boop him on the nose.

He giggles. “No way. I love you more-er.”

“Impossible. I love you most,” you insist.

“Nuh-uh,” Charles protests. “I love you most-est.”

You laugh at his stubborn persistence. “Alright, you win. Now close your eyes.”

Charles snuggles impossibly closer into your side and soon his breathing evens out as he drifts back to sleep. You brush a few curls off his forehead and whisper “I love you most-est-est.”

You make sure the blankets are wrapped securely around him and shake your head affectionately at your adorable, clueless boyfriend. Today certainly didn’t go as expected but you wouldn’t trade your Charles for anything in the world.

[kaoriartss-blog]

Starburst:

Chapter 1: "The Beginning"

Masterlist Next Chapter

Pairing: Poly Skz OT8 x Reader idol

Genre: Romance, angst, female Oc

Warning: Use of Oc, romance, angst, swearing, Idol x Idol, 18+ progressive, use of swear words, use of translator.

Series: Starbursts

Summary: The story centers on Lia, a newly debuted solo idol struggling to find her place in the K-pop industry. Despite her talent, she feels like she's missing something, a special connection that helps her shine. The members of Stray Kids, who are at the height of their careers, are drawn to Lia's unique energy when she's invited to collaborate with them on a new album. As they work together, the connection between Lia and the boys intensifies.

With pressure from the media and fan expectations, they must find a balance between their careers and personal lives.

Comment: First of all, I want to clarify that English is not my first language. I speak Spanish, but I didn't want to deprive you of this story. I'll be using a translator, so it's possible that some phrases might get lost or be incomprehensible. Second, I thank you in advance for taking the time to read. I'll also be uploading the chapters to Wattpad in Spanish and to Ao3 in both Spanish and English

It is said that in ancient times, humanity possessed two pairs of legs, two pairs of arms, and a head shared by two faces. Feared for the power of these creatures, Zeus split them in half. Since then, humans have been searching for their other half, their soulmate.

Or so the story goes.

Recently debuted as a K-Pop soloist, Lia felt that even though she shone on stage, something special was missing—the spark of a soulmate.

A young woman with a voice like a nightingale’s song and an energy that lit up any room, Lia had worked tirelessly to reach where she was. Every rehearsal, every performance, every effort had led her to become an idol admired by many. However, despite the fervor of the applause and the dazzling lights, a feeling of emptiness persisted in her heart.

One afternoon, while strolling through a park, she observed couples laughing and enjoying the moment. The image of those who had found each other among the crowds made her reflect on her own loneliness, even when surrounded by admirers.

“Maybe, somewhere out there, someone is looking for me too,” she thought.

That morning, she had done an interview for a magazine about her latest single. Afterwards, she went to her favorite café for a coffee with cream. She had brought along her puppy Mochi, a five-month-old long-haired Shih Tzu whom she loved to decorate with colorful bows. She was supposed to have the rest of the afternoon free for herself.

Suddenly, her phone rang. Curious, she checked and saw it was her manager, Lee Sue, so she answered without hesitation.

"Hi, what is it, Noona?"

“Lia-ssi, I need you to come to the company as soon as possible.” That made Lia worry, and she got up from the bench where she had been watching her puppy play.

“Did something happen?” On the other end of the line, the woman laughed and sounded more excited.

“Yes, JYP just approved a new project in collaboration with the members of Stray Kids.” Lia was in shock; she couldn’t believe it.

“Tell me you’re joking…”

“If you want it to be, I can cancel the offer.”

“No! Don’t do that, I’m on my way. I’ll drop Mochi off at home and take the car; tell them I’ll be there in 15 minutes.” After a few more words, the call ended, and Lia looked up at the sky, still in disbelief at what was happening.

Mochi was curiously watching a butterfly that had landed on a rock. With a giggle, Lia approached and picked her up.

“Say goodbye to Mrs. Butterfly, Mochi, we’re going home.” The puppy gave a little bark and started licking her owner's cheeks as they walked away from the park and crossed the street—Lia’s apartment was right across from it. “I’ll ask Uncle NamGil to come take care of you; Mommy has to go out for a bit, okay?”

As she entered the apartment building lobby, she pulled out her phone and got into the elevator, leaving a voice message for her twin.

“Nee Nam Oppa, I got a last-minute call from work and need you to come take care of Mochi for a while; I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’ll explain later.”

By the time she got to her floor, she received a reply from her brother.

“This better be important. You owe me. I’ll be there in 5 minutes, get going.”

She smiled at the message and entered her apartment, leaving the puppy at the door so she could run into the living room. Lia followed and swapped the puppy’s bag for her work bag in the closet.

She looked at herself in the entry mirror to make sure she looked presentable. Internally, she was grateful she hadn’t taken off her interview makeup that morning, and that her hair still held its shape.

“Uncle’s coming soon. Mommy’s leaving now, love you!” And with that, the dark-haired girl left, grabbing her car keys on the way out.

The drive to the company was filled with nerves. Her mind ran through every possible scenario—from a possible mix-up and the offer not being meant for her, to not getting along with the guys and them hating her.

It was the first time she was collaborating with another idol group—especially this one. This wasn’t just any group; these were the current leaders of the fourth generation.

Though she was also under JYP, they had never interacted, except for the occasional polite greeting with their leader at company events. She was still a rookie—having debuted just two years ago. Her name was known, but she wasn’t a major impact.

Upon arriving at the company, she checked the time and luckily she was right on schedule. She parked in the lot and entered the building. Her manager had sent her the meeting room location, so she headed there.

Upon arrival, she knocked, and after hearing a confirmation, took a deep breath and entered the room where they were waiting. Her manager greeted her and gestured for her to come closer. Eight heads, barely familiar to her, turned to look at her curiously. Aside from them, there were two people she assumed were the group’s representatives, and she recognized a man and two women from the executive board.

“Good afternoon, sorry for keeping you waiting,” said the petite girl shyly, entering the room with slight discomfort from all the eyes on her.

“No worries, we’re sorry for interrupting your day off,” said a serious-looking woman who now stood, holding a folder.

“Oh, it’s no trouble; I’m always available when needed.” Lia smiled, approaching her manager.

In front of her were eight men who couldn’t stop scanning her with curiosity.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Bang Christopher Chan, leader of Stray Kids.” With a hand gesture, her manager pointed to the young man, who immediately shook her hand gently and with a big smile. He seemed excited.

“Nice to meet you, miss. You can call me Chris, if you’d like. These are my members: Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, and I.N.” Lia nodded, returning his smile.

“He definitely seems like the leader... And he’s cute.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris oppa. My name is Kim Narim Lia—you can call me whatever you like.” The rest of the boys gave her polite smiles and nods of greeting, piquing her curiosity.

“Please, take a seat.” The executive spoke as everyone sat down. He and his colleague began handing out folders with information. “As you may know, Mr. Bang requested a collaboration with our soloist Lia, and after discussing the details, the project was approved.”

Lia was stunned. She didn’t expect Chris to be the one to personally request the collaboration. She was just a rookie. This felt like a dream, and she hoped she wouldn’t wake up anytime soon.

“All the details are in the documents provided, including the contract and its clauses. We ask the managers to read them carefully and raise any questions or changes.” Her manager and the boys’ manager started reading attentively. “Mr. Bang, since you initiated this collaboration, would you like to share your plan?”

“Of course.” Without losing his smile, the boy looked at everyone, then directly at Lia. “Actually, it was also Felix’s idea. Lia-ssi, I’m not sure if you know, but the three of us produce our own music under the name 3RACHA.” Chris gestured to himself, a boy with chubby cheeks and a charming smile, and a more muscular one with glasses, seated beside him.

“I’ve heard a bit about that. I’ve also produced some of my own songs.” Lia smiled as she responded, now noticing Chris had a bit of an accent. He seemed excited at that detail.

“Really? That’s awesome.” The boy with the big cheeks—Han—spoke up.

“We’ve been thinking about our next album, and even though we have a lot of pre-recorded songs, none conveyed the message we wanted,” Chris said, turning to a freckled blonde who couldn’t stop smiling. “Until Felix walked into our office listening to your latest song, and as if it were fate, inspiration hit us. We all agreed to invite you to be part of the project.”

The blond, having been mentioned, blushed. Lia did too—this felt unreal. She couldn’t believe it.

“Oh, wow… Thank you so much for this opportunity. Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening.” The black-haired girl let out a nervous laugh, looking away as all the stares made her more nervous. She heard a few of the boys chuckle softly at her awkwardness.

“No need to thank us; your work is amazing. You’re very talented and your vocal range is impressive.” This time, the muscular guy—Changbin—spoke, adjusting his glasses with a smile.

“And your stage presence is unique. We’re really excited to work with you.” The long-haired one, Hyunjin, added with a smile. Lia could swear he looked like he’d been sculpted by angels.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sue, her manager, raised her hand. The other woman gave her the floor. “Here it says the project will last 6 to 8 months and you’ll live together—could you elaborate?” Lia’s eyes widened, and a few of the boys looked equally surprised.

“Certainly.” The man in the suit adjusted his glasses and stood, signaling to one of the women, who turned on a laptop and connected it to a projector.

> > “The company is heavily investing in this collaboration’s success. Inspired by Mr. Bang’s idea, we’ve decided to turn this collaboration into a reality-style project.” Images of a large house appeared on the screen. “You’ll be relocated to this fully-equipped residence for the duration.” Images of the house’s interior followed. “The facilities include, aside from common areas, 9 rooms with private bathrooms, a pool, a recording studio, a dance practice room, a backyard, and an office.”

The room fell silent. You could cut the tension with a knife.

One of Stray Kids’ managers raised a hand.

“It also says here you’ll be under 24/7 surveillance. Honestly, my colleague and I don’t agree with that.” The fox-eyed boy looked toward his manager and read what was written.

“Me neither; I can’t agree to that,” Sue said firmly, lowering the contract and placing it on the table with a serious stare.

“We can compromise. We’ll remove that clause if everyone agrees to regularly film vlogs and social media content. Some of our cameramen will drop by on certain days.”

“I’m fine with that. I’m very active with my fandom,” Lia said while her manager showed her the clause in question.

“We agree too, as long as there aren’t cameras recording everything nonstop,” Chris quickly added, noticing some members looked uneasy with the idea. Plus, it was already a lot for the girl to live with eight guys.

“That’s acceptable then.” The man nodded to the woman with the laptop to make the correction and reprint the contracts. “Anything else?”

“Yes, I have a question,” Seungmin said, looking at the boys, then at Lia, then at the man. “I assume this is also to make the chemistry and the song feel genuine, right?” The man nodded. “Then why so long? I mean, no offense, but with the right tools and inspiration, a song doesn’t take that much time.”

“A valid question. Besides recording the song, music video, and all the behind-the-scenes and fan content, we’re planning a tour, live performances, and fanmeetings across Korea. Also, your regular schedules won’t stop—you’ll keep working as usual.”

A collective nod followed. They now understood what the collaboration truly entailed.

“And I assume our image will be altered too,” Lia said, looking at her manager, who checked some papers and nodded.

“Yes, but not until a concept and group image are determined.”

“Alright, I can work with that. If there’s nothing else, I’m good with it.”

Stray Kids exchanged glances, then Chan spoke up.

“I proposed this; I’m not backing out. But first, I need to confirm with my guys. We’ll be back shortly.” With a nod, the group left the room.

Roughly three minutes later, they returned, looking more determined—and some even happier.

“We’ll do it—as long as Miss Lia’s privacy and comfort are respected. If she ever says no to something, we’ll stop immediately, no matter what.” Chris, as always, spoke for the group, but this time he was more serious. He looked directly at the man, and Lia’s heart raced.

No one, besides her family or manager, had cared that much for her comfort since she entered this world.

“Then it’s settled. Please sign the contracts now if possible, and we’ll handle everything else.” Sue nudged her gently, handing her the revised contract and a pen. She signed and handed it to the suited man. “Perfect. The house is ready for you to move in whenever you’re set. The collaboration announcement and filming will start next week. Thank you all for your time.”

With that, everyone began gathering their things and leaving the room, except the idols and their managers, who stayed behind discussing how they would handle their artists’ cohabitation.

Lia was still lost in her thoughts, going over everything that had just happened. In disbelief.

[urween]

Skittish | Bucky Barnes x ftm!reader | english version

summary: After a long battle and especially hard research, the Avengers finally found the Winter Soldier. To keep everyone safe, they keep him locked in their HQ. In semi-freedom but especially in a trance, Bucky Barnes attracts the attention of the young boy in charge of taking care of him during his stay here.

notes: I prefer to specify it, the temporality is not exactly respected. Let's say that all this takes place just after Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

⚠︎ warnings: mentions of heavy trauma related to the war and the Hydra projects, a form of depressed!Bucky, violence, weapons, incomprehension of transidentity without transphobia, mentions of suicidal thoughts.

English isn't my first language, sorry for the mistakes <3

- 2nd person description

- 5 371 words

french version here

You were the little protégé of the group, he had quickly noticed. Even if Natasha didn't have superpowers or a robotic suit either, she was part of the team. She and Clint were kind of the superhumans of the group, with superhuman abilities but nothing that surpassed Thor's lightning or Hulk's muscles. Then, there was you, a fairly normal little human with no particular specificities. High intelligence, extreme kindness and an adorable smile. But no mastery of martial arts. You knew the basics of fighting, Nat had taught you the main thing. You had ended up understanding Bruce's extravagant chemical formulas, and you understood the most important things Tony said in his intense nerd phases. But once again, you were nothing special, and that made Bucky wonder. Why was a basic human here? What were you doing in the middle of the Avengers? Even though he had missed a few decisive years from a social point of view, he didn't understand.

As he stared from his cell, he saw scenes he didn't know how to interpret. You assisting Tony Stark and Jarvis, you laughing with Bruce Banner, you helping Natasha Romanoff train, you carrying Steve Rogers' shield to him, you sorting Clint Barton's arrows, you redoing Thor's braids.

What were you doing there?

You had cheerfully introduced yourself to him. With a friendly smile on your lips, you had stated your name, first name and pronouns – he hadn't really understood this last point –. You had surely been informed of his situation. Don't be offended, he'll need a little time, someone must have whispered to you. He hadn't answered you, and you hadn't seemed offended. You had then left, and he had remained perplexed. If you already knew everything about him, why come and introduce yourself? You must have read his files, you must have all read his files. Steve had to slip away to get some air, Natasha inspected everything in detail, Bruce muttered "it’s awful". You had to read his files. See his life laid out on a large table, foreign hands going over the medical reports. You had to read with anguish the endless list of victims he had killed during his missions, observe the modifications that had been made to him, the treatments inflicted, the pains endured. You had seen all that. Then, why come see him?

"Let's just say I don't really like you hanging around this guy," Tony's voice had been saying for several minutes, "Jarvis copy this plan for me and make a 3D reconstruction with train stations, airports and all the stuff."

The holograms moved before your eyes, but you hadn't paid attention to them. Back then, the first time you saw this virtual world being modeled in Tony's office, you were like a kid. Stars in your eyes, you asked a thousand questions per second, making the creator of this program smile. But now you knew yourself how most of the "Jarvis" system worked, and you weren't so impressed anymore, or at least you weren't with every move Stark made.

"I don't see what's bothering you," you replied, innocently swinging your legs in the air.

Tony turned around with his ever-so-dramatic gestures, making a vague movement with his hand he tried to make you understand things without having to speak. Unfortunately for him telekinesis was not part of your abilities.

"Okay," he admitted to himself, defeated, "to start with his sophisticated robotic arm that could crush you before you could scream," he mimed disinterestedly, “did you look at him? Unstable and completely high."

A non-hidden smile drew a curve across your lips.

"We're still talking about Bucky Barnes?” you had fun, “because I rather have the impression that you're looking at yourself in a mirror"

You glanced at Jarvis, who was finishing your friend's request. Then, your attention went back to the billionaire who was visibly desperate to have this discussion with you – you were getting used to it, a demonstration of love coming from Tony –.

"I prefer to cut you off right now," your voice continued, "I forbid you to give me the traditional excuses like he's dangerous or armed or he's a murderer”. You got down from the table where you were sitting and gestured around the room, “look around Tony, only weapons or future weapons,” you got closer to him and pointed at his forehead, “you have the greatest weapon that humanity has ever known in this skull. Natasha and Clint are professional killers, Steve is a traumatized soldier who makes a denial, Thor is an alien with supernatural powers and Bruce is a scientist haunted by a destructive alter-ego”. You pause to admire the still indecipherable facial expression of the man in front of you, “you are all murderers and dangers to Mankind, the only difference between you and Barnes is that you chose to devote your talents to a cause, and he had no choice".

Tony remained motionless for a few long seconds, a whirlwind surely vibrating his neurons. Then, he shrugged his shoulders and quickly bowed his head in defeat.

"You're right," he declared, "I’ve no more arguments and yours are solid”, he turned and went back to Jarvis, “well done kid"

A year ago you would have been perplexed by this reaction, but time had taught you that you had to take Tony Stark with a grain of salt and observe him as you would with a foreign mushroom. All you could remember from this interaction was that you were tired, that you had won against the great megalomaniac Iron Man and above all that you had to talk to Barnes again.

No one had really agreed with Steve on the idea of ​​bringing a Hydra mercenary back to Avengers HQ. It's the equivalent of serving him our secrets on a silver platter, Clint had rightly said. You had been surprised to see Nat defend Barnes, alongside you and Steve – of course –. There was Bruce who couldn't deliver a distinct judgment, then Tony and Clint who were against. Thor having left, you didn't know where in space, the votes had therefore been closed with a majority of for.

You had helped Captain set up a room that was at least habitable in a protective cell, a bit like the one that had sheltered Loki. While the tall blond carried the fold-out bed, you had taken care of a bag of clothes – approximately Barnes' size – and another with water and sweets, this idea had come from you. You found it unfair to call this man a simple murderer, he had been manipulated and controlled. As you put the cereal bars on a small iron table, you tried not to think about the chaos that must be going on in the Winter Soldier's head at the same time. He must have been just as traumatized as his victims, maybe even more so. And finding himself in such a particular environment overnight must have been disturbing. So a chocolate bar and a soda couldn't hurt him.

Thank you, Steve had murmured, for understanding. You had given him a touching smile, holding back the urge to ask him how he felt. He had just found his best friend, who was supposed to have disappeared for several decades, and on top of that, this friend had suffered inhumane treatment for most of his life now. It was obvious that he didn't feel well, that he was helpless in the face of this situation. Bruce had advised you to give him time, and that if he needed it, he would end up talking to one of you. You had listened to his advice, and focused more on Barnes instead.

You had introduced yourself first, starting with a simple acquaintance. You had then made sure to take care of his needs, slipping in a new bottle of fresh water when the previous one was empty, opening his prison only when night fell so that he could go shower without running into a contemptuous Tony or a depressed Steve.

On this subject, rules had been established to guarantee everyone's safety. If Bucky left his cell it was always in the company of one of you – you were the only ones with the passes –, if he asked for something – which he never did – the object had to pass through several control portals before being given to him, and finally no matter where he went, toilets or showers, someone had to watch over him within the limits of privacy. Bruce had offered to take turns, but judging by the faces of the others you had volunteered to ensure most of his outings. Natasha was supposed to replace you when you weren't available, then Tony if neither of you were present. This way you had avoided conflicts but also and above all Steve wouldn't have to go there.

You didn't know him, Bucky, having only seen the videos in his file, and yet every time you went to visit him your stomach knotted. There was no question of fear, since his robotic arm had been censored to the maximum thanks to a Stark gadget, leaving him only the freedom to use it as a normal limb, without super-strength or integrated weapons. He remains a super soldier, Bruce had warned, his physical faculties are superior to Nat's and he has a serum similar to Steve's in his veins. But you weren't afraid. Unfortunately a goat would have made you shiver more than Barnes when you went to see him. He was always on pause. Never spoke, barely moving his gaze from the ground. You had been reassured to see that he ate the bare minimum, and he had even tasted a chocolate bar one day. But aside from these details, it was as if you were seeing the same robot in the same position, day after day. Your stomach knotted for these reasons, because when you brought him clean sheets he had nothing of the man you had seen on video. The rage that haunted his eyes had disappeared, there was only a nameless emptiness left, and you had never seen anything so sad. You didn't feel like you had a hundred-year-old Hydra soldier in front of you, but a broken orphan.

You spent a lot of time rereading his file, his reports, his exams. You tried to understand him through these papers. Steve was lost, he no longer saw Buck in those eyes, and you were trying to understand what he had become, Buck. According to his personal file, he had been found at the age of twenty-six before undergoing Hydra’s experiments. A photo of him, in 1943, was stuck to the paper. A shy smile on his lips, his infantry hat slightly tilted on his head and his uniform without a crease sitting proudly on his chest. A tear had seriously rolled down your cheek, ending its path in a Russian handwriting: Зимний Солдат, in other words Winter Soldier. Bruce had carried out a complete tradition of all the documents, later corrected by Natasha. Maybe rereading these texts was not good for you, but you needed it. You were the only one here who was interested in Barnes. Steve felt so guilty that he was in a kind of denial, Nat was only coldly studying the soldier’s file and let’s not even talk about the others. Bucky needed time, understanding and gentleness to at least not make his after-effects worse. You most certainly had to make mistakes, not being a psychologist by profession, but you were already doing better than your comrades and than Hydra.

"Nice evening, huh?" Your voice echoed in a leaden silence.

The sun had set for over three hours, most of the Avengers were in their rooms or gone outside, which meant that it was the perfect time for Barnes to take a shower. You had gathered your strength and went to the soldier's cell. When you had passed by, about two hours ago, he had not wanted to eat his meal so you had taken it back and heated it up again for later. With the hot dish in one hand, you carefully closed the armored glass door behind you. As you expected, Barnes had hardly moved since your last visit. Still sitting cross-legged in his bed, he seemed vaguely to notice your presence.

"I know you didn't want to eat earlier," you began, putting the meal down next to him, "but I thought that maybe your appetite had returned in the meantime."

Sometimes you were entitled to a small, hoarse "hum" from the back of his throat as a response, but you wondered if it was intentional since his gestures didn't match this slight sign of life. Unfortunately, tonight wasn't part of that "sometimes." No noise, barely a breath. But you didn't get discouraged.

The first few times you came to talk to him, his complete lack of reaction had made you wonder about his possible understanding of your language. Yet you had read that he read and spoke at least two languages, including yours. You might not understand what I'm telling you, you had mumbled while picking up his used clothes. Your biggest interaction with him had been when he had looked you straight in the eye and said in a pleasantly deep voice: I understand.

“Other than that you can-”

You were surprised to see him stand up on his own, studiously heading towards the exit door while waiting for you to open it. You were usually the one who went first to the exit, waiting two or three seconds for him to get up and join you. But this was a nice surprise, maybe it meant that his condition was improving.

Your electromagnetic pass stuck to the dashboard, a small beep sounded before you pushed the heavy door and let Barnes go first. These security questions were mandatory for you to approach the Winter Soldier. Always making him walk in front of you, making your pass inaccessible – hidden in your sleeve most of the time as Bruce had advised you –, a bladed weapon concealed against your ankle in case of trouble, and you weren't supposed to talk to him about yourself or the team. Clint had wanted to add an additional rule: not to speak to him unless necessary, to prevent any risk of manipulation. Did you look at him carefully? Had you imposed yourself in the discussion, he didn't utter any opposition during the whole process to bring him back here, and then remember his mission reports, he wasn't a spy but a mass murderer, he was programmed to speak as little as possible to his victims. Tony had agreed with you on the subject, recalling the case of Loki – once again – who was very different from Barnes.

Stupid rules, you thought as you watched the silhouette of the man in front of you advance in the long corridor. If the others saw him for more than five minutes, they would realize that he was nothing more than a victim in this cell. They all found you a little naive and they appreciated you for that, a ray of hope in the midst of chaos. Yet you were by far the one with the best perception of the others. Each villain had arguments, good or bad, you listened to them all. You reasoned with the team, making them come out of their superhero bubble to show them the possibility of a little levity.

You did not doubt the abilities of Barnes, you wanted to find yourself face to face with him even less than with Nat – and that was already a lot –. You sometimes looked again at the surveillance videos taken the day Natasha and Steve fought him for the first time. He was hypnotizing, in the way all his movements seemed to come together with such fluidity and speed, the way his body thought for him and acted accordingly. You were dizzy from a roll in comparison, so seeing it all was astounding. Of course, there were horrible explanations behind these gifts, just like most people who could reproduce all this, but you still couldn't help but analyze these videos. And then, there in that hallway, you looked at Barnes' back, his arm gleaming, the red star enthroned there, and you wondered what was going on in his mind. What he could do was inhuman, and seeing it in image reinforced that feeling.Then you had to realize that he was a human being, who had once been like you. His way of functioning had to have been completely disrupted, distorted and destroyed. We had to reduce to crumbs what had been to build what was now, that was how it worked. To adapt to a new environment we were always advised to forget everything we thought we knew, all the movies said it. In the same way that flat-earthers were convinced that the Earth was flat, Barnes no longer saw the world the way you did.

As the rules said, you discreetly put your pass in a pants pocket as you reached the bathroom. Simple locks served as security, and it was more than enough. No one except you had ever mentioned the possibility that Bucky was trying to end his life. If he did, the bathroom was the best place, which is why a simple lock would do the trick so that you or someone else could break down the door if necessary. But you avoided thinking too much about this exit, because through the few interactions you had had with him and the thoughts you had about him, you had become truly attached to him.

You opened the shower curtain, under Barnes' intrigued gaze. Each Avengers had a bathroom with the bare minimum in their room, but there were also three larger bathrooms on the second floor. These were the rooms to clean yourself in an emergency when you came back covered in blood, or Bruce went there in the event of a green alert for example. They were more accessible than the bedrooms, which explained this function. But what made Bucky curious was not that. You always gave him room number two, with a basic shower, a sink and a toilet. But there you were in number one, with a bathtub. He quickly detailed the room, slightly larger and apart from the bathtub there was nothing that differentiated it from number 2. As always, you had previously removed all objects that could be used as weapons. The pile of two clean towels overhung by harsh soap and shampoo – to avoid the risk of swallowing or too aggressive eye attacks – and the washcloth, were still carefully placed on the edge of the sink. So why a bathtub?

As if you were reading his mind, you turned around in a fluid movement. You took the time to appreciate Barnes' expressive gaze – it was so rare – before answering his questions.

"I assumed it must have been years since you had a real bath, you tried to avoid the Hydra subject, so I thought it could be a good idea?”

A good number of emotions passed through the blue of his eyes, only accentuating your apprehension about his reaction. No one had been even friendly to him for a long time, which meant that he was going to take a while before properly reacting. But as you had imagined, his gaze scanned the bathtub behind you at breakneck speed in search of a trap. I'm not like them, you thought with a pang of heart.

"I know what you must be telling yourself, but there is no trap Bucky,” his name resonated more than you would have imagined, “it's going to be long but believe me I'm not trying to kill you or hurt you"

A heavy doubt seemed to weigh, and you could only understand. This kind of sentence, he must have heard far too many before ending up electrocuted or worse. To help his process, you moved away and let him fully observe the place. His eyes locked on the shower head longer than expected, and once again, you felt nauseous as you imagined the traumas that must be replaying in his head. In that moment, you thought back to the first time you had led him into a bathroom. He had refused to get into the shower, his jaw clenched to the point that his teeth must have hurt, he had stared at you with a cocktail of indecipherable emotions in his eyes. You had ended up remembering the treatment reserved for Jews in the showers during the Second World War, and you had immediately apologized. Sorry, I should have thought of that, you had said guiltily, if you want you can just wash yourself with the washcloth and the faucet water, no need for the shower head today if you don't trust it. And the situation seemed to be happening again tonight, he was afraid that you would want to get rid of him during his shower, or bath in this case. Unfortunately, techniques have evolved since 39-45, especially since he was in the HQ of the greatest engineer in the United States, which meant that you could have found many methods to kill him while he was washing.

But you had to find a way to reassure him, because you had no intention of executing him quietly, and you wanted to be sincerely nice.

"Maybe if it reassures you I can-,” you hesitated before telling yourself that it was for a good cause, “I can stay with you? There's a curtain anyway"

Faced with his expression that swayed from surprise to doubt, you felt obliged to justify.

"If there's gas or an explosion, I'll die with you, which wouldn't be very appreciated by the team”, you paused slightly to gauge his reaction, “and if there's anything else threatening you can kill me yourself since I'll be right next to you”. You then brandish the door’s key between your two fingers, “on top of that I lock us in and leave the key on the edge of the bathtub, so I don't run away and lock you behind me"

You had the strong impression that in another time, Barnes would have smiled, maybe even laughed. Then, to your surprise, you saw a semblance of amusement in his eyes. An almost invisible veil that lasted only a second, just long enough for a distant version of him to take over the Winter Soldier. You couldn't help your smile, waiting despite everything for a more concrete reaction before reacting in return.

Bucky tried to get a dominant emotion out of the hubbub that was playing in his mind. You were definitely different, and he was beginning to understand why you had your place in the middle of a band of superhumans. And even if someone who spoke like you had the perfect profile to manipulate people at a high level, he risked taking his chance.

"Can I have twenty seconds alone to undress"

The shiver that electrocuted your entire body surely did not go unnoticed. His voice, his tone, gave a more directive than questioning turn to his question, and you only nodded slightly. In turn, you became as silent as him, too disturbed by the outburst of reactions on his part in such a short time. You left the bathroom, pushed the door behind you without closing it, because despite your shock, your unconscious valued your safety.

While you waited for some signal authorizing you to enter the room, you wandered on new thoughts. Barnes had not spoken to anyone from what you had been told. The cameras had recorded that during the fight to neutralize him he had spoken, a few Hydra men were with him so you had assumed that he was giving them orders in Russian. Natasha had been too busy trying not to die to pay attention to what he had said, but in hindsight, you wanted to know what had come out of his mouth that day. Tony liked to say that Russian was one of the least welcoming languages ​​in the world, but strangely hearing it from Bucky made you want to. Maybe it was his growling voice, maybe because Russian had been his “native” language for years. Besides Russian, he spoke other languages ​​according to reports, but then again he hadn’t shown off his skills to anyone but you. Besides, I’m pretty much the only one he’s seen since he arrived, you thought. But he had still had the opportunity when Bruce had come with you to visit him to check a wiring on the dashboard. He could have done it from his cell too, since it was completely transparent and he could see the hallway where many people passed, he could have talked. But he hadn’t, and without knowing why you had the feeling that he only wanted to talk to you.

The sound of water almost made you jump. You muttered a curse – hoping Bucky hadn’t heard – before slowly turning towards the door.

“Can I?” You rather ask to avoid a drama.

By the time he answered, you let your mind wander again. What if he was just naked in the middle of the room? Hydra had conditioned him to lose all sense of ownership, to make even his body no longer belong to him, which he meant was that nudity was no longer taboo and that on the contrary – given to the horrors these people had done – they could very well have forced him to stay naked to humiliate him further.

"Yes," his voice echoed vaguely.

Preparing yourself for the worst, you took a deep breath and kept your eyes high to avoid any eye contact in the wrong place. But as you opened the door you were relieved to see the curtain halfway drawn and Bucky already in the water. A feeling, which at the time you compared to a parent proud of their child, warmed your heart. It may not have been much in the eyes of the world, but you imagined the man's feelings when he plunged a body that had become almost unknown into warm water prepared for him, and him alone. Comfort, surprise, relief. A lot must have been going on in the Winter Soldier's head.

You closed the door behind you, locking the exit as planned. But as you moved closer to place the key next to him, a second wave of heat passed through your body as you realized something. He had only drawn the curtain halfway, thus hiding the lower part of his body but leaving you all the pleasure of seeing from his torso. Once again, in other measures you would not have found the situation moving, but rather comical. Except that this is the Winter Soldier, and all his communication was done without voice. He had left his arms and face visible so that you too could see that he wasn't a threat. In the same way that you had found a solution to his anxiety, he was taking a step towards you, showing you that you had no reason to fear him at the moment.

"Thank you," you murmured.

As if you were afraid of breaking the moment, you settled down without a sound. There was no chair here, but the floor suited you. You crossed your legs while resting your back against the small extension of the wall attached to the bathtub. This way, you stayed close enough to him while respecting a necessary distance to avoid seeing the rest of his naked body.

You forgot to check the time, no longer counting the minutes of observation that the man in front of you gave you before asking questions.

Bucky stayed in the water for a whole hour before it started to cool down. You spent all your time detailing his relaxed face, his eyes closed as if he was going to fall asleep from one second to the next. Then when he opened his eyelids again, he looked at you in turn for a few seconds, before asking you if he could get out of the bath. In his sentence, reality hit you again.

You had a mad desire to tell him that he was free, that he no longer had to take orders. You wanted to show him the world, to make him taste vanilla ice cream, to make him smell incense in churches, the greasy of triple burgers. You had the need to see him buy with his own money, help him get up from his first falls. When he looked at you with his big blue eyes, waiting for your permission to get out of a bath, you wanted to ask him for forgiveness, in the name of humanity. To promise him that no one would come and hit him, to promise this little boy that nothing would happen to him, that he could live a peaceful and happy life with his friends and family. But looking at the raw skin on his left shoulder, looking at the weapon that was implanted in his body, you felt your stomach turn. No one had been there to protect this child from Brooklyn, none of the people who had done this to him had even felt sorry for this man. And today he was sleeping in a cell capable of resisting the strength of the Hulk.

"You can get out of the bath," your voice broke.

He obeyed, rolling the superhuman muscles of his body to straighten up. You barely moved, being too far away in your thoughts to even think of looking away from him. A new blow was dealt to your heart as you realized that yes, he no longer had any notion of possession over his body. Two drops of water fell against your calf as he grabbed the largest towel and wiped his skin without emotion. The rough sound of the fabric made you shiver, and then you slowly stood up. He was taller than you, but neither that nor his robotic arm stopped you from grabbing his wet towel. His body failed to react when you passed the white fabric against his arm, his face was frozen in an expression of total incomprehension, faced with the softness with which the towel came into contact with his skin.

You finished your task, as if he were just a tiny puppy to wipe. Then, you took three steps back and fixed your eyes on his. You handed him some clean clothes, before taking the key back and heading towards the door.

“I really need some hot chocolate,” your voice still broken with tears declared, “and I’d love to share it with you, Bucky.”

Your slightly trembling hand wiped the moisture from your cheeks, then gradually turned back to the soldier after unlocking the exit. He had already dressed, the black jogging bottoms falling low on his hips. Bucky examined your face, and his eyebrows met in a half-confused, half-sad expression. He got close enough to you for you to feel the warmth he gave off.

“No cinnamon,” he said, “I don’t think I like it.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, telling yourself that only you could find yourself in these situations.

“No cinnamon.”

There was a first time for everything, and when you saw – later that night – whipped cream on the Winter Soldier’s lips, you thought that after all, the child could not be saved but that you could bring the man back to life.

pictures : Pinterest

dividers : @/strangergraphics, @/pommecita et @/thecutestgrotto

[tired-biscuit]

It's no secret that in a relationship with Yuji, movie nights with him are a common thing. But with his twisted taste in films, there's an 80% chance that it will be an underground incomprehensible crap, understandable only to him <:) And, like, even such a pastime with him is pleasant, but, you know, you need to entertain yourself too, right? Just imagine his face when he's really interested in the plot of the movie, but you're next to him jerking him off or something like that. Bro sincerely wants to know if alien Joe can help his shark friend with work in office, but you are gradually drawing his attention to yourself and it is more difficult than ever to resist you

now i’m just imagining him with his arm around you, pulling you close into his side as you kiss the side of his neck. you’re sucking on and nipping the sensitive skin there every so often just so that you can watch him tense up whenever you come close to creating a hickey that he’ll surely have to hide from his friends in the morning, and it’s the cutest thing ever.

but what’s even cuter is that despite the focused expression that he’s desperately trying to upkeep on his pretty boy face, yuuji’s eyes insist on rolling into the back of his head each time your hand gives a slow up and down movement to his cock. by the time you squeeze it at the head a little bit, honey irises are already disappearing behind fluttering eyelids and there’s a low hiss escaping through gritted teeth.

the whole thing had started as innocent petting over the thigh, executed purely out of boredom because he’d made you watch a sequel to a crappy movie you’ve never seen in the first place, however it didn’t take you long to take it a step further and turn it into full-blown stroking over his underwear — the sole intent behind it now being to distract him and turn him hard and heavy underneath your hand as a form of punishment.

and he’s exactly that: hard, heavy and distracted. so horny that he feels the need to pant a little bit, too. not a single word is exchanged between you — he’s still trying so hard to keep his eyes on the movie, after all — and yet your boyfriend’s grey sweatpants are slowly being pushed lower and lower; until they’re low enough for his light happy trail to become exposed, as well as the entirety of his dick.

the room is dark aside from the television that you’re both supposed to be watching, but the screen provides enough light for you to see just how much his cock is twitching under your touch now, as well as the glimmer of pre-cum that leaks from the tip, threatening to drip onto your fingers.

he’s pink and flushed in the face the exact same way the tip of him is. sweaty and jittery and so fucking impatient.

seemingly all on their own, his hips buck upwards so that he has a better chance at fucking your fist. immediately, your grip tightens in answer, pace quickening and providing him with more friction that feels like it’ll make his brain explode with such force that it’ll consequently cause his skull to shatter to itty bitty pieces. it pulls a prolonged, breathless moan straight out of his throat, sending it up towards the ceiling because of the way he finally gives in and lets his head fall back against the backrest of the couch now.

however, that moan is nothing compared to the sweet whimper that he lets out the second you bend over his lap and take him into your mouth.

perhaps the horrible movie will be finished by the time you swallow his load... fingers crossed!

[arrietty-rune]

It was a night. (Rósa lore heheh!)

The Full Moon. The perfect moment to practice some magic in a place it needed. The forest near the town… You had weird feelings about it. But you couldn't find why. After visiting it, you came back to a place around a large tree you had eyes on. Why not using white magic on it? Making that tree blooming and spreading flowers to purify the forest, you start a spell for and your hair started to glow in following. Once finishing the magic formula, you put your hand on the green glowing circle that summoned, and let the magic doing it effects.

Everything looked okay, at first. But something went suddenly weird. Purple and dark lightnings coming out from the circle. Something seemed wrong.

Confusions and panic. Why was this happening ? Why The magic turned to a dark one ?! You got the answers once you looked at the circle, especially on her left hand, the one you used. Hands are important when using magic, and spells by using your left hand summon the dark magic; while right hand is used to the white magic. Too bad for Rósa, as being left-handed. The lights became stronger, the noises louder… Then a flash happened and you fainted for seconds. The smoke spread everywhere around you couldn't see what's happened and you covered your face. You could felt liquid on your hands: you were bleeding from your nose, due to the energy the spell took from you. "… What happened…?" You tried to chase the smoke as getting a better view, and you heard barely something that got your attention. At focusing on, it looked like moans… Human ones ? Was someone in pain? When you were able to see enough around you, you stopped any of your movements, and you were in shock.

There was body. A decayed body, in front of you, and it moved. The movements were so weak, you you clearly saw it was looking at you, and moaned again. Did it tried to talk...? But your ran away as you were filled by your fear, once you were in the forest entrance, you tried to calm down. How that could be possible ?! Why was this happening ? You need a plan, quickly. You couldn't let a "zombie" being around, what if they were able to go in the town and attacking people? At least, you always have your dagger with you, you could kill it, then it could be like nothing happened. You took few minutes for yourself, take an inspiration to prepare your act, and went back to that place. The moving body was still there. It looked so weak, they have almost nothing than skeleton with what could be possibly hair, and few pieces of flesh. Breaking it skull would be easy at this point. You came near to the body as attempting to kill it, as this should. Don't worry, it will be quick.

This was a mistake you made. And bringing back to life any living dead is a forbidden spell, killing it is always recommended. This creature could be dangerous after all, so... why were you hesitating? ... Whatever it was, that was still a living creature. You could see they have a soul. You don't want to kill it. Who are you to decide who should die or not? … Your weapon fell on the ground. You spared the undead person. They still moaning, but it was incomprehensible; their body was too weak for anything, but in their soul... You can hear they want to live. They didn't even tried to bite or attack you, like zombies in popular culture… Maybe you could give them a chance...? Inspect how far they want to survive...? Would they be the same person as they were at that time their heart beat ? Anyways, it was time to change your plan, from killing your "creation" to hide them. You remembered you saw a place in the forest that could help so by using your fairy dust, you took control of the body and brought them to a cavern, as the entrance being hid by long wisteria flowers. For the next days, you will visit them to see how it will going on.

Part 1 - Part 2 (WIP)

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

Baby, be still for me

Summary: Miguel accidentally bites you, paralyzing you for a while...

Pairing: Miguel o'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, porn with no plot, overstimulation, fingering, oral (f!receiving), cockriding, p in v unprotected (always use protection guys!!!), small aftercare, Miguel!switch, reader!switch

A/n: this is definitely the filthiest thing I've ever written so I hope you all enjoy <3 (tagging @tripleyeeet because yes)

\_/

The bite had been an accident, or at least that was what Miguel told you.

Just below your jaw, so close to your jugular. You could still feel the sting, the slight pain and numbness where Miguel's fangs had dipped in your skin.

The paralyzing serum had worked quickly, more than what Miguel had anticipated. In less than a minute you found yourself completely still in bed, still breathing but unable to speak or move anything other than your eyelids.

"Do you want me to stop, nena?" Your breath quivered as he moved his hands down your waist, grabbing a handful of your thighs and pushing your legs open. "Blink once for yes," he whispered, his words accompanied by a shallow movement of his fingers along your inner thigh, "and two for no."

You blinked slowly, even your working muscles almost stuck in a haze. You hadn't opened your eyes back from the second blink that Miguel's tongue had already moved on your folds, lapping and sucking on your clit.

You tried to scream his name, but all that left your mouth were incomprehensible moans and grunts as Miguel's tongue slithered inside and out of you.

The first orgasm reached you quickly in a blurred ecstasy, followed by another one when his fingers finally entered your pussy and reached the spongy spot that his tongue didn't manage to.

Every nerve in your body screamed for more, to push your hips towards him and rock them in a symphony of movements, to grab his hair and pull his mouth on every inch of your skin they hadn't touched yet.

"¿Te gusta así, nena?"

His voice was low, a hot breath against your skin as his fingers kept pumping inside of you and his thumb circled relentlessly on your clit.

Some air left your lungs, intending to cry out a yes, but your lips still weren't collaborating. A needy and broken moan escaped your mouth, a visceral sound you didn't know was in you.

Another moan followed the first one though when Miguel stopped his motions.

"You gotta answer me, cariño." Wet fingers reached your chin up and pulled it down until you met his scarlet eyes. There was a wild rawness in them, that made your heart and core throb.

"Do you like this?" he asked again, his hands going back inside your slick folds but without ever breaking eye contact. "Yes or no?"

You blinked, your chest moving sharply up and down, and Miguel smirked devilishly.

"Muy bien," and he continued the siege of your pussy as his other hands played with your nipples.

You didn't know how long this went on, your mind was completely drunk with pleasure. Everything between your legs was red and puffy and so, so sensitive.

That's probably why you didn't even realize when your arms moved and your hands gripped Miguel's hair.

He raised his face, lips swollen and smudged with your juices, and another smirk appeared.

"Welcome back, sweetheart." He crawled towards you and kissed you — no, he ate your lips. You could taste yourself on his and somehow that set your core on fire once again.

"You treated me so well," you whispered breathless on his mouth, pulling him closer by the neck. As you did, you felt his cock resting on your belly, hard as a rock. "Now let me do something to help you."

Before he could say something or pin you against the mattress, you thrusted him on his back and sat on his erection.

Miguel opened his mouth to say something but a quiet moan was all that came out as you started grinding on it.

"I'm gonna ride your dick," you explained, the friction making you gasp for air for every word you uttered, "and you will stay there. No hands on me, nothing."

You moved from his penis and sat on his chest, wet from both your cum and his pre-cum. "Am I clear?"

Miguel nodded. "Sì, clarísima."

And as much as him speaking Spanish turned you on, you shook your head.

"Blink, love."

Another smirk pulled his lips upwards as he blinked.

"Muy bien."

When you finally guided his cock inside of you, you felt no resistance whatsoever. Your walls opened up as if they had been waiting for it and immediately sucked it in completely.

You and Miguel gasped together when his tip hit your spongy spot, and you heard him swear under his breath when your hips started thrusting.

"Joder!" he gasped as your sped up your motions, gripping his hair with one hand and the sheets with the other.

You threw your head back, your eyes closed as you simply fucked yourself into his cock. The sound of your bodies was an incoherent mix of squelching and gasping and swearing and your pussy almost hurt from all the prior overstimulation, but your mind was completely drunk on all of these sensations.

The knot inside your stomach was close to come undone, you just needed a little push, but you weren't alone in this.

You looked down on him as your hand went down to your clit and started circling it quickly.

"Gonna come for me, big boy?"

Miguel didn't wait for an answer. He pushed himself up, so that you were chest to chest and thursted into you a couple more times before he filled you up.

You followed soon after, eyes closed and limbs tired, and you let your forehead fall on Miguel's shoulder.

He kissed gently your salty skin, and you felt him smiling against it.

"What?"

"Nada," he shrugged, leaving the bed to retrieve a towel from the bathroom. "Just thinking I should bite you more often."

You chuckled, too tired to even think of a way to respond. You simply let him take care of you, as you always did.

\_/

Spanish translation:

Nena - baby

Cariño - darling

¿Te gusta así? - Do you like it like this?

Muy bien - Very good

Sì, clarísima - Yes, very clear

Joder - Fuck

[forthefictionallesbians]

With a start, you recoil from the table, sending cutlery crashing unheard to the floor. Your heart is beating fast, too fast, demanding attention you can't lend it. The world is dimming, your periphery fading to the grey of single minded focus, shock. Distantly, an incomprehensible presence completes its work, and withdraws from your awareness. You barely even process the sudden lack from your ears, so desperately attuned, so tinnitus-deafened. Lucidity has finally reached you again. And there is a hole in the wall.

It wasn't there before.

That is the one thing you can be sure of, as you sift through and discard your scattered thoughts, the "not again"'s, the shivers of anticipation, the silent hopes and desperate fears. The not-you, the human-you of mere seconds before hadn't registered it. But now, you can focus on nothing else. The hole, dark and jagged, promises your only measure of security.

Security from what? You barely let yourself think that thought. It is not the thought of a mouse, of you. And you are finally yourself again. There is no time to waste on such frivolities.

Besides, your question is answered half a second later as a towering figure stands up from the table. It dwarfs you, standing nearly three times your height, composed entirely of violet vines with luminous leaves and fronds. Pauma- she- the vine thing is making noises, cooing, moving towards you.

Fear floods your body, and you dash for the hole. This was why I looked this way, why I jolted, you don't speculate. You just scamper frantically towards the hole, narrowly ducking a lazy vine thrust and jumping another sweeping swipe. Escape. Find safety. Already, complicated thoughts are becoming outside of your capacity. It has been maybe ten seconds. Too long. You need to keep moving.

The hole. Darkness. Security in the walls. You've made it, dancing through and immediately darting left, then up, taking steps at a breakneck pace. Adrenaline is pounding through your body, far too much for the scenario. But you did it. You escaped. You were fast enough. If a mouse could cheer, you would have. Instead you settle for cleaning your ears, wiping away at them as your heart rate settles.

The little crevice you've found yourself in is surprisingly spacious, and a little familiar. You don't even bother trying to explain that to yourself. It's a labyrinth, passages of wood and rug and plastic and plush running and twisting above and below you. Verticality makes up for its narrow width. Soft shaped things line corners, along with boards of something that smells savory. Experimentally, you skitter up to one and take a nibble. It has the consistency of soft plastic, and a flavour that explodes in your mouth and fizzes in your brain. Moaning slightly, you scrape it with your teeth again and collapse into the plushies soft things, all stress obliterated in the bubbling afterglow of the gnaw-post. A distant part of you doesn't bother remembering Pauma explaining to you why she put them there, to help ease the stress of the hunt.

Time doesn't matter as you drift contentedly, nuzzling and nesting deeper into the pile. They seem to glow on your skin, every gentle touch an ecstacy of stuffing and fur. This is the life. No worries assail you, and when they do, you take another nibble and watch them dissolve. You do hear the rustlings of vines as they creep through narrow hallways in your direction, but can't bring yourself to care. Even when they wrap around your waist, you don't mind. It's only upon being plucked bodily from your spot that you feel even slightly peeved. But what can you do? You're just a ditsy, happy little mouse, and the vine is so strong. You know you should feel afraid, but you just can't bring yourself to.

Pauma The vine thing sighs, discontented, when she drags you out and holds you in front of her face. But her frustration doesn't seem to be at you. One arm ruffles the hair on your head, and you squeak with the little reactivity left in your body. That does drag a slight smile out of her, wooden mask splitting faintly. "Well, I suppose this experiment wasn't a complete failure," she muses softly. "And this beats you passing out from the fear." A contented humming envelops you as she holds you tight, allowing herself to bask in the moment.

"One of these times I'll get the formulation right, and then we'll have the proper hunt we both crave." Distantly, part of your brain fires in appreciation for her continued efforts. The rest of you can't care beyond the gentle stroking of her vines. "Or maybe," she says with a burst of sudden sharpness, "I'll just keep you like this forever, little mouse." Her eyes blaze a dizzying colour, and consciousness begins to tunnel in on her. You shiver despite yourself. "I had no idea you could get this adorable. As fun as capturing you is, I'll have to thank Quellia for introducing me to this combination. Maybe this is how I finally get you to beg me for a collar."