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lovelybarnes · 1 year

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Flirting and Football- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.

She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises.

You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.

She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.

“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”

You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.

“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.

“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”

You nod. “Wow.”

“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”

Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”

“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had to do something.”

“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”

“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.

“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.

“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.

She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.

It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.

“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.

“What? What did I do?”

“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”

“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.

“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”

“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”

“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”

“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”

“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.

“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”

“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”

“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Bruce confirms.

“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.

“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”

“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.

“Hey Wanda, Piet.”

Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.

“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.

“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.

“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”

“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”

“We?” you echo.

“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.

“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.

Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”

You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”

“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.

You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”

“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.

You frown as the siblings grin.

“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.

Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.

“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”

You mutter incoherently.

“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.

“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.

Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.

You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.

The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.

Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”

You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”

There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”

You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”

You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.

“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”

“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”

“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”

His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you.

You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”

Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”

You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.

He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”

“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.

“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”

“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”

Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”

The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.

Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.

The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.

You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.

Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.

“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.

You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.

“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”

“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”

Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”

Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.

“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.

“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”

“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”

You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”

Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.

You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.

“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”

Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.

“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.

“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”

Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”

Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”

“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”

Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”

“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”

Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”

You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”

“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.

“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.

You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.

“Based off of what?” You counter.

“Anything.”

“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”

Pietro clears his throat loudly.

“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”

“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”

You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”

“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”

“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”

“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.”

“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.

Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.

You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.

Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.

“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.

“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.

“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”

“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”

You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”

There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”

Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”

“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”

You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”

“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”

You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.

“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”

“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.

“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.

You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.

“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.

“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”

Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.

“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”

You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.

“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.

“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.

“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.

“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.

“Not the same thing. Not even close.”

You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.

“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.

“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.

“We talk.” You shrug.

“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”

“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.

“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.

“It will,” Bucky says.

For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.

He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.

You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.

Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”

“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.

The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.

He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.

The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.

You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.

Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.

“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.

“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.

“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”

“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”

“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”

“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”

“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.

You snort. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.

Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.

His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”

“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains.

“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.

“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.

“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.

“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.

When he comes back, you’re gone.

The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.

You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.

You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.

“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.

“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.

“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.

“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”

“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.

“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.

“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”

“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”

You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”

“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”

“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”

“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”

“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”

“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

You laugh quietly. “Sure.”

“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”

You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”

“Sorry?”

“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”

“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.

“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.

Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”

“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.

You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”

“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”

“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.

“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”

“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.

“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”

“I will know all of that,” he pledges.

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”

A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.

You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably.

It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.

James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.

He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.

He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.

You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.

Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.

You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.

It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.

A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.

Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.

A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”

“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt.

Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.

“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.

Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.

“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.

It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.

You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously.

“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”

“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.

You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.

“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”

Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.

“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.

“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”

“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.

You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”

He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.

He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”

You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”

Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.

“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.

You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”

You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”

He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”

The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”

“You have to invite me in,” he explains.

“What, like a vampire?”

He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”

You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.

“It's cold out here,” he reminds.

“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.

His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.

“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.

He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”

It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.

You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.

His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.

It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”

His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”

You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.

“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”

You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.

“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks.

You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?”

Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”

It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” you begin.

“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”

You nod along. “Right.”

He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.

You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.

“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.

“Yup. One more week, he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”

You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.

Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”

“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

You nod. “Can we?”

“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.

Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.

“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons.

You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”

A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”

“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”

“‘Thought it was weeks?”

“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.

He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”

He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.

Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.

“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.

“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.

You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.

You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.

Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.

No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.

He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.

You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.

He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.

He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.

He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.

You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.

Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.

“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.

He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose.

“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.

“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.

“I can pay. It’s my food.”

“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”

You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.

Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.

Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.

“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.

You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.

“Yeah?”

Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.

“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”

You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.

“I have to go.”

“What? We just got here.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.

“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”

You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.

Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.

“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”

“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”

“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.

Bruce stares at you.

You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”

“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”

Your shoulders drop.

“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.

“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.

Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”

“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”

His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”

“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.

You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend.

For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.

The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.

Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.

You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.

You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.

The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.

Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”

Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.

“What? Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”

“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path.

You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.

“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.

You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”

Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”

Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”

“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.

You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.

He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”

As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.

He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.

You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.

You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.

The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down.

Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.

It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.

Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.

You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.

Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.

Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.

Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.

“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh.

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”

“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”

You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”

You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”

“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.

“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”

“B-both of us.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”

There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”

You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.

There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.

You need to get home. You can’t move.

You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.

Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”

It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.

He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.

“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”

It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.

You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.

You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back.

Bucky pulls you back in.

“Will you take me home?”

His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.

Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.

Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.

“Why?”

You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."

“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”

He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”

His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve.

“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”

“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.

You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”

His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”

Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.

The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.

With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.

Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.

It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.

You’re not worried.

Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.

So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.

Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.

You’re not worried.

Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.

“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.

“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”

It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”

“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”

“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.

“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”

Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.

Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.

“I told you,” you tell her.

“He’s limping,” she points out.

“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.

He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.

You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.

It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.

Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.

“Hey, what’re you—”

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.

“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.

You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.

“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.

“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”

“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”

“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.

He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”

“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”

His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”

You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”

“Not yet!” he proclaims.

You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.

“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.

You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.

He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.

He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.

If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.

He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”

You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”

Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”

“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.

“No.”

“Not even guys you like?”

“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”

“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”

You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?

I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”

Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”

“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”

Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”

“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”

You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.

Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.

“Why do you care so much?” you ask.

He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”

You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”

“I try.”

You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”

You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”

“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”

The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.

You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.

“Will you?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”

“Give it a chance.”

You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.

You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.

Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.

You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.

There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.

It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.

It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.

You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.

You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.

You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.

He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit.

Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.

“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.

When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.

“Yeah?” he responds finally.

“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.

“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”

You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.

“See?” You say accusatorily.

Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”

That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can.

“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”

“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”

“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”

She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”

“You talk about me to your friends?”

You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”

“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”

You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”

“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”

You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.

“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”

You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.

“Thank you.”

You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.

You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.

“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”

“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.

You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability.

You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.

Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.

“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”

He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.

Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.

Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.

“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”

“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.

He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”

He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.

“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”

“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.

Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”

“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.

“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”

“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.

“Yes. It was a good day today.”

You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.

You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.

Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”

Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be different.”

“How?” His brows are furrowed.

You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”

“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.

“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”

The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.

His skin flips green.

You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.

It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.

He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.

You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”

He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.

“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues. “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”

He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.

You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.

“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”

And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.

He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.

He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”

You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.

“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”

“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.

“I'll go out with you.”

His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 month

Text

Guilty as Sin? - Chapter Three

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, Derrick shows his true self, Javier comes to the rescue, depictions of SA (minor, though proceed with caution), mentions of alcohol consumption

word count: 4.2k

series masterlist

Friday night marked not only the temporary break from having to see Dr. Peña every single day, but also your stupid date with Derrick. He’d been out of the apartment when you woke up, him and Nina off at the gym. Alondra crawled into bed with you, her laptop in tow.

“I don’t wanna go tonight,” you grumbled, drawing the blankets up to your face as she got comfortable beside you. “Just tell him I’m sick or something.”

“He’s been looking forward to this all week,” she reminded, pulling up Netflix. “Hell, for the last four years.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been dreading this for the last four years so where does that leave us?” you challenged. “I’m supposed to make myself uncomfortable just to make his little dream come true?”

“I’m not saying that,” she sighed. “I’m just saying what harm could come from going to dinner with him? He’s your friend, just pretend you guys are grabbing food or something casual.”

“But he won’t want casual,” you snapped, throwing your blanket back so that you could get up. “He’ll want the full treatment.”

“There’s worse men to pretend to like,” she said, closing her laptop as she watched you tug on a hoodie and sweats. “At least he’s good looking and harmless.”

“Harmless as a friend,” you pointed out. “Who knows what he’s like on a date.”

“That’s why you should go,” she urged. “To find out if maybe that’s what was missing—“

“There’s nothing missing!” you shouted. “I don’t want him, not because I just haven’t seen how charming he is, not because I haven’t given him a chance. I don’t want him because I don’t want him. End of story.”

“Then don’t go!” she shouted back.

“How? How am I supposed to turn him down when I’ve tried that for the past four years and he doesn’t give a shit. He’ll keep trying and trying until I finally cave, so I’ll fucking go tonight, but this is it. No more putting his feelings above mine.”

“Then I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

You took a deep breath, finding the patience you knew you possessed but seemed so far away in this moment. Out of all people, you expected Alondra to understand your side of the situation. She’d never spent a day in her entire life thinking about what a man wanted, what they were feeling and how she might accommodate for it. And yet, here she was demanding that you not only go through with this but that you shut up while doing it.

“I just want to be alone for a while,” you said, dejected and hurt. “It feels like the entire world is turning for him and I’m just here. You and Nina love him, I know, but what about me?”

“We love you,” she said, her brows furrowing. “It’s just that sometimes it almost feels like you avoid the things that you know will be good for you in favor of shit that’ll wreck you. We’re just trying to show you that Derrick is a good thing.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m gonna be at the library until my lab. Tell Derrick I’ll meet him back here at ten.”

“Don’t be like that,” she coaxed, following you into your shared bathroom to watch you brush your teeth. “Don’t be mad.”

Spitting out the toothpaste, you tried to ignore her guilt tripping. “I’m not mad, I just want to be alone.”

“Fine,” she said, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Text me if you need me?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, watching her leave the room knowing damn well she just earned a spot at the bottom of the list of people you’d reach out to.

Dr. Peña’s lab went by smoothly, the undergrads taking their first quiz of the semester in absolute silence as you got to work grading yesterday’s assignment. Dr. Peña had been taking careful glances at you, his brow furrowed with concern. Not that you could blame him. For the last two days you’d been dressing to impress, or more delusionally, to seduce, but today you’d shown up bare faced and in sweats.

Setting his pen down, he cleared his throat and walked over to your desk, causing your tired eyes to lift to his. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, giving him a forced smile that only managed to deepen that look of concern on his face.

“Just tired,” you lied in a whisper, shrugging your shoulders.

“I know these late night labs aren’t the easiest—“

“No, no,” you assured. “It’s not the lab. Just…personal stuff.”

He lifted his chin in understanding, his fingers tapping against the wood of your desk. “Well, if you’d prefer, you can finish grading those at home. They’re just going to be taking the quiz tonight, so we’ll be fine without our prized TA.”

You smiled at the compliment—or at what you assumed to be one. “It’s fine. Home’s not very appealing to me right now.”

“The offer stands,” he smiled, soft and almost unnoticeable before walking back to his desk.

Too bad you noticed every single thing he did.

After the lab, you headed home to get ready for the punishment that was an hour spent at the snobbiest restaurant in Austin with your not-so-friend. Derrick was locked up in his room, no doubt trying to overcome his jitters while you did the same. Only your jitters felt more like tremors, something deep in your soul cautioning you against going. Still, you persisted.

Slipping into a skirt and your favorite top that gave you the confidence necessary to walk into this situation with your head held high, your makeup flawless and subdued, your hair just the way you like it, you took a deep breath and opened your door to greet Derrick with a forced smile.

“You look…wow,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. While you smelled his clean scent, there was also a hint of something else on his breath—tequila, perhaps? “No one’s gonna believe you’re with me.”

You cleared your throat, glancing at Nina and Alondra who stood in the kitchen eavesdropping. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late for your fancy reservation.”

He laughed, nodding as he held out his hand for you to take. You pretended not to notice it and busied your hands with holding your bag and phone, which…

Fuck, you forgot to charge your phone.

“My brother recommended this place,” he said, brushing off your rejection as he walked you out of the building and to his car. “It’s where he proposed.”

“Mm,” you hummed, still lost in your head.

“You like sushi, right?” he asked, opening your door.

“Yeah,” you nodded, slipping into the passenger seat. “We’ve been friends for how long now and you don’t know that?”

He chuckled, buckling his seatbelt. “I don’t pay attention to little shit.”

You stared at his profile with something akin to disgust, the realization that he’d never viewed this friendship in the same light as you finally dawning on you. “Friends usually try to pay attention to little shit like that.”

“Yeah, well we’re a bit more than friends,” he smirked, glancing at you before bravely moving his hand to your thigh. You jerked at the touch, pulling away from him to turn towards the window. “So, uh, how’s Peña’s lab?”

“It’s good,” you managed, counting the streetlights as they passed by.

“That’s shocking,” he chuckled. “What, he’s not a dick to them?”

“He is,” you shrugged. “But not to me.”

“For obvious reasons,” he chided. “Alondra told me about the whole don’t wear a skirt thing. Sounds like a fucking creep.”

“It wasn’t like that,” you argued, turning towards him. “And you can tell Alondra I’d appreciate it if she didn’t tell you all of my business.”

“She was just looking out for me,” he said, giving you a frown. “Can’t have your professor trying shit if we’re gonna give this a real shot.”

“Derrick, I don’t—“

“No, just…let’s keep this date free of all that pessimist shit,” he snapped, reminding you of his inebriated state. Fuck, and you were in a car with this shithead? “Tonight I want you to put all that trauma aside for once and keep yourself open,” he demanded, causing your heart to race.

What would happen if you didn’t? Would he hurt you? Would he shit talk you to all your friends? Would he make something up?

“Fine,” you managed, balling your hands into fists as they rested on your lap.

After a car ride spent listening to him detail his summer of luxury, the two of you found yourselves seated in the restaurant located on the opposite side of town. You’d only been out in this area once to celebrate your first anniversary with Micah, though that time you were forced to split the bill. Derrick wouldn’t have any of that, not with his trust fund and need to prove himself.

You didn’t speak much at dinner, not because you had nothing to say but because he wouldn’t stop talking. He’d covered everything from the first birthday he could remember to the day he first met you when you were both frightened freshmen on campus. Perhaps the trip down memory lane would’ve made you smile if it wasn’t for his wandering hands beneath the table.

When the bill was paid and the two of you were on your way out, you thought the terrible night had finally come to a close. But of course it hadn’t.

Derrick surprised you by pulling you into a dark alleyway, his hands greedy as he pulled you against his frame. You felt his lips on yours, taking and taking and giving you not a damn thing but a sick feeling of alarm in your stomach.

“Derrick, stop,” you hissed, pushing against his chest as he continued to lean in, caging you against the stucco wall.

“You want me,” he rasped, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as his liquor-scented breath flooded your nostrils. “You’re just scared of it ending badly.”

“No,” you protested, continuing to push him away. “I don’t want any of this. I don’t feel that way for you.”

“Yet you showed up wearing this.” You froze as you felt his cold fingertips graze the outside of your thighs, inching his way closer to the hem of your skirt. “Just…let loose for once. Let your guard down and I swear you won’t regret it.”

“I already regret it,” you hissed, shoving him hard enough to cause him to drunkenly stumble back. “You’re drunk and acting like fucking dick.”

He shook his head, chuckling at your words or the situation, you couldn’t quite tell. “I want you.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Four fucking years of waiting around, then you finally decide to go out with me, and now…what? You’re just gonna act like a tease?”

“I’m going to beat the shit out of you if you keep talking,” you warned, though you knew your strength was no match for his. Still, female rage and adrenaline fueled you, coaxing you into not giving a fuck about the outcome. If he pushed any harder, you’d gladly fuck around and find out. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

“Stop,” he whined, grabbing your wrist to keep you from leaving. “Don’t be such a bitch.”

“I’m a bitch?” Fuck around and find out, it is. “I’ve been nothing but a good friend to you all these years, even knowing that you didn’t give a fuck about any of that. You’d rather I be in your sheets than in your life, that much is fucking clear now.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not cool to continue to give me hope—“

“I didn’t give you shit!” you yelled, yanking your wrist from his grasp. “How many times have we talked about this? How many times have you made me feel guilty for something I have no control over? I don’t want you, Derrick. I never have, and after tonight I certainly never will. Face it or don’t, but our friendship ends here.”

“We live together,” he reminded, stepping towards you. “You can’t avoid me like you avoid Micah.”

“Can’t I?” you chuckled, shaking your head. “You have no idea how easy it’ll be for me to pretend as if you never existed.”

He let out a huff of disbelief, shaking his head at you as if he had any right to feel disappointed. No, that right was yours alone in this situation. You thought you found a man who you could call a true friend, only to find out he was just as bad as the rest of them. Maybe worse given the way he manipulated you these past four years, all to earn your trust.

You took off down the street, not caring about the looks you received from passersby. You just needed to get somewhere safe and call—

Fuck. Phone’s dead.

With fear threatening to take over, you stumbled into the first open shop on the block, a very fancy looking cafe that was mostly stranded on the inside. Tugging down the hem of your skirt, you huffed a sigh in order to rein in the tears threatening to spill as you swung the door open.

“Welcome in,” the older woman behind the counter greeted, giving you a judgmental once over as your heels clacked against the hardwood floor on the way to the counter. “What can I get started for you?”

“I was just wondering if there was any way I could use your phone to call a cab? I promise I’ll buy something—“

“I’m sorry, we don’t allow customers to use our phones,” she frowned, a display of mock sympathy that threatened to wear down your last remaining nerve.

“I understand, and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency,” you pleaded.

“I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am,” she sighed. “Phones are for employee use only. Perhaps you can find a payphone or—“

The woman was interrupted by a familiar voice calling your name. Stomach sinking to the floor, you turned to find Dr. Peña sitting in a booth by the window with his laptop.

Fucking perfect.

“Dr. Peña.” You greeted him with a sigh and a forced smile, reluctantly heading towards his booth.

“Are you alright?” he asked, giving you a quick once over before lifting his eyes back yours.

“Yeah,” you lied, giving him a quick nod. He tilted his head and you and gave you a look as if to say liar. Letting out the saddest, weakest laugh you might’ve ever uttered, you decided to hell with pride. “No, I’m…it’s been a long night.”

He ticked his jaw as he considered you for a moment, leaving you in sickening suspense. “What happened?”

“You don’t want to hear about all that,” you assured, wiping a tear from your waterline.

“I do,” he insisted, nudging his chin towards the other side of the booth. “Sit down, I’ll get you a coffee.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Sit,” he ordered, that stern voice cutting through the clouds of self pity and anger still looming overhead. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black is fine,” you lied, slipping into the booth as gracefully as your skirt would allow.

It took him a few minutes to return, that time spent locked inside your head, watching a replay from an eagle's eye point of view. Derrick's hands on your body, his lips on yours, his vile claims and threats sounding over and over.

“So,” he said, handing you your cup as he sat down in front of his laptop before closing it. “What happened?”

“I don’t…I don’t want anyone to get in trouble,” you prefaced, earning a hesitant nod. “Derrick—

“Mr. Crawley?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “He’s been my friend for years now, we live together…but he has this really bad habit of not taking no for an answer.” Dr. Peña tensed, his jaw clenching. “That’s why I agreed to go out with him tonight, because I was just sick of having to explain that I only saw him as a friend. Thought I’d just get it over with, but that didn’t really go as planned.”

“Did he…try something?” he asked, his voice low and tense. You shrugged, questioning the entire interaction. If you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t been brave enough to tell him no, would he have stopped? Did what he did really constitute assault?

“I don’t know. Sort of,” you explained, tracing the rim of your cup as you spoke. “Dinner was shit enough, but then he cornered me in an alley, trying to cage me against a wall and…touch me, but I stopped him. Then he turned into this entirely different person than I’ve known all this time, called me a bitch and a tease. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize my phone was dead when I took off down the block, and now I’m stranded on this side of town. And truthfully, I don’t even know if going home is a good idea.”

Javier leaned back in his seat, raking his hands over his face.

“I have a sinking feeling that if I go home, he’s just going to start shit again, which is the last thing I want right now.”

He nodded, understanding and sympathy in his eyes as he took a beat to think.

“Firstly, I’m incredibly proud of you for sticking up for yourself. It’s not an easy thing to do, and you did it.” You refused to keen under his praise the way your heart demanded to. “If I’d have just put up with it—“

“Stop,” he said, shaking his head. “You did the brave thing and the right thing. He’s too fucking old to not know the difference between a woman who wants him and one who doesn’t. This shit is on him, alright?”

You gave him a meek nod, still not able to look him in the eye.

“I know you said you don’t want anyone to get in trouble, and I’ll respect that, but know that if you decide to report him, I’ll back you,” he offered, his eyes rounding and voice softening. “I don’t think you should go home. I—“ He sighed, lowering his hand to rest beside yours on the table. “I can drive you to a hotel, and if you need me to pay for it, I will. That way I’ll know you’re safe, and you’ll have your own space for the night.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” you assured.

“No, it isn’t, but it’s late and you’ve clearly been through enough tonight,” he said. “But it’s your choice. I can call you a cab if that’s more comfortable.”

“Isn’t that…sort of against the rules? You giving me a ride?”

He let out a soft chuckle.

“It’s not ideal, but I don’t care about that right now,” he confessed, his pinky reaching out to brush against yours. “I just care about you being safe and comfortable.”

You bit your lip, eyes glued to his hand that seemed to be fighting an internal war over whether or not to reach out for yours. “I won’t feel safe and comfortable in a hotel. I’d just feel…alone.”

“I can’t,” he whispered to himself, moving his hand to his face.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t do this,” he gestured between the two of you. “I can’t keep you company tonight.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you meant, and I’m telling you I can’t let a student of mine crash at my place,” he sighed, conflict weighing on his face. “I’ll take you to a hotel and you can call a friend to stay with you.”

“I’m not going to let you pay for my hotel,” you protested. “That’s not happening.”

“Then what?” he asked, dropping his hand to the table.

“I don’t know,” you snapped. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Here,” he handed you his phone. “Call a cab, they’re safer than an Uber.”

You stared at the unlocked screen, debating whether or not you truly wanted to handle things on your own or accept the help offered to you, even if it meant spending a night alone in a foreign environment, stuck with the flashbacks of Derrick’s hands on your body, his lips on your mouth. There was no safety in that, in being prisoner to awful memories you had no part in creating. The truth was that you needed him to distract you from yourself, and you didn’t care if you had to grovel or beg for it.

“I’m asking you to please just…stay,” you whispered, too close to tears to speak up. “We don’t have to go to your place. We can go to the library for all I fucking care, I just don’t want to be alone. All my friends are his friends and I know what they’ll say about tonight. Everyone loves him, everyone wants to be his friend, and I’m just…around. They won’t believe me, and even if they do, they won’t see it the way I do.”

Javier looked ready to tell me to fuck off and go find someone else to bother with all my problems, but threw me for a loop when he said, “Fine. Grab your coffee, and…here.” He held out a black leather jacket that smelled like him; whiskey, smoke, and warm spice.

“Where are we going?” you asked, standing and draping the jacket over your shoulders as he gathered his things.

“My office,” he said, his tone clipped and sharp. “It’s the only place where people won’t be around to see us. Not that I really give a shit, but you should.”

“You haven’t done anything but help me,” you offered. “I don’t care if people talk. You and I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“They don’t give a shit,” he countered, leading you out of the cafe. “Besides, we’re already breaking rules. Even if we aren’t acting on anything—“

“Is there anything to act on?” you probed, sticking close to him out of fear Derrick was still around searching for you. Dr. Peña shot you a knowing look over his shoulder.

“There’s enough to drive me fucking crazy,” he admitted.

You stopped in your tracks, shocked—and twistedly pleased—at his confession. He noticed your reaction, stopping to turn around and look at you with a pleading expression.

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you meant,” you echoed his words from earlier. He ground his jaw and looked down at the sidewalk for a beat before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. You watched his lips mold around the cigarette as he took a deep drag, his brows furrowed as if he was in pain.

“I’m not…” He shook his head again, looking up at the night sky. “I’ve been teaching now for five years. Never once have I done this shit. Never once have I let myself get involved. Until you.”

“Dr—“

“Javier,” he cut you off. “Call me Javier when it’s just us. It’ll make me feel better about how fucked up this is.”

“What’s fucked up about a woman in her late twenties and a man in his thirties talking?” you asked, stepping closer to him to feel a bit more of the thrill that did such a good job at blocking out all the bad shit going through your head.

“I’m your professor,” he explained, watching you carefully. “There are rules against me developing this exact infatuation I can’t seem to fucking shake.”

“You’re infatuated with me?” you chuckled, more out of shock than amusement. Though you’d obviously sensed he saw some sort of potential in you that caused him to act like less of a dick than he did with everyone else, you’d have never guessed in a million years that he was interested in you.

Javier chuckled darkly, stepping closer to you until you could smell his cologne. “Infatuated is an understatement.”

“And what would you say if I told you I was just as infatuated?” you asked, closing the gap between the two of you as you lifted your hand to rest on his chest. Not pushing him away like with Derrick, but beckoning him closer.

He whispered your name, sending chills down your spin. “We can’t.”

“We’re not doing anything,” you countered, sliding your hand up to the back of his neck just to feel those soft brown waves that have been calling your name this last week. Javier grabbed your hand and lowered it gently, his thumb smoothing over your skin.

“I’ll stay up with you tonight so that you can feel safe, but that’s it,” he whispered, his eyes darting across your face. “Okay?”

You wanted to frown, to throw a fit and beg him to not be such a stand-up guy, but that would be like asking a fish not to swim, the wind not to blow, a fire not to burn. He simply was a stand-up man and no amount of seduction could change that. “Okay.”

He let out a soft sigh, stepping away from you.

“You’re lucky I have shit to grade tonight,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. “You might consider helping me with some of that, TA.”

You chuckled, nodding. “After a nap.”

“Sure,” he chided. “Take it that’s code for hell no.”

“Would you look at that. You’re more clever than you look, Professor.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier peña #javi peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña x reader #guilty as sin?

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mischelmayleys · 22 days

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CHAPTER 2

As Ingird let me through their apartment I noticed how spot on it was. Everything had its place and was dusted off. A cat came to sniff my legs as we entered, making me bend down and pat its fur letting out a soft smile at the bal of fur.

“Okay so your room is right next to ours so if you need anything you can just come to us.” Ingrid explained as she opened the door to the room.

It was mostly a bare room with a nice king size bed in the middle and TV right on the opposite wall. As we walked it I spotted the big window where in front of it was a dest with some plants and a laptop.

“We didn’t know if you needed a laptop for school or not, but we figured you can just use it for whatever you want. It has netflix in it as well as the TV.” Ingird explained, probably seeing me eyeing it.

I didn’t know what to say: “I…thank you.”

She smiled softly at me and went to put a hand on my shoulder which made me flinch: “Hey don’t worry I just wanted to dust off your top.” She pointed her finger on my shoulder which had a bit of blood on it from the fight yesterday.

“Oh, that’s just um…” I started to say but Maria came literally running into the room with my bags on her shoulders.

“I don’t know if Ingrid already told you but we can do whatever you want with the room, we can paint the wall or buy new sheets, some decorations?” She was rambling and it made me look at Ingrid for help.

“Maria calm down, she just got here.” Maria stopped talking and apologized.

“It is okay. Can I use the bathroom please?” I asked not knowing where it was.

Ingrid nodded and pointed to a door in the back of my room: “There, it’s just yours.” I stared at her in shock. Did I just get my own room WITH a bathroom?

“We will let you settle down a bit, if you need anything we are in the kitchen.” Maria said and they left me alone.

I breathed out as they closed the door and I looked at my hands. They were bruised and they hurt less than yesterday but it started to get worse again due to me picking up the skin on my fingers. With a shaky breath I went to the bathroom, and carefully washed my hands under the water. It stinged and I hissed.

I replied to the fight in my head, it wasn’t my fault…I was just protecting myself. I might not have friends in school but outside it was better. Rodrigo was one of my closest friends to many people. He seemed like a bad person, but he was a sweet guy deep down. We met when I was at my first foster home when I was seven and he was ten. I saw him in a park where he had just fallen from his skateboard and I went to help him and since then we were attached to him until he started to hang out with the wrong people.

He is twenty now to my sixteen, and still he is my rock. I came to his flat more than I was to my different foster parents. And the fight happened because of him.

Flashback:

I was sitting next to Rodrigo on a couch as he smoked some weed and I just casually smoked cigarettes. His other friends were split all over his place and just doing nothing at all.

“So…you ran away again.” Rodrigo said to me as he turned my way.

I nod: “Yeah, what was I supposed to do? Get myself killed.” he gave me a soft smile and put his hand on my thigh: “Don’t worry, you can stay here if you want.”

I chuckled a bit: “Nah, I don’t think your friends would appreciate me sleeping in here.”

“You are right, we don’t want this chick sleeping here.” Someone from the other side of the room yelled as Rodrigo went to stand up and defend me but I pulled him back down: “don’t.” He huffed and sat down but couldn’t keep his mouth shut: “Shut up Diego, you bring here sluts and I can’t have here my friend?!”

It was the wrong move and from that time on, one of the only things I remember is that Diego hit first. They were punching each other hard and somehow I stood up and went to split them up.

And that was when Diego grabbed me so to my self defense I hit.

The only other thing I remember is police breaking into the apartment and separating us from each other.

I shook my head as a shiver went down my spine. I stopped the water and walked back into my room and took it all in again.

The fresh sheets.

The Tv and laptop looked completely brand new.

There was a thing I didn’t acknowledge the first time.

It was a framed Barcelona jersey. It had Alexia along with the number 11 written on the back. Alexia…Alexia… I tried to think about where I heard it before. I took out my phone and went to google it until I realized I didn’t have any wifi or data. I sigh and go to the laptop placed on the table and carefully open it. It was connected to a which I assumed was Ingrids and Maria's wifi.

I opened google and wrote about Alexia Fc Barcelona. So much information came up, that’s when I realized it’s THE Alexia, which people in my old school were always talking about. Alexia was the best footballer in the world. It’s not like I didn’t know that Barcelona had a female team, I just never had the opportunity to see them play, I never had a Tv before or money to go to see them play. There was one picture that caught my eye. It was a full squad photo, that’s when I saw them…Ingrid and Maria both being in the picture dressed in their very own kit.

I am living with famous football players…

I didn’t know if that was good or not. They are probably going to travel all the time and not have time for me…great so no need to get close to them. Since they are public figures, they wouldn't hurt a kid…at least I hoped so.

I closed the google and leaned back into the chair. What am I supposed to do now? Unpack?

The question in my head was quickly answered when my phone ding with a message.

Rodrigo: Come over?

I pursued my lips and looked at the closed door and then out of the window. It had the railing and stairs there…great way for escape.

INGRID POV:

Eliza was quiet in her room, we thought she would come out by now to eat dinner, but we didn’t want her to feel pressured so we stayed at the table waiting for her.

Mapi was texting away on her phone when she suddenly put it down: “I am going to look at her.” I nod as I waited.

She came quickly running back to me.

I frowned: “Why are you running what happened?”

Mapi had a worried look on her face: “She is not in her room.”

I quickly stood up: “What do you mean? Maybe she is just in the bathroom.”

“No, she is not anywhere and the window is open so I think she sneaked out.” Mapi said as she sat down on the chair and put her head into her hands. I ran my hand through her hair.

“Well…we know what the social worker told us. We are going to wait for her return.” I said quietly not really believing we won’t go looking for her

#woso #women's football #fc barcelona #espwnt #woso community #mapi leon #woso x reader #ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon x reader #teenage reader #alexia putellas

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ipostwhatiwant1202 · 3 months

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You Randomly Sit on His Lap: As Your Boyfriend

note: y'all, college is kicking my ASS. anyone else in college? how are we doin? it's finals month. we also had a total eclipse yesterday in the US. who got to see it? my town was one that you could see the whole thing perfectly.

Leo:

He just looked so calm reading his book. You invited him over for a quiet afternoon as you'd had a hectic week and just wanted some peace with your boyfriend. Leo was sitting in the recliner with a mug sitting next to him on the coffee table. You couldn't help but watch him read.

It was rare to have everything be so quiet and see him be so calm. In these rare moments, he looked especially cozy. So much so that your brain was screaming at you to curl up with him. You tried not to disturb him because you knew he needed space, but you found yourself walking over to him anyway. You just had to hug him.

You lifted his arms and manuvered under them, straddling his lap. Leo didn't say a word until you were settled. Your head was in the crook of his neck and your arms were laid over his shoulders as best they could. You gave a content sigh and closed your eyes. You felt him press a kiss to your forehead and heard a page flip in his book.

"Now this is what I consider a relaxing afternoon."

Raph:

He was in one of his moods today and asked you to come over. Raph always found himself feeling better with you around and talking to him. He just felt less stressed with you. You suggested he try and take a nap to cool off and that you'd just play on your phone until he woke up. Now you found yourself trying not to wake him.

Raph was a heavy sleeper, especially when tired. You knew he needed the rest, it was so obvious when you saw him and he was pale. Now that he was fully asleep sitting against the wall, you had the urge to curl up on his lap. He just looked so warm and so peaceful. You found yourself growing sleepy looking at him.

Your body moved before your mind could tell it to stop and you climbed on top of him. You laid over his plastron and laid your head between his chin and collarbone. You yawned and laid your arm over his bicep. You felt an arm wrap around you and rub your back gently as you closed your eyes.

"If ya wanted ta nap with me, ya coulda just said so."

Donnie:

The sound of keyboard clicking and metal clacking filled the room. You were doing homework/work and invited Donnie over to keep you company. While he was there, he found himself fixing your sink once again. Not what you had planned, but you were grateful he took it upon himself to fix it without you asking.

You heard the cabinet shut and his footsteps wonder over to where you sat on the couch. He looked proud of himself, which told you he fixed the sink. He sat down and peered over your shoulder, reading what you had typed. He always looked adorable when he was in his teacher mode. You were feeling a little mischevious.

You closed your laptop and climbed into his lap, hugging his neck. Donnie made a surprised noise and chuckled. His arms went around you slowly as you got comfortable in his arms. Physical affection isn't his strong suite, but he said you could hug him when you wanted. You were simply taking him up on his past offer.

"You said company, not a distraction, but I'll let this one slide cause you're warm."

Mikey:

There's never a time where his arm isn't around you or he isn't holding your hand. Mikey loved to be touching you in some way, if you were okay with it, of course. It wasn't unheard of to see the two of you curled up together, seeing you two showing some sort of physical affection towards each other, or just being together.

He was playing video games. You came over to hang out and he was playing video games. You felt a little annoyed by the lack of attention as you watched him play. His elbows were on his knees, his eyes concentrated on the screen. His tongue was sticking out in concentration. His lap was free and you were itching for some sort of affection.

You stood up from your spot and walked over to him. Mikey didn't even look at you. You rolled your eyes and lifted one of his arms, climbing under and on to his lap. He moved his head around so he could see the screen but once you settled, he kissed the side of your head. He cheered, wrapping his arms around you, gently squeezing you.

"Just what I needed, my good luck charm, I beat the level!"

#rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt ask blog #tmnt bayverse #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #ask blog #tmnt 2003 #tmnt headcanons #tmnt imagine

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spidernuggets · 6 days

Text

Jason Todd x Reader

This one's for my chem compadres @fcku01 @twodimensionalboyfriend @torchbearerkyle 🫡🫡

Your legs were uncomfortably tucked up to your chest as you sat on your chair, close in front of your desk. You've been sitting at your desk, your laptop shining at your face for days for hours on end. And right now, you were trying to memorise all the different titration experiments that were mandatory to study.

You had a can of an energy drink on your left side and a glass of lukewarm coffee on your right. Jason entered your bedroom 10 minutes ago and noticed that you didn't even acknowledge his presence. He shook his head. This just won't do.

He walks up to you, shutting your laptop.

"Oi! I was-"

You were rudely interrupted by him. "Studying. Yes, I know. Like you were for hours today. And yesterday. And the day before," he says with an unamused voice.

You yelped as he hoisted you out of your seat while you immediately wrapped your arms around him.

"You know those don't do shit for you, right?" He says, nodding towards the unhealthy sources of caffeine.

"Jason, put me down!" You exclaimed, but he shook his head.

"Firstly, it's 'Jay' to you, who the fuck even is Jason?" He said nonchalantly as you grumbled, crossing your arms. "And second, you're gonna burn yourself out. None of that shit will stay in your head if you overwork yourself, sweet thing," he muttered, laying you down on the bed, kissing your forhead. "You still have 5 days till your exam. Take a day or two off, hm? Humour me for a bit, babe." He softly said as he laid beside you.

You glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand, a bright, bold green shining 02:35 am. You sighed, nuzzling close to Jason.

"Fine.." You grumbled. "But I'm not taking tomorrow off.. you interrupted a chapter I was on," you say, laying your head on his chest.

He hummed in response, massaging your scalp, bringing you into a deep slumber, a proper sleep that you've been craving for so long.

You didn't really know why you expected a good grade. In the exam room, you skipped 5 questions, losing a good chunk of points. That together with the half assed answered guesses, only knowing the definite answers to some of the questions with doubt gnawing the back of your brain.. why the hell would you expect a miracle to happen and a big 98%, even a 64% written on your exam paper.

You got your exam result back the following week, and when the email revealed you to have received a sloppy 32%, the fatigue and hard work went down the drain, and so did your composure.

You knew for a fact that when you were in that exam room, you weren't going to pass, and there was no hope. So why did those stupid numbers bother you so much?

Maybe it was the fact that you tried so hard to study it, but the questions didn't match any of what you studied, and the questions you were familiar with, you completely forgot the answer.

So you broke down, your notebook, textbook, and hundreds of sheets of printed notes scattered across your bedroom floor as the laptop remained open with your results.

You curled up on the floor was the last thing Jason thought to see when he came home. His panic spiked as he rushed to your side, careful now to slip on any paper on the ground.

He softly called your name out, and when you didn't respond, he gently, ever so gently, wrapped his arms around you, petting your hair, telling you to breathe, to match his pace.

He glanced around the room, seeing the crumpled pieces of paper, all mirroring your crumpled state. The glare of the laptop caught his eye, the 32% taunting you.

"Oh, sweet thing.." he muttered, sitting down properly and pulling you onto his lap, his lips lingering againdt your temple.

"I tried.. I really tried, Jay.." You whined, your hands covering your face as you cried into his embrace.

"I know.. you did.. you did so well, baby.." He whispered softly to you.

"That's not doing well!" You exclaimed, pointing at the stupid grade on the screen. "That's absolute shit! I studied for fuck all!" You curled yourself up once more, burying yourself in your shame.

Jason's heart broke at the sight, holding you impossibly tighter. "Shh.. it's okay. Don't beat yourself up about it. Everyone finds certain things hard. That grade? That doesn't define you or your intelligence. You are so smart, love," he cooed, his fingers brhshing and untangling your hair.

You sniffled, and your breath steadied as you looked around the room. "Needa clean up.." You muttered.

But Jason hushed you once more. "Don't worry about that now, sweet thing. I'll deal with it later, hm?" He comforted, standing up with you in his arms, placing you onto the bed again. We wiped away the remains of your tears, kissing your forhead before leaving a peck on your lips.

"Get some sleep, sweetheart." He whisoered, urdging you to get some rest. And you did. A full 8 hours with Jason cuddled beside you. And quickly, you completely forgot about that 32%.

I dropped down a level during the chemistry exam, and even then, it was an embarrassing attempt. yolo

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saey707 · 8 months

Note

I SEE YOU HAVE ALREADY SEEN "HEARTSTEEL" I LOVE THEIR INTERACTIONS ON TWITTER AND EVERYTHING (AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA) It's cool, just cool :') Well, the point is... could you do a Yone x fangirl!reader? (I've been thinking about an anonymous online friendship and then a BIG surprise when they just meet face to face) Anyway, have a good day <3 -🍄

✿ Prompt: You have a chance encounter with Yone ✿

♡ champion focus: yone ♡ tw: none! ♡ Gender-neutral reader

Author’s Note: YES HELLOOO! ૮₍´｡ᵔ ꈊ ᵔ｡`₎ა Thanks so much for requesting! I tried my best to get the premise of your idea in, but I did make some changes to improve the flow of the short and make it more authentic! Hope you enjoy! ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა ♡

You and Yone met through an online board long before he went off the grid- hell, you met long before Yone even became legendary!

While it wasn't the conventional way to meet someone, you couldn't help but become fascinated by him and all the discussions he participated in. It's not every day you meet a (kind) man so invested in the history of Japanese warriors, DJ'ing, cold brew, and meditating!

You've never met Yone in person, but you figured from his messages alone he was either an old man or a kind soul... Even both. Every email Yone sent you was well punctuated and wise. He always knew exactly what to say, to an extent where you didn't know if he was just researching everything he was telling you or was telling you something based on his life experiences!

The day Yone sent a photo to you was the day you were convinced he was an old man now. It was clear that the photo was printed when he took a picture of it. His long, black hair was neatly kept, and he stood tall and sharp in a suit... Not to mention, there were orbs on the edge of the photo, and his eyes were as red as a demon!

You knew, eventually, your anonymous pen pal would stop replying one day, but it still hurt all the same. For years, you wondered if Yone was okay. You wondered where he was now, what amazing things he was doing. You wondered if one day he would ever email you back again... You wondered if he was dead.

"Hey, Warrior! I know it's been a few years since we last spoke. I know you won't respond, and I don't carry any grudges against you for it. I just can't help but wonder: How have you been? Were you ever able to get that red motorcycle you wanted? Are you still DJ'ing?"

That was the first email in years you sent to him... And you couldn't help but find some comfort in having a one-sided conversation. In a way, it felt like it healed the past few years you were left wondering and waiting.

"Hi, Warrior! You won't believe what happened yesterday: I finally got myself to meditate for 30 minutes straight! I'm still not sure how you can do it for an hour, but maybe someday I can get just as good as you. Hope you respond soon. I miss you!"

It became a regular habit for you to email him, even knowing you would never get a response. But maybe someday he'll be able to see what's going on in your life. Maybe someday, he'll open up his emails and respond to you... It's just wishful thinking.

"Have you seen the new band going viral? They're called Heartsteel! Their producer has the same name as you and even rides a red motorcycle in the music video! Isn't that cool? I know it isn't you, but at the very least I can imagine that it is you. I can imagine it's you out there doing great things with great people. And maybe it makes sense to me now why you won't respond. But just know I'm proud of you. No matter what you're doing out there. I'll email you again in a few days. Bye, Yone."

You sent the email, shutting your laptop now.

Waiting in line for a cold brew, it came as a surprise to you when you saw a man in front of you looking down at his phone, not even realizing that the line had already cut down to his turn to order.

You waited a few seconds... Then another. Then another.

Soon enough, you were annoyed. "Uhh, hey?! It's your turn to order..!" You tapped the man's shoulder, watching as he turned his head to you, confused as he shook himself from the alternate dimension his head was just in.

Your eyes widened as you stared at him for a moment, taking in the intricate details of his face. You recognized the sharp look in his eyes. You were familiar with the shape of his jawline. From the moment you got a good look at him, you knew it was him.

And while it seemed as if he didn't recognize you, the moment you spoke, his eyes lit up. It was you.

"Warrior?"

"Deer..."

#saeybaewrites #request #short #heartsteel #heartsteel yone #yone #heartsteel yone x reader #heartsteel x reader #yone lol #x reader #yone lol x reader #yone league of legends #lol x reader #yone league of legends x reader #league of legends x reader

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writerslittlelibrary · 5 months

Text

I'll always be your safe space, drabble

masterlist

summary: when you come home overwhelmed from a long day of school, all you want is to feel safe and unwind. Lucky for you, your mom and dad are home to comfort you with whatever you need

pairing: Natasha x autistic daughter reader, Bucky x autistic daughter reader

warnings: none I think?

genre: fluff

words: 858

a/n: hello lovelies, this fic is based on how I experience my autism. please keep in my mind that while maybe your autism might not act this way, that doesn’t make it a wrong representation 🫶

(I was diagnosed by a therapist, please don’t hate on me. I’ve never posted about my autism before because I’ve been afraid of wrong accusations)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Everything had gone wrong today. You woke up with your pyjama pants twisted around your legs and your socks were half off. On top of that, you missed your first alarms, and so you had to wait till 7.30 to get out of bed, instead of 7.15.

Your days had started off terrible, and it was only getting worse. When you went to get dressed, you discovered the outfit you had planned in your head, was in the wash, and so you had to settle for a different one.

You ran out of your favourite breakfast yesterday, and Bucky had forgotten to buy it, so you had to settle with a bowl of simple cereal instead.

When you had gotten to school it seemed like everyone had it out for you.

The classes were too loud, and the teachers were annoying. Everytime you zoned out, or decided to doodle a bit to calm down, the teachers called you out and told you to pay attention.

Once you got to maths, the teacher had actually given you detention for doodling instead of listening to her lesson. You tried to explain that by doodling you could focus on what she was saying better, but she wouldn’t hear it.

Therefore, after the school day, which had already left you insanely overstimulated, you still had to sit through an hour of detention.

After you were finally done, you realised there were no busses driving at this time, so you had to call your mom to come pick you up. Of course, Natasha was happy to do so, and when she opened the door for you, she immediately sensed your mood.

She didn’t try to talk to you in the car, rather just handed you your headphones and allowed you to go in your own little bubble.

Once you got home, Natasha had opened your door, letting you out of the car, being careful not to touch you. After you two had gotten up to the apartment, she opened the door for you, allowing you to walk in first.

Bucky was at the kitchen island getting some work done, yet when you walked in he immediately shut his laptop.

He greeted you with a smile but you didn’t acknowledge him.

Instead, you kicked your shoes off, heading for the couch and letting yourself fall onto it. Natasha gave Bucky a glance, letting him know what was going on. Of course, he understood immediately, getting up and preparing you a cup of hot chocolate, that, according to you, only he could make properly so that it wouldn’t be too sweet or too watery.

Natasha took it upon herself to grab your favourite blanket and made sure to grab your some inside clothing, walking to the couch and letting you get changed.

You had specific inside and outside clothing, and after wearing your clothing outside, it was impossible for you to sit on any furniture in your room with your outside clothing still on.

After you had gotten changed, Natasha helped you get comfortable on the couch, finally starting to speak.

“Would you like to watch something, cuddle, or be alone for a moment?” Natasha asked you gently, wiping some stray hairs from your face. You shrugged, not being sure of anything at the moment.

After a minute or two Bucky walked into the living room, three mugs of hot chocolate in his hands. He had made sure to use your hot chocolate mug, which was different from you cold chocolate milk mug, and he made sure to use the proper spoon.

He handed you the mug, and you smiled slightly, leaning forward to give him a kiss on his cheek.

He knew you weren’t up for speaking right now, and he didn’t dare think about pushing you. He always valued the physical affection you used to express your gratitude.

You sat up on the couch, your favourite blanket draped over you, comfortably weighing you down.

It was then that you decided you wanted to watch your comfort show, but you didn’t feel like talking, yet you didn’t know how else to express yourself. You though for a moment before turning to Natasha, looking at her with pleading eyes.

“Do you need something my love?” she asked, softly stroking your hair.

You nodded and motioned at the tv. Whether it was the fact that they were both highly trained assassins, or the fact that they were your parents, both of them immediately knew what you meant, and they didn’t hesitate to turn your comfort show on.

They waited for you to initiate the cuddling session, and they allowed you to snuggle into them when you were ready.

You put your now empty mug down and leaned your head over to Bucky, snuggling into his warm, strong arms and letting yourself feel safe in his embrace. You laid your legs over Natasha’s legs, and she smiled as she say you and Bucky being so close.

She might not ever admit it, but there was nothing in the world that would ever make her more happy than seeing her child snuggled up with her dad.

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @simp-erformarvelwomen @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @mxximoffswifey @lorsstar1st

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jiyansthesis · 1 year

Text

ESTOY ENLOQUECIDO POR TI

GEKKO (MATEO) x reader pt.2

pt.1

summary — you and gekko have been officially dating for five months, and you've been. . . thinking about things. from what was once, "he's so strong" when he's carrying something developed into "could he throw me on the bed?". of course, you never knew how to initiate it. do you just ask him? does it just escalate? do you have to plan it all out? those questions have been bothering you for so long that you straight up decided, fuck it, and searched it up on the internet. well, that was one way to get it started.

note — this is my first time writing smut LMAO. this might be extremely mid or decent, but i hope i don't disappoint with this!! i couldn't stop thinking about mateo yesterday so i decided i would start making this today. I ALSO CAN'T LEAVE THE MATEO SMUT TAG HAVE ONLY ONE FIC, on that note go check it out its so fucking good i love it.

w/c — 2.5k

warnings — (bad) smut, oral (f receiving), rough (ish), praise, tones of dumbification, kitchen sex, undertones of dom reader but mostly d. gekko and s. reader

not proofread + i am not responsible for any minors interacting w this post

you were done with it.

you were done waiting for your own confidence to go up just so you could. . . have sex with mateo.

just thinking about it had you red.

now that the two of you had finally moved in together, there was even less of a time that you could just do things yourself without him noticing. before you could masturbate whenever you wanted, as loud as you wanted. now you couldn't risk him hearing out of embarrassment.

it's been five months since the two of you had got together, and not once had either of you escalated past a few brief touches under shirts while kissing. mateo hadn't even seen you naked, or even with just a bra and underwear.

you knew that it would be this way until you did something about it. but the thing is, you don't know how.

and that led you here, legs crossed on your shared bed. you took a deep breath and began typing into the laptop on your lap.

"what the fuck do i even type?" you muttered under your breath.

"how to start sex? no, that sounds weird as fuck. how to get in the mood for sex?" you typed that, and instantly glanced towards the door, feeling as if mateo would walk in at any moment.

you were really picky about what websites you went on. you didn't need a whole porn video, but you also didn't need tips on how to get yourself horny.

researching harder than you do for homework, you didn't realize that the door creaked open.

"hey, chica. are you okay with a sandwich for lunch?" he said, alerting you of his presence.

without thinking, you quickly slammed the lid of the computer shut.

he gazed at you questionably, raising his eyebrow. "what was that?"

"it's nothing," you lied terribly.

his eyes narrowed. he could usually tell when you were lying, and it was obvious.

"but i'd love a sandwich," you tried changing the subject, hoping that he'd take the hint you wouldn't tell him.

"whatever you say, hermosa," he gave you a two-finger salute as he walked out the room.

you sighed in relief and opened the laptop again. so far, you had no luck. you did find some tips, but there was no way you were asking him, "hey, wanna fuck?"

you rubbed your hands against your face and let out a long groan. all this trouble just to ask him to destroy you? you flushed thinking about it.

deciding that you needed a break, you set the laptop down, angling the screen so that it wasn't wide open, but it wasn't quite closed.

you made your way downstairs, walking in the kitchen to see mateo with a big red stain on his shirt.

"holy shit, are you okay?" you ran over to him.

"i'm fine princesa. it's just ketchup. did you think it was blood?" he laughed.

you scowled and grabbed the sandwich on the counter, taking a big bite.

"hey, you're the one who thought it was blood, not me." he put his hands up in defense when you glared at him. "thanks for worrying about me though."

you rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face contradicted your irritated behavior.

"yeah, yeah. but if you're ever covered in blood don't expect me to come running."

"my heart," he pouted as he held his hand to his heart.

"don't you have to go get changed?" you questioned, trying to wipe the puppy-eyed look off his face.

"i probably should. look at you with the big ideas," he left the kitchen after giving you a peck on the cheek.

by the time he'd come back, you were busy washing the plate that you had used. he was silent, so when he wrapped his arms around your waist, you jumped and yelped in surprise.

"holy shit mateo, don't scare me like that!" you splashed him with some water, earning a chuckle.

"my bad chica," he apologized.

he stayed still for a few seconds, before he buried his head in the crook of your neck and start giving you little kisses.

"teo?"you questioned him while your face turned hot.

he hummed in response, continuing to trail open mouthed kisses along your neck. you tried your hardest not to gasp and tilt your neck.

"c'mon mateo, at least let me put this on the drying rack." you didn't trust yourself not to drop the plate and immediately go wild on this man.

that got him to stop, and you quickly put the plate on the rack and dried your hands.

"okay, hermoso. what are you doing?" you faced him, and he immediately caged you in against the counter.

your back hit the curved ledge, and his arms were on either side of you.

"what were you doing?" he asked instead of answering, inching closer.

"what do you mean me?" you were trying to convince yourself that he didn't know what you were doing upstairs, and that instead he was tricking you into saying it.

he didn't reply, but used one of his hands to pull you in, your arms automatically wrapping around his neck.

you'd never get used to how soft his lips were, the routine bite he always does to your lips whenever you make out. but this time was different. there wasn't more passion, but there was another emotion in how he pulls you closer to him

you could feel his smile, and when you pulled away, he had the goofiest grin on his face. his hand trailed up your thigh, stopping right before it got where you wanted it.

"teo," you frowned at him.

"what? is there something you want?" he teased you, inching closer to your core.

you averted your eyes, finding sudden interest in the ceiling. a sudden force tilts your chin back to face him.

"i asked you a question," he cooed.

you looked up at him through hooded eyes, and decided what's the worst that can happen?

you leaned your hips forward and grinded against his waist, letting out one long moan. he quickly stopped you with a harsh grip on your hips.

"does that say enough?" you said cockily.

"you have to use your words, hermosa. maybe i'll reward you."

you were tired of waiting, squirming at how uncomfortable it was in your shorts. from what you could see, he was too with the tent in his pants.

"i need you. i want you so bad." you whimpered, locking eyes with him.

he thought about it.

"what do you want?" he asked, his fingers making their way to your waistband and slowly inching it down your thighs. it left shivers coursing throughout your entire body, even though you felt on fire.

"i just want you. i want you to fuck me until i can't think anymore." you started rambling before you felt a pressure at your entrance.

he slipped a finger inside and curled it, and you slumped forward and found purchase on his shoulders.

"holy fuck mateo," you breathily said. "a little warning?"

"not my fault you weren't paying attention," he chuckled as he inserted another finger.

you've never bothered to use more than two fingers, but when mateo does it, it feels. . . different. you knew that you would never be able to replicate the same feeling that he makes you feel.

you could hear the noises as he went faster, along with the noises steadily pouring out your mouth.

"wait, fuck. . . mateo," you started speaking only to be interrupted by him sliding his fingers out and holding them up.

"damn chica, you're wet as fuck."

you almost died of embarrassment right then and there, but before you knew it, mateo dived between your legs.

you whimpered at his warm breath making contact with your folds, and just how you dreamed of, mateo went straight to work.

"fuck! teo, it feels so good," he hummed in response to your praise, pulling your legs over his shoulders while keeping your legs spread.

you threw your head back, letting out the most pornographic moan you've ever heard as your hand shot to his hair.

little whimpers and moans filled the room as you began to grind against his mouth. usually you'd last a lot longer than this, but either because you had been waiting months for this moment or the fact that mateo was eating you out, you felt something in your stomach tighten.

"mateo, stop, please." you slurred out, trying to use your hand to push him away. but he wouldn't move. he wanted to feel you cum around his tongue, and he stood by that.

he made a little motion with his head, shaking it side to side, still eagerly lapping away at you.

"i wanna cum with you, please i want it so bad." you blurted out, and that caused him to stop. you whined at the sudden cold air. well, he couldn't exactly pass up that offer, huh? especially when you begged so nicely and deperately.

"you always know what to say, chica," he grinned as he began unbuckling his pants.

"well, i didn't know what to say for it to come to this." you didn't know a single word that could've cause this to happen. not that you were complaining, but you might need that word for future reference.

"me about to fuck you stupid? i wouldn't know what to say either," you heard his pants fall to the floor and he angled you on the counter for you to be comfortable.

"this alright babe?" he asked, looking into your eyes for a clear answer. you stared back, impatient.

"just hurry up and fuck me," you nodded.

"i could stop right now."

"you wouldn't dare," you narrowed your eyes and before he could respond, you slammed yourself onto his cock.

he let out a groan his hands making their way to the bottom of your thighs to lift you up. although the beginning was rough, he started off slow.

"you know how long i've wanted to do this to you?" he said while picking up speed. your hands instinctively went up to cover your mouth to muffle your moans, but he pulled them away and pinned your wrists behind your back.

you shook your head. he watched as you didn't know where to look, eyes darting everywhere. from his chest, to his eyes, all the way down to where he was currently destroying you. then you'd get embarrassed and look away to start the cycle all over again.

"hey princesa. eyes on me," he loved seeing you not know what to do. as obedient as you are, you immediately locked eyes with him. "good girl. always so good for me, hmm?"

you nearly came as soon as he said that, tightening around his thick cock.

"oh, you like that?" you knew he'd use this against you forever. but now wasn't the time for you to be worrying about that. in fact, you couldn't think at all. you were understanding what he was saying but couldn't form a single response.

"i asked you a question." he began slowing down as if you didn't answer, he'd stop entirely. and you didn't want that.

quickly you answered, "i- mm, i love it," you slurred out.

"what was that?" he went back to his ungodly pace, and it took you even longer to piece a sentence together, letting out a moan every single time he hit your g-spot. you could swear you saw a little bump in your stomach every time he was fully in.

"i fucking love it, teo," you whimpered out, every word emphasized by the slapping of his hips against the apex of your thighs.

he would've blushed at this, but considering that he had in fact, been waiting so long for this, he attempted to go even faster and harder.

you were borderline drooling, if it wasn't for mateo holding you, you'd be lying back as far as you could. you went to grab for his back, before you realized that your wrists were still in his grasp.

"need to touch you," you whined.

he contemplated for a moment before releasing his constraint on you, and while you went straight for his back, his hands went up your shirt. the cold feel against your burning skin made you jump.

he had been letting out little moans and whimpers, but you could tell he was getting close with how they increased in volume and he began rutting into you like his life depended on it.

your moans were quieted but his lips on yours, and you began to feel that telltale knot in your stomach. it was as if he noticed this, as he broke the kiss and asked, "are you gonna cum?"

if you weren't in this position getting fucked until you couldn't think, you would've said, "isn't it obvious, dumbass?" but considering the fact he had you drooling on his dick that probably wouldn't be the best response.

you hurriedly nodded, and you could see the beginning of a smirk on his face.

"c'mon hermosa, you can do it. come for me," he trailed off into a long moan as you creamed around him, feeling as mateo did one last hard thrust and buried his head in the crook of your neck to mask his sounds.

the two of you stayed still in silence, only hearing each other's heavy breaths.

"did you mess up my hair?" you asked, blowing away strands of hair from your face.

"i think if your hair was fine, it wouldn't be much of a good time," you closed your legs as soon as he slid out, feeling something hot drip out of you.

"well, i think that i need to take a nice long shower." you attempted to get off the counter as mateo put his pants back on, but he stopped you.

"let me carry you, mi princesa. don't need you tripping." he gestured to you slightly trembling thighs.

you closed your thighs tighter together in embarrassment, as if didn't just cum in you a few minutes ago. he laughed at this and went to pick you up bridal style.

"y'know, this was what i was talking about when we first met. how we could be doing something else instead of dancing."

"why the fuck did it take you so long then, hm?" you jokingly punched his chest.

"well, why did you have to search up how to ask?" he shot back.

you totally forgot you left your laptop on the bed. it was open enough for anyone that goes by to glance at it and see at least half of what was on the screen.

and he went into the room to change his clothes.

"oh, fuck you teo," you hmphed and crossed your arms.

"you just did," he winked.

I HAD TO REWRITE THIS THREE FUCKING TIMES BECAUSE TUMBLR DIDN'T SAVE. THREE. I ACTUALLY LOST IT.

also how tf do u talk about pussy. like do you say pussy? vagina? entrance? core? heat? THIS IS SO HARD. btw i was so embarrassed making this that some parts might not make sense or be repetitive. im sorry

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#never writing smut again unless yall like it #my mind is a lot worse than this i js cant put it into words #x reader #smut #mateo x reader #mateo x reader smut #gekko x reader #gekko x reader smut #valorant smut #valorant x reader smut #valorant x reader #valorant

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redflagshipwriter · 12 days

Text

Batmom Cass preview post for Colin!!

This is 600 words as a thank-you for starting my fund to replace my laptop! I am so so appreciative. There's actually... no Cass in this particular section, but I thought it was probably best to share the next scene. Chapter 8: post reveal (about ten minutes after heaving his guts on very expensive carpet)

Danny would prefer to strike that unfortunate incident from the record and his memory. As soon as he figured out how to cause selective brain damage, it was all over for the mortifying ordeal of being perceived in weakness. He swung his legs miserably over the bathroom counter’s edge and pretended very hard that he was alone in Amity Park where no one noticed or cared if he threw up.

He was still in the room where Cass had hustled him to clean off his face and see if there would be an encore. He’d had to make a tactical retreat away from the toilet to higher ground when big fussy bats flapped in after him. Presumably they’d learnt that he threw up when Cass went to get whatever supplies one needed to clean partially digested yogurt off antique carpet. Ancestral carpet. Probably made of some nutty rich person material like, uh, hair from the manes of prize-winning horses.

Somehow, Danny cringed even harder. He needed brain damage immediately, please.

“And you’re certain that you don’t need to visit a medical facility?”

Batman brooded in the literal way that a chicken brooded. Danny tightened his grip on the counter just that little bit more so that no one could drag him into a nest and sit on him. “Wouldn’t do any good,” he said shortly. It came out a little too mean. He tried to correct his voice to be nicer. “Thanks. Tho.” Danny cleared his throat.

“Tt.” Damian expelled air against his front teeth and glowered at his father. “He looks terrible. You cannot believe this.”

Wait, what? Danny blinked down at Uncle Damian, betrayed. “I look terrible?” he echoed. What the hell? Criticism, from Dames?

Bruce got a pinched look. “Danny, honey, you have been looking a little…” He trailed off. “Unwell.”

‘That would be the lack of ectoplasm,’ Danny thought snidely. He kept his mouth firmly shut and turned away. Unfortunately, he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced at it. He did look pretty wan and thin. It was hard to put a finger on what was off about his appearance, but it was sort of… deathly.

He was putting on weight again thanks to Alfred and Damian’s monitoring of his diet, but it was just a fact that he wasn’t really suited to this environment. Too human to survive in the big Green yonder, too undead to get by on bread and roast beef alone.

‘...How does Jason do it? An aura like that is not sustained by creme anglaise and goulash. He has to have access to ecto somewhere.’

Danny really should have wondered that before. Jason had to be like, the most liminal human being around who wasn’t a halfa. He definitely needed ecto. Where was he getting it? Danny hadn’t really consciously thought about it, but… He felt himself tinge a little green again.

‘Was I feeding off of his ambient ectoplasm when he was here yesterday?’

His mouth filled his saliva that still tasted both sour and like toothpaste. Danny swallowed it with effort. He did not think of how good ecto tasted after you’d been denied and drained. He did not think about the sense memory of how living ecto would indent and then give with a juicy pop around his teeth, splash the inside of his mouth-

Danny buried his face in his hands and tried not to look like he was going to throw up again. Because he was not going to do that. He was not going to eat Jason and he was not going to throw up.

#batmom cass #red mama bat #kofi thank you #dc x dp #dp x dc

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tobesolonely · 1 year

Text

thank you for showing ceorry part 1 so much love!! I wanna give this series a name but I’m not very creative so if anyone has any ideas pls lmk 🫶🏾

harry is y/n’s boss, and he’s also a super rich ceo, and he thinks she’s so pretty :)

warnings: harry being super flirty and a nice kiss

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Mr. Styles?”

The low voices Y/N hears through the door abruptly stop. "Y/N, come in." Upon entering her boss's office, she sees Mitch, the accountant from yesterday, sitting at Harry's desk, charts and spreadsheets spread out. He looks proper annoyed by the intrusion, but Harry could not seem to care less. He looks at her intently while he waits for her to speak.

“I’m ready to work,” Y/N lifts up her laptop and notebook and Harry’s eyes land on the items. “I really had a chance to get lots done this morning. I usually take Fridays to sleep in, but not today sir!”

“Ah, you’re ready to get started?” His desk is already cleared of documents to make room for her. “I’m glad you had a chance to really use it. It was useful, I’m hoping?”

Y/N nods quickly. “I did! It helped me actually knock out, like, half of my report.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harry’s positively beaming at her, and it makes Y/N flush. “I knew you could do it. You jus’ needed a little bit of help. Why don’t you come and sit? Mitch was just leaving.”

“We’re not done reviewing-”

“We are,” Harry picks up the now neat stack of papers and hands it to him. “Miss Y/L/N needs my help, so we’re done. We’ll pick back up another day.”

“But it’s all due by-”

“I said we’re done for today, Mr. Rowland.” The tone in his voice is final and stern and that familiar tingling sensation is back in the pit of her tummy. Mitch gives a dejected sigh and accepts the stack of papers from Harry, standing up from the desk in resignation.

“You know sir, it’s very hard for me to do my job correctly when you’re giving your assistant special treatment.” Mitch’s tone is sharp and Y/N can’t help but flinch.

“Perhaps if you did your job as well as Miss Y/L/N you’d get special treatment too. Now leave, please.”

Mitch looks between Y/N and Harry before exiting the office, shutting the door a bit too harshly. If Harry’s bothered by the interaction that just went on, she can’t tell. He’s giving her a big dimpled grin as soon as they’re alone, telling her to sit at his desk and get comfortable.

“Or you can sit on the couch if you’d like?” he points to the big olive green suede sofa pushed up against the wall adjacent to his desk. “Between you and me, I’ve gotten some of the best sleep of m’life on that thing. It really is quite comfortable.”

If people were already beginning to think Y/N received special treatment from Mr. Styles, she’d hate for someone to enter his office and see her all cozied up on his couch. They’d probably think she never did any work at all! “The desk is fine, thank you, sir.”

“Okay then,” Harry clasps his hands together, placing them on top of his desk. “Are y’gonna let me take a look at what you put together?”

She suddenly remembers that she’s in Harry’s office for the sole purpose of him helping her. She sits down and opens up her laptop, shaking the mousepad to bring it to life. The first thing that pops up is the draft she’d been working on.

“It might not be great yet, but I think it’s a good start,” she plays with her hands in her lap while Harry squints at the screen in concentration. “I mean, it’s more than I had yesterday.”

Harry looks up and into Y/N’s eyes. “It is more than you had yesterday. That’s good. Let’s not worry about the quality of anything right now - which by the way, doesn’t seem like something you need to worry about. This is very good so far.”

Y/N’s eyes light up at her boss’s praise. “Do you really think so? That’s a relief, Mr. Styles. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could’ve,” he answers simply. “Just needed a little help organizing your thoughts. Now, get to work. I don't wanna hear a peep out of you until at least two more paragraphs are written.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N isn’t sure how long she's been at Mr. Styles’ desk.

He long ago retired from helping her, instead deciding to do some work of his own (and Y/N’s. She noticed him emailing to confirm the details of an upcoming event, and that's her job!) She almost feels bad, but when she realizes she’s nearly done with both her research paper and infographic, well…it cheers her up. Y/N thinks she deserves a little reward for this and allows her head to rest on her chin. She’d just take a quick little break, just close her eyes for a teeny tiny second, and then she’d get right back to it. Not ten seconds after she allows her eyes to flutter closed, Harry’s voice causes them to snap back open.

“Are y’tired? Wanna take a rest on the couch, sweet girl?”

Her heart starts beating twice as fast at the term of endearment her boss just called her, but she tries to keep her cool. “No thank you, sir. I was just restin’ my eyes for a second - I swear! I wasn’t actually gonna fall asleep.”

“Resting your eyes, you say?” Harry’s plush bottom lip is tucked between his teeth as he tries to suppress a grin. “I think that’s code for ‘sleeping’, hm?”

“Well I did go to bed pretty late last night…or at least I think I did.”

“What do you mean you think?”

“I woke up this morning with my laptop in my lap and all my papers still on my bed.”

Harry furrows his brows. “You’ve gotta make sure you’re getting enough sleep, sweet girl. You’re just too pretty to not be well-rested.”

Y/N’s little crush on Harry is absolutely solidified at that moment. He just called her pretty! And so casually too, as if it was a known fact! “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course I do,” Harry pauses, smirking. “It’s why you get special treatment. Now, go rest for a little bit. I’ll wake you up if you fall asleep.”

Y/N gives her boss a weary look, choosing to ignore his comment. “Do you promise?”

“Sure,” there’s an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes, and something tells her there's a chance he's lying. “Go on, sweetheart.”

Y/N complies, wordlessly standing up from his desk and walking across his office to the couch. Her body relaxed as she sank into the firm-but-soft couch. Harry wasn't kidding - his couch was comfortable. It was very nice, and it makes her think about how nice Harry is. He cares about her so much and she thinks it’s really cute and sweet. Plus, she couldn’t get the way he looked and sounded when he called her pretty! It makes her feel so mushy and giddy. With these gooey thoughts of her boss in her mind, Y/N allows her eyes to flutter shut. Besides, Harry promised he’d wake her up. It’d be fine!

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N wakes up hours later, covered up with a yellow fuzzy blanket and a tiny pillow under her head.

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion as she sits up, the once light-filled office now dark aside from the dimmed lamp in the corner beside Harry’s desk. He looks up from the book he’s reading and at her once he notices she’s awake, a grin overcoming his features.

“Good evening, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Hi,” she rubs the sleep out of her eyes. “What time is it?”

Harry lazily looks down at his Rolex and then back up at her. “A quarter til 6. Y’hungry?”

He let her sleep for nearly three hours? “Not really, sir.”

“Are you sure,” he raises a brow. “It must take a lot of energy to sit there and look that pretty. You’re sure you’re not hungry, sweetheart?”

Y/N can’t hide how flustered Harry’s shameless flirting makes her, and she’s sure he knows exactly what he’s doing to her. “I, sir-”

”Sirrrrrr,” Harry drags the last sound of the word out, imitating her. “Let me feed you dinner. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”

“But Mr. Styles,” Y/N can’t help the way her lower lip juts out in a pout. “I haven’t actually done anything for you lately! Every day I’ve just been coming here and working on this stupid assignment while you do my job for me. I don’t even want to see what my paycheck will look like this time around!”

Harry gives her a genuine look of confusion. “What would be wrong with your paycheck?”

“There’s no way you’re going to pay me for coming in to do my homework, is there?”

“Of course I am,” Harry replies. He sounds almost offended that she’d think otherwise. “You’re still comin’ in and staying here all day, aren’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“Then your paycheck will reflect that, sweet girl,” he tugs on his lower lip with his fingers, appearing deep in thought. “I don’t want you to worry about things like that.”

“I’m always gonna worry about things like that,” she stares owlishly at him. “I mean, at least until I’m a rich CEO like you.”

Harry lets out a little chuckle at this and gets up from behind his desk. He makes his way across the office towards Y/N and stops when he’s right in front of her. She’s still sitting, so he kneels down so he’s face-to-face with her. He doesn’t seem to mind getting dust bunnies on his Gucci trousers at all.

“You’re right. That was a silly request,” he cocks his head slightly to the side, not breaking eye contact. “But please rest assured I will never be the reason you worry about money. Understood?” Y/N nods her head in response, but Harry shakes his head.

“I want to hear you tell me you understand. Tell me.”

“I understand.”

“Hm,” Harry splays his palm out on her knee causing a shiver to run down her spine. “You understand who?”

Oh. Y/N knew what he wanted. “I understand, sir.”

While she’s addressed Harry by the title many, many times she can’t deny how differently it slips off her tongue this time. She nearly doesn’t recognize the sound of her own voice saying the word, her tone subconsciously taking on a sultry and smooth nature. As quickly as Harry kneels before her he stands up, a pleased look on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, I don’t know about you but I’m starving and quite honestly want to get the hell out of this office. Do you have any dinner plans?”

“No, but I was going to study.”

Harry’s already walking back towards his desk to shut off his devices, mind already made up that he was leaving work one way or another. “While I usually am a big proponent of studying, ‘specially when it comes to you,” he slams his briefcase shut and she hears the latches snap. “I’m an even bigger proponent of taking care of yourself physically so you have the power to excel mentally. How does Italian sound?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N’s sitting across from Harry in a dimly lit booth not forty minutes later, the smell of garlic bread and marinara sauce overwhelming her nostrils. If she wasn’t so fixated on her food (turns out she was starving, but she wasn’t going to admit that to Harry) she might've noticed that he's hardly touched his own food. He was too focused on admiring her, and how cute basically everything she did was. When she does finally look up, the expression on her face goes from one of delight and contentment to confusion and concern.

“Why aren't you eating your food, sir? Is something wrong with it?”

Harry audibly coos at Y/N’s concern. “Nothing like that. I’ve had this dish several times actually,” he stabs his fork into a cherry tomato. It bursts next to a well-seasoned piece of chicken breast. “I just think you’re so pretty. It’s a little distracting, sweetheart.”

“Why do you keep saying things you know will make me feel all shy?” Y/N presses, taking a quick glance at her hands in her lap. “I’m terrible at accepting compliments!”

He frowns at this. “Can’t imagine why. You deserve all the compliments in the world and then some, I think.”

Y/N’s skin is on fire and she’s not sure how to respond to Harry so she doesn’t, instead she goes back to eating her plate of chicken parmesan and gushing over how flavorful the sauce is. Still, his food remains in front of him hardly untouched and his gaze remains on her.

“You know I can feel you staring at me from across the table,” Y/N says after a brief moment of silence. “Even though I’m looking down, Mr. Styles.”

“I’m not trying to hide the fact that I am. Why don’t you call me ‘Harry’ when we’re outside of work? Mr. Styles makes me sound old.”

Y/N sets her fork down and then looks back up at him, her head cocked curiously to the side. “I think Mitch was right when he said you gave me special treatment.”

Harry has an amused look on his face as he hums in acknowledgment, deciding to humor her. “What makes you think that?”

“I want to base it on just these past few shifts alone, but it’s more than that,” Y/N replies thoughtfully. “You literally let me come into work whenever I want. What type of boss does that?”

Harry can’t hide the delight on his face any longer. “You don’t think I offer my other employees flexibility? You’re not the only one that has a life, Y/N.”

“Okay yeah,” she raises an eyebrow. “But you still pay me for my entire shift even when I only go in for like, three hours.”

“I’m fair, if nothing else.”

“Sometimes when I come in I don’t even do work. We just talk.”

“I can find more work for you to do, if you’d like.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at her boss. “I just don’t know what I did to deserve this treatment. This ‘special treatment’.”

Harry takes a sip of his own water before he looks in close to the center of the table, beckoning Y/N toward him. “Can I tell you a little secret?”

Y/N’s so close to him that she can see the different colored specks within his irises, even in the dim lighting of the Italian restaurant. Not trusting her voice to not betray her, she simply nods.

“You get special treatment because I like you. A lot. I thought it was obvious.” He leans back in his chair after revealing his secret and begins eating his food again like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just drop a bombshell on Y/N.

“Really?” Y/N like how quiet and unsure her voice is, but Harry has her brain feeling like mush and she can hardly think straight. “I think you’re so cute, sir, and so kind-”

“Awww,” Harry repeats, tone mocking. “You think I’m cute, sweet girl?”

“Yes, sir, sooo-”

“Harry outside of work, yes?”

“Sorry Harry, I forgot.” Y/N can’t help the flush that floods her body at the act of calling Mr. Styles ‘Harry’ to his face, but he said it was okay!

If Y/N didn’t know better she would say a small blush crept over the apples of Harry’s cheeks after she addressed him by his first name, but she decided not to dwell on it. He looks at her nearly completed entree and his own, hardly touched. He looks around for the waiter and wordlessly flags him down, mouthing for the check.

“I think you’re cute, too,” Harry finally says as they’re waiting for their waiter to come with the bill. “Cute might be an understatement actually.”

Y/N’s noticed that Harry’s already started to develop this pesky habit of saying things for the sole purpose of flustering her (or so it seems) and she opens her mouth to respond but then closes it, unsure of what to say. Harry chuckles and pulls out his wallet just as the waiter comes back with the bill. He looks down at Harry’s nearly untouched plate of food and a look of worry fills his face.

“Was the food not to your liking this evening, Mr. Styles? Will you be needing to speak with the chef?”

Harry shakes his head quickly, and a stray curl falls down over his left eye. “Everything was perfect as always. Jus’ a little distracted, makes it hard to eat.” He quickly looks up and across the table as he’s signing his signature on the receipt but Y/N pretends not to see.

“I’m glad to hear it. Will you be needing change or a to-go box, sir?”

“Nope. We’re all set?” the waiter nods, to which Harry flashes him a big smile. “Perfect. See you next week, sir.”

The waiter nods his head at Harry, then at Y/N before turning to leave. Harry stands up and pushes his chair in, quickly moving to the other side of the table to pull Y/N’s out for her. He grabs her coat off the back of her chair and holds it up for her to slip her arms into.

“Thank you, Mr - Harry,” she plays with the sleeves of her coat once comfortably on her body. “This was really good.”

“The least I can do is keep you fed when you’re such a good little worker, hmm?”

Y/N gives him a bashful look before giving a small nod of agreement, playing along with Harry. He holds his left hand out at his side and Y/N only hesitates briefly before reaching down to grab it, allowing him to lead her out of the restaurant.

Harry doesn’t drop her hand even when they’re out of the restaurant, even when they walk across the parking lot to their cars parked next to each other. He doesn’t let go of her hand when he tells her what a good time he had at dinner. He doesn’t let go of her hand when he reminds her to work hard on her project over the weekend (but not too hard).

He definitely doesn’t let go of her hand when he leans down and gently presses their lips together, smiling into the kiss.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

I hope you enjoyed part 2!!! please let me know what you think!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles oneshot

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snowy-vee · 3 months

Text

TUG: I can’t have my heart lookin’ stupid (2)

n/a: I am on the wost mental block, unable to write anything, so I've decided to just WRITE WHATEVER, so I may be posting One-shots and writing for the On-goings whenever inspo come at me, I was going to write some shower smut but maybe for the opening of next chapter. Also, I always forget of the taglists, so sorry, I'll try to remember better after this one

Chapter not revised

taglist; @littlegingerperson5 @lil-elliesgf @bready101 @lmaoo-spiderman @elliescoolerwife @girlrotterr @les4elliewilliams @ellseasp @elsgirll @mikellie

INDEX

You finally could rest in that desk after finishing all the work Professor Mendozal eft you, you sighed looking around the office. Yeah, time to go to your dorm and sleep, maybe cuddle with Ellie if she was down to it, of course cuddling as friends.

Because you and Ellie were friends before anything, you two should never forget that, even if it came with some benefits that had to be kept secret to the public for the good of friendships and relationships. Sometimes you felt bad about what you were doing but then she had her lips on yours and that was enough to shut those thoughts… and Daniel did not deserve to be hurt because he couldn’t make you cum, maybe one day he would stop moving his fingers in your clit as if he was a fucking DJ mixing the worst mix in the history of music.

“Hi” You said opening the door of the dorm, throwing your backpack in your bed and throwing yourself too leaving a frustrated huff. Ellie was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed typing in her laptop barely acknowledging you, it was normal when you entered the dorm tired and just screamed into the pillow or sigh heavily and then went silent for long seconds. “You’re doing homework?”

“Yeah”

“Oh, shit!” You suddenly kneel on your bed, opening your backpack and pulling out a brown bag. Ellie looks at the bag and opens her mouth surprised as you wave it.

“No way”

“Yes way” you said going to her bed and sitting on the edge as you gave the bag to her “I did a little stop and I saw the bakery you like, so I decided to buy the pastries you talk so much, you can see it as thank you”

She opens the bag taking out one and biting it, she closes her eyes and licks her lips. You chuckled at her reaction; she seemed so adorable to you. “This is like fifteen minutes away from your building, you are thanking me for what?”

“For that tongue of yours”

“I must be really good for you to spend money in this, very expensive for your wallet” you open your mouth wide muttering a long ‘wow’ with a hand on your chest, showing how offended you felt.

“This is what I get for being nice… now, for real, the notes you sent me for the class? Worked so fucking great, I almost had a brain orgasm”

“That doesn’t sound great, not something I want to experience”

“Trust me, you do…” you chuckled looking over her desk, there was clothes neatly folded in the chair and her “special shoes” (meaning she only wore them once in a blue moon) were out of their box “You’re going out tonight? Where? A good party? I wanna go!”

“Uh, something like that, I guess” she scratched the back of her neck and smiled weirdly “It’s my anniversary with Cat”

“Ew- I mean, amazing! That’s so… coupley of you two ¡Go lesbians! or whatever”

Ellie stared at you for a long minute tilting her head before she talked again. “Okay, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing, just being supportive” You got up from the bed and went to check the clothes to see what the outfit was “Oh, god, I could be supportive helping you not look like your everyday ¿What the hell is this? ¿Are this the same jeans you wore yesterday?”

“I look good in those!” Ellie got up leaving the pastries in her night stand and snatching the pants from your hand.

“Never said you didn’t” You raised your hands in a gesture of peace. “What I’m saying is that you let me help picking you a good fit to impress Cat in your anniversary, come on, don’t let romance die, you guys are so cute and-”

“Will you stop talking if I say yes?”

You nodded energetically clapping once as you turned around and open the doors of her wardrobe. Ellie sighed defeated as she went back to her bed and kept working a little bit more until you could find something worthy, it’s not like she didn’t had good clothes, it’s just that her style was very plain and casual but it look great on her, she did not care that much, now if we talked about shoes… Ellie was a sneaker head, at least one in making, half of her paycheck or allowance went on some new shoes and she started telling you every detail and why it was so different from the other one she got last month, you couldn’t care less but you liked how she expressed herself so you listened to every word and sometimes found yourself spitting some random fact to someone that you learned from her about it.

In less than 30 minutes you had something “Try this on!”

You threw the clothes at her landing poorly on the floor next to the bed, she again gave you that look but huffed taking off her tank top, she had no underwear and you were shamelessly looking at her tits as she put on the shirt and started buttoning it up. There was no way you were dolling her up to go on a date with a Cat and you were going to be locked up in the room celibate mode, that sounded frustrating.

“Not bad, actually” Ellie looked at her reflection in the mirror, nodding slowly as she checked herself.

The clothes fit her so good and the new haircut she got days ago made her look 100% better, you were smiling through the pain of not being able to rip them and make her yours in that exact moment. Ellie was now making faces in the mirror, tucking her hair behind her ear with one hand on her chin, etc.

“Miss steal yo-girl is feeling herself” you chuckled going back to your bed, your job was done here “With that outfit you will get a lot of girls”

She chuckled too starting to undress as she was walking towards the bathroom “Well, Cat is the only one that matters”

“…yeah”

You could hear the water running but the door was still open, maybe she was waiting for it heat up, anyway, you were going to respect their relationship tonight, It was anniversary night, that was a big thing. Cat had all the rights to only she be the one to have Ellie for herself that day and you were not going to meddle.

“Wanna shower?” Ellie was leaning against the doorframe only a towel cover her body, you practically jump from your bed to meet her in the bathroom taking your clothes off quickly.

“I thought you were never going to ask”

If Ellie didn’t respect her relationship, why would you?

#ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie fanfic #ellie smut #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams au #ellie williams smut

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pyramid-of-starrs · 10 months

Text

Stay with me

Pairing: Clingy Boyfriend San X Black/WOC Fem reader

Genre: Fluffy Smut (Tbh it got pretty filthy)

Warnings: Clingy behavior, whining, lowkey toxic behavior, possessiveness, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (be safe), anal play (tehe, I said it got filthy), creampie, saliva, Y/N is dick whipped real bad lol

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: This will absolutely be getting a part two since this is not the original plot of this story lol.

Pt 2

Chapter Song Rec

You stretched out while sitting at your desk in your room, shutting your work laptop and happily jumping up from your chair. It was finally the weekend, and you were so excited, you wanted to get out the house and do something, anything! A ding was heard from your phone, and you grabbed it off of the charger on the side of your desk to see your friend group chat going off

Erica: It's friday hoes what we doin today Katrina: idk but I'm down for whatever Erica: OMG let's go to that club down town! There was some fine ass men last time we went Meg: OOOUUU yes! The dude that just wanted to buy us drinks all night! Katrina: Now y'all know Y/N boo'd up ass ain't gone go if we lookin for dudes Meg: Is she even gone come? San be havin her locked up lmaoooo Meg: Y/N bitch wya??? Y/N:I'm here and I'm coming! Ain't nobody locked up lol Erica: I'll believe it when I see it bitch lol lets meet at my house at 10 to pregame then leave! And Y/N tell San to back the hell up off you!!!

You tossed your phone on your bed and sighed, they did have a point. Ever since you started dating San about 8 months ago your attendance for friend gatherings and outings has gotten less and less, it wasn't like you were doing it on purpose it's just that San was very adamant about spending lots of time with you. He always wanted to be with you when you two weren't working, he came over when he got off, spends the night or ask you to spend the night, takes you out all the time and even comes to pick you up just to take you back to his house that was 20 minutes away. Though you loved your time spent together you were used to having your space, this was your first time dating a clinger and you didn't mind but maybe it was time you told him you wanted to do something else with someone else for the day.

Just as you were finishing your thought your phone rang again. You sat down on your bed and picked it up, speak of the devil.

"Hello?"

"Babyyyy"

You can already hear his whiny tone, it was cute you had to admit it, a grown man acting cutesy would usually be cringy as hell but this grown man made it work somehow?

"Yes baby? What's wrong?"

"I want to see you can I come over?"

"I'm going out tonight with my friends San."

You could hear a long groan before he continued the conversation.

"But I really miss you, I haven't seen you in forever."

"You saw me yesterday..."

"A WHOLE 24 HOURS! I'm suffocating without my baby!!"

You laughed at his dramatics.

"Fine...you can come over but you have to leave when I leave and you're not allowed to try to convince me to stay with you."

"...okay..."

"Promise me San."

He smacked his lips and groaned again; he was obviously going to try to convince you to stay with him, but he had to be good...just this once.

"I promise."

"Okay, you can come over."

You went to take a shower while San was on his way, you stepped out and put on your robe, once you walked out the bathroom your phone rang, you went to answer it already knowing who it was.

"Hey baby, let yourself in I just got out the shower."

The call ended and a few moments later you can hear the front door opening and closing while you're in your room, footsteps can be heard as San approaches.

"I'm naked still hold on."

If anything, that gave him even more reason to come in, San immediately opens the door to see you in a black pair of panties and a black crop top, his smile dropped to a face of disappointment.

"You liar you said you were naked." He said in a pouty voice.

"Sorry to disappoint, pervert." You giggled at him and sat on your bed, you picked up the lotion that you put on your bed.

"Let me do it."

"San"

"Come ooon, I already can't spend the night with you at least let me rub you down for the night."

"Fine." you flipped the lotion bottle to face him, and he came to sit next to you, he grabbed your legs and put them across his lap, your body turning to face him. He squeezed the lotion on to his hands, rubbing his hands together he started to rub it onto your thighs.

"So, what are the plans for tonight?" He asked with a smile on his face, even though San was sad that you were going out tonight he really was happiest when he was with you, even doing small task like this made his heart flutter, he really loved you.

"My friends want me to go to this club we went to a while ago, we are going to pre-game first though, they said they miss me since I don't go out much because I'm always with you."

He finished one of your thighs and moved down to your calves, he lathered you up while massaging your legs.

"Well, I could always come with." He said smiling like a cute little cat.

"No sir, no boys allowed, you would mess up the flow. Plus, all my other friends are single so it would be awkward."

He frowned at you shooting him down.

"That's not fair Y/N, it's not my fault they are all single! What if I get my friends to date them? Then we could go on group dates."

"Right, your friends that would rather play video games then see the light of day?" You said with an arched eyebrow.

He finished rubbing your legs and you walked to your drawers to look for the rest of your outfit for the night. San continued to talk about how he wished he could spend the night together and that he wasn't "technically" trying to convince you to stay with him just "Strongly suggesting" in his words. You turned on a chill RnB playlist on YouTube as you continued to get ready to drown him out. You were finishing up your make up while you were sitting at your vanity, well technically San was the one sitting on the vanities bench, he insisted that you sit on his lap while he held your waist and sadly rocked you back and forth. You finally took off your bonnet and brushed out your brown and blonde highlight wig you just installed last week; San watched you in awe.

"You're so gorgeous my love." He smiled; you could feel the love radiating off of him.

"Thank you, San." You looked in the vanity mirror slightly hunched over since San elevated you, so you were sitting a bit pass the mirrors height.

His warm and wholesome smile turned to a sneaky one as he decided to try one more thing to make you stay home. He buried his face into your neck as he sat behind you.

"You sure you don't want to stay here with me?" He said, trying to pursue you.

"Very sure." You said as you started to put away your make-up.

You could fill his plush lips start to slowly pepper kisses down your neck. At first you were just going to ignore him but then a particular linger kiss had suction to it as he started to suck your neck, you learned your head back and sighed. His hands left your waist and slid up your shirt, he started to massage your breast gently.

"Come on San I have to go, you told me you weren't going to do this tonight..."

"I'm not doing anything baby, I'm just appreciating your beautiful body and face."

You turned your face to the side that he was kissing as his lips migrated up from your neck up to your face then finally reaching your lips. The kiss was obviously not a quick appreciation kiss, so much lust as you followed his lead, his hands still on your breast as he made his way under your bra. You felt his fingers started to tweak your nipples and you moaned into the kiss, your moan was used as opportunity for San to put his tongue into your mouth, you had to stop it now or you were never going to make it out. You started to pull back from him, and he allowed you to.

"Come on pretty girl stay with me so I can give you what you really want." He said in a low raspy voice, his one soft kitten like eyes turned to lustful demon orbs, he rocked his hips forward so you could feel his semi-hard dick against your butt, your mini skirt left you bare on his laps, only your panties could protect you. You could have just said no and gotten up and left but you chose to stay silent, giving San hope that you could change your mind still. He leaned in to talk in your ear knowing that that was where you were weakest at.

"What if you stayed with me instead while I fuck your pretty pussy until you couldn't walk anymore? Or I could let you ride my face while you cum all over me."

It was like the devil himself was talking you into betraying God and eating the apple off the tree. Turning down San is the hardest thing you could do but you planned for this, you knew you were weak for him, so you texted your friend 30 minutes ago tell them to come pick you up. You were originally going to have San drop you off but the last time you did that you did make it out the apartment but 15 minutes into the drive San pulled into a Dark parking lot to fuck you in his backseat saying it was just a quickie. You ended up getting fucked so good your lace was lifted and your make up was running down your face.

"My friend is already on the way San."

Just in time your phone dinged and you picked it up thinking it was going to be your friend saving you from danger.

Meg: Hey girl, Katrina ended up needing a ride too and that's on the other side of you and she has no one else to pick her up, Imma grab her, could you ask your dude to drop you off?

You read the text in your head and so did the incubus behind you, you dropped your head in defeat as an evil grin was on his face, even had a maniacal laugh could be heard.

"Looks like she isn't, but don't worry baby I'll take you."

"Thank y-"

"But it'll cost you." San has never made you give him gas money, he thought as a man he should never have to ask you for money, plus he was paid much more then you.

"How much do you want?"

"Now, now gorgeous, you know good and well your money is no good with me, but you know what is?"

"Oh fuck."

....

You don't know how much time had passed, to be honest San was making you feel so good you didn't even know if you knew your own name or not anymore. His face was buried deep in your sopping wet pussy as his tongue explored your brown and pink folds. Your thighs sat pretty against his broad shoulders while his fingers dug you out. Your voice was horse as he was steadily working on your third orgasm, your hands full of his black hair as you gripped it tightly, it stung but San loved it because it meant he was doing a good job. Tears started to form in your eyes as you could feel your climax approaching.

"San, I'm about to cum."

"Already? I'm not done licking up the last one, you're going to have to hold it until I'm done."

You whimpered as San continued to draw perfect 8's on your clit, His two fingers were pounding deeply inside of you as he did the "come here" motion. Your hips lifted on and off the bed, your mind was going blank.

"Please San, please let me cum"

"Almost done."

Your nails dug into his scalp, your thighs started to close around his head, his sharp eyes darted up at you, he loved watching you go crazy.

"You're so good for me, go ahead and cum my angel."

"Ooooh Fuck" was all you could say as you came undone all over his mouth and fingers. You were a sobbing mess as San slowly pulled his fingers from your leaky cunt. He sucked all your cum off of his fingers as he put your legs back on the bed and leaned back up.

"C-can we go now San, it's getting late." you said in a defeated voice as you leaned up on your elbows.

He looked at his apple watch then back at you.

"What's the rush princess? its only 9:56, you still have time, plus I already told you if you want me to take you, you have to let me make you cum 5 times, and we have 2 more times to go." He said as he got off the bed and stood at the end of it.

"San I was supposed to meet them at-" he wasn't listening anymore, he was done talking, his mind was only focused on you cumming again and again for him. San loved the way you felt around his dick, the tight wetness drove him crazy and don't get him wrong when you sucked his dick, he swore he could see the gates of heaven open, but nothing ever compared to how good he felt when he made you feel good. It was not only a sense of pride but he honestly just loved you so much that making you cum was all he needed to get off. When you first started seeing San you let him know that a man has never made you cum before and you made a bet with him that it was impossible to get you to cum. Boy did he prove you wrong, he made you squirt the first time he ever ate you out and it was history from that point onward.

He grabbed you by both your thighs and dragged you to the edge of the bed, he didn't stop there because then he flipped you onto your stomach, San was strong because he worked out a lot so any chance he got to manhandle you, he took it. He gripped the sides of your hips as he pulled your ass in the air to connect to his crotch while your face stayed down. He didn't bother taking off your mini tennis skirt when he started to eat you out earlier since it was so short. You were arched in front of him, your pussy was bare since he ripped your panties off earlier. He stepped back a bit and stood there watching it drip and clench around nothing.

"Don't just stare at it." you said as you started to get shy.

"Why not? It's so pretty all I want to do is look at it." He said while biting his bottom lip.

You wiggled your hips a bit. "San come on you know we have to go soon, you're doing this on purpose." you said in a whiny voice.

Your whine was interrupted by a moan as he slid in his two fingers abruptly.

"So what if I am, this is my pussy to do what I want to it." he started to move his fingers faster.

"I don't even like your friends a lot because they are always trying to steal you away from me, taking you to clubs so other guys get to see you and fawn over you. I'm not there so they don't know this pretty pussy belongs to me. All they see is your sexy face and body wearing your little make up and this short ass skirt."

Sans full on possessive behavior was out, Clingy and possessive could absolutely be seen as red flags to anyone else but with San, those red flags were heart shaped. You loved how much he only wanted you for himself, but damn was in inconveniencing sometimes. He thrust his fingers deep into you at a steady pace, the over stimulation was killing you.

He continued, "If a guy walks up to you tonight and ask you for your number are you going to tell him you belong to me?"

“Yes- fuck!”

“Yes what? What are you going to say baby.” He dug his digits deep into you.

“That I belong to you.”

“Who is you? That’s not my name.” he held his fingers in you waiting for your reply.

“I belong to San Ah~ and only San.”

“Good job lovely, go ahead and cum for me.”

That was exactly what you did, it was that easy for San to make you cum, just some words and gestures. San once again pulled his fingers from your abused cunt, he brought them around to your face for you to suck your cum off them. You but both the wet fingers into your mouth and sucked them clean while he pumped them in and out of your mouth.

“Are you ready for me my love?”

You nodded as he removed his fingers from your mouth.

“I want words baby.”

“Yes San, please fuck me.”

He once again flashed that devious smile before undoing his pants and pulling out his fully erect dick, he pulled you back a bit before pumping it a few times. He lined his tip up with your entrance and you immediately started to clench it, as he slowly pushed his hot length into your wet cunt, moving slowly so you could feel every single inch he was feeding you. Sans dick was just not fair, it had a good and comfortable amount of length and width, but the best part was that his dick had a perfect curve that made him reach a spot in your pussy that most couldn’t. He had a firm grasp on both your hips to make sure you couldn’t run away from him, you fidgeted and whimpered while he stretched you out. Once he finally got all of him inside of you he held it in just so he could bask in the feeling of your hot wet walls against his raw dick, he bit him lip, closed his eyes and just held his head up to the ceiling. You started to become restless, feeling him so deep inside while he wasn’t moving made you dizzy.

“Please San, please move I need more.”

San came back to earth when he hears you begging for more and locked back in.

“Yes baby what ever you want.”

He started to rock his hips into you, you folded your arms under you and put your forehead on your forearm as you let pretty moans fall from your lips. His pace gradually sped up, his hands pulling you back to make his pelvis and your ass meet.

“Are you going to stay here with me?”

“N-No!” You replied.

He rolled his eyes and started to dig deeper into you, moving his hips even faster as your moans started to get louder.

“I said are you going to stay here with me?”

“San please.” You said in a whimpering voice.

He started to slam into you, your eyes began to roll to the back of your head, you felt your orgasm approaching. Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse San placed one of his hands on top of the beginning of your ass. His thumb started to rub your asshole, it was still wet from his spit and your slick when he ate you out. The sensation of him rubbing your second hole felt amazing then he slowly slid his thumb into your tight hole, you could feel him penetrating your asshole slowly while he was still drilling his dick into your drooling cunt. This is the the kinda fucking that makes people want to kill for their partners. You moaned so loud you knew you were going to get a notice complaint, he started to move his thumb in and out your ass.

“You’re such a nasty little bitch, letting my thumb fuck your ass while your pussy takes my dick. Are you this slutty for anyone else?”

“Only you Sannie, only you!” You yelled out, unable to control the volume of your voice anymore.

“That’s right baby, you’re my little slut right?”

“Yes~ I’m your slut.” Tears started to fall from your eyes, he was fucking you dumb with both your holes being stuffed, your pussy started to rapidly clench and unclench.

“Going to cum deep in this slutty pussy and make you walk around that club leaking my cum.”

He kept pounding his hips into and the mental thread in your mind snapped as you felt his hot seed deep in your womb, you couldn’t take it anymore and came around his still leaking dick. San slowly pulled out and backed up a bit, you immediately collapsed to the side of the bed as your eyes felt heavy.

San pulled up his boxer briefs and took his pants off while he smiled at how cute you looked when your were tuckered out. You laid on the bed breathing heavily and fighting the sleep since you were determined to make it out still, he walked to the bathroom to bring back a warm towel to clean you up, he wiped you clean then went to get a different towel, this one had micellar water on it. He sat at the head of the bed and opened his arms to invite you in to be held, you gladly accepted, he held you in one arm as you closed your eyes. He carefully removed your false lashes and placed them on the night stand, the started to wipe the make up you word so hard on off, your body was to tired to even fight it anymore. Your phone rang and San grabbed it and answered it before you could.

“Hello?”

“Hello? San? Where is Y/N?”

“She’s right here.”

“Well when are you bringing her over we waiting’ on her.”

“Oh, she said she’s to tired to go, you know, work and all that.”

The line got quiet for a second before your friend spoke again.

“Boy stop holding my friend hostage.”

San laughed before he hung up. Yeah you’re never going to see your friends again.

taglist:

@mingyuwus@sillyhappygirl@atiny-dime-p1ece@bloody-wine@angelsaway

#ateez smut #ateez fanfic #atz smut #san smut #san x black reader #san x reader #choi san smut

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clubdionysus · 2 months

Text

[BAD DECISION #16] Overindulging

warnings: just a lovely little fluffy chapter!! breakfast food!! chatting about jaykay's big dreams!! we visit yoongi and he calls us out on our bullshit of being besties!! a very cursed bird falls </3

a/n: our first calamity of the purge - i cannot find the header image for this chapter ANYWHERE :( i've checked both laptops and my phone, know the exact date it was orginally posted (nov 20, 2022 if ur curious) and yet nothing - there's actually a few around this period which are lost in the void </3 the og was one of my fave headers too :( it had a cute lil market stall :( waaa

soundtrack: wish on an eyelash - mallrat

wc: 5.3k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"So you really quit then, huh?" Jeongguk mumbles, before blowing against the top of his coffee. It's steaming hot, the cold air of a fast-approaching winter not enough to cool it down.

The pair of you walk by the canal that runs through the city; Jeongguk in his gym gear, his skin still a little clammy from his session, you in a pair of comfy sweats despite the fact you haven't worked out at all.

It's a Sunday, and neither of you slept much last night. He'd been behind the bar, and you'd been on the other side, disco balls in your eyes and trouble in the tequila smile that you were greeting him with every five minutes. It's not your fault that he was the most interesting guy in the bar all night.

You nod, taking a sip on your americano - still iced (because "warm coffee is for pussies" ).

"Wasn't getting my money's worth," you explain, but he knows this perfectly well. You only ever went to the gym to grumble about how much you hated it. That, and to pretend like you weren't looking at him in the mirror whenever he took off his lifting belt. He caught you every single time, but he'd grown to enjoy how shamesless you'd become with it. "Plus Danbi's finally nagged me into joining her pole class, so I'm-"

"Shut up," Jeongguk laughs, cutting you off with his exclamation. He briefly stops in his tracks. Looks at you all lovely and bemused. "You're not?"

You're almost offended by his disbelief.

"Oh, but I am, Jeon," you grin. It's not how you ever thought you'd get your primary source of exercise, but Danbi's core muscles have never looked better. You figure may as well give it a try. "Had my first class yesterday afternoon."

"Did you?" He asks, only waiting for a small hum before he questions you further. "How was it? Have fun?"

Truthfully, you've never been so quickly humbled. Danbi and the other girls in the class make it look effortless. It's a small group, and they've all been lovely and overwhelmingly encouraging, but you can't help but feel out of your depth.

"The pole spins," you tell him, because you can't believe you were the only person who didn't realise that. "Always thought it was the people spinning, but nope. Just the pole."

"What?!" He almost chokes, just as confused as you had been yesterday.

"My thoughts exactly! So yeah, that helps," you acknowledge, nudging his arm to push him in the direction of the street market.

It runs up a lane, connecting the canal to the main street, and has been active for hundreds of years. Old traders would dock their boats on the canal and set up shop down the alleyway, away from the prying eyes of the law enforcement looking for black market traders. These days, it's all flowers and produce, with the occasional hotteok stand during the winter.

Jeongguk's bag rustles as he hikes it a little further up his broad shoulder, sniffing sharply to clear his nose. It's the first sign of a winter cold, and he regrets not wearing a coat, now.

You're babbling on about your class, and how your legs have never been more bruised. You're not even sure he's really listening, but you don't mind. There's no pressure for him to retain this information, no pop quiz coming later.

You just enjoy each other's company. Talk about nonsense because you can. It's like you're playing a game of sims, prattling to one another just to make those little green plus marks hover above your head, your socialising bar restoring to full health.

"Honestly, you should see my legs - I look like a bloody watercolour painting. All purple and blue."

"Oh, yeah?" he finally responds with a teasing grin, glancing over to you as you meander towards a flower stall. It's small, but overflowing with native flowers. Considering how cold it's becoming and how orange the leaves are on the trees that line the river, it's nice to see some green. "Maybe next time I'm at the cafe, you'll have to live model for me."

You stop in your tracks. Bunch your face up like an old newspaper, as if he's just said the most offensive thing you've ever heard, and then you scoff.

Jeongguk turns to look at you fully, a goofy little smile on his pretty lips (though you really ought to stop thinking of his lips as being pretty ), and raises a brow. He's baiting you out. Teasing you. Was deliberately looking for a reaction like this, because he finds them funny.

Folding your arms, you knock your shoulder against him as you walk past and say, "you're never seeing me naked."

" Again ," he calls after you. "Never seeing you naked again ."

The ajumma sitting by her stall just a metre away, with her homegrown cucumbers and cabbages, scowls in Jeongguk's direction. Tuts beneath her breath. Looks away as he turns to apologise, his cheeks flaming red like they always do when he's had too much soju.

He's not had a drop all week, though. He's been working hard, and studying even harder. It's all work, no play. The walk home from the gym is the most free-time he's indulged in since he left your apartment last week.

You had been right in saying that the water pressure of his shower is far better than yours - but he'd insisted on showering at yours regardless. Together. Just friendly. Like you normally do. Didn't want to have to explain things to Jimin. Is still not exactly sure even he knows how to understand your friendship - just that he likes it, and he doesn't want to lose it.

He also likes the scent of your shampoo. Rummaged around in Jimin's old haircare stuff for a shower cap just so he could preserve it for an extra day. Doesn't tell you this though, as he thinks it's a bit weird.

Probably just as weird as the way you'd rearranged your pillows that night just to keep the scent of his aftershave close. You tell yourself it's a comfort thing. In all actuality, it most likely is.

"I can't believe you shouted that-"

"I didn't shout!"

"- In front of that poor old lady," you hiss beneath your breath as he finally catches up with you, now holding a cabbage. "Why do you have-"

"Felt bad. Bought a cabbage from her."

"The fuck are you gonna do with a cabbage?"

He shrugs. "Eat it?"

Nonchalant in the way he approaches life, Jeongguk feels like a summer breeze even as temperatures begin to dip below a comfortable level. You've got a heat pack in your pocket, and when Jeongguk sniffs again, you pass it over to him. Think that he needs it more. He tells you it's okay, and that it's fine, so you just stuff it in his pocket despite his protests.

By the time you've reached the end of the alley, Jeongguk is the one ignoring your protests as he pushes you forwards into a cafe. The buttery scent of fresh pastries is so heavenly that you're half convinced you did actually die of embarrassment when he announced his awareness of your bare skin to the entire neighbourhood.

Various loaves of bread line the counter towards the front of the shop, golden brown and just begging for you to buy every single one of them. Pastries, cakes, too. It's overwhelming.

"They do the best french toast," he promises you - and how can you refuse?

You're practically salivating as Jeongguk plonks you down by the window of the only free booth. It's tucked away slightly, but offers the perfect people-watching spot - which is why it's his favourite seat in the entire cafe. He tells you to wait there while he orders at the counter.

You're too busy people-watching, but you notice the lack of his presence. The cafe feels duller. Less warm. Less inviting. Less... like home. He's taking longer than you thought he would.

Perhaps there was a queue? You can't see from your vantage point - but, eventually, you can see Jeongguk as he comes to stand in front of the window with a closed-lip smile, his silver ring flipping in the corner of his mouth. In his hand is a small bouquet of posies. Wildflowers, you think, from the stall down the other end of the alley. He must have sprinted. The way his chest heaves a little confirms this.

"For you," he says as he comes to sit opposite you a moment later, holding them out for you to take. There's a variety of flowers in the bunch, tied with a white ribbon, but you don't know the name of any of them. You just know that they're beautiful. He senses your confusion, so he clarifies. "An apology. Sorry for telling the entire street I've seen your tits."

You narrow your eyes. Tilt your head. Jeongguk thinks you look like a little puppy. Tells you so.

"Careful, or you'll have to buy me more to make up for the fact you just called me a dog," you tease as he places a small black disk down on the table. It's from the front counter, given to him when ordered the food. On the side, a bright red 07 lets you know your order number.

"I like dogs," he says as he shakes his hoodie off, tucking it over the back of his chair. "It's a compliment."

Sometimes, you forget Jeongguk has tattoos. His eyes are so doe-like, his nature so tepid and warm, that the idea of him engaging in anything remotely painful shocks you - but you've also seen how hard he goes at the gym, and have also felt his firm grip on your body. You know he most likely finds pleasure in a little pain.

They trail up his arm, thick intricate lines mapping out his identity for all to see - or at least the parts of him he doesn't mind other people knowing. If you didn't know Jeongguk, you'd be able to learn a lot about him from his arms - right down to the fact that one of them covered in ink, while the other is pristine and free of it. He's a man of two halves, and you're lucky enough you get to indulge in both.

"What?" He grins when he realises you're contemplating something.

"Just not sure I forgive you," you tease, crossing your arms in an attempt to make it look like you weren't reminding yourself of the way his fingers - the ones with the tattoos - feel inside of you. It was only a brief thought, but any thoughts like that outside the confines of a fallen bird are dangerous, you decide.

"Got you flowers, got you brunch - what more do you need?!"

You sharply inhale some air, teeth gritted, eyes to the sky in contemplation. "More compliments."

Jeongguk has to try really hard not to roll his eyes. He looks around, as if he's scared someone will hear him, licks the corner his of mouth and shakes his head.

" Fine . I like your outfit."

"Pathetic," you say almost immediately. "If I wanted appearance compliments, I'd go on tinder."

"You have tinder?"

"Give me something that's actually a compliment. Something none of my tinder boys could say."

"You have tinder boys?"

"And girls," you shrug.

The truth of the matter is that you have neither at the moment. The app lies dormant on your phone, unused because you just can't be arsed with the hassle. There are only so many times you can be asked if you're 'open-minded ' or if you live alone. As much as you don't mind hooking up with strangers in bars, you hate meeting people off of apps. It's too much pressure.

Still, you don't let Jeongguk derail the conversation, although you can see that behind his eyes there are some cogs turning. Whatever he's thinking will take a while to formulate. You know what he's like now; how he likes to think things through before he says them.

"So," you lift a shoulder, lazily shrugging. "Compliment?"

He reclines back into his chair. Finds himself narrowing his eyes like you so often do. You're challenging him, and he's weighing up how much of a chance he has of winning. Thinks his odds are pretty high.

"Tae couldn't have sorted out his art show without you."

As much as you wanna pretend like it isn't exactly the sort of thing you wanted to hear, a smile forms on your face. Acknowledgement of your hard work is always appreciated. You press your lips together, but still, a smug grin prevails.

"Nah, seriously, Byeol," he adds on. "Thank you. I mean it. It's been Tae's dream since I met him. You've no idea how cool it is to watch all of this happen."

"I played a tiny part," you smile, secretly enamoured with how happy he is for his friend's success.

It's a trait that says a lot about Jeongguk. Who he is as a person. Makes it all the more clearer as to why he's so keen on helping you with your issues. He wants the people he cares about to thrive, no matter the circumstance.

"So? The nozzle is a tiny part of a fountain gun," he says, making reference to the bar he works behind. "But without it? The drink would go everywhere. It's important. You're important."

"You're giving me far too much credit," you deflect, a little embarrassed, now.

He shakes his head. "I'm not giving you enough."

He holds your gaze for a moment. Wants you to know that he really does mean what he's saying. He wouldn't bother hyping you up if he didn't genuinely think it. He knows Tae well, and knows he has enough drive to make his dreams come true, but he had been drawing blanks recently - until you came along.

It's not just the space of the art cafe that's helped, but you willingness to help market it, get the news out to local artist circles that Tae wasn't privvy to. You've taken insurmontable wieghts from his shoulders. All Jeongguk could do was put posters up in the bathroom stalls of Dionysus.

"What about you?" You ask, wanting to move the focus away from yourself. "What's your big dream?"

He goes to speak, but is cut off the by the small black disk with a flashing 07 on the side of it. The vibration tone is so loud that it actually makes him jump.

"Hold that thought," he says as he heads off to the counter to retrieve the food, leaving you to watch the window once more - but you find yourself glancing in the mirror that's up on the back wall.

The woman at the counter smiles at him, and you see him bow slightly as he says thank you. His manners are never forgotten.

You bet he's the kind of customer the girl behind the counter will daydream about coming in again. A takeaway order, maybe. He'll stand by the till and wait for it, chitchatting with her. She'd hope he would enjoy her company and make himself a repeat customer. One day, eventually, he'd ask what she's doing after work. Ask if she wants to grab a drink, or something.

But Jeongguk is Jeongguk. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't.

You know this.

Still, you find yourself dreaming up this little hypothetical life for him; one in which his fears don't exist anymore.

When he returns, he pretends he didn't see you looking.

"Samgyeopsal," he simply states, as he organises the plates to make them look pretty, just in case you wanna take a picture.

"What of it?"

He's proven right as you pull your phone out and open up the camera. Tweaking a plate ever so slightly, you're impressed with his arrangement. He's got an eye for composition. You're less impressed with the fact he sticks his middle finger up in the background of your shot.

"Child," you scold. He just sticks his tongue out to further solidify your point.

"Well," he hums as he redistributes the plates and hands you some cutlery. "I really enjoy working at the bar, but I hate not being able to make big decisions about what happens there - here -" He passes you the tiny jar of syrup that came with your french toast. "- and so I'd like to own my own place. Thing is, I really fucking love samgyeopsal."

"Oh yeah?" You laugh at how much he exaggerates his tone.

"Love it more than maybe anything else on this planet."

"Even me?"

"Oh, especially you."

"Rude."

"Shut up," he laughs, focusing his attention on his croque monsieur. "Anyways, I think it would be really cool to have my own joint, yanno? Decorate how I like, serve my favourite side dishes. Get a good team working for me - probably would poach Yeonjun from the bar."

"He'd do well in a restaurant," you nod. "Good people person."

"Exactly," Jeongguk beams, thinking about the prospects all over again. "I even know the exact building I wanna be in."

"Really?"

"Mhmm," he confirms, swallowing down a bite of warm bread and cheese - no ham ,though. They really scrimped on the ham. He'd never scrimp on meat in his place. When you notice how furrowed his brows are, as if he's furious for how delicious his food is, you smile. "Few streets over from your work. There's been a vacant unit next to the makgeolli bar for a little while. I've registered my interest, but like - I'm still in fucking school." He laughs now. It's all a bit of a pipe dream. "I need to speak with investors. Raise funds. That's what scares me the most."

"Oh?" You encourage him, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought - and also not wanting to stop eating. He was right. The french toast is to die for.

"I know all of the hospitality tricks," he continues. "Been working long enough to know how to run a place on the people side of things, but I'm a bit out of my depth when it comes to business."

"Do you not cover that at school?" You question with genuine curiosity. "Thought you were under the business faculty?"

"I am," he nods, pleased that you have apparently been listening to him. "But you can only be taught so much, yanno? Nothing compares to actually experiencing it. It's the little things, like bank meetings, and shit. That's what's scaring me."

Funny. You'd never really considered that Jeongguk's fear of rejection could trickle down so far into his bones. It's like he's fearful nothing he wants is a viable option - career path included.

"Have you spoken to Yoongi?" You ask, mindlessly soaking up the maple syrup on your plate with a chunk of french toast. "He's got his own studio, right? He's gone through this process?"

Jeongguk nods. "Something similar, I suppose. Hospitality is a little different to what he does. I think technically - when it comes to tax and shit - he's listed as a construction worker?"

He laughs, and shakes his head. Has seen Yoongi painstakingly craft the most beautifully ornate home furnishings. Thinks he couldn't be further from a construction worker if he tried (though Yoongi would argue that the red pine hanoks he built with his own bare hands beg to differ).

"To be fair," he considers, "I actually need to pop by Yoongi's on my way home."

"Oh?"

"There's some work to do at the bar out back. Boss wants to convert the little courtyard next to the staff room into the smoking area, and change the existing smoking area into a patio bar," Jeongguk sighs as he rolls his eyes. He thinks they may as well just add a bar to the existing smoking area and leave the courtyard free - mainly because he likes to hide there on the nights he can't be fucked with punters. Only for a minute or so. Maybe five minutes. No longer than ten. Apart from that one time he fell asleep, but that's neither here nor there. "Doesn't wanna hire workers though, so yours truly has been tasked with the job. Gonna get Yoongi's advice on it."

You nod. Remind yourself of what Jeongguk looks like with a lifting belt on, and replace it in your mind with a tool belt. Press your lips together. Your legs, too.

"What?" He asks, when you shift away from him slightly.

"Oh, no, nothing," you smile, deflecting. "Just really good food."

He narrows his eyes. Chooses not to press. Has no idea that you're getting yourself all flustered because of him . Instead, he hauls the conversation forward - asks you about your dreams instead, where you want to end up in life. It's a big question, you tell him, and he agrees - but he finds fantasising about future possibilities fun. Gets you thinking in hypotheticals. Lottery wins, winning a free trip to a country of your choice, only having one day to live - that kind of shit.

The conversation carries on for far too long. Brunch is long gone, and Jeongguk suggests another drink not once, but twice. Orders some french toast for himself, and gets you a cake from the counter even though you insisted on not wanting anything, just because he doesn't wanna eat alone.

Midafternoon sun encroaches on your window spot, and he finds himself grinning whenever the glitter catches in the light. There are a few rogue specks that have strayed from your eyes. He leaves the ones on your cheeks alone, but reaches over and dusts off the ones that are on your forehead. Says nothing as he does so. You just let him, and continue talking.

He can encroach on your personal space and recieve zero complaints. You're comfortable. The significance isn't lost on him, but it is tucked away into a safe part of brain, not to be distrubed for the time being.

Once he's done with his french toast (and also done complaining about the fact he's eaten so much he might die ), you head on your way.

There's a chill to the air that wasn't present earlier, and you know that you're gonna have to start wrapping up a lot warmer soon. You hate how quickly summer turns into winter - autumn is far too fleeting.

As soon as the leaves turn golden brown, they've fallen, only for the snow to fall just as quickly as soon as the New Year arrives. You've a month or so to go.

"Best season," Jeongguk says as he kicks a few leaves that are brittle and brown, settled on the pathway, crunching beneath his feet. He loves the rustle of autumn leaves.

Loves the blossom season in spring, too, and will swear that it's his favourite season instead come April.

The cycles of life; evidence that life goes on, always. No matter how defeatist he can be, no matter how much he can fear the variables of the future, it's proof that there invariably will be one.

He leads you through a twisted road of alleys, that you'd no doubt get lost in without him, before eventually reaching Yoongi's studio. "I'll be quick, promise."

And how can you refuse? You owe him for the food, and know that he absolutely will not accept it when you try and pay him back, so not kicking up a fuss or complaining is the least you can do. It's not like you have plans for the afternoon. Had sort of figured you'd spend it hanging out with him anyways.

You're also really nosey. Are intrigued by Min's. Wanna see inside the studio, to see if it looks like how you've imagined it to(though you have already looked at the instragram, so you reckon you've got a fair idea in your head).

Jeongguk ushers you up a narrow staircase that brings you above a mandu restaurant. The smell of hot oil and fresh dough wafts in the air and follows you up the stairs, while Jeongguk whinges about being hungry again.

He absolutely cannot be hungry already, but he swears down that he'll die (a common complaint from him) if he doesn't have some mandu soon. You put your palms on his lower back and encourage him up the stairs, stopping him from turning around when he tries.

It's only made worse when you enter Min's studio, only to find Yoongi munching on flat mandu. Jeongguk whines again. Tells Yoongi that he's being cruel, then tells you the same thing for your refusal of allowing him to indulge in such a delicacy.

Yoongi just looks at the pair of you a little bewildered, half a mandu in his mouth, the rest held snug between his chopsticks. He swallows down the food and raises his brows. "Can I help you?"

As it turns out, he can. Jeongguk explains the task at hand - "ballache, if you ask me" - and Yoongi offers to help, free of charge, without even batting an eyelid. Brushes his hands off on his dark grey apron, tosses the empty paper container of his mandu into the bin, and sets about finding that right tools for the job.

It's a no-brainer to him: invest in the people you care about, and they'll invest back. He knows that Jeongguk would help him in a heartbeat, too - and he will also be sure to remind him of this moment in the future when he's in desperate need of a bar space for a showcase.

Min's is everything you thought it would be.

Deceptively large, it has more than enough room for there to be a few extra members of staff - but Yoongi works best alone. Likes his solitude. The rowdiness of his friendship group more than makes up for how quiet his job is - and when the saws and sanders are blaring, it'd be redundant having other people to socialise with.

The back wall showcases more saws than any one man could possibly need, but they all serve a distinct purpose that Yoongi would argue couldn't be achieved with anything else. In all truth, he's skilled enough to be able to mimic the texture and appearance of certain saws, but he likes doing things the old-fashioned way; as they should be done.

There's a stack of wooden boards on his work table, that he's been sanding by hand because there's something far richer about the finish than when they're machine done. He'll charge a little extra for these ones - and it'll be paid without hesitation because of how beautiful they are.

"Has he mentioned dinner at our place to you, yet?" Yoongi asks when Jeongguk finally makes a break for it to go and buy some mandu.

You glance over to him from the display unit, where small ornate objects sit, perfectly polished and prettily waiting for new homes. "Dinner?"

Yoongi nods. "Our place. Weekend before Tae's show - has he really not mentioned it? I've reminded him twice already."

Shaking your head, you laugh. "Boy's got a complex. Not good with invites."

It's something Yoongi is well aware of - after all, he'd been the one to watch Jeongguk with you, a smile on his face, as he finally spoke to a new girl at the bar a few weeks back.

"Mhmm," Yoongi hums. "Just didn't realise it applied to you, too."

"Doesn't normally," you admit, trying to hide the slight confusion you feel. It really is out of the ordinary - he usually invites you to things to avoid having to invite an actual girl. Makes you feel a little insecure. "Maybe he just doesn't fancy me being there?"

"Who doesn't want you where?" Jeongguk says through a muffled mouthful of mandu, pushing the studio door open with his shoulder. Stops in his tracks when he sees Yoongi slowly fold his arms over his chest, giving him a hard stare. "Ah. That ."

He glances over to you, noticing your furrowing brows and the hurt that's delicately kissing your features. It's faint. Barely there. But he knows you well enough now to know exactly when you're feeling affronted.

"So you don't want me there-"

"No!" Jeongguk chimes before you've fully finished your question. "No, no. It's not that, I just keep forgetting. Honestly."

He really does. The last time Yoongi sent him a reminder, he'd been on his way to the art cafe hell-bent on getting forgiveness. And like, he did get it, so it's not like it was a fruitless endeavour. Ended up nearly getting laid in the process, but that's neither here nor there.

Yoongi sighs. "If you want a job done properly, do it yourself."

And then he's the one to invite you for dinner. "Our place. Seoyeon is dying to meet you."

You say yes in a heartbeat, as you've been dying to meet her, too. Yoongi says he'll just bypass Jeongguk next time and invite you himself, to which Jeongguk doesn't protest like you half think he will.

In fact, Jeongguk actually really likes that Yoongi considers you a part of the group. Likes that you're becoming their friend, not just his.

Jeongguk's eyes are warm as he looks over to you; teacups full of steaming americanos. Enough caffeine to keep you up for hours, but cosy enough to calm the shakes. And, just like a good cup of coffee, you find yourself always going back for more. Warm coffee might be for pussies, but maybe you'll make an exception this time.

Eventually, Yoongi shoos you both out of the studio. He's got work to finish, and you're distracting him as you mess around with the soldering pen he uses to sign his work. Neither you nor Jeongguk can really work it properly, and are just using it to write profanities on scrap wood anyways.

"You're like a pair of flirting teenagers," Yoongi scolds. He actually quite enjoys the way you banter together. It's nice seeing Jeongguk like him old self again - but he worries. Knows what happened the last time Jeongguk got a little too close to a girl who was 'just a friend' - so he deliberately makes things awkward to force a little self-reflection upon his friend. "If I didn't know the pair of you, I'd think you were fucking, or something."

The way Jeongguk glances over towards you is nefarious; a reminder that what's done in the dark should remain in the shadows.

That's the thing about Jeongguk, though. There's no hiding him. He'll shine even in the darkest of rooms - and when he's facing a girl with enough glitter to rival a mirrorball, his shine would only ever be amplified.

Still, he gags and tells Yoongi not to be a 'weirdo,' and that 'guys and girls can be friends without fucking,' and asks 'do you not have any girl friends?' then says 'like, literally, what the fuck Yoongi?' and 'take that back ' and 'we'd never fuck' and 'we're not even each other's type' and-

"You're deflecting a little hard, there, Gguk."

All you can do is laugh. Yoongi's right. He is deflecting hard.

Plus, on a technicality, you haven't fucked Jeongguk. Not really.

Which is probably a good thing, considering that when you arrive back at Jeongguk's place, there's a single bird waiting on his bed for you both.

The folds are pristine. Expert. His .

He looks at you as you read it to yourself first. Isn't sure if you're grimacing or smiling. Thinks both would be bad, given the nature of literally every single bird on his ceiling.

"So?"

You eventually look up at him, and turn the bird around for him to read:

Let a friend set me up.

"So," you take a deep breath and smile. It's convincing. "Looks like I have to arrange you a blind date."

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

#jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader

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