#there was a whole section of levels for Night Watch

[theflikchic]

Last night, I dreamt that there was a LEGO Discworld game and I desperately wanna know how to make this happen.

[necessiteez]

HONGJOONG SMUT FIC RECS LIBRARY

✦ Secret Room ✦

disclaimer: I do not own any of these works and they do not represent the real kim hongjoong. all rights belong to the respective writers who made them.

all pairings are hongjoong x reader only.

further info is already stated in the main Library.

this is a special section reserved for works with kinks heavily influencing the story

✶ - favorites

╔═ secret♕room ═╗

In this list, by order:

✠ Daddy ✠ DILF ✠ Sir

✠ Breeding ✠ Corruption

✠ Size Kink/Size Difference

✠ Voyeurism ✠ Mirrors ✠ Car Sex

✠ Somnophilia ✠ Feminization

✠ Noona ✠ Exhibitionism (Public/Semi-Public)

✠ Nipple Play/Chest Worship

✠ Anal ✠ Knifeplay/Blood Kink

「 ✦ Daddy Kink ✦ 」

includes Hard Dom/Mean Dom!Hongjoong, DDLG/dollification/BDSM themes

Scent Play - @whatudowhennooneseesyou (wc 1k)

Recordings - @crimsonbubble

Day 22 - whatudowhennooneseesyou

Thunder - barbzberry on ao3 (wc 2k)

Face Sitting - whatudowhennooneseesyou (wc 1k)

Untitled drabble feat. Seonghwa - @haiyuta

✶ Kitten and the Stranger - @ren-the-dragon (wc 7k)

✶ Kitten and the Stranger part 2 (Birthday Boy) - ren-the-dragon

Yours Alone - @frenchkisstheabyss (wc 1k)

Day 1 - @taehyungisminee

Rumor - @mingis-lightbulb

* Dollification

Hongjoong oneshot - @sugawhaaa

🆕✨ [1:48] Exhaused feat. Seonghwa - hanatiny (wc 1.3k)

Doll - @nateezfics (1.8k)

✶ Thank You - @spinster-sisters (wc 2.8k)

Day 4: Pretty, Special Doll - whatudowhennooneseesyou

* BDSM

Leash feat. ot7 - @barnesbabee

Mistleblow feat. Seonghwa - @choijjongho (wc 6k)

「 ✦ DILF ✦ 」

Kinktober Day 25 - @ateezreactionsandscenarios (wc 3k)

In Vino Veritas - @pirateprincessblog (wc 7k)

Not Just A Dream - @ja3honey (wc 1.12k)

Definitely Not a Dream - ja3honey (wc 2k)

Love Me Like Your Favourite Dream - ja3honey (wc 5k)

「 ✦ Sir Kink ✦ 」

Tease feat. San - @hongism (wc 4.5k)

Demon's Prize - crimsonbubble

7:48 - crimsonbubble

Just For Me - @hongcherry (wc 9.9k)

Take It feat. Seonghwa- crimsonbubble

Suit and Offices - @hwanchaesong

✶ Covetous - @mountainficss (wc 2.5k)

🆕✨ Happy Anniversary - wonwussy

「 ✦ Breeding ✦ 」

Please - @mountainsluna (wc 1k)

Breeding - whatudowhennooneseesyou (wc 1k)

Kinktober Day 8 - @multiwreckedmess (wc 900)

The Shoe on the Other Foot - @bro-atz (wc 3k)

Untitled breeding kink drabble 1- @hyetiny

Untitled breeding kink drabble 2 - hyetiny

✶ Fill You Up - @last-words-ofashootingstar (wc 1k)

「 ✦ Corruption Kink ✦ 」

All Mine - @hongthoven (wc 2.6k)

Whole Other Level - whatudowhennooneseesyou (wc 1k)

Not Ready Yet - liara586 on ao3 (wc 1.8k)

✶ Hidden - @latte-fairytaekwoon (wc 3.5k)

Day 6: Ride - whatudowhennooneseesyou (wc 1k)

Ruin Me - @sxcret-garden (wc 1k)

「 ✦ Size Kink / Size Difference ✦ 」

✶ Baby Girl - mountainsluna (wc 1.5k)

Day 6 - hongism (wc 7.5k)

「 ✦ Voyeurism ✦ 」

✶ Consensual Voyeurism feat. Wooyoung, Seonghwa- @sanjoongie (wc 3.7k)

Three A.M. - Abiaswreck on ao3 (wc 2.9k)

+ Toys - @oceanlix (wc 1.9k)

Desperate - hanafudaearrings (wc 5.6k)

Day 4 - brownsugarbaybee (wc 1.3k)

「 ✦ Mirrors ✦ 」

Mirrors - @tohokuu (wc 700)

POV - @pyeonghongrie (wc 1k)

Mirror - hwanchaesong

「 ✦ Car Sex ✦ 」

Sunrise - @xoexoxhoe

Mist - hongthoven (wc 4.5k)

✶ Beach Parking - nateezfics (wc 1.3k)

Making Partner includes other members- bro-atz (wc 27k)

Don't Drive and Day Dream - ja3honey (wc 1.8k)

Criminal - spinster-sisters (wc 6k)

LA Devotee - spinster-sisters (wc 21k)

🆕✨✶ Midnight Snack - swalledbymadness (wc 2.3k)

「 ✦ Somnophilia ✦ 」

+ free use (untitled) - @almightyddeonghwa (wc 800)

Day 16 - @starlitmark (wc 800)

2:08am - @crdteezv (wc 500)

🆕✨ Late Night Worship - hwallazia (wc 800)

「 ✦ Feminization ✦ 」

✶ Yummy - @bobateastay (wc 3k)

Bubblegum Bitch male reader- pyeonghongrie (wc 2.4k)

FFF Day 4 - sanjoongie (wc 2k)

FFF Day 24 - sanjoongie (wc 1.3k)

Ateez in Skirts - sanjoongie (wc 1k)

✶ S*x worker joong - hyetiny

「 ✦ Noona ✦ 」

Knockin' on Heaven's Door - Yellow Beacon on a03 (wc 9k)

Watch Your Mouth - Atiny-Piratequeen on ao3 (wc 800)

One More Night multi-chapter- Yellow Beacon on ao3 (wc 78k)

Watch Your Mouth - @atiny-piratequeen (wc 800)

「 ✦ Exhibitionism (Public/Semi-Public) ✦ 」

✶ HJ and a Latte - drwayward on ao3 (wc 3k)

Hot and Cold - hongthoven (wc 3k)

Un-dressing Room - hwanchaesong (wc 1.8k)

Day 9: Strike One - whatudowhennooneseesyou (wc 1k)

Daddy January Day 5 - whatudowhennooneseesyou (wc 1k)

Dirty Laundry - @barnesbabee

Better When It Feels Wrong - @teezertales (wc 2.7k)

✶ Sleigh Ride - hongism (wc 3k)

Exhibitionism - hongism (wc 2.5k)

Splash! male reader - revluvzen (wc 4k)

🆕✨ Red - nateezfics (wc 2k)

「 ✦ Nipple Play/Chest Worship ✦ 」

Slip - @puddingyun (wc 500)

Chest Worship - @ithinkilikeit-reactions

Chest Worship - hyetiny

「 ✦ Anal ✦ 」

A Hundred Ways to Ruin You part 1 feat. Seonghwa - daisukekuroneko on ao3

A Hundred Ways to Ruin You part 2 feat. Seonghwa - daisukekuroneko on ao3

「 ✦ Knifeplay/Blood Kink ✦ 」

Slice - HannieLuv on ao3 (wc 1.9k)

*.last updated 05/27/24.*

MORE TO BE ADDED SOON

[iadoreneteyam]

e!1610 miles w/ a Y2K girlfriend who everyone loves

e!1610 miles who spend his nights in bed texting his girlfriend while kicking his feet back and forth like a teenage girl in an 80's movie

e!1610 miles who practically skips to school the morning after texting his girlfriend

e!1610 miles who can immediately pick his girlfriend out in a crowd due to her abundance of accessories

e!1610 miles that couldn’t understand why a pretty popular fashionable girl would wanna date the kid who made a public humiliation of himself his first day

e!1610 miles who remembers that the same day he watched his girlfriend sit at a table that had way to many chairs at it

e!1610 miles who also remembers the first time his girlfriend talked to him and told him “nice shoes”

e!1610 miles who loves the fact that,despite the strict dress code uniforms at visions, his girlfriend always manages to express herself through her clothes

e!1610 miles who doesn’t know how in the world his girlfriend made it through the front door without getting dress coded for her obnoxiously large heart earrings and the fact she switched out the boring uniform brown belt for one that was covered in jewels and swirly patterns

e!1610 miles who stuttered and stumbled over his words the minute his girlfriend brought up meeting his parents

e!1610 miles who is over the moon that his girlfriend sees their relationship good enough to reach the level of meeting parents

e!1610 miles who’s excitement immediately drops to the ground when he realizes that if his girlfriend meet his parents then he’ll have to meet yours

e!1610 miles who becomes undoubtedly nervous as he stares down at the ‘I’m outside’ text his girlfriend had just sent him

e!1610 miles who tries his best to rush to the door before his mom but ultimately fails

e!1610 miles who wants to nervously bite his nails dramatically like he was in a cartoon at the sight of his mother standing in front of his girlfriend with her hand on her hips

e!1610 miles who thanks god his girlfriend had sense enough to not call his parents by their first names

e!1610 miles who smiles so hard that his face was starting to hurt when he watched his girlfriend and his mother bond over each others outfits (I know for a fact that in the 2000’s when her and Jeff met she dressed up in the low rise jeans, chunky belts, tight baby tees, animal print bras, I’m talking the whole nine yards)

e!1610 rio morales who feels as she was transported into a time machine the second she saw miles’s girlfriend at her door

e!1610 miles who actually started to get scared when his mother pulled out their old photo album to show his girlfriend what he thought was gonna be his baby photos

e!1610 miles who is surprised that his mother completely skipped over the section in front that had his baby photos but instead went to the back that had pictures of his mom in college

e!1610 miles who becomes embarrassed when his father gets home from work and immediately starts berating you with questions his girlfriend’s future

e!1610 miles who was extremely happy that his father liked his girlfriend’s answer

e!1610 miles who decided it was time to go to his room when his mother actually did decide to flip back to the front of the photo album to show his girlfriend his baby photos

e!1610 rio morales who swore she had the same jeans with the exact pattern on the pockets miles’s girlfriend had on when she was younger

e!1610 miles who immediately attacks his girlfriend with kisses the minute they walk through the door for how well everything went

e!1610 miles who kisses his girlfriend hard on the lips when she says that she is happy that she doesn’t have to sneak in anymore

e!1610 miles who’s girlfriend scolds him for messing up her lip combo

e!1610 miles who is happy that his girlfriend was asleep when things in his room started floating and Gwen appeared above him

e!1610 miles who prays his girlfriend doesn’t wake up because this was not the way he wanted to tell his girlfriend about his secret identity

e!1610 miles who didn’t want to just ditch his girlfriend in his bed and hang out with Gwen

e!1610 miles who rushes Gwen into a nearby bathroom so he could wake his girlfriend up

e!1610 miles who wakes his girlfriend with a kiss on the cheek and whispers to her “since you met my parents maybe you should meet one of my friends. How do that sound, mamas?”

Miles’s girlfriend who knew that e!1610 miles only called her mamas when he really really wanted her to do something

e!1610 miles who lightly chuckles when his girlfriend says “ I met Ganke already, baby. We watched him play the last of us, remember?” and tries to go back to sleep

e!1610 miles who says “Nah mamas not Ganke, a different friend, Gwanda.”

e!1610 miles who silently tells Gwen to come out of the restroom

e!1610 miles who smiles with his girlfriend as they watch Gwen come out the bathroom awkwardly with her sweater wrapped tightly over her top half

e!1610 miles who is glad that his girlfriend didn’t seem to be upset that he had really sprung this on her out of nowhere

e!1610 miles who watched Gwen and his girlfriend talk

e!1610 miles who takes note that his girlfriend complimented Gwen teal converse so he had a gift idea for the future

e!1610 miles and his girlfriend who bid Gwen goodbye after a couple of hours

e!1610 miles who walks over to his dresser and pulled out a black tank top and a pair of hello kitty shorts along with some Spider-Man socks that he secretly got excited about when he swung by a shop and noticed he had an entire section inside

e!1610 miles who rolls his eyes when his girlfriend says “I’m not wearing mine unless you wear yours.” referring to the outfits he had just taken out

e!1610 miles who agrees and tells his girlfriend to “get yo cute ass up and in the shower.”

e!1610 miles who ends up having to pee and goes to shyly knock on the bathroom door

e!1610 miles who tightly covers his eyes when he walks in the bathroom and quickly washes his hands to leave

Miles’s girlfriend who smiles widely when she walks in from her shower and sees e!1610 miles laying in bed with his Spider-Man boxers and hello kitty socks that she had bought him for Christmas

e!1610 miles who giggles along with his girlfriend when he tells her that it’s close enough to what she was wearing

e!1610 miles who brings his girlfriend close to him and drapes her leg over his waist

e!1610 miles who continuously rubs his girlfriend’s thigh slowly lulling her to sleep

e!1610 miles who in a sleepy haze kisses his girlfriend’s forehead as he falls asleep

[fairyofshampgyu]

Now Live ! Stream: 3

Genre: smut, camboy au, college au, crack

Pairing: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)

Warnings: camboy, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, solo beomgyu, jerking off, humping

Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he even goes to the same uni as you, is in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?

Word count: 2.2k

You’d been meeting up with beomgyu a fair amount now, going to each other’s dorms or library to sort out the christmas performance. You’d finally chosen 5 songs to arrange and had already finished arranging 3 of them. You both would arrange a song each and then show it to the other for feedback and then work on it together.

It’s not that horrendous working with him surprisingly. And you’d thought he’d be an actual ass but he hasn’t. He was actually pretty quiet and not that talkative most of the time. It seems that even Beomgyu realises the opportunity to be the only two picked in the music department isn’t something to be taken lightly and you guys really had to live to expectations or raise the bar higher this christmas concert because you remember all the previous years before and they were always so amazing.

Beomgyu’s not bad at all at music like how you thought he was. You’re beginning to understand why your professor chose him as well. Honestly, you’re impressed. You almost feel bad for making assumptions about him. He still is definitely the campus playboy though, flirting incessantly with people and even jokingly to you at times to which you completely dismiss, having people gushing and whispering and giggling about him whenever you guys are at the library and sometimes he can’t meet up with you because he has numerous parties to attend and get drunk and fuck people at.

He can be a bit dense at times but he isn’t all that bad. He’s tolerable. It’s clear one thing he’s good at and passionate about is music. And so are you. And so with that, you can get along with him on a surface level in the small time you’ll be working together. After that, you won’t need to talk to him again.

You’re currently on the way to beomgyu’s dorm, needing to know his opinion on the brass section of a part of one of the Christmas songs you’ve arranged. Arranging isn’t too hard and doesn’t take that long since you’re not necessarily composing a whole new song but you want even the most famous and basic Christmas songs to have a really unique style and so you’ve been changing up lots of parts and adding more instruments, changing chords and keys, reharmonising and adding virtuosic solos that didn’t already exist or extending and cutting short on them.

And right now, you weren’t quite sure if the brass section worked, needing the critique of your partner. Laptop in hand with your music software that’s saved your life countless of times since first year for your compositions and made you want to smash your whole laptop and rip out your hair, ready and open.

Just at that moment, you get a notification that Angel313 was going live. It wasn’t his usual time but you’re guessing he decided to do a surprise/bonus one this week. No one was around whilst you walked and if you put your headphones in? You’ll just watch the very first few minutes whilst you make your way to Beomgyu’s dorm. No harm. Then you’ll stop.

Today, he’s humping his bed, brutally and un-rhythmically. Rutting against the sheets like a desperate puppy in heat, one hand tightly gripping and fisting at his sheets, and the other on his mouth, trying to conceal the noises he’s making, whimpering adorably, prettiest moans coming out of him. The sight making you want to run back home so you could enjoy it properly. You loved the sounds he makes. You could probably get off to just that. His bed seems a little familiar though but you can’t put your finger on it. It looks like just another university dorm or something to be honest.

You’ve made your way to Beomgyu’s dorm, knocking on his door, still watching the live from your phone. You hear a knock on the live too. That’s funny. You knock again since you don’t think he heard you the first time and you hear the exact same sound of a knock from the live again. That’s quite strange. You press your ears to the door trying to make out any sound and that’s when you hear it, moaning. The same ones coming from your headphones from Angel’s live. Your eyes go wide in shock. From the second knock on Angel’s live, their own eyes widen and they hurriedly switch the live off. You can hear beomgyu shout from the door “in a minute!” immediately after Angel stopped. He sounds distressed. He also sounds exactly like Angel’s voice.

But this is all just a really funny coincidence right now. You’re not even sure what Beomgyu’s actually doing behind the door. He could be doing anything. It’s just a weird coincidence. How could Beomgyu and Angel be the same? That’s not possible at all and makes absolutely no sense. They’re both completely opposite people. Out of everyone in the whole world, both of them would be the least you’d expect. It makes you laugh because of how outrageous it is. Why would you ever think that? It’s a coincidence. Yeah, yeah.

Beomgyu finally opens his door for you, looking like he ran a marathon.

“Y/n?”

“Hey-” That’s when you see it at the back in a corner stuffed with other piles of clothes, pink and white thigh highs. Identical to the ones Angel wears. But maybe that’s just someone’s he’d fucked recently and they accidentally left it there. Then beomgyu reaches his hand up to lean higher on his door frame, attempting to be nonchalant but in doing so, and from the already quite short shirt he was wearing, you have a clear view of beomgyu’s stomach. It had a pink piercing. Identical to the one Angel has.

You don’t have anymore excuses. It’s beginning to make sense yet absolutely no sense in your brain, gears turning in your head, about to drop your laptop in shock on the floor but you regain some sort of conscience. The hair, saying he’s not free Thursday nights, the piercing, the thigh highs, his voice, even his physique you realised, were the same.

“Y-you’re-you’re…Angel???!!!”

And then you zoom out and make a quick exit with a horrified expression. Beomgyu equally as horrified.

Fuck.

Beomgyu is absolutely fucked. He’s done for. You saw. You fucking saw. You know. You know he’s a camboy now. And you’ll tell everyone and everyone in the whole universe will know about it. What will happen to him?! Everyone on campus will ridicule him, especially with his ‘reputation’ to ‘uphold.’ He may as well start digging his grave now whilst he still has the chance.

But how did you even know? Sure, he didn’t hide his thigh highs that well he figures, just trying to stuff them anywhere and also the nearest shirt to put fast just so happened to be quite cropped so you could see his piercing. He curses that shirt. He doesn’t even know why he still has it. It’s ugly. But even then, that didn’t give away he was a camboy! The only way you could figure it out is if you watched him and he highly doubted that. So how did you figure it out? He’s been constantly freaking out about it, the essay he hasn’t done due in a few hours not even crossing his mind once.

He’d tried looking all over the place for you but you’ve been avoiding him like the plague, only increasing and adding on to his fear day by day. Did you think he was a freak now? It kind of hurt. How many people had you already told? You’d think it’d be easy to get to you if you’re both in the same class but apparently not. Beomgyu is so stressed. By now you could have told your whole music class.

You sigh as you applied to yet another job this week. Why was finding a job so hard? You didn’t even care at all what it’d be, you just need some money. You are broke. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent most of your student loan on eating out pretty much every day at overly priced restaurants with your friends. But you’re a foodie.

You think back on a few days ago when you found out Beomgyu was actually Angel313, you can’t get it out of your mind. It just feels so wrong. For the longest time, you watched every one of his streams, completely infatuated. You always wondered who he actually was and what he looked like. Now that you know, you wish you didn’t. To think that he actually was in the same city, in the same university as you, taking the same major and someone you talked to just seems so impossible. Really, what a small world. And for them to be the choi beomgyu?! Goes to show really just how little you know of people on screens.

You still get notifications of whenever he’s live but it feels so incredibly wrong to watch them. You could never watch them again. You feel kinda disgusting, knowing you’ve watched beomgyu jerk off and jerked off to it as well multiple times. You can’t look him in the eyes knowing you did that. You haven’t talked to him since, avoiding him at all costs, sitting far, far away in the lecture room and then making a speedy beeline to the exit before he even has the chance, avoiding him around campus as well and ignoring the texts he sent you. He must think you’re an actual pervert or something. You don’t know how on earth you’re supposed to arrange and direct this whole Christmas performance yourself but you’ll try.

It seems the universe is not in your favour however because whilst you were in the library, searching for a book your professor recommended, the place where you least expected beomgyu to step foot in and so felt less of the need to be wary, he happened to be there. You were just about to pick up the book off the shelf since you finally found it, but someone else swipes the book off you before you can. Beomgyu. And then he’s blocking your way of escaping, forcing you into a corner.

“Y/n! Please! Just listen to me! We need to talk!” He pleads.

It’s not like you can really run away now, pent up thoughts bursting out. “I just-HOW are you Angel313?! I don’t get it at all! You’re completely different. You once knocked someone up and forced them to get an abortion! You’re literally a-a….manwhore!”

“Excuse me…?”

“Yeah! You’re literally just another dumb fuckboy who drops people as soon as you’re done with them! You’ve probably knocked so many people up! You probably have so many like….like STDs!”

“That’s not even possible!”

“Yeah? Why isn’t it?!” You cross your arms.

“Because! B-because…-I AM A VIRGIN!!” Beomgyu’s eyes go wide and his hands smack his mouth. He cannot believe he actually just admitted that.

“WHAT?”

The librarian restocking books gives you both an appalled and scarred look, not even bothering to tell you to be quiet, scurrying away. Beomgyu puts his head in his hands in humiliation, ears turning red at that.

“What?!” You whisper shout. “That’s probably the biggest lie of the century.”

“I’m being serious…I’ve never had sex…” He winces, embarrassed at his own words.

“But—but you’re literally known just for that. Even I have seen you with multiple people at parties!”

“Making out and flirting with people are different things! I’ve done some stuff! But I’ve never…fucked anyone…”

He’s supposed to be the notorious player on your campus and an absolute douchebag to everyone he came in contact with, hated by many but also wanted and wanted to be fucked by many. But the boy who was shying under your gaze right now did not fit that description at all.

“I genuinely cannot believe this…”

“Look, you can’t-you really, really can’t tell anyone that I’m,” His voice lowers, “a camboy! No one else can know. I’ll do anything, anything you ask just please don’t tell anyone! My life would be ruined!”

Now, you’re not an asshole. You weren’t planning on telling anyone he was a camboy at all. You know people aren’t that accepting of anything to do with sex work. He’d most likely get humiliated. He might not even be able to get a job since people care so much for stuff like that for some reason. You’re sure everyone would go mad especially if they found out Choi Beomgyu was a camboy. But him saying he’d do anything if you didn’t reveal his little secret intrigued you so much so, that he didn’t need to know you were never going to tell anyone in the first place.

“I want in.”

“Huh?”

“Your camboy business. I want to be a partner. I’ll be your manager, I’ll help you film stuff and get more money. As long as I’m getting some too.”

Please actually reblog and comment if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated tysm !<3🙏💕😊 It’s discouraging when fics have such little reblogs 🤨👎Feedback is always appreciated it makes me happy :)

Taglist: @pogigyu @denleave1088 @mashimarshmello @stellz581 @cha0thicpisces @soobsfairy444 @lcvetyvn @1ummcalhoody6 @imrllytootiredforthis @bjttersweets @aliceoracleollormusic @yongboksgf @daniarafid @nyanggk @aggiebackstage​ @openingssequence @qluvrv​ @be0mflwr​ @shoooobin​ @beomgewwwwww @dickdeprived @lilactangerine @kissmeow @katsukeis @shutupheathersorryheatherr @lcvesickgyuzz @mastergibbs93 @tae-ology @popimagines @lynanist @guavagyu @soobhns @mikeeel @multistansimp4life @goquokka @scarfac3 @disneygirl712

Comment to be added to the taglist !!

[lunarmoves]

after watching hw2 and seeing that one game where you have to train the endos, it got me thinking Thoughts...

like, okay. imagine you were hired in the early early days of the pizzaplex. when sections of it were still in the final stages of being completed and polished up for the grand opening to the public. and your task was to help train the endoskeletons so that they were "people-friendly"—fazco's exact words. a bit strange, but whatever.

a simple enough job, relatively speaking. you weren't the only one assigned to the task, so that helped matters more. your first endoskeleton was to be the theatre bot.

now, you'd dealt with AI models before. but fazco's AI? it was on a whole other level... and not in the way you'd expected.

you nearly die on your first day.

you wanted to quit immediately after—their method of training was unorthodox at best and their endoskeletons were fucking insane. but you were contractually bound. so you had to keep going—fazco could ruin your life if you didn't. and if they were offering you some extra hush money... well, who were you to deny?

that didn't mean you had to like it, though. you were stuck between a rock and a hard place.

the theatre bot was strange in that it was three AIs combined into one endo. that meant you had thrice the amount of work to do. you spent many nights trapped in that odd room that looked like some kind of playroom, trying to teach the model how to label certain items without getting egregiously injured in the process.

but it was rewarding, seeing its progress. you couldn't help the pride you felt once you were finally able to insert its personality chip and train that as well. you'd gotten so used to the silence of the endo that the sudden loud boisterousness with which the bot surprised you with was quite the shock. at least its counterparts were quieter.

they still had quite a bit to learn in terms of their duties and how to interact with humans. you taught them, patiently and meticulously. they were… fun, honestly. eager and willing to be their best and make shows entertaining for the kids.

before you knew it, you were green-lighting the three so they could finally leave the dingy training room and take up residence in the newly finished theatre. your next task was to train the endo that would become monty gator. you thought that was the last you would see of the theatre bot.

you were wrong.

there was something you had not accounted for while you were training them. something that hadn't even crossed your mind, really: their wild attachment to you.

and well… they weren’t exactly willing to let you leave.

[strawberryfairi]

Falling Asleep Together | Keisuke Baji

★Black Fem Reader One shot❤️‍🔥 ★ Fluff; Baji being demanding and pouty; you just trying to do your hair for the night; nighttime routine; sleepy Baji; pure cuteness

"What are you doing in there still?" Keisuke groans from the bedroom, dragging himself over to the connected bathroom where you were still doing your nighttime routine.

"I told you hold on; I'll be there in a sec." You chuckle, eyes locked onto your hair through the mirror.

All you were doing was putting up your hair for the night, braiding multiple sections so you could protect your hair while you sleep, and then take them down in the morning back into your fluffy afro braid out.

"It's been like fifteen minutes; you're in here havin' a whole...spa treatment." He scrunches his face up trying to find the right descriptive word, gesturing around the whole bathroom with a hand.

"It ain’t been no fifteen minutes. I got like maybe three pieces left so just hang on; almost done." You assure with a light laugh, getting to work splitting a big section of hair into two in the front.

"You always love my hair but you hate when I gotta actually do it." You murmur, glancing over at his tired, pouty face. He grunts in response, leaning his head against the doorframe while watching you do your thing.

Even though it bothers Kei, you really love moments like this with him, when he's all eager and whiny for you to come to bed. Usually after his rushing he'll go silent just like right now, watching you skillfully braid your hair, mesmerized at how meticulous you are.

He's learned the process by now. First you make the main sections, then part them again for two chunky braids per section. Then you grab your favorite Jamaican black castor oil water, misting your hair lightly in the section before you add that amazing smelling leave-in conditioner that he loves to sniff every time you use it.

Once those two main steps are done, you rub some Argan oil in your hands and run it through your hair before finally making the braid.

He had to admit he could absolutely never spend this much time on his own hair every single day and night. In his eyes, the nighttime routine alone was ridiculously long, and particular, and just..long!

Keisuke's never really been a patient kind of guy, so having someone like you around was honestly good for him. You were patient with everything. Your hair, your nails, cooking, even patient with him! It's one of the main things he loves about you. You level him out, it's perfect.

"Look, see? Boom. That wasn't that long at all; I'm done!" You beam, turning around to look at him face to face instead of through the mirror.

Your hands were covered in product, along with that brush he always seems to forget the name of-dannin? Debberman? Denman! Right the denman brush. Pieces of your little coils wrapped around the brush and your fingers like snakes.

Keisuke grunts tiredly in response, his eyes halfway open at this point. If he could sleep standing up he absolutely would be passed out right in this doorway.

"You're a mess..." You smile softly, shaking your head as you turn the sink faucet on, washing the products off your hands and hairbrush.

About five minutes after you clean up in the bathroom, you're finally in the bed, putting your scarf and cute lime green bonnet on.

"Sheesh, only took forever and a day." Kei grumbles lowly, brows furrowed as he pulls you down onto the pillow next to him, cuddling up close against you with your back resting perfectly on his chest. The two of you sigh in content, little tired smiles on both of your faces as you drift off into a deep sleep.

****************************************************

A/N❤️‍🔥 I felt so warm and fuzzy writing this omg. Poor Kei just trynna go to sleep for real

[parkerpeter24]

Sending in req, wedding anniversary w/ peter can be smut or not but a lot of fluff <3

OKAY I LOVE THE IDEA thanks so much for sending this in 🤍 i tried my best idk why my writing feels a bit rusty and this isn’t that long 🥸🤧 also i accidentally made this pre-wedding anniversary 😭

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

requests are open

masterlist

the remnants of last night flooded your mind, leaving a wide smile covering your face as soon as you woke up. peter’s arm were wrapped firmly around you but he shuffled when he heard the change in your pattern of breathing.

you turned around in his arms and he pulled you closer, “g’morning, boyfriend. happy anniversary.”

you watched with partly closed eyelids as peter’s eyebrows furrowed, lips downturned, “i’m your fiancé!”

“right. i know.” you chuckled as he nudged his nose against yours. peter, your boyfriend since four years, had finally proposed to you one night before your anniversary, and despite him being the worst at secret-keeping, this one was exceptionally well kept. but knowing peter, you would have expected something like that from him anyway.

“why’d you say boyfriend?” he asked.

“you know, it was fun being your girlfriend. it’s like an end of an era.” you shrugged, getting up finally to start the day.

peter shook his head, “happy anniversary, fiancé.”

the two of you made breakfast together, stealing kisses every once in a while as you worked around the kitchen in co-ordination. peter cut up some strawberries while you baked pancakes.

“we should run to the grocery store later.” you stated as the two of you sat down at the dining table, besides instead of sitting across each other.

“why?” peter asked.

“there’s basically nothing left in the fridge.” you said before dipping your spoon in the nutella jar and pulling out a flood of the chocolate spread, covering your pancake in it.

“whoa! easy there, willy wonka.” peter teased, making you laugh.

“it’s alright. not like i’ve gotta maintain a figure, i got a boyfriend.”

peter’s face, once more turned sour with distaste. not from your pancakes but from what you’d just said, “i’m your fiancé.”

“yes, i’ve got a fiancé.” you gave him a grin before taking a bite from your stack of pancakes.

the two of you took a trip down to the grocery store around noon. peter gathered all the items from your list while you were busy exploring the snacks section, finally deciding on a few packs of readymade popcorn for your movie night later and some reese’s peanut butter cups.

on your way out from the store, you stumbled into your neighbour, mj. she noticed the ring immediately and her eyes widened in excitement.

peter realised you two hadn’t told anyone about your engagement. peter noticed the look of confusion over your face as mj congratulated you.

the brunette took your hand in his, pulling it up to your eye level so you could see the beautiful ring sitting on your ring finger, “fiancé.” he mouthed to you.

“oh! thanks a lot, mj.” you smiled at the kind girl.

you were sitting on the couch, legs stretched to rest over the coffee table as you waited for peter to bring the snacks out. the first scene of the movie you two had mutually agreed upon– after a long, long conversation over how star wars is better than rom coms– was paused over the screen as you tapped away on your mobile phone.

you were talking to gwen, telling her the whole thing since she wanted every little detail about how peter proposed to you. you sent her the last text as peter settled beside you, leaving against your shoulder, “watcha doin’?”

“nothing, just telling gwen about my fiancé.” you emphasized on the word.

“finally!” peter cheered, making you laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

the two of you cuddled on the couch as you started ‘the proposal’.

not to your surprise, peter was straddling your hips as the end credits rolled. his hands, warm under your t-shirt, travelled up, pulling the fabric along with them.

your tongue worked its way past your lover’s lips, exploring his mouth. your hand travelled to the nape of his neck, playing with the soft curls as he pulled away for breath. his lips attached to your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake, then over your neck. you felt him gently bite the skin over your sensitive spot, making you gasp, “peter! no teasing.”

peter pulled away to look you in the eye, giving you a smug look “what? i just wanna make sweet love to my girlfriend.”

“fiancé!” you scolded before sealing the gap between you two once more.

[pigmentpoltergeist]

I finished The Sunshine Court the other day and the hyper fixation is hitting, so here’s some evidence gathering for the question of what the fuck is going on with the Knox family—

Cat trips up when telling Jean how many siblings Jeremy has, tripping between the words ‘has’ and ‘3’ in a way that leaves Jean unsure what she’d had to change. This might be because of Jeremy’s boundary setting around calling his step-relatives relatives—maybe something about Cat almost not including a step sibling in the count but correcting herself because they’re in public and the Knoxs have that whole ‘public facing unity’ thing going on—but, that feels like it would be a really out of character punch for Cat to pull, especially right before insulting Bryson. I think it’s much more likely that a Knox sibling is either dead or gone—so either Cat tripped over ‘3’ and Jeremy had/has a fourth sibling, or Cat tripped over ‘has’ and there’s something going on with the other Knox brother that makes Cat double think using the present tense. But--

In the same section, when she insults Bryson, Cat says that there's bound to be a jerk or two once you pass four kids. So, my money is on there being another Knox sibling we haven't heard about yet

There are a lot of emotionally charged reactions to the way Jean talks about the Ravens/his past in the book, so this moment in chapter ten doesn't get a lot of focus from Jean's pov, but Jeremy has a big reaction to Jean’s off-hand speculation about whether or not Grayson will kill himself. Jeremy bites back at that so hard that Cat winches. (But, that’s all she does. Cat doesn’t seem confused about the reaction at all.) This reaction from Jeremy especially stands out next to how deliberately patient Jeremy tries to be with biting back his first reaction to most of the wild information Jean keeps dropping on him. This might be a misread or a jumped-to conclusion on my part, but it feels like suicide, specifically, might be a soft spot for Jeremy. But, since Grayson is Lucas' brother, it's equally possible that, if there's a nerve being hit here, it's sibling death.

(This bit is more blind speculation on my part, but something about the impressive amount of self control Jeremy has when receiving distressing information from Jean feels like it's going to be important. Compared to Cat and Laila needing to be calmed down/stopped from reacting multiple times when getting new Jean Lore, it’s really notable how many of Jeremy’s own initial reactions we watch him bury on page—he does react to a lot, of course, but compared to the baseline regular/not in-the-know-about-the-mafia-shit characters, Jeremy manages himself weirdly well. He seems to have an amount of practice in emotional self control that is notable, is what I'm saying, especially in scenes like the conversation in the book store where he keeps clenching his knuckles white and almost snapping coat hangers and just. Carrying on the conversation until an emotion like concern or shock stops him in his tracks. Combined with that line Cat has about how Jeremy is living proof that “the right therapist can be life changing”, my money’s on Jeremy having had some serious anger issues at some point; probably high school, considering what he says when explaining the trojans’ good sportsmenship to Jean—)

On Jean’s first night living with the trojans, Jeremy has a little monologue about how he wasn't 'born trojan’ and how his high school team encouraged competitive attitudes and insults just as badly as any other team. That monologue gets interrupted by a line about how Jeremy “clapped his hands together as if crushing his past self between the two.” That feels loaded, even if it's not out and out confirmation that Jeremy was involved in a toxic level of competitiveness/antagonism. There's something about high school Jeremy that Jeremy really doesn't like.

Whatever the big, family destroying event was, Annalise’s scene implies that it happened/came to a head at the fall banquet of Jeremy’s freshman year. (That probably means that, if any other Knox siblings were directly involved in the event, they would have needed to be invited to the banquet; either as a player or a guest.)

Annalise. Annalise has big beef with exy, and with Jeremy playing exy. Jeremy doesn’t just say that she stopped coming to his games, he says that she has gone out of her way to forget everything she ever learned about the game. That might just be hyperbole for hyperbole’s sake, but, given the fact that Jeremy says she hasn’t forgiven him for still playing the game, I feel like some of Annalise’s baggage here isn’t just that Jeremy happened to be at an exy banquet when the bad thing happened—it feels like she’s placing a share of the blame on the sport itself.

So, in terms of out and out conclusions to draw: something happened in the fall of Jeremy’s freshman year of college. This nebulous thing severed the family badly, and is also the reason that the entire sport of exy is dead to Jeremy’s sister. The Knox family lost a sibling (unless you assume that it’s specifically Jeremy’s friend group that considers him to have one less sibling, which is possible since it’s only Cat we see trip, but seems less likely to me). Finally, given Jeremy’s reaction to the Wayne/Grayson conversation, I’d be willing to bet there’s also a suicide/death at play.

(Blind guess I’m making: I think it's possible that maybe a Knox sibling killed themself because of exy. Maybe due to not getting accepted to a top rank school when their brother made it onto the second ranked school in the country off of the same high school team, maybe because of Jeremy hitting the collegent level and out performing them, maybe in part fueled by some residual animosity from a high school rivalry between themself and Jeremy. Whatever the case, it would have needed to happen in the aftermath of an altercation/argument between them and Jeremy at the fall banquet for the way Jeremy time-stamps it to make sense.

But, this is a blind guess on the heels of a first read through of the book--a book where Jeremy is going out of his way to not think about important information--so this is probably way off base. Given the way his family reacts to small things like Jeremy dying his own hair, any number of small scandals at the banquet could have been enough for them to blame him for 'breaking the family apart'.)

(Also, fully unrelated Jeremy fact that I couldn’t fit anywhere else: Jeremy’s dad is in the military and maybe alive? Given the fact that Jeremy will not call his step-grandfather his grandfather, I’m assuming his line about his dad having been stationed in Europe a few times is about his biological father, and I don’t know why he’d pick the word stationed if it wasn’t a military thing.

The way Jeremy cuts himself off in that same line is really weird, too. It’s not a period, it trails off weirdly and he shrugs. What’s that about, Jeremy?

Anyway, hope the fact that Jeremy’s dad was stationed in Europe a few times doesn’t come up in the plot line about a European crime family’s activities being investigated and possibly publicized.)

[lixiesfreckless]

p1harmony and their kinky-haired girlfriends

a bit niche, but the reader(y/n) is typically portrayed with eurocentric hair(which isn't bad!), so when this idea popped into my head yesterday I just HAD to indulge it as a kinky haired girl myself <3

Keeho

metaphorically falls to his knees whenever you come home from the salon

"oooooh girlllllll-" [immediately starts screaming with you]

will take a million photos of you because he's lowkey obsessed with everything that you do with your hair

don't know what style to do next? don't worry, he has a photo album in his phone that's kept track of every hairdo you've ever had, in case you want to try something new or return to a previous look

he WILL lay your edges better than you. and he absolutely slays the swirls that he likes to put in them

matching silk bonnets!!!

if you own any wigs, HIDE THEM if you're watching reality tv. Keeho will otherwise run to grab one while you watch the kardashians just to up the sass level

in all seriousness you guys love acting a fool in your wigs. bob-offs are a monthy endeavor

Theo

wash day connoisseur

he's taking off work. he doesn't care

knows it's a whole process and wants to help in any way he can because he's not very good at braiding or styling kinky hair

makes it into a spa day so you don't stress

has the leave in conditioner-water-gel combo DOWN and takes his time sectioning your hair so the curls define just right

loves talking to you like you're in a salon and he's just the hairdresser trying to get to know you(it's his sneaky way of checking in on you)

will complain/be sad when you say you're getting a new style in because he gets so attached to the current one but he immediately forgets the old one the minute you come home with something new

Jiung

LOVES braiding your hair. you'll actually quit going to braiders yourself in favor of staying home and binging your favorite show while jiung finishes your ends for you

in fact, if you teach him to cornrow, he will be OBSESSED with braiding cool shapes on your head in case you ever want a badass protective style

he finds it very therapeutic and loves being close to you for prolonged periods of time, bonus points if you fall asleep. he will simply die if you do that

has a playlist just for times like these </333

late night trips to the beauty supply store! because he didn't get enough rubber bands and wants to finish your hair TODAY

Intak

LITERALLY falls to his knees whenever you come home from the salon

"okay okay, this is my favorite look on you" he has said this every time

enamored and cannot stop staring at you

pictures of you allllll over his social media, he's basically a fanpage

wants you to braid his hair so bad, and when you do you both know he looks so goofy but it's adorable

"do you need anything from the beauty supply store? I'm on my way home from work right now"

oiling your scalp is his job(he won't let you do it because he knows how relaxing it is when you don't do it yourself)

he is so focused. and it is SO cute.

Soul

matching hair!!!

no I'm so serious he keeps his hair longish so you guys can always match. he will dye it, he'll let you braid it, put cute rings and charms in it etc. you guys will show up to EVERY event matching if he can help it

speaking of charms and rings, he will buy the coolest ones he can find just for you to try because he thinks you look ethereal with them and can't get enough of it

begs you to let him accessorize your hair(like you're an art piece! because you are, to him at least)

crazy head massages whenever you don't have your hair done

will always say that he doesn't have a favorite style, but whenever you get braids with beads at the end he acts a little stupid

Jongseob

this boy LOVES a good fro

doesn't matter if it's big or small he just can't wrap his head around the fact that your hair literally DEFIES GRAVITY

thinks your hair is the coolest thing in the world(he's jealous)

wants you to explain to him in detail anything that he doesn't understand. he hates having a language barrier whenever you two talk about hair and he wants it GONE

so when you notice him using lingo that you taught him, you get all flustered and he thinks it's SO cute

whenever you need to take down a protective style, he is THERE and ready to set a new record

he's literally a speedrunner and thinks it's a fun little game because it is. there's a folder in your notes app with his best times

[castieltrash1]

summary → patience is a virtue and you show bucky barnes he’s worth waiting for

word count → 17k

warnings → angst/comfort, pining, insecurity/jealousy, partial soldat!bucky, mentions of violence, ptsd/nightmare references, ambigious pre-wakanda timeline, alcohol, wanda/vision mentions, reader is non-gendered but gets called “sweetheart” “doll” “darling” and “kid,” bucky is scared of thunderstorms, physical scars and canon-level violence, basically just a big ball of emotion with a happy ending 

a/n → yes guys it is, in fact, finished. i’d like to thank the academy aka my bucky anon and @f1nalboys​ bc without them this fic would’ve never seen the light of day </3 this one is for yall MWAH !!

+ each section of the fic is kind of based on a different song so u can listen to those [here] hehe :3 but the whole fic is based on the song outer space/carry on by 5sos (the title is from lyrics hehe)

---

I. The Archer; “And I don't see an end to this, so I'll enjoy the fire.”

Bucky enters the kitchen almost silently, the slosh and drip of his drenched clothes giving away his sudden presence.

You turn your head just in time to watch a few drops hit the floor, water collecting into a murky puddle of shadow on the tile around his clunky boots.  It takes an eternity of a stretched second for you to recognize him. Everyone had turned in for the night, supposedly. When your brain registers who’s standing in front of you, your eyes widen, heart skipping a beat. Even with everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve watched him do, it still doesn’t feel right to see him in this state.

He’s already stalking off with a rubbery squeak when you grab a spare dishtowel from the counter and rush over to him. For a moment you think he’ll ignore you, but then he stops in his tracks, albeit without sparing you a glance. He’s not all there -- stance stiff, eyes glazed in a way that disregards the usual sliver of warmth in his deep blue gaze. But he’s polite -- obedient -- regardless.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologize -- for not being fast enough, not noticing him; anything he might take offense to in this sensitive state. “I didn’t realize you were still out... I thought…” He doesn’t reply, but his jaw ticks as water trickles from his hair to his cheek. It lets you know he’s not completely numb. Not yet. You lift the towel, but he grabs it from you before you can get any closer.

He drags it across his eyes, forehead, nose, before shoving it back into your hands. When he slicks his hair away from his face, you take note of the blotchiness of his skin; concentrated around his nose and under his red-rimmed eyes. They’re bloodshot, and the veins are bright against his grey expression.

He offers you no more than a sniff as he brushes past, heading towards the bathroom.

When the door slams shut behind him, you break from your stupor and trace his wet footprints back to the puddle that’s begun to seep into the lines between the tile. You sacrifice the already dirtied towel to clean it. Bucky will feel bad for the mess eventually, even if he’s apathetic now. The searing hot shower will slowly bring him back, steam opening the guilt-filled pores that hide under his scarred skin. He’ll come out and scrub the grout until his hands bleed.

The water is still running when you reach the bathroom door to wipe up the last of the mess, just a heelprint of thinned mud.

As you retreat to your room, you text Steve. He’ll be the first one up, and the only one equipped to deal with the emotional hangover. He’ll be the only one who really cares.

You let him know that Bucky just got home, hoping he’ll note the late timestamp of your message. And you tell him Bucky seems tired. Tired. It does little to encompass everything -- all the exhaustion, fear, and confusion he’ll wake up with. But Steve will understand. He always does. And you do your best, even when there’s not a single recognizable part of Bucky left.

Steve catches you by the wrist in the lounge the following early afternoon, tugging you to the corner of the room. A soft smile spreads across his face as he wipes away the sweaty remains of his morning run; all warmth, skin glowing in a way that only happens after a good workout.

His eyes scan the rest of the room, a movement almost too fast to catch. He lets out a heavy, relieved sigh when he realizes you’re alone, and brings you to the nearest couch.

“I got your text,” he says lowly, hesitant to breach the topic in person. “I wanted to thank you.”

You see the nervousness in his gaze and scoot closer to pat his shoulder. “Of course. I know he can be… Unpredictable. You deserve a heads-up if you can get one.” Steve’s been caught off guard before; you all have. It’s easy to think Bucky is just being distant, just being him. And then he’s sleeping too late, saying too little. His dinner plate will stay untouched, but the kitchen will be ransacked at midnight once everyone’s gone. Steve can barely catch up, and you doubt Bucky can either.

Steve shifts, letting out a shaky breath. “I want to help him.”

“You do more than any of us,” you reassure, truthfully. “Bucky trusts you -- he loves you. I think your presence is all he needs most of the time.”

Everyone else has to put more effort into their support. Natasha peels back the scars of her past in hopes of sharing the pain. Bruce spends weekends hunched over his desk trying to make sleeping pills that Bucky’s metabolism won’t immediately digest; tired fingers shaking as he tries a new dose, a new capsule, a new something.

But Steve’s existence alone is more of a contribution than anything.

“He knows you help, too,” he finally says, staring in a way that makes you squirm. It’s the hardened soldier’s gaze that leaves no room for argument. Whatever he’s telling you is a belief buried deep in his soul, an unwavering promise.

It makes your chest clench. Steve confirming that Bucky pays you even an ounce of attention is enough to make your heart race. “I’m just trying to be a friend.” You stress the last word, hoping it’s not visible that you’re curled around the ledge of a maybe more.

“He’ll notice eventually,” he tries, but his determined gaze is gone, and he’s holding onto hope just as much as you are.

The surface of Bucky’s healing has barely been scratched. There’s an entire life for him to uncover, remember, forget, and relive. It’d be selfish to expect any more than that from him. You know that, Steve knows that. A part of you hopes Bucky does too -- that someday he’ll realize his existence isn’t at the expense of others, even if that expense is love.

Steve stands with curled lips and a gentle double-pat on your leg that’s too comforting for something you shouldn’t even be disappointed about. It makes you feel like you’re mourning, but maybe you are, and maybe he’s just the only one who realizes it.

II. Studio 6; “I reached out to wake you but I learned that he'd taken you back.”

Group dinners are impossible, but there’s always a good handful of you in the kitchen at one time.

Tony will sip something bubbly that’s worth a mortgage, while Bruce tosses a salad fit for two; perpetually charged with thinly veiled green anger. Clint will scarf down a slice of week-old pizza and Nat will scrunch her nose at the unpleasant sounds she can never seem to avoid when he’s within range.

And, if Steve’s around, so is Bucky. The latter has only made an exception for Sam if his prior friend is on a mission for too long that he can’t sustain a hunger strike.

No one questions it or why his presence is more likely to exist when the dining room is crowded. He seems more inclined to show up when he can sink out of a conversation without anyone noticing, without any eyes on him -- except yours. He always catches onto your staring quickly though, feeling the heavy and uncomfortable weight of your focus.

But tonight, his chair by the corner of the room is noticeably empty. No one dares to disturb it, even if the extra seat is needed. No one says anything either -- at least not too loudly, though you catch some distant mumblings between Sam and Tony. They’ve chosen to forget (or purposely ignore) the fact that Steve, who’s sitting beside them, has beyond-perfect hearing.  

And he’s quick to hear the vibrating of his silenced phone, brows furrowed as he discards his fork to reach for the device. Normally, he’d scold you for ignoring table manners, but when he reads your hasty message, he understands.

“Have you seen him eat today?”

Steve gives you a tight-lipped frown and discreet shake of his head as a response.

You’re quick to stand from your chair with a sigh, the room quieting as everyone’s eyes focus on you. “I’m done, so I’ll do dishes tonight.” All of them happily agree without question, piling their plates onto yours. Wanda smiles in gratitude, whereas Clint presses a messy kiss to your cheek in thanks. Steve, who usually has clean-up duty, just nods, giving you permission for whatever you’re planning.

Thankfully, the kitchen stays empty for a while. Laughter and voices echo from the lounge, and you half listen to the retold stories as you load the dishwasher. Everyone is still going strong by the time you finish cleaning and grab a new plate from the overhead cupboard.

You hope Bucky won’t take offense at the basic sandwich; certainly not the homely dish of meat and potatoes he might think of as a family dinner. No silverware, no mess. The fridge is mostly stocked, if you ignore the Asgardian leftovers and the three-hundred-dollar block of cheese, so you pile up what you can.

The sliced tomatoes wobble while you walk down the hall, dish balanced in one hand. Light spills underneath Bucky’s bedroom door frame, but when you knock softly, there’s no response. You tap a bit harder, and call out: “Bucky… I have some food for you.” Try as you might to keep your voice steady, there’s a waver that makes you grimace. Contrary to what he may believe, it’s not him you fear -- not in the way others do. He still doesn’t answer you.

You leave the plate on the ground; a pathetic offering of inclusion and peace.

It’s just a sandwich.

When you’ve retreated to your own room, you send him a text letting him know what’s waiting for him. And even though it stings when he doesn’t reply, you feel a silent weight lifted off your shoulders. You played your role today, just as you did last night.

If there’s one emotion Bucky has never evoked in you, it’s guilt.

You don’t check your phone until you’re making coffee the next morning, barely awake as the smell of roasted beans fills the air. The sandwich and its recipient feel like a half-forgotten dream. Only when you’re a few sips into your drink do you see the notification, and the one word it bestows.

Thanks.

It catches you off guard, and you busy yourself by rinsing the pot for the next person, a ceramic glint catching your eye. The stainless steel sink is home to a single plate -- the plate. There’s still a smudge of mustard on the corner from when your hands shook, and the squeezed condiment missed the bread.

You scrub at the dried stain, a much easier mess than the mud-covered floor. It’s just a small task, just a sandwich, just a friendly gesture.

It’s clear Bucky thinks nothing more of it either. The following weekend he’s fine in his own way. After an episode, the air around him feels off; a thick aura that makes your gut instincts fire up. He’s a human timebomb, one wrong step away from mass destruction.

And then he smiles at Steve,  you overhear their conversation about Coney Island, and suddenly all that fear is gone.

His laugh is more of a throaty chuckle than anything else, but there’s a flash of his pearly whites when he jokes about taking Steve on the Cyclone (a story you’ve all heard countless times) and time seems to slow. You hang onto the sight of him like a single frame in a movie; the sway of that one curl on his forehead, the slow upturn of his lips. It’s almost like he’s not there, not really, because he’s someone entirely different -- and not in the ways you’ve seen before.

It feels like you’re standing in the museum again, looking at all the Sergeant Barnes plaques and pictures. Not a hint of Winter Soldier, not even Bucky, just… James.

You must be grinning like the lovesick idiot you are because Steve finally nudges your shoulder. “Don’t you start laughing now. You’dve thrown up too if you went on that thing.” It takes a second for you to realize they’re still talking about roller coasters, and you just shake your head.

“Whatever you say, Cap’.”

“C’mon, Buck, back me up here!” He’s reverted to the past just as much as his friend, though less noticeably. Just a shift of the shoulders and a stance that fits a skinny Brooklyn kid, not a trained Avenger.

“Nah.” Bucky laughs again, stifled now that you’re involved in the conversation. “Steve’s just a chicken.”

“Oh, eat it,” Steve retorts. “I had stomach ulcers! Of course, I threw up.” He acts truly offended, but there’s no malice in his tone. He loves a good row, even when he acts otherwise. You pretend not to catch his barely visible smirk even as he walks away to go talk to Sam, who’s just entered the room.

You lean closer to Bucky, hand covering the side of your mouth, voice lowered. “He’s just bluffing. I heard he screamed over a spider yesterday.” There’s not much space between you two, and your head spins as you realize he must’ve leaned in too. Just a little. Unconsciously, perhaps, though a hopeful part of you thinks he calculates every moment, no matter how small.

He laughs, enough for you to see his chest puff, but too quiet to cover the whirring of his metal-plated arm. Making him laugh gives you a feeling that’s unmatched by any other form of euphoria. It’s a baby step, a sign of comfort, a realization that maybe, just maybe, you’re enough. Enough for him.

Your heart skips a beat, and when his eyes dart to watch your upturned lips, you wonder if his does too.

III. Sign of the Times; “Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets?”

A part of you is beginning to believe good and bad luck are destined to come hand-in-hand.

It’s an odd feeling having Bucky next door to you, even with the heavy, soundproof wall border. There are simultaneously mere inches and a world apart between you. His steps are silent and his door is always closed, but his presence is still there, and you don’t know if you’d still feel it if you weren’t head over heels for him.

Considering the rest of the building’s layout, you’ve been blessed with this corner of the facility. Steve’s across from Bucky, Sam from you. Despite the square shape, they’re a tight-knit triangle most of the time, even if you consider yourself somewhat involved in their friendship. But it’s partially relieving to not always be included since they can be a handful otherwise.

And that much is proven true when a loud clattering wakes you up at four in the morning.

The sound would wake anyone up, but your job and training are responsible for the way you jolt, heart racing. Any remaining sleep is blinked away as your fingers drift to the side of your bed, where you know a knife is sandwiched between the mattress and frame. No one can get in or even close to the facility without Tony’s knowledge, but the smooth metal feels reassuring against your fingertips regardless.

Silence follows for a few seconds, long enough for you to wonder if the disturbance was just a vivid nightmare. And then you hear one door open, and another; both slammed into the wall behind them. Steve’s voice echoes down the hall, calling your name, and you slide off the bed to your door, forgetting your disclosed weapon.

Steve’s halfway through your name again when you enter the dark hall, finding him standing in Bucky’s doorway. He’s bleary, blue eyes clouded with an uncertain look you’ve only managed to see once or twice; most notably, on the freeway that fateful day. He’s forced to adjust to the situation quickly, you realize, when you join his side and peer into the room.

Everything about Bucky is wrong.

His chest heaves, and when Steve shifts forward, he growls. It’s not a warning, but a threat. If his mouth could foam, you’re sure it’d be dripping down his chin at this point. He’s an offensive predator at first glance. And then you notice the little clues: disheveled sheets, sweat gathered on his brow, the broken vase by his bed stand, and the water dripping from his flesh hand.

Bucky suddenly becomes a wounded, scared animal.

You inch closer, Steve grabbing your wrist when Bucky reacts with a snarl. But you don’t halt, forcing yourself past the threshold. One checkpoint at a time.

“Bucky, it’s me.” You stand, palms face out. “I don’t know what you dreamt of -- I’m sure it scared you. But Steve and I are here, ok?” His eyes flicker between you, respectively, and a glint of recognition flashes in them. “Can you sit back down on your bed?”

His expression trembles, metal fingers curling and stretching repeatedly.

You rack your brain for any idea of ways to de-escalate the situation when he doesn’t follow your suggestion. And then it hits. He doesn’t need a suggestion. He needs an order.

With a deep breath, you steady your tone and catch his gaze. “Bucky…” His eyes glaze, but you try again. “James.” He twitches, just a small shift, but you grab onto it. You want to use the least amount of soldier-related words you can and if his legal name works, you’re not going to push your luck.

“Sit down on the bed, now.” You can feel Steve burning holes into your back, but you ignore his presence, and keep your eyes trained on Bucky. His shoulders drop after a moment and he blinks a few times before shuffling backward until the underside of his knees hit the bed frame. His recline is slow, but he finally sinks into the soft mattress with a heavy breath.

When you walk closer, he doesn’t react at all -- just watches your movements. And when you sit beside him, he continues to stare at you curiously. Steve’s still watching as you grab Bucky’s warm hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of his palm in a soothing repetitive motion.

You begin to murmur affirmations while you continue, not daring to initiate any more physical contact. And he slowly, almost unnoticeably, begins to react to it. Steve sandwiches Bucky’s other side and grabs the latter’s fluffy thick blanket from the middle of the bed.

“He’s sweating,” you whisper to Steve, and he nods, but adjusts the fabric on his friend’s shoulders anyway.

“He doesn’t like the cold.”

You swallow down the quickly forming lump in your throat.

Bucky blinks away the fog a few silent moments later. His fingers grip yours and he looks down at them, tracing your arm up to your face. He says your name quietly.

“Hey, Bucky.”

He scrutinizes you for a second, making your heart flutter, and then his gaze shifts to Steve.

“Steve?”

The blond smiles and nods, patting Bucky’s back gently. “Hey, punk. You alright?”

He swallows thickly, too many words and not enough answers. His fingers are still within your grip. “Yeah. I think.” The wavy strands of hair around his ear are slick with sweat and his tongue darts across his chapped lips in a nervous tick.

“Steve, can you get some water?” you ask, and Steve seems taken aback by your control of the situation, but he finally stands and makes his way to the door. When his steps grow quiet, you return your focus to the man beside you.

“I’m sorry if we scared you,” you begin, but then Bucky jerks his hand from yours as if your touch is the red-ringed surface of a hot stovetop.

His vulnerability shrivels away and he covers the rest of it with his blanket as he shifts toward the other end of the bed. If he notices your hurt expression, he doesn’t mention it, and you do your best to hide it as you stand from his bed.

You slowly drop to your knees, beginning to pick up the remains of the shattered vase; counting each thread in the carpet to take up more time. The flowers that fell are already shriveling, stems cracked into stringy vertebrae, petals smashed into the woven flooring.

“Why do you do that?” Bucky suddenly asks, voice gruff, but with a hint of hesitance. When you look up at him, your breath catches; the table lamp behind him is a warm yellow halo, and you can’t dismiss the feeling of kneeling before him, rose gathered in your palm as you pray he loses the solemn look that covers his face.

“Do what?”

He gestures his chin toward the floor. “Pick up my… messes.”

Steve’s promise rings through your ears. He’ll notice eventually. Your hands shake, and you look back to the floor; constant and unchanging, unlike his expressions. “It’s not a big deal. We all make messes sometimes.” And while that’s true, both of you know there’s no one else you’d be picking up glass shards for at four in the morning.

“You don’t,” he says, before continuing in a hushed tone, almost so you don’t hear, “make messes, I mean.”

His words make you still: what does he perceive? What does he know about you, what does he see that you overlook? What has he pieced together on how absolutely ruined you are for him?

Steve walks in with a cup of water, and the questions silence.

He feels the change in the air quickly and grasps your shoulder with his free hand. “I got it. Go back to bed.”

You toss the glass into the trash, pocketing a few of the intact flower petals to press and save.

When their quieted murmurs and sounds of cleaning continue, you dare a glance back. Bucky pulls his blanket closer, chasing as much warmth as he can take. His hair is almost dry, but the shorter and thinner strands are still stuck to his forehead with sweat. When you blink, he looks the same as the night before last -- wet from the rain and too uncomfortable in his own cold skin.

His reaction to the rain suddenly makes all too much sense.

IV. worldstar money; “Don't hate me, am I crazy? So tenderly you watch me burn.”

It turns out that the nightmare is the peak of Bucky’s episode, and his outburst ends quickly after. He returns to nightly dinners -- with Steve in tow -- and you don’t wake up to either of them yelling again.

Coincidentally, his plateau of emotions also lines up with Thor’s periodic arrival. His presence is always a date to anticipate and the team can spend up to a week preparing if they’re given the time. The god is not a handful, per se, since he’s more than capable of entertaining himself. But, at this point, it’s a tradition that his appearance is paired with a party. The few times one hasn’t been organized before he shows, Thor’s taken it upon himself to create one spontaneously; with no regard to his surroundings. Tony’s already lost a few pieces of furniture to Asgardian liquor stains and he won’t make that mistake again.

As the preparation begins and the excited trainees at the facility are informed of the event, your mind drifts back to Bucky. His attitude change seems too instantaneous. The decline and regrowth can take weeks. A part of you hopes it’s a sign of healing - the fast recovery. The logical side of you thinks he’s simply hiding his discomfort since everyone is busy, too busy for him.

Thankfully, Wanda keeps you distracted. Whenever something normal like a party happens, she’s the most excited, and it’s hard to not feel infused with her radiance. Even Natasha becomes more playful, talkative. Despite popular belief, it seems that redheads have the most fun, especially ones who crave some regularity in their lives.

“What about this one?” Wanda pulls the nth dress from her closet, both you and Natasha lifting your heads from where you’re lying on her purple bed. It’s a simple red piece, with a small flower pattern and flowy skirt.

Natasha sighs, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Too simple.”

“You only wear little black dresses,” you retort, sliding up to her side. “I think it’s pretty, Wanda.”

“Hey, it’s a staple to any good wardrobe.”

“Nat?” you playfully jab. “Are you hiding a secret stylist side of yourself from us?”

Wanda clears her throat and you glance back at her. “Nat’s right. I’ll order something new.”

You frown at their obvious attempt to gang up on you. “I thought I was right!”

Natasha chuckles and Wanda attempts a sputtered excuse before she ends up laughing as well. You flip both of them off, but they see the smile gracing your face regardless.

“Fine. What about you, Nat?” You rest your head on her shoulder, feeling her shrug.

“I don’t plan for this stuff.” A total lie, but you let it slide.

Wanda looks over her shoulder as she returns the dress to her overfilled closet. “Picked something to seduce Bucky in yet?” Her accent deepens as she fakes a sultry tone, sending a mascara-lashed wink your way.

“Oh my god,” you groan.

“I think you should get something to highlight your ass,” Natasha muses, playfully tapping her chin. “That’s a pretty obvious hint, don’t you think?”

“Not you too!” But she pulls you into her arms regardless. Wanda jumps on the bed a few seconds later, curling up to your other side. You’re so close to them, and not just physically. You feel like you could reveal anything, admit any secret, and it’d stay in this group of minds forever. A Bermuda Triangle friendship for your confessions.

You can’t help but mumble: “Why doesn’t he notice anything I do?”

It still feels selfish to think, let alone say out loud, but there’s no judgment in response. There’s not the pitying comfort from Steve or the teasing grins of the others who don’t understand the depth of the situation. Natasha pats your arm and Wanda squeezes you a little tighter, and they don’t need to offer an explanation because just having them listen is enough. You know that’s how Bucky feels with Steve and you wonder if, in some other dimension, he trusts you just as much.

Natasha leaves first; off to the shooting range with Clint, and you follow soon after.

“Hey, Wanda,” you call, halfway through the threshold. She looks up from investigating her heeled-boot collection, red waves of hair crashing over her shoulder. Her thin brow lifts in question, and you smirk.

“I think Vision would like the flower dress, just saying.”

You don’t look back, even when you hear her sputter a retort, because you already know her face is flushed to match the outfit hanging in her closet.

V. sex money feelings die; “Trade love for one night, two pills and a red wine.”

The air in the facility only changes when Tony Stark is in charge. Routines, workouts, meetings -- they’re all forgotten and replaced with tipsy staff and good music. An inkling of professionalism remains in the lounge, but it’s discreet; fancy champagne, expensive suits, and a few public heads lingering in groups. But as a whole, it’s nowhere near the usual stiffness of your daily life. The facility may be your home, but it’s your workplace as well. Except for during moments like these.

You’re able to spot everyone quickly. Unlike the previous Stark Tower parties you attended a few years back, the guest list tonight is much smaller. Natasha is holding her own in a conversation with a few snobby businessmen and Clint lingers on the balcony behind her looking like he’d rather jump off than engage in any small talk anyone has to offer.

Wanda, in all her flowered-dress glory, is a tad tipsy, but Vision stables her with a hand on her waist, and you can see her cheeks flush from across the room.

Tony is with Bruce at the bar, and Thor is surrounded by excited trainees who’ve only heard stories about him. A second later, your gaze lands on a group of three: Steve, Bucky, and Sam. The last catches your eye and waves, heading your way before you can take a step in their direction.

He stumbles on his path, which means he’s drunk. Sam Wilson is not a lightweight, but deep inside his body lives a frat boy who only appears when he’s had too many shots to remember.

“Hey!” He grins and pulls you in for a hug, the type he’d usually give you after a two-week mission away, even though it’s been two hours since you talked last. “I didn’t see you around. Thought you decided to skip.”

You chuckle. “You know me. Just… Lingering.” And watching for Bucky.

Sam raises his brow cartoonishly high. “I think you’re partying wrong. You,” he starts, grabbing your hand before you can blink, “should be dancing.” He extends your arm above your head until you appease him with a spin.

He whistles, then sighs. “You know, I hate to admit it but I think Barnes would be a better partner. Dude’s how old again?” Sam laughs, palm warm as he squeezes your hand. “Seven decades of dance moves. Hell, you think he can moonwalk?”

It’s a nice thought: Bucky, not yet greying due to his years on ice, being free in the eighties. His hair fluffed with hairspray and a neon earring dangling from his lobe. But that’s another life. Another era he’ll never live.

“Hey, you alright?” The new wave illusion fades away and you’re left staring at Sam’s toothy smile. “You have too much to drink?”

“No, actually.” You play off the spaced-out moment and Sam is too inebriated to notice. “I haven’t had anything yet, really.”

He immediately gets a playful glint in his eyes. “Steve got his hands on some of that God beer, or whatever -- if you wanna try.” Despite internally refusing the offer, you don’t dismiss Sam. Mainly, because Bucky is still standing by Steve, and you can see the invisible walkway leading up to them. You nod, and Sam heads back in their direction with you trailing behind him.

Steve pulls you to his side the minute you’re within reach, breath hot and sweet against your cheek. “Wondered where you wandered off to.” He loosens his grip but lets his weight rest on your shoulder, enough to keep you warm. He flashes his flask at you, silver metal and dark brown leather, but you shake your head.

Before you can politely decline, Sam reaches over to take the offer from Steve’s hands. Three sets of eyes watch, with bated breath, as he tosses back a shotful, complete with a face-scrunching cough. “Is it that bad?” you ask, but Sam’s too busy clearing his throat to respond, and Bucky grabs the flask.

He makes Sam look like an amateur as he takes his own drink. It goes down smoothly, the veins in his neck tensing as he swallows without hesitation. None of his other muscles even twitch. You marvel at him in quiet awe as he licks away the last golden drops clinging to his lips.

Bucky’s eyes catch yours when he’s done. Tonight, he stares, like he’s trying to understand your gaze for once. A part of you wonders how he can struggle to profile emotions as visible as yours. Another part of you wonders if he remembers what attraction and amazement look like to the naked eye.

You don’t have time to consider it before the man of the hour is pushing his way into the conversation, sliding a toned bicep around your neck to pull you in. He grins, sends the other guys a nod. “My favorite human,” he starts, though you’re not sure if that ranking was decided pre or post-Jane. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, Thor, thank you.” He pats the small of your back in response and then directs his attention to the others -- distant chatter of mead and parties fading into the background. You’re in the midst of zoning out when a gentle, but direct, cough alerts you of someone’s presence. Thor doesn’t pay you any mind as you pull from his grip, turning to face a guy you think you recognize. A security guard, maybe -- or a media reporter?

You’ve got a superhuman soldier on one arm and a God on the other, but this, presumably mortal man stays rooted in his place. “Good evening,” he starts and throws your last name out like the idea of being beneath you socially crushes his already crippling ego. “I know this might be, well, quite forward, but…” In the back of your mind, you realize the others have halted their conversation to watch how this will unfold.

“I’ve been waiting to see you all night.” You give him a polite smile and hope your cringe isn’t obvious.

“Thank you…” He is optimistically brave and you know that letting him down without a fight is unavoidable, so you play along to save face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.” His grin is bleached white, a staggering contrast against his dark suit and brown eyes.

“Well, now that you’re here,” but he can’t finish the tacky line before Sam snorts, only silencing when Steve jabs him in the side.

You feel downright sick. His intentions aren’t pure, obviously, but you wonder what his motive is. It always starts like this -- a nice, albeit forced, conversation, and next thing you know, he’s asking which Avengers are fucking behind closed doors (or whatever other gossip is trending at the moment.)

“Anyway.” You brace yourself; here it comes. “There’s a private gallery showing downtown next weekend. I was hoping you’d be interested in going with me?”

Oh. Oh.

“I’m sorry?” You’re still not convinced. “Are you asking me on a date?” The word leaves your mouth and you faintly feel Steve take a step closer, gentlemanly instincts kicking in. He’s watched the others be tempted by similar propositions, only to be ambushed by paparazzi or caught in a pre-planned scandal.

“You could call it that, if you’d like,” the guy responds, a flirty lilt in his tone. “I understand if you’re not available -- a lifestyle like yours doesn’t leave much in the schedule, I assume.” He rustles in his suit’s breast pocket before pulling out a card, off-white with a dark grey print. You catch a glance of his name -- Tom -- before he’s speaking again.

“If you end up having time, I’d love to take you.”

You nod dumbly, still not sure how to process the situation at hand. But if his disinterest towards your opinion wasn’t obvious before, it’s clear when he’s already walking away with a grin before you can attempt to respond.

When you finally turn around, all four men are staring at you with different expressions. Thor is impressed, it seems, even when he falls into a bout of surprised chuckles. Sam’s slightly more annoyed, but not enough to stop himself from laughing either. Steve is staring daggers into Tim -- Tom’s -- departing figure, and Bucky is… You’re not sure. His jaw is clenched, tightly, and his stance is far more predatory than it was before; shoulders squared, chest puffed. He’s the perfect picture of jealousy, but you know he’s probably just put off by Tom’s cocky demeanor.

Regardless, the change in the air is palpable, and you end up excusing yourself before you can choke on the tension. You rescue Natasha from her painfully dull conversation and pull her onto the balcony to relax with Clint. He’s staring off at the landscape below, and you both press against the railing with him. His gaze doesn’t shift, but a smirk becomes visible on his sharp profile. “Nice escape in there, you two. Barnes and those businessmen were really shaking their heads.” Natasha scoffs, but you tense.

“Bucky?” you ask, and Clint huffs, faking surprise.

“Yeah, Bucky. Thought the old man was about to go into cardiac arrest when that other guy asked you out.”

“What guy?” Natasha cuts in.

At the same time, you say, “How did you know he was asking me out?”

Clint isn’t easy to annoy, so he continues to answer your questions. “I know because Barnes looks jealous as hell. I can hear his heavy breathing from here, and in case you’ve forgotten,” he gestures towards the purple aid lodged in his ear. “And since you’ve gotten over here, he’s taken it upon himself to finish off Steve’s flask.”

“Gross,” Natasha groans. “I wouldn’t touch that shit if it were the last drink on Earth.” She accentuates her words with a sip of her bubbling champagne, long red nails tapping the glass flute.

“Whatever you say, Barton,” you chuckle, but there’s a hesitation in your words; a silent gap waiting to be filled with more questions. Was Bucky really jealous? Is Clint just humoring you? The thoughts drift around in your head, and your friends let the conversation flow into another topic, saving you from dwelling for too long.

As they begin to playfully argue over something -- like always -- your eyes drift back to the party. It’s reached a quiet buzzed state, the energy of the room coming to a lull. The calmness is enough to leave you feeling dazed, letting the cold breeze coat your skin with goosebumps. You silently hope that Bucky is watching from afar, indulging in your shadowed silhouette against the darkening night. But when you examine each partygoer to find him, you land on Steve instead; with that look.

Natasha finally notices, or at least announces, your distraction: “You alright?”

“Yeah…” You trail off, watching as Steve and Sam glance around the room; searching, worried. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bring more drinks on your way,” Clint suggests, but his favor leaves your mind the second you head inside.

VI. SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK; “Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms.”

Your shoes clack against the floor and Steve lets out a sigh of relief when you enter his line of sight. “Thank God you’re here,” he half-jokes as if you can’t see his flustered expression. “I was just about to call you. Bucky wandered off and... I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right. He’s not in his room -- Sam checked.”

“Bathroom?” You ask, but Sam, approaching, shakes his head. He looks like he’s a second from toppling, his earlier shot taking a visible toll.

“Looked there first.”

You raise a disbelieving brow. “Geez, I’ve barely been gone five minutes and he just disappeared on you both? Isn’t that what he does?” You discreetly gesture around to the crowd, gritting your teeth. “This isn’t really his scene.”

Steve’s concern doesn’t lessen. “No, I know. He just, he somehow got buzzed. I don’t think he’s slept in days and… I don’t know...”

You know his ability to burn off alcohol is unparalleled, but unlike Steve, Bucky hasn’t touched the stuff since ‘42 -- not even one of Tony’s mild wines at dinner. If he was drinking as much as Clint said, there’s a fair chance he could be slightly inebriated; just enough to throw him off his perfectly calculated balance.

You can’t leave him to his own devices, so you let out an exhausted huff. “Fine. Take Sam to his room, though. He’s about to pass out.” Said drunk sends you a glare, then promptly stumbles in place. “I’ll make the rounds in the meantime. Text me if you see Bucky on your way.”

Both men nod, Sam’s head bobbing in a way that makes you dizzy. They head off, attracting a few whispers along the way, but make it down the hall without too much of a scene. You sneak away in the opposite direction, towards the other half of the facility. It’s eerily quiet as the voices fade away until there’s just silence. The lights automatically flicker on as you walk, turning off behind you when you leave their range.

The closest rooms are the lounge and some storage closets, but they’re all empty, along with the pool. He can’t be in the shooting range or armory, since they’ve been locked up tightly for the night; FRIDAY can’t even open them without Tony’s approval.

But there’s another set of bathrooms down the hall; less used, without everyone’s necessities inside. When you walk past the door, a few sounds catch your attention: a drunken mumble, squeaky boots, and water running. There’s a possibility it’s a public hookup since it’s practically a mile-high achievement to fuck at a Tony Stark party. At least, it was, back in 2011.

You push open the door slowly.

Bucky is leaning against the sink, face flushed and dripping water. It’s been unceremoniously splashed against his skin, dripping down his neck and spilling across his maroon dress shirt. The patches of wet fabric cling to his chest, and you barely manage to pull your gaze away from the smooth outlines of his torso. His jacket is draped next to the faucet, freckled with stray droplets like a garden flower.

His eyes catch yours in the mirror, blue drifting into a hazy grey.

“Hey…” You trail off, closely monitoring his expression. “Steve wondered where you ran off to.” You refrain from mentioning your own concern; a good choice, considering Bucky gives you a tight smile in return. You’re just thankful for more than a grimace at this point.

“It’s pretty loud in there, right?” you continue, looking away as you grab some paper towels, thin white, masking your palms like sheet ghosts. Bucky’s eyes are still on you when you turn back, making you jump. You try to play it off by taking a step closer, slowly raising your hand. “Is this alright?”

He doesn’t respond, but his chin juts outward. When he’s steel-faced like this, you can’t tell who you see more: Sergeant or Soldat.

His reaction seems like a yes, albeit a stubborn one. His skin is warm even through the napkins as you gently pat his face, drying it off. He’s completely still, and it takes a second for you to realize neither of you is breathing. You’re sure your heart is beating much faster than his. You dab his cheekbones and when you move to his forehead, he tilts toward you. It’s tender and trusting and your heart melts; dripping over your rib bones and living jitters in your stomach.

Bucky’s lips pout as you press them once, twice, and you savor the indirect kiss.

And then you pull away, and he leans back.

You smile, and for a second it looks like he does too. “All dry.” He’s quick to grab his jacket, slinging it over his broad shoulder. Right as you move aside to let him leave, he takes an unbalanced step, hurriedly adjusting himself. The sight of Bucky tripping over his own feet is enough to make you giggle, and the quieted sound makes his cheeks flush a shade darker.

“Are you drunk?” you press, and he scoffs.

“Can’t get drunk. You know that.” But the corner of his lips upturn just barely, and you know only a drunk Bucky would ever smile at you.

“Whatever you say…” You pull his jacket onto your own shoulder. “But I’m taking you to your room. Steve’ll put me on dish duty for a week if I don’t.”

VII. Out Like a Light; “If I betray our lonely nights spent out like a light, with no kiss goodnight...”

Bucky is quiet the entire walk to his room, but his presence is warm and comforting behind you; thick like drizzled honey. You don’t have to look back or strain your ears just to feel him, to sense him. You don’t mind that he doesn’t utter a single word or attempt to sync his steps next to yours -- you just make your way down the hall, distantly noting Sam’s door being open a sliver. It’s a habit of his, like many others, that you’ve grown to recognize. He can be overly cautious, sometimes to a fault, but you’re relieved to know he got to his room with a few screws left intact inside that wild head of his.

“And here we are, safe and sound.” You extend your arm to Bucky’s door with a cheesy grin: “Home sweet home.” When he tenses at your words, you try not to falter -- even when you know home to him is a century away, in another life, and another world. Even if home to him means young laughter, warm cooking, and a scratchy record. You can’t apologize for wanting to be home, for hoping the occasional laughter of Peter and the motherly nagging of Pepper are enough to makeshift a family.

Bucky gracelessly stomps into his room, immediately falling back into his unmade bed. Any other night, you’d close his door and walk far, far away. But tonight he’s still got his shoes on and you know one wrong move will track God knows what across his sheets. You can’t help but wonder how many messes Bucky Barnes will make before you finally give in and kiss him.

Without another thought, you close the door behind you, causing Bucky to look up with a raised brow.

“I’m not gonna let you fall asleep fully dressed,” you tell him, voice stern, and he’s half-asleep by the time you’re untying his second shoe, tugging it off his socked foot. He managed to undo one button on his shirt, but promptly gave up, leaving his arms beside him.

You murmur his name and he groans. “Buck, c’mon. What do you normally wear to bed?” He answers by rolling over, muttering something into his pillow.

It’d be frowned upon to go through his drawers, but you’ve got no other choice. You quickly grab a t-shirt and some sweats. You don’t stare when you pull off his button-up and slacks, and you don’t ogle when you pull his impromptu pajamas on. You don’t glance at his scars or his chest or his stomach because he trusts you.

He’s as vulnerable as you could ever hope for, but he’s also stumbling drunk, and bound to forget this encounter tomorrow morning. He will never trust you like this again, so you cling to the moment as you tuck him in and brush his bangs from his face.

The thought of his upcoming headache sends you to the bathroom to fill a glass of water, thankful the tap is filtered. You set the cup on his bed stand, next to his toppled prescription bottles. He’s got a memo pad, unmarked but indented from previous writings, and a silver pen there too. You scribble a note telling him to drink water and take his meds in the morning. You add a little heart, stick it on the glass, and resign yourself to the fate of this being a blurry moment for the rest of your life.

You’re finally about to walk away when Bucky grabs your wrist, completely catching you off guard. His eyes flutter open, drowsy blue and thankful in a way that reminds you you’d do anything for him. “Please, don’t leave me.” He blinks, glossy and unfocused, and you sit next to him with a gentle nod. His hand stays locked in yours, even when he shifts to rest on his side. Your thumb rubs his knuckle while his opposite metal one clicks into place with a soft rattle.

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles, but when you ask why, he just shakes his head and dozes off with a few slurred words. Something like thank you, and then a gravelly rumble of Russian -- Золотце.

A part of you wishes you didn’t understand it. Another part of you is glad Natasha has called you darling so many times before.

VIII. Even If It’s a Lie; “And I know you don't love me so, but please say it once before I go.”

If Bucky remembers anything from that night, he never acknowledges it. The others joke about the party in their sober states, reminiscing and reliving all the antics you missed while you spent the night baring your heart and soul to the man who now can’t stand to look at you.

“I wish I’d drank more and forgotten that night,” Clint jokes before the mention of alcohol jogs his memory and he glances over at you. “You never brought back our refills, so I’m blaming you.” You can tell he’s playing around, and you hope his words will fly under everyone else’s radar, but then Nat nods, growing suspicious. You’re all having dinner -- one of the good ones, where everyone is warm and full -- so you hope she won’t prod. But you can feel the shift in her energy as she leans in, raising a sharp brow.

“You’re right, Barton -- for once in your life.”

“Thanks.”

“Where did you go?” Her cherry lips curl on one side, and Wanda can’t hide her amusement as she snuggles up to Vision on the loveseat; unlike you and Bucky, they’ve barely left each other’s side since that night.

Instinctively, your gaze darts to Bucky, and you’re surprised to catch him already staring back. A hint of something lies in his gaze -- something more unrecognizable than usual. It’s neither embarrassment regarding your time together, nor a glare warning you against speaking up. If anything, it’s almost a silent plea, though not one rooted in regret. He’s asking this to be your secret and yours alone.

“Sam got hammered,” you start, rolling your eyes jokingly. Bucky physically relaxes, you note, watching him from the corner of your eye. “I had to help him get to his room -- with Steve, who did most of the heavy lifting. Literally.” Everyone seems appeased with the answer and you’re relieved to have made the right call.

Someone -- you’re not paying much attention at this point -- remarks how difficult it is to get drunk nowadays; between being on-call and not being able to enter a bar without ten different security precautions. You don’t doubt the gratitude the team shares, both for each other and the satisfaction of saving people. But it comes with a certain yearning. You see it at Steve’s apartment when he makes you dinner and talks to you about the weather like you’re just his neighbor. Or when Wanda paints her nails before missions, even when she knows they’ll be chipped bare by the time you return home.

Everyone wants what they don’t have; a normal life -- a chance at something different, mundane, peaceful.

And you… You want Bucky.

Considering his usual aversion to your presence, it takes a while for you to realize he’s purposely ignoring you. You’d hoped your white lie to the group would build you some rapport in his mind, but the awkwardness builds up until it rolls off him in waves whenever you walk by.

The silent-stand off reaches unbearable levels until Bucky ends up assigned to a day mission. It’s a sad realization, but you can tell the entire facility relaxes at the lack of his presence. No one’s gotten the hang of being around him, so it’s easier when he’s just...gone. If anything, he’s usually in a better mood when he gets back. The alone time, the structure, and the familiarity of burning knuckles and bloody lips calm him in a way nothing else can.

Steve pulls you into his room that late afternoon. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips; his thinking look. You sometimes forget he doesn’t have all the answers, despite appearing old and wise. He’s navigating the same life as you are. He’s lived two eras, but so few years. He doesn’t always understand.

His room is clean and stark, bare walls and pristinely tucked sheets. It’s still warm, in all the right ways. It smells soft and sweet like him -- a woodsy linen scent -- and there’s a cream, knitted blanket draped across his bed that drowns you whenever he lets you borrow it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he starts, sitting on the edge of his bed with you. His broad frame takes up most of the space, but you don’t mind. “How did things go that night, with Buck? I asked him how he got to his room, but he said he doesn’t remember.”  

The single spark of optimism you had for keeping that night a special secret fizzles away without another word. Within a mere second, the realization hits you. Bucky’s not cherishing some romantic rendezvous because that’s not what it was. If anything, he’s probably ashamed at how easily he opened up to you after too much alcohol.

You can’t help but scoff to hide your pain. “Lucky him,” you joke, nudging Steve’s side. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he frowns, immediately scooting closer to you.

“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

You’re blinking back some form of emotion -- heartbreak, anger, the burning feeling of your conscience sneering I told you so. I told you this would happen. “I just got him to bed, that’s all.” It’d be easier to believe that, to gaslight yourself until the memory is nothing more than a faded delusion. If Bucky refuses to acknowledge it, why plague yourself with the isolated recollection?

With the tone of an overbearing mother, Steve sighs. “I know that’s not true, doll. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be crying.” And then you feel your wet cheeks and the faint taste of salt gathering on your lips, tears streaking without you even noticing.

“He called me… Darling -- in Russian.”

“What?” Complete disbelief. “Are you sure?”

You know he’s just as surprised as you were, but the question burns: Why would Bucky ever call you that? It’s what Steve’s secretly asking. “Nat,” you answer. “She’s used it with me before. I recognized it right away.”

“Darling...” Steve muses, the world pulling out in a Brooklyn drawl instead of a Russian purr. “Well, I can’t lie and say I was expecting that, but…” He tilts his head with a smile, blond wisps curled around his ears, glowing white in the setting sunlight. “That’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

You go to wipe your eyes, but Steve beats you to it, rough knuckles brushing the tears away. “I don’t think so. He won’t even talk to me now. I think he’s ashamed -- but he shouldn’t be, right? It was just a drunk mistake. We all make those.” You know your tone isn’t convincing -- you’re still trying to prove it to yourself, and Steve’s face morphs into a look of pity. His features are drawn with guilt, and you don’t know when you both began to take the fall for Bucky’s faults.

“I’ll be honest.” Steve sighs, leaning forward. It’s hard to see him like this, so unsure. “I can’t always tell what Bucky’s thinking -- not anymore.” He shakes his head. “Maybe back then, before. Things were less complicated. It was easy to understand him.” He reaches for your hand, cupping it between both of his, and the contact steadies your wavering heart. “Sometimes, I think he’ll handle things like he used to, you know?” Sergeant Barnes -- the flirt, all confidence and smooth words. He’d treat you differently, but that’s not what you want, who you want.

“But that doesn’t mean you can doubt yourself, ok?” Steve’s words aren’t a cure-all, but they soothe the growing ache in your chest. He’s a terrible liar, so you know he’s being honest, and his reassurance means more than most people’s.

“Whatever Bucky decides to do - that’s his choice. You’re not doing anything wrong by trying to offer him love.” He doesn’t hesitate with the last word, which burns in every way possible; relief, knowing he understands the depth of your feelings; pain, that even with that knowledge, he only has hope. If Steve, with all of his unwavering optimism, is hanging by a thread, you know you’re past saving.

“Thanks, Steve.”

He says nothing else, just pulls you closer, and lets you rest in his arms for a few beats while you take in his natural scent and warm hands. In another life, he’d be easier to fall for. You’ve snagged a part of his heart, just like the others, but whoever gets it all… That’d be a type of love you’re not sure you could ever wrap your head around.

“I’m gonna go for a walk - try and clear my head. Alright?”

“Yeah, doll. Get to bed soon though, ok?”

You nod, and the sun has set by the time you make it down the hall, incoming moonlight lighting your way up to the balcony.

IX. Two Slow Dancers; “It would be a hundred times easier, if we were young again.”

The outside air is crisp, occasional winds biting into your arms and coaxing goosebumps from your skin. It’s the type of weather that leaves you alone with your thoughts, too sharp to let you zone out into an unfeeling haze. Everything lingering in your mind confronts you when you’re cold like this, and you wonder if that’s why Bucky hates the midnight chill so much; if it forces forward the memories that aren’t really his, the guilt of his subconscious actions.

You’ve all made countless mistakes, misjudgments. It’s part of the job. When you rely so heavily on instincts and adrenaline, slip-ups are bound to happen. But at the end of the day, you have yourself to own up to, not a foreign entity wearing your skin. Bucky isn’t the Winter Soldier, but the Winter Soldier is a part of Bucky, in a way that can’t be denied. To consider them separate entities would be ignorant, but to blame Bucky would be cruel.

Bucky mirrors your route at some point in the night, quietly joining you. The cold is making your body ache, much like your mind, but you can’t find it in yourself to turn around and go back in, especially when you see him. He’s still in his mission clothes, dark and clinging to his sweaty skin. He looks untouched, though you’re sure he’s got a few cuts and bruises you can’t see.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until the morning,” you state, with a slight chatter of your teeth. The stars above shine brighter than they did at the tower, unobstructed by city lights and various forms of pollution. They feel closer, almost as if they’re listening to every word you say and whispering amongst themselves.

Bucky busies himself by tugging his leather gloves off. “Got done early. Steve said you’d probably be here.”

Bitterly, you acknowledge he didn’t check on you because he felt inclined. Rather, he’d been put up to it. Instead of giving him a verbal response, you hum. Your mind races with what Steve must’ve said, how it led to this. You know you’re being given the conversation you spent nights begging for, but instead of joy, you feel fear. A sour bile rises to your throat. Bucky has dirt caked on his clothes, you’re half-freezing in the dark night, and the universe is cruel for deciding now is the moment.

“I know what you’re doing.” He’s straight to the point, just like always. No flowery language or attempt at sugar-coating, which you find both a blessing and a curse. He won’t say anything that could be misconstrued, but his statement is vague enough to lure you into your own admission.

“Yeah? What’s that?” The crest of fresh tears burns your already irritated eyes. You feel the end of all ends coming, but you won’t be the one to start it. Your pride was what kept this infatuation going for so long, even though it’d been predestined to fail. And your pride is what keeps you from giving in, even with the settling realization that Bucky never intended to treat you differently or give you a chance.

His hands, and their now visible bruised knuckles, curl around the balcony railing. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you, yet he’s never felt so far away. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself,” he says gruffly, and it sounds worse coming from him than anyone else. Less comforting, more pitying.

“Look at me.” You hesitate before obliging.

The sight catches you off guard. You know what Bucky looks like when he’s uncomfortable; seen it countless times - this is worse. He’s gone through Hell and back, yet he still looks more tortured glancing at you than at any time in his past. Why he wants to see you when he does this, you don’t know. Sadistic is the best word for it. Why must he gouge a hole in your chest while giving you those baby blues?

His eyes are dark, stars catching in their reflection as the colors swirl like a galaxy. The celestial vision is only yours to enjoy for a moment before he squints, brows furrowing. He must see the tears, the pleading look on your face that you no longer bother to hide. “Doll?” Like a stab to the gut, he delivers the one word you’ve imagined falling from his lips so many times before. There’s no warm sun or shy smiles or soft kisses to accompany it, only a pitying gaze and the gloomy sky.

“Please - don’t call me that.” You attempt to be stern, but your voice wavers, words barely coating a stifled choke. The second you turn away, Bucky latches onto your wrist, calloused fingers pulling you close; finally wanting you to invade his space.

His lips form a tight line. “Won’t you at least listen to what I want to say?”

“Why should I?” you ask, voice sharpening into a bite. “I know what you’re gonna say. I can tell just by looking at your face.” Chest heaving, you continue. Now that the confidence to speak has hit you, you can’t seem to stop. “I’ve known every day since you came here, Bucky. I know you don’t like me, but I don’t know why you seem so determined to rub it in my face.”

Ripping your wrist from his clutch, you rub away a fresh set of oncoming tears. Bucky blinks, wide-eyed, but composes himself quickly. “You think…” He almost laughs in disbelief. “You think I want to hurt you?” For a second, your stomach churns with guilt, but it dissipates before he speaks again. He is hurting you, whether he intends to or not. “I’m telling you this because I want to protect you.”

Voice trailing into a barely restrained yell, your chest bubbles with frustration, spreading like wildfire. Every word slices through the icy air with a hiss. “Protect me from what?”

Bucky shakes his head, brown waves of hair swaying with the motion. “You don’t know what you want,” he says, sternly. “You think you know how you feel, but you don’t. You… You don’t realize the things I’ve done -- what I’m capable of.”

A second of silence passes before the dam inside you breaks. The tears dry up, scorched away by the anger in your veins. “We all know, Bucky,” you retort, not missing the flash of hurt on his face. All you can think of is Steve, Tony, everyone who’s lost in the name of the man in front of you. They’ve worked tirelessly to push aside the past, putting their trust in the future, in the one who has caused them so much pain. “And we are the ones who have given you a second chance, despite it all. You’re the only one who can’t forgive yourself.”

His chest heaves, letting out a low breath as your words sink in. “You’re right,” he admits, lowly. “Which is why I can’t let you shoulder that burden.”

“Stop assuming you know what I can and can’t do,” you snap, lip curling into a snarl. “This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that you refuse to think anyone can see the good in you!”

“That’s because there isn’t any good in me!” Bucky yells, finally managing to startle you. He steps closer, chest puffed and jaw twitching. For a moment, you imagine this is how his victims must’ve felt in their final moments. “It’s the ugly truth and you’ve gotta face it. I can’t ever be what you want.”

At that moment, you realize it’s never been you that he’s disliked; only himself. The thought makes you spiral, and you immediately soften, voice hoarse and hushed. “You are what I want,” you tell him, hoping he understands. “Just as you are, Bucky. Why can’t you accept that?”

“You’re…” He shakes his head, strung so tight his body shakes. “You’re being unrealistic. I - I can’t see you with hope now when I know that there’s no future where I’m the person you’re imagining.” He’s entirely resigned to the fact, despite all you’re willing to give him, every possibility ahead.

You have to remind him of the light at the end of the tunnel. “What about all the work we’re doing? The therapy, the meds? Steve’s even making negotiations with Shuri… I… Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“What if it works?” Bucky questions and the thought makes you stop. “Are you going to follow me there? To Wakanda?” he asks, and it’s almost sad how quickly you come to a decision. For him, and the chance of something more, you’d leave it all behind.

“I would,” you admit, keeping your voice steady. “If there’s a chance - why… Why wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t you?”

Bucky doesn’t even consider it. “It doesn’t matter… It’s something I have to do alone.” He’s burrowing himself into a pit of isolation despite your pleas. Every time you hold your hand out to help, he’s just inches away, fingertips brushing yours. Just one reach and you can pull him to safety.

“I know I can’t heal you, Bucky - that’s not... That isn’t what I’m trying to do. I just… I want you to know I’d wait for you, every step of the way.”

He stops, thinking about his next choice of words. Somehow, you already know what he’s going to say. “What if…” His voice is hesitant, almost as if it pains him to speak. It’s going to hurt you even more. “What if I don’t want you there?”

Finally, it hits; the admission you’ve always been preparing yourself for. The excruciating buildup slams into you with a deafening crescendo. The letdown, the pure collapse, is unavoidable. Not a cell in your body can fight it. Any chance of convincing him is over -- completely and utterly so. It’s the sharpest ache you’ve felt in so long, but you can’t break in front of him - not any more than you already have. You can’t allow him the satisfaction he’s been waiting for since he demanded you look him in the eye; the fact that he is wholly, unequivocally, and painfully right.

“Okay,” you finally exhale, trembling but not looking away. “If you… That’s all you need to say. If that’s what you want.” You don’t think you’ve ever seen Bucky regretful, because the emotion held in his eyes is not something you recognize; downcast eyes, slumped shoulders. This is one instance where the guilt is entirely his own. “I care about what you want too, Bucky,” you tell him, unsure of how he could ever think differently with all you’ve given him. “Just because I feel a certain way… I-I’d never force you to feel the same.”

The balcony falls into silence, neither one of you having anything left to say. The last bit of warmth disappears as Bucky retreats to the doorway, gentle winds brushing his hair back for just a second; long enough for you to see a light gloss of tears coat his eyes. He blinks them back, features relaxing on instinct as he shifts into the perfect picture of numbness like he’s been trained to do. Any hint of emotion is washed away in one crawling, desperate wave.

He stops halfway through the threshold, one final consolation on his tongue. “It wouldn’t have been forced,” he admits, and, for a second, it’s like the dream you’ve always imagined; his soft eyes, the chance of him feeling the same. But the confession is for another life, a different version of yourself that you can’t quite imagine.

Bucky gives you a trace of a smile, and your frustration spills away as quickly as it came. All that remains is the longing for what could have been -- for what will never be. “Thank you,” you tell him, and this time you mean it. He leaves quietly, almost as if he’d never been here to begin with.

You’re left standing in the cold, nose burning, and fingers numb. The stars stare down from above, twinkling and all-knowing. You can’t help but wonder how many heartbreaks they’ve witnessed in all their years, finding yourself grateful for a finite lifetime of them. One streaks across the sky and you let a silent wish cling to the bright white tail, hoping and begging to never take its place in the universe. You’re not sure how many more broken hearts you can handle.

At the very least, not an eternity’s worth.

X. Strange (Instrumental)

The night on the roof slowly fades away, word by word, until you start to forget exactly what Bucky said, and in what tone. The emotions linger in a way akin to sickness; a tight chest, twisted stomach, clammy skin. At the very least, the physical reactions are easier to hide, covered by excuses like a sparring match gone wrong or spoiled leftovers.

To most, you seem entirely fine. No one knows about your conversation beneath the stars, though a few begin to suspect something happened after Bucky’s return. He’s calm. He’s participating. He sits at dinner with everyone else, passing you the salt when you ask and listening intently to your repetitive drones about training. Natasha and Wanda watch with wide eyes, not bothering to muffle the sounds of them smacking each other under the table every time you and Bucky so much as glance at each other.

You neither confirm nor deny their suspicions, partly so you can revel in their happiness. They deserve the relief of thinking your silly little crush is over, even if they do believe it ended in a more favorable conclusion.

Your fork has barely touched your finished plate when Steve picks it up for you, stacking it upon his own scraped dish; three servings packed away in his super soldier stomach. Dinner cleanup is usually his chore, but he’s prematurely eager about it tonight. Everyone is still sitting around the lounge and kitchen, forgotten bites dangling off their cutlery between conversations.

“I got it, doll.” He presses a gentle kiss against the top of your hair before heading to the sink and you don’t miss the curious glances sent in your direction; Tony, halfway through a bite of pasta, focuses his brown eyes on you like a laser.

You know exactly what Steve is doing. Steve knows you know. He’s been stuck to your side like glue for going on a week now, and you’re equally thankful and sick of it. His footsteps sync with yours on the way to the gym, the pool, and even your shared hallway. At night, you curl up into his blanket, which he lent you with a silent acknowledgment. It’s soft and easy to cry into, even if it doesn’t heal the painful cold that fills your body.

Faintly, you wonder if Bucky’s blanket does; if, when he dreams of the blood-stained snow, it warms his metal heart.

Your facade lasts another couple of days before it begins to crumble. Bucky is completely unaffected and, for once, you find yourself envious of him. It’s disgusting to admit, to tell yourself you’d rather feel his aching numbness than the deep pit of sorrow nestled in your stomach, but it’s true. Everyone else praises his change in attitude: That’s three nights in a row that Barnes has come to dinner. Isn’t that great? The words seem to echo in every room you enter and you want to scream, revealing to everyone that the only thing different in Bucky’s life is you. He’s finally rid himself of you, cut you from under his skin like nothing more than an obsessive parasite.

Thankfully, it’s easy to come up with an excuse. In your line of work, everyone gets burned out from time to time, retreating to different areas of the world. Clint goes home while Tony visits the beach. Bruce drops off the grid entirely.

“And you swear you’re alright?” Tony asks, again, watching as you pack an overnight bag. You know he’ll drop it eventually, begrudgingly respecting your privacy, but it’s obvious you’re not being entirely truthful about why you want to leave. If you want to admit it, now’s the time.

You stuff Steve’s blanket into your old duffle. “I’m sure, Tony. Just tired, you know?” He scoffs, nods, and gives you a slight smile -- in that order -- silently agreeing; I’m Iron Man, kid. I’ve been tired since 2008.

He finally relents, clapping his hands like he always does when filling an awkward silence. “Alright, well… I’ve got a driver downstairs for you. He’ll take you wherever you want to go -- which is where again?” You give him an unamused look and he huffs. “What?”

“None of your business,” you remind him, with a smile. “Thanks.”

He waves you off, suddenly humble, and goes to leave the room, actually making it halfway down the hall before his steps audibly reverse. Tony sticks his head back in your doorway with a hesitant look; an expression you’re not used to seeing. “If you want me to, uh, take care of Barnes while you’re gone…” He drags his index finger against his neck in a cartoonish gesture, his smile softening after your laughter quiets. “Just let me know.” His expression isn’t aggressive or vigilante, closer to what you assume is his attempt at fatherly protection. I’m here for you, he says silently.

You’re thankful he leaves before you have a chance to respond, unsure of what you’d even say. You’ve always known not to underestimate Tony, even with his questionable social skills, but another part of you knows you’ll never fully grasp him, and not just in the way you’ll never truly get anybody but yourself.

If everyone is a grain of sand, Tony is a speck of snow. No matter the weather, you will never understand a blizzard.

XI. Outer Space/Carry On; “And the rain, it came too soon, I will wait for you to love me again.”

The door to your apartment swings open with an old creak, wood bouncing off your jutted hip. It smells like dust and there’s a distinct humidity filling the rooms. Your complex is far from dingy, but you do have to smack the air conditioner a few times before it switches on; probably from a lack of use. When you do visit, the electricity and water are usually questionable for a day or so, but the landlord never questions your absence -- a perk of Tony’s bribing.

You drop your duffle on your bed, which, while unmade, is still relatively clean. Knicknacks flood the surrounding bookshelves and your socked feet rub against the old rug tucked under the slatted frame. It’s a far cry from your room at the facility, which is fitted for everyday use. It holds your most worn clothes, all of your life’s necessities. Your apartment is more complex, deeper memories lingering in the walls. It has all the things you couldn’t box up and take with you. There are pictures of old friends on the walls, their voices long forgotten, and belongings from your childhood slipped under your bed in undisturbed nostalgia. Bucky’s question from that night suddenly hits you in full force. If he had to go to Wakanda, could you leave here behind?

You don’t have an answer and soon his voice fades away too. For the first time in a while, you sleep well, only stirring awake once, at around five in the morning. The room is filled with that early blue filter and your sheets are extra cold, your body tingling in its barely awake state. The world is quiet, and you think only of the eyes that match the outside sky.; steel, with icy highlights, and the mist of unshed tears and almost rain.

The weekend morning greets you with dark clouds rolling overhead. Rain drizzles lazily as you walk to the nearest bodega, a couple of stray bills stuffed in your coat pocket. It’d be smarter and safer to order takeout, but you crave the normalcy of buying groceries and cooking dinner, especially now that you’re alone.

The shop is relaxed. Radio music and news announcements overlap in dull robotic voices, patrons harmonizing as they talk amongst themselves; arguing over deli prices and which cheap wine to pair with dinner that night. No one looks at or speaks to you, and you feel invisible, which is somehow a relief. Again, you think of Bucky. He has so often tried to fade away -- usually bringing more attention to himself -- but you finally get it. The ignorance of the customers is your much-awaited bliss.

It seems, you realize, you’re understanding Bucky more every day.

You follow the speckled tile floors to the cashier, who gives you little more than a glance. Her glazed eyes focus on the box television behind the register, hands blindly scanning your items out of instinct. She mutters your total with a heave of nicotine breath, but you barely notice. You wish she understood how much her disinterest means to you.

The plastic straps of the grocery bags dig into your wrists the entire walk home, but you’re just happy to be free.

The storm reaches its full, beautiful, raging glory by the time you get back to your apartment. Lightning strikes, illuminating the living room with flashes, followed seconds later by heavy rumbling. The windows streak with tear-like drops, each one chasing the other to the bottom of the pane, and you feel like a child again, betting on which one will win the race.

Thunder shakes your apartment lightly, and the droplet you watched connects to the one beside it, gravity pulling them both into a long splotch. On the coffee table, your phone blinks awake, unread texts rolling in one after the other. The messages are all similar declarations of missing you, but each one makes you smile, even if you’re a bit surprised no one’s noticed your absence until now. Then again, you’ve been guilty of the same, even with Bucky; not realizing he’s disappeared all day until everyone gathers for dinner. You’re used to sharing confused glances with Steve across the lounge or in the kitchen, two pairs of hands deep in the soapy warm water filling the sink. You did the same thing right after Bucky moved in, cowering and suspicious like a stray dog.

“Is he going to be ok?” you’d naively asked Steve, scrubbing away the soup-dried bowls from dinner.

He had simply smiled, the back of his hand meeting yours beneath the water. “I think so.”

At that moment, you’d dedicated yourself to the cause; to saving Bucky Barnes -- if not for himself, then for Steve. In your eyes, there were two lives lost, two souls who’d gone through Hell and back just to reconnect in an equally cruel and gracious act of destiny. They both deserved a second chance, especially considering they never got a first.

“I can help if you two ever need anything,” you offered, brimming with confidence. Steve nodded, and the conversation inevitably trailed off to some other topic. Bucky was just a casual discussion, one with too many questions and too few answers. You’d both gravely underestimated his recovery, a process that everyone else knew would be difficult. If anyone were to expect miracles in Bucky’s name, it was bound to be Steve and you.

You’d always felt like you’d known Bucky before he came home. The minute Steve found out he was still alive, you’d been the one he confided in, sharing his stories. The countless memories spilled from his lips with intricate details, coming to life before your eyes. He spoke and you could taste the cotton candy of Coney Island, see the wonders of the 1943 Stark Expo, and even smell the bloody battered war.

A part of you was aware Bucky wouldn’t be the same, and Steve had always been prepared for some version of that reality. When he was younger, though, his earlier doubts revolved around war-related PTSD or combat stress reaction, as he called it. Bucky had gone through much worse -- seventy years of torture and an unending abyss of pain.

He didn’t walk into the facility with a suave wink or smooth-as-butter Brooklyn tone. You weren’t disappointed, even as pre-war Bucky dissolved right before your eyes, leaving a hardened man in his place. You just convinced yourself this was like Steve. He was no longer a sick, scrawny boy, right? But Steve was the same, in many ways. His mannerisms and language were stuck in another century, and when he laughed, the insecure sound of a young kid squeaked out. He’d been Captain America for so long, but still hit his head on short doorframes and bought clothes a few sizes too small, always remaining shocked when they didn’t fit.

Bucky was not the same. He didn’t flirt or dance. He didn’t laugh, joke, drink, or brawl, and you failed to imagine how this was the same man that tried talking the red dress off of a young Peggy Carter. Finally, it had hit you that Bucky’s early life was long gone and no years of healing would bring it back.

Even now, curled up on your couch, you can’t fool yourself into thinking he could ever truly be fixed. There would always be more levels of healing to endure, more coping mechanisms to learn, further ways to grow. Sometimes, he didn’t seem driven to take any steps toward bettering himself, content with his internal and external scars being all he had to show for his trauma. He was determined though -- had made it all of these years somehow. Even if his stubbornness worked against him, it had to count for something.

You’re about to let yourself wallow over him once more when a thump echoes loudly through your apartment, rattling the walls with its intensity. You will yourself off the couch, leaving behind a half-eaten bowl of pasta, and glance out the back window, seeing nothing but sleet-streaked streets. It takes an admittedly long time to realize someone’s knocking at your door, but you don’t need to look at the clock to know it’s way too late for visitors. Some animalistic instinct warns you to be cautious, but you have little confidence in whatever criminal has decided to pay you a visit in the pouring rain.

You unlock the door with a sigh and swing it open, cold air chilling the tip of your nose instantly.

“Bucky?”

The immediate sight of him evokes a nauseating sense of deja vu; hair slick against his forehead, lips nearing a shade of purple. When he awkwardly shifts his weight, you hear the telltale squeak of his wet boots and it lets you know he’s nervous since you wouldn’t hear him otherwise.

He exhales in obvious relief. “You’re still here.”

You’re thankful the overhang blocks the rain from reaching him since you don’t feel too inclined to welcome him in. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask, but barely listen for his answer as you take in his exhausted expression. His chest is heaving, and you glance out to the road expecting to see his motorcycle in the distance, but the street is bare.

“I thought…” He must think better of whatever assumption he’s brewing since he quickly shakes his head. You flinch at the cold water that speckles your skin. “It doesn’t matter. I need to talk to you.”

He must be stupid to not realize he’s the reason you left. You need to be away from him and inviting him inside your otherwise isolated apartment is far from the best idea. “What is it?” you ask, not budging. “Is everyone okay?”

It’s clear he’s expecting a different answer, though you can’t entirely blame him. If he’d shown up any day prior to now, you’d be laying out a red carpet. Instead, his features melt into confusion, and it’s one of the few expressions you’re still not used to seeing; his brows soft, lips plump with a heavy sigh. “You had that date tonight,” he answers, and you’re too distracted by his mouth for the words to register.

When they do, you’re confused. “Wh-”

“I was gonna stop you from going.”

The rest of your question catches in your throat, words lodged in your airpipe. The night of the party fills your head and you breathe in the smell of alcohol and heartbreak. “Tom?” you ask, racking your brain for his name. The single utterance results in a sour expression from Bucky, one that you mirror quickly. “Jesus, Bucky. Did you really think I’d go out with that douche?”

He goes to speak, but you cut him off, irritated. “Even if I did, how the fuck does that have anything to do with you showing up here? Christ, did you walk here? You’re soaked.”

“Ran, actually,” Bucky corrects, and your heart skips a beat. “Can I come in?”

The sane and logical answer would be to slam the door in his face, so you open it wider and step aside. You have to know why he ran in the middle of a storm to check on you, even if a hopeful inkling deep in your heart has already come up with a reason. You probably just worried Steve by running off, but your curiosity gets the best of you. “Alright…”

The second Bucky steps inside, your carpets are soaked with dark boot marks. “Fuck,” you curse, cringing at the sight. “Let me get a towel.” You can’t stand to be next to him for another second anyway, so you race down the hall before he can argue. When you catch a glance of yourself in the bathroom mirror, your nerves are more than visible; your skin losing color by the second, eyes strained with overthinking.

It’s easy to start coddling him once you return, patting away the water on his face before sandwiching his hair between the folded towel and squeezing the strands dry. “I know you do a lot of stupid shit, but running through New York City during a storm has to be one of your worst ideas yet,” you scold, but your touch is gentle and, for once, he allows it. “And I know you hate cellphones but could you really not call? Or get a taxi, at least?”

You know you’re rambling, but you’re keenly aware that if you don’t talk, neither of you will, and that silence will make you spiral. Chest pounding, you start to talk again, before realizing Bucky is gripping your wrist, pulling you from him softly. “Doll,” he murmurs, and this time you’re too nervous to correct him. “It’s okay.” With a slight tug, you yank yourself from his grasp, shaky fingers digging into the wet towel. You use the last dry corner to pat his damp palms, ignoring how large and rough his hands are against yours.

“I told you to stop doing this,” Bucky reminds you softly but doesn’t interfere. “You’re always trying to fix people… patch them up. You gotta take care of yourself, too.” Still, he lets you finish his other hand before he steps back, and you glance at him.

“No offense, Buck, but me coming here -- alone -- was kind of my attempt at that,” you tell him, frowning.

“I… I know, I’m sorry-”

“Bucky.” You’re not sure you can take another second. “What are you really doing here?”

He inhales sharply, and when he begins, you can immediately tell he’s not going to answer your question right away. Knowing he’s a man of very few words, you latch onto the way he seems to be opening up. “Every day, it’s like…” He shakes his head, trembling. “I don’t know who I am or if any of this is even real. It feels like every day is my last and everything is catching up to me all at once. I didn’t want you to be stuck in that, too.”

Bucky glances at you and his eyes soften; white ice cracking to reveal soft blue water underneath. When he reaches for your hand again, you’re in too much shock to deny him, even when he’s squeezing so tightly it hurts. He’s not just scared you’ll be taken from him, he’s scared you’ll willingly leave.

“You deserve better than that, doll.” His voice cracks around the nickname this time and you can hardly believe what’s happening. “I… I won’t ever be able to give you what you deserve.” Your fingernails leave crescents in his palm, and you’re not sure if you’re trying to hold him closer or scare him away. “I just can’t go another day without you gone,” he finally admits, and you gasp.

“Bucky… I don’t-”

He inches closer, face flush with insecurity. “I know. I fucked up -- I fucked up so bad. I don’t blame you if you don’t want this… If you don’t want me, I understand. I just -- you deserve to know how I really feel. I can give you that much, at least.” His grip finally loosens, and you realize he’s shaking, but not from nerves.

Your lips part, and his eyes glimmer with hope. “You’re freezing,” you finally say, and he visibly deflates. “You need to -- um, just sit down for a second.”

“...I’m fine.”

“Please? For me?” The second his chin tilts in a hesitant nod, you’re stalking off toward the bathroom with him in tow. You throw the dirtied towel in the hamper and rustle through the cupboard for a few more. Your bathroom is small, and when Bucky squeezes in behind you, his damp chest presses against your back for a second too long.

When you turn to face him, your noses practically touch. “T-these should be enough,” you stutter, clearing your throat and handing him the fresh towels. “You can hang your clothes up on the towel rod,” you tell him, inching back. He raises a brow and you quickly answer his silent question. “I have some spare stuff you can wear, I think.” And, before he can ask anything else, you push past him, shutting the door behind you.

You have mere seconds to contain yourself, so you rush to your room, mind racing. As you search through your spare drawer, a million questions run through your head. Is Bucky saying he wants to be with you? Does he even know that’s what he’s saying? Is he here on his own accord, or did Steve and Tony send him to ease your heartbreak and lure you home?

You can hear him rustling through the wall and you blindly grab at the only t-shirt and sweats you think could fit; extras left behind by one of the other guys. Hopefully, they’ll work long enough for you to dry Bucky’s clothes and kick him out. He can’t just decide he’s ready, especially not after how he turned you down. You’ll do the polite thing and let him stay until the storm ends, but then he needs to leave.

The bathroom door creaks open the second you step in front of it, Bucky peering out with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Just like the last time he was shirtless in front of you, you will your eyes to stay above his neck. Still, you can’t ignore the fact that now he’s allowing himself to be in this state with you, completely vulnerable.

“I found these,” you squeak, handing the carefully folded clothes to him.

He doesn’t take them. “Whose are these?” Silent envy drips from his tongue and you shiver at the thought of it; Bucky being possessive of you, yearning to fill the small drawer in your wardrobe. Swallowing heavily, you rustle the shirt to see the tag.

“Steve, probably? Maybe Clint…” You spot the letters and shake your head. “No, it’s an extra large. But the sweats are definitely Clint’s. Steve never wears them.” Bucky listens amusedly to your rambling, and you quickly clamp your mouth shut. You practically shove the clothes into his hands, stumbling backward. “I’ll just be in the living room.” The door doesn’t click shut until you’re out of view.

It’s hard not to collapse on the couch the second you reach it, overwhelmed with a sense of relief of a wall separating you two. Try as you might, you still can’t comprehend what’s currently happening. As much as you want to kick Bucky out and never see him again, pure delight has started clawing at the inside of your chest, eager to be let out. If he confesses to you once more, you don’t think you’ll be able to turn him down.

When Bucky emerges from the bathroom, your heart pangs at the sight of him. He sinks into the chair across from you with an air of domesticity, like he’s always meant to be here. It’s like you bought that chair with him in mind because it fits him perfectly, and he fills it just the right amount.

“You look better already,” you comment, with a shy smile.

He huffs out a disbelieving laugh, glancing up at you from between falling strands of hair, and he’s never seemed more beautiful than in this moment. “I feel better,” he admits. “I’m not a big fan of-”

“The cold,” you finish for him. He blinks in disbelief and you sputter out an excuse. “Sorry. Steve told me.” Then, deciding against putting all of the blame on the one who’s kept you sane this whole time, you continue. “I mean, I’d already kind of guessed so because of that night in the kitchen. He told me later.”

“I don’t remember much from that night,” Bucky confesses, sheepishly; not embarrassed, ashamed.

You’re not sure if it will make him feel any better, but you agree: “I don’t either, actually.” Surprisingly, you mean it. A few days ago you could’ve recalled every small detail from that memory. Now it’s just a dream inside a dream or a  blurry image, abroad a ship, stuffed deep in the bottleneck of your glass brain.

Bucky showed up on your doorstep and it’s like he’s never left.

It’s a slightly unconscious action, but when you shift to make more space on the couch, Bucky takes the silent invitation. His gait is wide, a few silent steps until he’s lowering himself beside you. The line between cushions acts as a border. Even next to you, he’s like an opposing magnet, slowly inching further and further away. He’s toeing over the edge of a cliff, waiting for you to let him fall or tug him back into your desperate arms.

“Bucky-”

“Can I touch you?” His words overlap yours, which isn’t hard considering you’re choking on a whisper, and he’s finally letting the depths of his soul speak without reservation. There’s no context for his question, no way for you to decipher what he’s insinuating. You don’t care. You decide to step off the ledge with him.

“Yes.”

His fingers are grazing your chin, calloused tips warm and rough and gentle. Your pulse thrums against the thin skin of your throat, a lump of emotion gathered in a swallow you can’t force down because Bucky is staring, seeing you for the first time. You don’t blink, and neither does he, blue eyes dew with the first rainfall of spring. You watch winter melt away beneath his fluttering lashes.

“You are so soft,” he murmurs, and you know he doesn’t mean just physically, even when his palms are like sandpaper against your jaw. His grit flattens the rest of your apprehension, and your hands find the sharp angle of his scruff-peppered chin. When your thumb strokes the indentation below his lips, his mouth parts just barely, enough for you to feel the shaky hot exhale he sighs in silent relief.

When he begins to lean in, you don’t budge; not until he’s a hair width away and you feel the tips of his fingers shaking, one hand ice cold, the other burning hot. Then, you close the gap, hungry for the taste of his bleeding heart. The kiss is desperate in its own way, lustful for vulnerability and the satisfaction of finally.

Bucky is the one to press harder, nose harshly digging into your own as his face tilts to fit into the curves of your features like a missing puzzle piece; knocked haphazardly onto the floor when the box is first opened. You can feel his hair, still damp, against your forehead. His metal arm clicks into place, fingers adjusting their grip, and an unfamiliar sensation shoots up your spine. Fear.

He’s never been so close. His hand could easily wrap around your throat and take you out, without him even sparing a second glance. A moment of desperation and your lack of resistance would be all he needed. One kiss is all it would take.

Instead, he pulls away, though not without leaving one last sweet peck on your pursed lips. When your eyes flutter open, he’s blinking in the sight of you with a genuine smile painted on his face; tongue quickly darting between his teeth and catching the last taste of you on his mouth. He lets out a disbelieving laugh, a stifled chuckle that’s just enough to have you joining him, until your cheeks burn from grinning.

“Did --  was that okay?” Bucky asks, lines around his lips deepening. “I thought you were gonna pull away for a moment there.”

“No!” you answer quickly, feeling your skin flush at the admission. “It was… nice. Very nice.” He’s clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words, especially when he strokes your cheek to further fluster you. “G-great, really.”

“Great,” he echoes. “I haven’t kissed anyone since 1945.”

You can’t help but laugh at his secret. He’s kissing you and only worried he wasn’t good enough. Bucky, the playboy, Barnes, is worried some seventy years of inexperience could stop him from stealing your breath with a single touch. Thankfully, he knows your reaction isn’t out of dismissal or jest, and soon his face is red with cheerful exertion.

“Can I ask you something?” He questions, quieting down but not losing any of his warmth. “Will you come back? To the facility, I mean.”

“No,” you start, watching his face fall before you can finish. “But only because I bought enough groceries to last me the whole weekend and I don’t want them to go to waste. But you can stay with me if you want.” His eyes are wide, brows raised. “My place is big enough and I think I have more of Steve’s clothes lying around…”

“You’d…” He swallows the lump growing in his throat. “You’d actually be okay with that?”

You let out a soft sigh. “Of course.” You force yourself not to backtrack or shy away. Not now. “We could rent some movies? It’ll probably storm the next couple of days so there’s really no point in heading out. Unless you want to?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No. I don’t… I’d want to stay in if I stay. I want to stay. Can I?”

“Yes.” You grab his hand in yours and squeeze. “Yes, Bucky. Stay with me.”

The air settles but you see an unanswered question lingering on his mind. You’re about to press, but then he’s asking, shyly: “Will you let me kiss you again?”

It’s such an easy question, so effortless, and yet it holds the weight of months spent alone. You wonder if he has suffered the same aching coldness as you, desperate for someone else’s warmth. You want to tell him he can kiss you forever, until forever, after forever. “You can kiss me whenever,” are the words you finally settle on, and it’s clear they appease him.

“I’ll take the couch, tonight,” Bucky says a moment later. A small relief, since it’s too soon for anything like that. Personal space is something you’ll need to work on. Not tonight.

But you’re still curious: “What if you have a nightmare?”

He huffs, albeit with the ghost of a smile. “If you don’t hear me, I’ll wake you up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Later, after so many bowls of pasta you realize you’ll have to order takeout eventually, Bucky sinks into the couch; toes pressed against the arm, a thick blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. You excuse yourself for a moment to go turn on the heater, setting it a few degrees higher than usual so he doesn’t get cold. Your phone beeps softly from the pocket of your pajama pants. It’s Steve.

“I told you he’d notice.”

When you hear the tell-tale sigh of a snore, and realize Bucky has drifted off, lights still on and arm dropped off the side of the couch, you have to smile.

“Took him long enough.”

---

bucky tag list: @queens-rose-garden @eunoia-kth @zhangyixingxing1 @augustvandyne @fairydxll @justreadingficsdontmindme @interwebseriesfan24

[munson-blurbs]

BUGS!!!! Idk when you’ll get this but it’s me Sav (munsonology) 👾

What if Eddie catches you in the adult section at family video and you’re caught with the kinkiest tape they have 🤤 Eddie’s shocked because this is beyond the beginners level y’all are at but intrigued that his perfect girl is actually freakier than him 🥵

Savvvvv I adore you and your smutty brain 💚 I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: smutttttt (18+ only, minors GO AWAY), adult films, bondage, piv, some crying, slight breeding kink (?) idk, language

WC: 2.1k

--

Eddie thought he knew you pretty well. You'd only been a couple for a few months, but you'd been friends for years prior to getting together. If someone asked him what your favorite pizza topping was, he could confidently say it was mushroom. You were definitely more of a night owl than an early bird. You wanted to travel the world; Eddie wanted more than anything to take you on an African safari like you'd always dreamed.

And up until the moment he caught you in Family Video, he would've sworn up and down that your guilty pleasure was cheesy romantic comedies.

You'd had to cancel your date with him to finish up a paper for the class you were taking at Hawkins Community College, so Eddie trekked over to visit Robin and Steve and find something to occupy his unexpectedly empty night.

"Hey, Munson!" Steve greets him cheerily. "How's it been?"

Eddie shrugs his shoulders. "Can't complain. Y/N has to get some work done tonight. Figured I'd see if you guys had any new releases I could check out."

Robin crinkles her nose. "Y/N?" she questions. "She's right over there." She points over to the curtained-off section of the store and glances at Eddie knowingly.

Eddie's jaw could've hit the floor. You watched porn? Sure, you were amazing in bed, always knowing how to touch him and turning him into putty. Was it because you had done extensive research in the adult section of Family Video?

He quietly shuffles over to where you're standing, browsing the various titles. You're not interested in the same-old generic "plumber fixes lonely housewife's pipes" or "pizza boy delivers extra-large sausage pizza to sorority girls." You want something different, something to relax you from your stressful midterms, something kinky.

A title jumps out at you: Bonded Babes. The cover shows a woman clad in barely-there lingerie, tied to the bed with a ball gag wedged between her crimson lips. Perfect.

"Holy shit." The sound of a man's voice startles you, and you let out a little yelp. You look up to see your boyfriend, his eyes glued to the VHS you'd just selected. You hide it behind your back, feeling your whole body blushing.

Eddie steps towards you. "Whatcha got there, sweetheart?" he prods, cocking his head to the side. "Because that doesn't look like a John Hughes flick to me."

"'S nothing," you mumble, embarrassment flooding through you. "Just wanted to decompress after writing this stupid paper."

"Mmm," Eddie says knowingly, "so let me see what helps you relax, baby girl."

You shake your head wordlessly.

Eddie laughs. "C'mon, you really think you're gonna scare me off?" he protests. "You don't even wanna know what I watch."

You raise an eyebrow and decide to explore that comment further at another time. "I-I should probably get home. Back to my essay." But he blocks your escape, placing a strong hand on your stomach.

"Hand it over," he orders, and you reluctantly oblige.

"Don't judge me," you plead. What if he sees what you chose and is freaked out? He wouldn't be the first guy who couldn't handle your kinks and desires.

"Hmm," Eddie says, looking carefully, "haven't seen this one yet." He gives you a mischievous grin. "Wanna watch it together?"

You clear your throat, caught off-guard by the suggestion. "It, uh, might not be your thing," you offer lamely.

"Well, I guess there's just one way to find out, sweetheart."

~

Your roommate is out for the night, drinking away her midterm week nerves, so you bring Eddie back to your place. He's all too eager to pop the video in the player, practically breaking down the door to the apartment.

"Okay," he says, plopping down next to you on the sofa and pressing play, "let's see what gets my girl going, hmm?"

As with most porn, there's no real plot. This one gives the smallest backstory about a woman who keeps talking back to her boyfriend. The boyfriend--a buff dude with a perfectly waxed chest--decides to punish her and shut her up while he has his way with her. He uses handcuffs on her wrists and ropes tied tight around her ankles. The pièce de résistance, of course, is the gag that allows for moans and whimpers and nothing else.

You bury your head in your hands. "I warned you," you whine, "it's, like, a lot."

For the first time in his life, Eddie Munson is speechless. He finally says, "Do you...want me to do this to you?"

"It's a lot, Eds," you repeat shyly. "We don't have to."

"What if I want to try it?" he asks, and you gawp incredulously, bringing a laugh to his lips. "I have all kinds of fantasies about you, baby. Don't be too surprised."

You maneuver yourself so you're straddling his lap, grinding your aching cunt across the crotch of his jeans. The friction from both of your clothes only makes you wetter. You kiss down his neck as he grabs your ass, squeezing and pulling you even closer to him.

"Let's try it," you whisper in his ear, biting his lobe. You hear the people on screen groaning and grunting exaggeratedly.

With that, Eddie lifts you, hands never leaving your ass. He brings you to your bedroom, dropping you on the bed and raking through your drawers for T-shirts, grabbing two of them.

"I got the cuffs," he says, patting the accessory on his belt, "but no ropes. Gotta improvise."

"So innovative," you tease, beckoning him back to you with a flutter of your eyelashes. His lips crash into yours, pushing you down onto the bed as he climbs on top of you. The weight of his body pressing into yours always gets you so hot; you try and cope by slipping your hand down into your jeans, beneath your panties.

Eddie breaks the kiss and hums disapprovingly. "Baby," he chastises, "you're not gonna get yourself off when I can do that for you." He removes your hand from your clit and pulls off your shirt, exposing a lacy white bra. He sucks on the exposed part of your breasts as he fiddles with the clasp, and you moan softly when he unhooks your bra and runs his fingers over your hardening nipples.

"You're not denying me this," he growls, tearing off your jeans. His thumb grazes your panties, and he throws his head back when he feels how wet you are. He gets on his knees and kisses your cunt through the thin fabric, loving each twitch of your legs.

Eddie hooks a finger into the waistband and yanks them down, shoving them in his back pocket. "Gonna need these later," he tells you, sending a shiver down your spine. "Lay back on the pillow for me, sweetheart."

You do as you're told, hearing the click of the handcuffs unlatching. Eddie snaps one on to your left wrist, loops the chain around one of the backboard spindles, and brings the other cuff around your right wrist. "Pull for me," he says, and when you demonstrate that you're stuck, he smiles wickedly.

He grabs the shirts--old concert tees, you realize gratefully, nothing expensive or fancy--and ties one around each ankle, then to the spindles on the footboard, legs spread widely. "Wriggle around for me, baby. Let me see how good I've got you." Sure enough, you kick your legs with incredibly restricted movement. "Perfect," he muses.

"Eddie," you whimper, "need you to touch me. Need your fingers or your tongue or your cock. Something, please."

He laughs at this, reaching back into his pocket. "Thanks for reminding me," he says roughly. You feel a piece of cloth between your lips as your soaked panties are shoved in your mouth. "Don't wanna hear a word from you; just those pretty little moans."

"Mhm," you manage.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters. “Safe words. Uh, just say peanut butter if you need me to stop.” You nod in response.

With that, he brings his lips to your torso, trailing kisses across your tits and down your stomach. The contrast between your completely naked body and his fully clothed one turns you on even more, if that’s possible.

You let out a whine as he licks a stripe along your folds, slick coating his chin. “Taste s’good,” he groans before finding your clit and sucking on it. A guttural sound escapes your throat at the sudden stimulation.

“Already overwhelmed, baby?” he teases, words vibrating into you. “Good.” He focuses his attention back to your sensitive bundle, caressing it with his tongue. You buck your hips as one finger enters your pussy, limited by the makeshift ties.

You’re waiting for him to place another digit inside you, like he normally does, but now is not the time to expect anything. Instead, he withdraws his finger and his mouth from your sex, undoing his pants button and pulling out his hard cock. He brings it to your lips, removing the gag, but stops you before you can suck it.

“Spit on it,” he demands, and you spit on his dick. He uses it as lube as he fucks his fist right in front of you, stuffing the panties back in your mouth.

“You see what you do to me? he snarls, “I want you to use your hands, but since you’re being punished, I have to do it myself.”

You want to tell him that he can fuck your face; or better yet, your pussy, but the gag prevents you from articulating this. You writhe against the handcuffs, craving touch.

Eddie uses his free hand to grip the wrist closest to him. “Nice try,” he smirks, “but you’re not gonna cum until I say you can. Got it?”

“Mhm,” you croak out. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes as your frustration mounts. He wipes one away with a smile.

“Poor thing,” he taunts, “wants my dick so badly that she’s fuckin’ crying for it, huh?” He pumps himself until he’s so hard it hurts, precum beading at the slit. “‘S your lucky day, sweetheart. If I don’t fuck you now, I’m gonna cum all over my hand. And why would I do that when your pretty pussy is right there?”

He places himself between your legs again, tapping on your outer thigh. “Lift these hips a little for me.” You lift them obediently. “That’s a good girl.” You whimper at the praise.

He uses the combination of your slick and his precum to push into you, stretching you and mixing pain with pleasure. “Can you say my name with your mouth full like that?”

“Eddie,” you groan. It comes out muffled but neither of you care. “Eddie, s’good.”

He thrusts into you harder, yelling out your name as he does. His voice is gravelly and intense. “Gonna cum inside of you. Gonna mark my fuckin’ territory.” You’ve been on the pill, and he knows this, but he’s never finished in you before without a condom, always pulling out and spilling onto your tits.

“Yes, Eddie,” you chant over and over as he rubs circles on your clit while fucking you. 

“Be a good girl and cum for me. Show me how good I make you feel.” As soon as he says it, you release all over his cock, clenching around him as you hit your peak.

“You feel amazing,” he praises. “Can’t hold back anymore. Y’feel too good.” He empties inside you, long hot spurts coating your walls. When he’s done, a sweating and panting mess, you’re too sore to move. Still, you miss him in you as soon as he withdraws.

Eddie immediately removes the panties from your mouth, unlocks the cuffs, and unties the shirts. “Baby,” he purrs, “that was hot as shit.”

You nod in agreement. “Best sex I’ve ever had.”

He plants a long, gentle kiss on your mouth and runs to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. “Let me clean you up.” He wipes down your inner thighs, kissing them when he’s done. “I know this wasn’t in the movie,” he says with a small smile, “but I wasn’t about to leave my girl a mess.”

You return the smile gratefully. “Thank you, Eds.”

He crawls back into bed facing you, pecking kisses on your nose. “I love you, my freaky girl.” He sighs dramatically. “I mean, I already knew you were the one for me, but this just sealed the fuckin’ deal!”

You giggle at his theatrics. “I love you, too,” you say, kissing his forehead. “And next time, you can pick the movie. I can’t be the only freak in this relationship.”

--

[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Ivy | chapter two

summary: Rooster always knows your drink of choice and how you liked to be kissed, while Jake and you keep breaking things.

listen to: Sad beautiful tragic (Taylor’s version) -Taylor Swift | Midnight rain - Taylor Swift | Style- Taylor Swift | Desesperados -Rauw Alejandro (playlist here)

warning: smuttt

word count: 6.4k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fii!!

“I just can’t imagine myself in a world where I’m not with you, always,” Rooster stated in the small room you’d been assigned on the aircraft carrier after. 

The mission had ended. Maverick had saved Rooster, then Rooster had saved Maverick and then Hangman had saved both of them. All of the personnel in the carrier had celebrated once they landed, you’d cried as you watched your uncle Maverick climbing off the plane but especially Rooster, who’d hugged you, picking you up from the floor as you’d launched into his arms. 

“Rooster,” you breathed as he gave a step forward to you. 

“I’ve always loved you, I’ve always loved you and I can’t pretend that I don’t,” Rooster stated as he cupped your face in his large hands, leaning down softly before he kissed you with intent. 

You took your time but soon you were draping your arm on Rooster’s shoulder as he picked you up easily by the waist, pressing you against him and raising you so you were mostly at the same eye level. He held you, swaying both of you softly as you continued to kiss the other in the darkness of the room. You had never wanted anything else, you wanted this, him to go to your room and have you soft and pliant against him, you wanted him to be yours. 

Your mind snapped when someone yell from one of the corners of the Hard Deck. You glanced at the officer before your eyes fell back to where you were looking before, to Rooster’s caramel curls and his stupid Hawaiian shirt. 

The Hard Deck was always packed on a Saturday night, a sea of beige and green uniforms would come around six o’clock and leave at four a.m. approximately. In between that sea of beige and green, up at the pool table section, a tradition had been established. At six o’clock the dagger squad would meet there to play some nice game of pool, a space reserved by your friends, to relax after a week of flying through the sky. 

If it was a good day, Hangman and Rooster along with Fanboy would be butting heads about who would win but at the end, Phoenix and you would usually take the price, which meant that anything you’d ordered would be paid by them while Payback and Bob would take advantage of the game and bet. It had been like that around five months after you’d ended the uranium mission. There were short missions here and there but then you were stationed somewhere else, then Virginia came around and the rest was history. 

Until now. 

You glanced as the others were playing pool while you sat at the bar, waiting for Rooster who’d whispered something to Phoenix, she patted him on the back as if he was encouraging him. You refused to dwell on it, knowing where the conversation was going to go; just as you’d refused to dwell on the fact that Hangman had his eyes on you at that moment too. 

“Well, Kazansky,” Penny muttered softly as she gave you a smirk from the edge of the bar. 

“Penny,” you nodded gracefully at her, hoping that it would allow you some grace time prior to the interrogatory she would do. 

Before Penny could open her mouth, you felt Rooster’s hand on the small of your back. 

He had always been into physical touch, he loved having you close enough that you could feel the heat irradiating from his skin. You recalled how you would hug him from behind when he was shirtless in the kitchen, and place a soft kiss between his shoulder blades. The whole thing seemed like a lifetime ago. 

“Penny,” Rooster cooed softly, a wide smile on his face. 

“Rooster,” Penny smiled as he eyed both of you. “You seem in a happy mood,” she answered. 

Your eyes narrowed immediately at the insinuation but Penny chose to ignore you while Rooster chuckled softly, he glanced at you softly and decided it would be best to ignore it too. Though, he could barely hold it in himself not to say that he was relieved about seeing you again, about being close to you again. 

“When am I not when I see you,” Rooster answered with those eyebrows raised happily. “Can we have a beer and a lemonade, please?”

You turned around with a smile. He always remembered, you didn’t like beer and you wouldn’t drink while you were working, just like your father had taught you. 

“On their way,” Penny nodded while winking at Rooster and then smirking at you. 

Penny had always liked you together, she was friends with your mother who was also the daughter of another admiral. They’d known each other since they were teenagers, growing up along with Penny was something you’d love; Rooster did too. 

“Thank you,” Rooster and you replied at the same time. You gazed at the other for a second before you laughed softly. 

Rooster finally let go of the small of your back as he sat down next to you with a sigh. Both of you fell into a comfortable silence, Rooster noticed the pensive look on your face as you looked into the ceiling, you often did that, he’d noticed. He didn’t exactly know why you did that but he decided not to mess with it as he realized that he was the only one you did that with and he’d come to love how you looked when you did it as if you were staring into outer space. 

You didn’t talk until Penny brought your drinks. 

“Do you think that this mission would be flown on F-18s? Or F-35?” you decided to go with the mission talk. You remember how much you studied together, and how many things you would discuss the missions prior to this one.

It somehow made you and him feel better as if you were safer if you knew every detail together. 

“F-35 but you know Mav’s love for F-18,” Rooster replied jokingly. 

You raised your eyebrows, smirking knowingly. “You think Cyclone’s going to allow that again?”

Rooster chuckled softly as he sipped on his beer softly while gazing at you. His eyes always gleamed in a certain way since you knew him, they never light up like that for anyone else. 

“It has a good track,” he answered, biting his inner cheek.

You rolled your eyes at him while laughing softly, Rooster followed suit. Still, his eyes gleamed in a way that you feel your heart squeezing tight on your chest. You knew him like the palm of your hand, the magnetic force that pulled you both together felt like gravity when you were around him, you knew his scars and how they felt under your fingertips. 

“I’ve missed you,” Rooster muttered as he leaned into you once the laughter died down, he placed his hand on your leg softly. 

You stayed quiet for a second, not daring to look at him. You stared down at the hand and gulped. You knew that he hadn’t accepted that things were over, that they’d been ruined to the point that you didn’t know if they were beyond repair. 

Another part of you wondered if this was you if it was just in your head and if the right thing was to let go of what had happened. 

“Rooster,” you stated, hoping that you sounded more authoritative, more firm like your father often did. 

He didn’t listen though, he knew he wasn’t very good with hard conversations and especially after what he’d done to you, even more, when he knew that you had a hard time with putting your walls down. He was aware of them, he was so aware of them because he’d been right there when you started building them and he was one of the few people you’d allowed to enter. 

Now, he just was an outsider, another one of the bunch, and Rooster hated it. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” he repeated as he leaned down, even more, he pressed his forehead softly against your temple, his lips ghosting over your ear. 

You closed your eyes for a second. Lips on the shell of your ear, the lemon and burnt wood scent surrounding you, his groans, and your soft breaths as Jake guided your hips. The memory flashed before your eyes, you opened them startled as you pulled away from Rooster, quickly climbing down off the chair. 

“We shouldn’t do this here,” you replied as you looked around, some people had noticed; you glanced at the pool table, and you saw Hangman watching you from afar, the pole so tight on his hands that you could see his knuckles turning white. 

“You said that we could talk,” Rooster protested, you glanced at him again as you watched the hurt puppy eyes that he was giving you. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose as your eyes fell into the crowd, not daring to look back again at the pool table when Hangman is looking at you. The way that both of them stared at you as if they were waiting as if the silence would make you speak or break whatever illusion there was. 

“Yeah, but not like this in front of our friends,” you reasoned. It’s a half-true. You didn’t want to do anything of the sort in front of your friends and co-workers, and you were fairly private with your personal life; obviously, you were close but you’d learned from your dad that it was best to keep things to yourself. 

You also didn’t want to do it in form of Hangman. 

You hadn’t spoken since the morning, stolen glances here and there, a small hi when you two were in the same room. Sometimes he smiled at you, you wondered if it was because he realized that you were walking slightly funny because of the damage he’d done or because he knew that under your uniform you were covered in hickeys and bruises from the night before. Sometimes he glared at you, especially when you were close to Rooster. 

“Why hadn’t you told them?” Rooster questioned you. 

“It’s none of their business,” you replied. 

Rooster nodded softly at you, he glanced back at the table and then looked around as he placed his hands on his hips. He passed a hand through his caramel curls, he was meditating on it, you hoped that he would listen to you, that he would leave it alone but you knew Rooster, you knew that he wouldn’t. 

“I really need to tell you this,” 

You sighed, nodding softly. 

“Come,”

You grabbed Rooster’s wrist, tugging him forward as you pulled him from the bar, through the crowd of uniforms hoping that no one would see you, hoping that no one would notice both of you exciting the bar and walking to the beach, hoping that Hangman wouldn’t be looking. 

The sea was loud, waves crashing down a bit harder than usual. There was a crescent moon above the two of you, you could see part of his features in the darkness but it wasn’t the calm and breezy place that you’d grown up with. As if the sky and the sea could feel your feelings too, you weren’t at peace at all, less with Rooster looking at you in a way that you didn’t want at the moment. 

“I’m so sorry,” He finally breathed out, his voice wavering for a second in the end. You stared at him, you’d heard him saying sorry so many times in the last two months of calls and the night that it happened. Only until now, the word didn’t sound so hollow in your ears. “I... I’m so so sorry about what I…” Rooster struggled, you wondered if it was because he had a harder time accepting what he did, it didn’t go with how he often saw himself, he was always in check. “I messed it up so badly, I want to fix this and us,”

You closed your eyes at his plead, you knew that he was sorry but the mere suggestion of just wanting to fix it sounded terribly trivial at best, at worst, the thing was that he was trying to fix you. 

“Rooster, I’ve told you before that we can be friends but,” you sighed but Rooster quickly cut you off. 

“I’ve always loved you and I think, what I did,” he continued. “I’m not drinking and I’ve been going to therapy and it’s,”

“Rooster, that’s great but,” 

He cut you off again. It overwhelmed you, his words, the weight of them, and you began to feel out of breath as you stared at him, as your voice was drowned by his, again. 

“You are it, for me and I can’t think about being with anyone else but you,” you could feel the desperation in his tone, even more, when he stepped closer to you. 

“Bradley, I…” 

You didn’t have a second to react, to pull away. You were engulfed by him, Rooster quickly cupped your face softly, closing the space between your lips. It was soft, it was comforting, and it was in a way like all the prior kisses that you’d had before. The kiss stole your breath away but the passion that usually filled your kisses wasn’t quite there, there was the intent but soon you realized that intensity wasn’t passion, Rooster was clutching, clutching to hope, the hope of having you back.

You quickly pulled away from him, placing your hands on his large chest and pushing him off you. Rooster stumbled slightly on the sand as you breathed harshly. His gaze flickered down at his feet and then at you, confusion clouding his thoughts. 

“Could you just stop and try to fucking listen?” you snapped at him, glaring at him. 

“I…”

How dared he? After everything that had happened, he thought that after twenty-four hours of seeing each other he could have you back.

“I’m beyond heartbroken too about what happened but it’s not,” you tried to put together any coherent thought. It wasn’t just that you still felt hurt about what happened, that you weren’t sure that you could fix it because, at the end of the day, you didn’t want the same things. “You still want kids and a wife?”

Bradley blinked at you, his breathing a bit harsh. “I want you,” he replied, honestly. 

You stared at him as you passed a hand through your hair. It was strange, the tension around you, how the overwhelming nature of it all was coating everything; even Rooster and you. Rooster’s shoulder sank as if dread filled his whole body, you hated it, you felt like you were breaking him on purpose.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you muttered as you stared at him. He wanted a bride, a housewife while you were chasing something completely different. “I can’t go back to this,”

You tried to will your voice not to tremble but it cracked at the end as you watched him. The tears threatened to fall from your eyes as you glared at Rooster for a second before you decided that it was enough pain for one night. You didn’t listen to him, just like he hadn’t listened to you, you chose to leave, quickly climbing into your bike and riding home. 

On the way home, you thought about it all. Were you being heartless? Were you out of your mind pulling him away? How many girls wouldn’t want that? You weren’t new to pushing people away, pushing sometimes things that made you happy away. You often did it, which is why you hadn’t told Rooster your feelings for him when you realized it when he was almost killed on that mission, and probably you wouldn’t have told him if it wasn’t for him confessing it right away. 

Ice would’ve known what to do. He would’ve helped you reason it, you weren’t afraid of telling him things even though the only thing you wanted was to make him proud. Ice enjoyed that you always came to him for advice, you were so close. 

Maybe, he would’ve told you that it wasn’t the best that you moved in with Rooster so fast when you’d started being together. Maybe, he would’ve told you that you were going too fast with Rooster and it could give him the wrong impression. Maybe, he would’ve told you that the two of you didn’t match. But he hadn’t been here with you when it all passed and you had to face what you did yourself. 

When you reached your place, it was still early in the night but your mother was out, and the lights were off in the house. She often liked to have dinner on Saturdays with your sister and her family, she would often spend hours with your nieces and would be too enthralled by them, reading them stories and putting them to sleep to even realize how late she would usually arrive. But then you noticed that there was a truck, a familiar one that you’d recalled seeing before. 

It wasn’t until you reached the gate to the backyard so you could go to the guest house, that you realized who it belonged to. You dropped the keys on the ground, stiffening and freezing in place because right in front of you, Jake was there. Sitting down on the steps, in front of the gate. He raised his head softly as he heard your footsteps, pushing himself from the stairs and standing up straight. 

He was still in uniform and you wondered how long he’d been there, when he’d left the bar and how quickly he got to your place, he’d been there before when you still lived in San Diego, it shouldn’t be that shocking but it still rocked you slightly. You noticed that he looked pretty underneath the soft moonlight, his sea-foam eyes still visible even in the darkness. 

“Hangman?” you asked softly. “What are you doing here?”

We need to talk,” he said, his accent showing up slightly while he looked at you. 

You rolled your eyes before you picked your keys from the ground and walked towards the gate. “Everyone wants to talk today,” you replied as you walked past him before opening the door. “Look I’m exhausted and,”

“I swear, I’m not going to take more than five minutes,” Jake pleaded, leaning in with an anxious breath. 

You turned around, raising your eyebrow as your heart rate picked up. Hangman tried to keep his features as neutral as possible, but you still saw the look in his eyes. The overcoming nature of his look was the thing that made you change your mind, at least you figured, you could finish whatever had started the night before without many ramifications coming from it. 

“Come in,” you finally breathed out, swallowing as you step out of his way and motioned him to come inside. Jake followed your suit through the garden until you reached the house. It wasn’t an enormous place by any means, it seemed more like a pretty apartment but you were thankful to have it either way. 

 “You want something to drink?” you asked Jake as you finally closed the door to your place, leaving your purse and keys on the sofa as Jake stood awkwardly in the living room. 

Jake laid his eyes on you as you walked to the kitchen, in a way that you felt your skin burning at the thought of him just looking like you in such a manner. But you didn’t want or need to think about it, already being exhausted with everything that had unfolded.

“It’s fine, thank you,” he replied as you nodded while staring at him, always a gentleman, you thought. 

Silence filled the room as your gazes met, the tension crackling in the air as you held your breath as you anticipated his words. Hangman was known for sleeping around, he wasn’t a slut but he wasn’t a saint either, you knew that much. He’d probably regret giving you a wrong impression, he probably wanted to clear the air about it so you could keep a healthy competition on the mission; you wondered why it stung a bit. 

“Brat, about last night,” Jake finally breathed out as he walked towards you in his flight suit, but you cut him off. You didn’t want to be hurt any longer, Rooster and you had made enough damage for a day. 

“Hangman, I know that you’re dating or seeing other girls, or sleeping with them and it’s honestly not an issue. I understand,” you stated, clasping your hands delicately-weaving your fingers together- as you stared at him, hoping that your raw statement would allow him to take a deep breath, give you the familiar grin and leave you alone. 

But he didn’t. 

Jake frowned, his confused expression nearly broke you as he blinked rapidly, attempting to process your statement.  

“That’s not what I’m saying, at all,” Jake scoffed as he walked closer to you while your eyes widened a bit. 

“You’re not?”

“I, what happened last night was,” Jake struggled to find the words as you looked up at him doe-eyed, eyebrows furrowed. “It was,” he stopped himself again, frustration written all over his features. 

How could he say that you were the only thing in his mind since the night before was you? How could he say that he’d almost wanted to break Rooster’s nose when he saw how he leaned into you? 

He didn’t have any right to feel like that. You didn’t know about how he felt, he’d never let it shown either way, at least not in an obvious matter. Coyote seemed to be the only one that noticed it, Hangman’s persistent glances, the fact that he let you win -sometimes- on purpose, the way he teased you. 

It startled you, the way he’s unable to speak. Hangman always had something to say but now the words seemed to die down. 

“Did you,” you started but then you closed your mouth, processing his reaction. Part of you wanted to ask him if he’d felt the same intensity that you’d felt but it was complicated to even articulate such a thing, even more, when this was Hangman, you were talking about. You opted for light humor, thinking that Hangman would take it better, trying to go back to your previous dynamic. “Did I leave you speechless, Hangman?” you asked with a smirk. 

Jake didn’t laugh, he simply huffed as he walked closer to you. “Stop, I’m being serious,” Jake grumbled and you laughed softly at him.

“I am being serious too, Hangman,” you teased him, it should’ve been funny but Jake wasn’t laughing. “Were you too pus-”

Your witty response died down on your throat as soon as Jake cupped your face in his hands and leaned in, a small gasp escaped your lips as your eyes met with his demanding gaze. The action was quick and sharp, your pulse raced as Jake’s eyes fell to your lips and then back to your eyes. 

“You said it was the last time. Were you serious about it?” he murmured.

The sincerity in his voice shook you to the bone as you stared at him while his thumb swiped over his cheekbone, eyes pensive. 

“You don’t want me to touch you like I did last night?” the question made your heart lurch on your chest, your body fizzling with excitement as you felt how low his voice was. “Because I know you felt it too, it was amazing and I,” Jake swallowed hard. “Are you back together with him?”

“No,”

Jake let out a breath, his lips quirking up slightly as he pressed his forehead softly against yours. “Good,” he murmured. “Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he breathes out as he pressed his lips eagerly to yours and you let him. 

You let him because you knew that you would be a fool if you were going to just ignore how good it was, how happy you were after months of depression, how your body felt like it was on fire, because deep in your heart you knew that you wanted it too. 

He pressed a hand into your shoulder blade to arch you to him. The kiss was slow, deep, passionate, and lingering desperation rumbling slowly on it as you titled your head, deepening the kiss while his body pressed up fully against you. You quickly wrapped your arm behind his neck and Jake responded by grasping your hips, lifting you up, and settling you on your kitchen island. You could feel him even though both of your flight suits, you pressed your thigh a bit more firmly against him. The effect was instantaneous as Jake let out a soft growl from deep in his chest, sending a ripple of heat shooting down his spine at the sound. You whimpered as you pulled him forward, laying back on the island as the keys and your things clattered on the floor as you slid your arm down to his chest and began to play with the zipper of his flight suit but you lost the train of thoughts as soon as he pulled down yours. 

Jake’s fingers skimmed the sensitive inner skin of your thigh before he placed his hands under the shorts that you were wearing, they brushed your clit softly. You hissed as he slid his middle fingers into you, making you moan at the stretch as you rucked your hips slightly. Jake’s eyes flashed with a mischievous glint and lustful spark as he lunged towards you into another bruising kiss while you struggled with his flight suit while his fingers pumped in and out of you at a steady rate. 

“Jake,” you moaned, Jake’s hips stuttering slightly as he heard you. 

He closed his eyes as you let out another contented moan from your lips while he curled his fingers inside of you expertly before he was kissing you again as he hovered over you, more things -even a glass that you’d left in the morning- clattering and breaking on the floor. You took mental note about the fact that you might need new glasses and that you should probably try to get to the bed before you were breaking more things, but your thoughts went out the window as he bit the revealed skin of your neck before he sucked on it. It had you breathing harsh and whimpering at the action. 

You quickly pushed Jake away. He stared at you wildly and you noticed that maybe he had been waiting for this, for you to snap him out of this dream - maybe telling him off but it wasn’t it. 

“We need to…” you whispered, “We should go to my room,” 

Jake nodded as he climbed down off the kitchen island and quickly lifted you off it as well as if you wouldn’t be able to climb down yourself. You stared at the other as he carefully placed you on the floor, your chests still flushed against the other. You were still breathing harshly as you stared at the other and then you noticed the hint of a smile tugging his lips softly. 

“But, we should take this off, first,” Jake murmured, closer than before, the lemon and burnt wood scent overwhelming you as he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours softly. 

He moved the suit from your shoulders, it quickly pooled off from them and fell to the floor. He grinned innocently while you stared at him. He quickly pulled your shirt over your head and you followed suit, allowing him to undress you. He moved to his knees before you, his eyes trained on your body as he took the edges of your shorts and underwear, he looked up at you for a second -his eyes gleamed as he stared at you in awe and lust. His eyes making you feel breathless, it’d been a while since you felt like that, it’d been a while since someone had looked at you like that, it had been a while since Rooster had looked at you like that. 

You were now completely naked in front of him and Hangman didn’t waste a second. He guided one of your thighs over his shoulder, pressing his lips against the inner skin of your thigh as you stared at him, fingers sliding into his hair, waiting for him as he looked up at you coyly. You were about to complain but you barely get a word out before he finally pressed his mouth between your legs. 

“Fuck,” you cried out, tugging on his hair as Jake’s lips wrap around your clit. 

He flicked his tongue against it tauntingly as you whined, jutting your hips out toward him. The sounds you made spurred him on, as he slipped his tongue into our pussy. You curl your fingers into his hair, harder than before as he groaned softly against your core as you cry loudly. His nose grazes your clit as his tongue fucked into you while you tried to grind your core down onto his mouth. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you whimpered, chest heaving as Hangman’s hold on your hips gets tighter once he feels your legs beginning to tremble. 

Jake hummed in affirmation as you gasp, feeling that the knot on your lower stomach was about to snap as he pressed his lips more eagerly between your legs while you could feel him smirking. If you didn’t know him any better, you were sure that he had a cocky line ready for you, had his tongue not been inside of you. 

“Shit, shit,” you chanted, realizing that Jake was probably having a field day by how he had you, he was trying to do even better than the day before and he was. Jake quickly pressed his fingers inside of you once more, curling them inside of you before he kissed your lip, pushing you over the edge. 

The scream was raw as your whole body buzzed, the warmth spreading throughout your body as your legs shook uncontrollably by the force of your orgasm. But Jake didn’t waste a second, before your vision cleared, he straightened back up, grabbing your jaw and pulling you in for a kiss. You whimpered as you tasted yourself in his mouth. Flames ignite between the two of you, scorching and burning both of you as your lops crash against the other, mouths moving together as your hands roamed everywhere, touching, gripping, grabbing anything you could find. You tug on his flight suit, pulling it down before Jake finally removed the black shirt he had underneath and his boots, your mouth still pressed against his, tongues wrestling for dominance, twining with each other, tasting each other. 

Suddenly, Jake’s hand pressed on your hips turning you as you grabbed the edge of the kitchen island while pressing his chest to your back. He left open-mouthed kisses across your neck and your shoulder blades while you tried to recover your breath but you could only feel Jake. 

Never in your life, you’d been so reckless, you were only reckless in the sky. Growing up with an admiral like Ice, you were raised under pretty strict terms, overprotected and responsible; being the elder daughter. This though, you couldn’t believe you restricted yourself since the academy, you couldn’t deny that the thought of Jake had passed your mind once or twice when you first saw him. But you kept the desire so back in your mind that you hadn’t thought about it for a while until yesterday. And when you woke up you hadn’t even had time to relish what had happened, too worried about Bradley to even think about how Jake had made you feel. 

“I’ll never get tired of looking at you,” Jake murmured as his lips pressed to your shoulder. You smile softly as you push your hips back against his, feeling him persistently pushing against you. “You take me so well, don't you, sweetheart?”

“Hangman, come on,” you whimpered as you moved your hips again, looking for any friction. 

Jake chuckled slightly as a hand reached for your pussy while he presses harder against you. You cry out when he starts to play with your clit, you are sensitive from your first orgasm but that doesn’t stop him as his fingers run through your folds. 

“You’re soaked, angel,” he murmured, almost amused as he saw how you react. He kissed your temple as he continued to work on you. You felt yourself flushing by how sensitive and responsive you were to him, it should be embarrassing or even humiliating at how quickly your whole body craves him, you could feel your arousal coating your inner thigh. 

And although he’s so good at touching you with his fingers, you want him now. 

“Jake,” you snap as he continued to play with your pussy. “Can you fucking hurry up?”

Jake smirked as he watched you. Amazed by the way that you are so needy for him, you always seemed so fucking independent, you never asked for help -not even in missions, which you’d been reprimanded for but now, you are so willing, so open for him, so trusting that it almost made Jake felt like he was about to say something he shouldn’t. 

“C’me here,” Jake whispered gravelly, pushing you onto your stomach on the counter before he sank into you, feeling every single one of his inches. You were so wet for him, so ready but you still cried out so loudly that the thought of your mother hearing you passed your mind. 

He was buried so deep inside of you that his eyes rolled to the back of his head for a second, hips stuttering slightly. For Jake, you felt so fucking perfect, so good, so warm, so tight. Though Jake gave you a few seconds to adjust, you still winced, your body desperately trying to adjust to the stretch of him while he didn’t give you time. 

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Jake choked out as you felt his fingers sinking tightly into your skin the more he trusted you. God, you hoped you were bruised. 

You gripped the edge of the island, gasping for a breath each time Jake hit your sweet spot. You pushed backward with each of his thrusts, holding your lip between your teeth as you moaned his name, very quickly climbing towards a violent release that you knew you wouldn’t be able to contain.

Jake continued to drag himself out and then thrust back into you, while you took him so loving and warm, accepting him however he took you. Even, if you would end up sprawled on your kitchen island, your stomach and tits mashed on the cold marble with Jake driving into you from behind. 

“Harder!” you gasped. 

Jake let out an animalistic growl under his breath as he rocked himself deeply into you, almost senselessly, your skin slapping together as you matched each other’s wild thrust. Suddenly, Jake curled a hand into your hair, yanking you back in pleasurable pain. You arched your back sharply, letting out an absolutely pornographic moan as your body erupted from the pleasure. You gasped, moaning out for him as he grunted in your ear. Jake bit down on your neck, over the bruise he made there the night before and you felt your brain shortcircuiting, the pleasure overwhelming your body but your brain still needed more. 

It took all the strength that you have to push yourself a little bit off the kitchen island, allowing you some leverage as you begin to rock your hips back. Jake’s hips stuttered once again as he watched you fuck yourself on his cock. 

More, you needed more. 

Jake pulled out of you briefly, you whimpered at the loss of heat but soon a gasp escaped your lips, you’re so lost, losing track of anything and letting him manhandle so easily that’s embarrasing. Soon, your back hits the floor softly as Jake hovered over you before he filled you again in one swift motion, roughly driving into you. You gasped as your hands fly to his neck, and pull him closer to you. Blind with pleasure, your body decides for you, you rose your hips, moving against him in a frenzied fervor, relishing in the thick hardness of his cock roughly stroking your walls. You could barely open your eyes but when you did, you felt tears brimming in your eyes from the way he was pushing into you and looking at you, those sea-foam eyes so lovingly. You stroked Jake’s cheek with one hand before you touched his lips with your thumb like he’d done the night before, but this time he opened his mouth for you, accepting as you rested your thumb inside his mouth before he sucked on it softly. 

Your heart was beating so fast that you felt like you were about to have a heart attack, soon, you tugged him down, claiming his lips into a vulgar kiss. Jake complied, loving the way you tasted, and the way you sounded, he was completely amazed by you as he felt you clenching around him. He continues pounding into you until your body felt like it was being engulfed in flames, lightning shooting down your back and pooling in your core as his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, yanking you forward roughly to match his thrust. The sensation is almost too unbelievable as Jake let out a deep grunt and you a hoarse moan into his lips. 

Soon, you were both losing it, his hips jutting jerkily between your spread legs as you clench around his cock as the tempo increased. Then, he thrusted hard and hit an unimaginable spot inside of you, soon you unraveled with a scream as white spots clouded your vision. Jake’s breath grew ragged, coming out in rasps. It was too much, too hectic and frantic. One harsh, powerful thrust from him brought you both over the edge. You screamed as you reached completion, feeling him bursting inside of you as his eyes shut tight. 

Your head was spinning as Jake’s head fell on the valley of your breasts. Your bodies still in shock from the unbelievable ecstasy of your release. Then he raises his head, your eyes met and all too suddenly, you realized that you had done it, yet again. 

So much for being the last time, you thought.  So much for reaching your room, Jake thought.

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***

author's note: I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this, I'm sorry it has taken me so so long, I'll try to update the next one this week. as always thank you for reading!! and your support on ko-fi too.

***

feedback is always welcomed!!!

donate: help me pls with a glass of wine?

[asmrrpaddict]

Just starting this off with, yes, I am dumb.

It’s true. When I started listening to Redacted less than a year ago I started with Sam. I can’t remember how I found it, but I did and I’ll say it, I fell in love with him! I watched his playlist not knowing anything about anyone else. I was confused every time it mentioned David, Vincent, anyone, but then came the Inversion. 🤯🤯🤯🤯 talk about frickin’ confusing. I had no clue who anyone was, what there were nothing.

The only thing I actually remember from my first watch was how heartbroken I felt for the poor guy who could feel all the emotions. Then after watching Gavin’s story, I was not ok.

Then I watched everyone’s stories individually and watched their sections of the Inversion and it broke my heart every time.

Finally right now, I’m sitting here at 10 PM having watched everyone’s stories and the entirety of the Inversion, knowing everyone. It truly had me on the edge. I had the full experience and now I’ve made myself sit and listen to Aftershock. I honestly had to wait for a night when I was mentally prepared and had no time to finish all of it.

I’m on Vincent and Lovely’s part now and basically this whole post was formed in my head because I didn’t remember that Vincent and Lovely can’t lie to each other. That level of trust and love is something every person on this planet deserves. Vincent could have been like most if not all of the others and just taken advantage of their turning. He wants them to be equal partners so much that he made sure he could never control Lovely and he made it to where since they can’t lie to him, he couldn’t either.

This man is a walking green flag. I hope whatever the outcome of the William situation they will find a home and continue to build a happy stable life as equal partners.

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Can we get something longer about Steve Harrington x reader but the reader is the “middle child” in the Wheeler family. Like she’s a year younger or so than Steve and Nancy but older than mike.

Some angst and shit.

Yes. Didn't realize I needed this. I also didn't realize I needed flirty!best-friend!Eddie but I do. I'm really proud of this, lowkey.

Normal, general warnings; swearing, mentions of sex, flirty banter; reader is 18 and a senior in high school.

"He doesn't even look at me, Eds." I huff, flopping down onto Eddie's bed with an over-exaggerated sigh, a playful pout on my lips as he plucks at the strings of his guitar. He just shakes his head with a laugh, bangs falling in his eyes as he slips the pick from between his lips before pointing it at me.

"Then he's blind. Have you seen your rack?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes and laughing at my offended gasp, my hands grabbing the nearest pillow, tossing it in his direction but missing him completely. "Stellar, dude, ten out of ten." His tongue clicks as I sigh, resting my hands on my stomach as I stare up at the cracks lining the ceiling.

"I don't look like Nancy, I don't act like Nancy but I'm nothing like Mike so what would there even be for Steve to like about me?" I ask genuinely, feeling the joking attitude leaving the room as he sighs, abandoning his guitar to crawl his way onto the bed, laying facing me.

"You gotta stop thinkin' like that sweetheart." He whispers, watching me with furrowed brows as I sigh, my stomach twisting in painful knots.

He's the only one who knows about my feelings for Steve, the only one I'd ever trust with such fragile information. I couldn't tell Nancy, even though she's one of my best friends and my older sister, mainly because she's Steve's ex and first love. It would ruin our relationship to learn that I have had feelings for him longer than they've even known each other, just sitting back in the shadows and watching, crying.

Eddie had been there for me through everything, watching me watch him, a supportive hand on my back for me to fall into, letting him engulf me in hugs and marijuana. He knows more than anyone what it's like to have feelings for someone you just shouldn't but in my case it's different with the fact that he dated my sister, practically babysits my younger brother, and the most important detail, that I'm a year and a half younger than him.

He's graduated from high school, free and happy in his first year without needing to show up and be someone he's not. Him and Robin have their gig at Family Video and he has time to be himself outside of the cattiness and cliques that high school comes with.

But me?

Dating a soon-to-be high school senior just wasn't on the list of things that older guys found attractive. I'm not a cheerleader, I don't have any secret talents and I'm not intellectually at Eddie's or any of the Hellfire clubs level. I'm just plain and average, with (apparently) a good rack.

Nowhere in the realm of Steve 'the hair' Harrington's type.

Maybe it's because he's known me almost my whole life. He watched me grow up from two grades ahead of me, he saw me through braces and the awkwardly shaped glasses I had for years. He saw me through every phase, every cycle, every crush before him; he saw me. But he never saw me in the way that present me wishes he had.

Instead he saw Nance. And who could blame him.

"You wanna go to the video store? Make him jealous?" Eddie teases, pulling a smile out of me as I roll onto my side to face him and his wide, bright puppy dog eyes. "I mean, I could take you straight back to the porn section and tell him it's movie night." A cringed smile appears on my lips as he rolls around laughing, smacking my thigh as he sits up. "C'mon, I'm not going to let you sit around here and mope." He claps his hands and stands between my thighs, giving me a testing, motivational look as I whine.

"But Eddie-"

"No bitching! Chop, chop, woman!" He pulls me off of the bed without warning, tugging me through his trailer as I fight to put my shoes on.

By the time he's pulling up to the video store, it's safe to say that neither of us have any sort of plan in mind. We couldn't just walk in there with no intent, right? Him and Steve are friends, I guess, since the things that happened with Vecna but there would be no reason for me to be there. Steve wasn't even aware Eddie and I were that close to begin with.

"I can literally see the smoke coming out of your ears. The gears are turnin' a bit too hard." My head thumbs against the headrest as he laughs, turning off the car as he reaches over to un-click my seatbelt. "Let's go." I push open the door with a sigh, my feet suddenly feeling weighed down with every anxious step I take towards the front doors. Eddie gives me a reassuring nod as his hand lands on my back, his arm reaching over my head to hold the door open for me.

"Oh, it's two-wheeler!" Robin cheers, clapping her hands as I roll my eyes at the nickname. She was adamant on calling me that and has since finding out that I'm the second oldest Wheeler child, her face lighting up the minute she came up with it and it rolled off her tongue in the upside-down. Eddie sends the girl a wave as she tips her imaginative hat, resting her arms against the counter as she grins. "What can I get you fine folk?" Eddie looks to me hesitantly, biting at his lip as I try my best to come up with an explanation on the spot.

"Hey, Robin, I-" My head tilts to see Steve approaching us, his brows furrowing as he stops in his place. He looks genuinely confused, his finger lifting to point between the two of us. "This is a weird pair." He blinks, looking past me at Robin.

"I was just asking what they needed help with. Don't worry, I can do my job." I snicker under my breath at the tired look Steve throws her way, but I'm quickly reminded of my job at hand when Steve walks by me, the smell of hairspray and cologne rushing past me.

"Since when are you two friends?" Steve asks, lifting himself up onto the counter as his legs swing, hands clasped in his lap as I look to Eddie once more.

"Since when are you her keeper?" Eddie's sarcasm drips from his tongue as I bump him with my hip and he wraps an arm around my shoulder, my eyes rolling at the proximity. Eddie knows better than anyone that he's the only person I'd let speak for me, knowing full well his comebacks are ten times better than mine ever could be.

The amount of times he's won fights for me, on my behalf, is astounding.

"Are you two, like, dating?" Robin asks curiously and I snort, reaching up to cover my face as Eddie ruffles my hair.

"Nah, she's like a groupie, ya know? Follows me around and shit, it's kinda weir- hey!" My fingers immediately pinch at his side as he cowers away from me, his finger immediately pointing at me as I giggle at his angry expression. "What did I say about the pinching? So not cool." He straightens his jacket as I throw my arms up in surrender. "Anywho, Robin, care to help me look for a movie that shortshit and I can watch tonight?" He asks, the freckled girl's brows raising as she tosses a hesitant look back to Steve. Steve just crosses his arms over his shoulders, looking away from her as she turns back around.

"Uh, sure. Come with me." Eddie mutters a quick 'stay here' under his breath as he brushes past me, sending me a wink as he follows Robin down one of the aisles. I gulp as Steve hops down from the counter, making his way over to the counter that separates us, his arms sliding towards me as he leans over the glass.

"Why're you hanging out with him? What could you possibly have in common- he's like two years older than you." Steve scoffs, looking up at me through his lashes as I shrug, wrapping my arms around myself protectively as I shift my weight between feet.

"And you're like three years older than Max yet she's always with you when you hang out with Dustin." I retort, his face falling and eyes rolling and he straightens up, his palms flattening against the glass with a sigh.

"That's different, Eddie literally flirts with you, kid."

"Don't call me that." The words come out before he can even finish his sentence. His brows skyrocket in confusion and shock at the sternness of my tone, but there's angry tears waiting to spill from my eyes as I blink them away the best I can.

"Y/n, seriously-"

"I mean it, I'm not a kid. You gotta stop treating me like one." I clear my throat, reaching up to brush a hand through my hair as his lips part as I continue. "I am less than a year younger than Nancy, Steve. So what's this huge divide between treating her like an adult and treating me like the rest of the fucking kids you babysit?" My voice raises in octaves and volume as he shushes me, his finger pressed to his lips as his face falls. His eyes nervously flicker over my expression and he leans towards me again.

"Woah, are you really upset about this?" He whispers curiously, my heart aching in my chest as my eyes flicker down to my shoes. "C'mere." He offers, catching my attention as he nods towards the break room. Giving the store a look, my eyes catch Eddie's as he nods slowly, mouthing a slow 'you're okay' and a soft smile spreads over my lips. My feet carry me behind the counter and into the break room, my heart pounding in my chest as Steve closes the door behind us. I try to bite at my lip to keep it from wobbling sadly but Steve notices quickly, taking a step towards me. "Hey, alright. Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was making you feel that way." His hand reaches up to rest on my upper arm, thumb brushing over my skin soothingly.

"You don't realize a lot, Harrington." My words come out more bitter and spiteful than I intended, Steve's body tensing as if I smacked him across the face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you know how many times I held Nancy while she cried about how big of an asshole you were, even though I just wanted to scream in her face that she was the asshole?" I quiz, eyes squinting up at him as his lips part in a silent answer but I don't give him time to respond before going on. "Nancy was practically cheating on you and she couldn't even tell you she loved you, Steve. You shouldn't have to beg people to tell you that they love you, but you did. And in the process, you ignored the people who actually give a shit about you." I laugh bitterly, running my hands down my face as I lean against the table behind me.

But here I am, wanting nothing more than to beg him to love me.

"Who did I ignore?" He asks, his face twisted up in confusion as his sweaty hands soothe over the front of his jeans. I know he hates disappointing people, upsetting them, especially when he didn't intend it. So, this is possibly the biggest bomb that could've ever been dropped on him today.

"I sat and I watched. For fucking years." I huff, eyes fluttering shut to avoid his gaze that makes me want to melt into the floor here and now. He's so gently curious and worried, my ears tuning in on the sound of him coming closer to me. "I gave Nancy advice for a year, I was the one who revised your English papers and college applications, not Nancy. She'd give them to me, thank me, and go about her day." I admit, my eyes opening again just in time to see his betrayed expression, his head tilting a bit as his eyes lock on the ceiling. He thinks for a moment with a small pout on his lips before sighing, his eyes flickering back and forth between mine sadly.

"You think I ignored you?" His voice is laced with sadness and disappointment but I can't tell if it's directed at me or himself. His shoulders deflate at my small nod, my heart slowly chipping and cracking in my chest at his dismal smile.

"You still do."

"Bullshit." He laughs, shaking his head as my brows lift, waiting for him to go on. "Do you realize I can't even call and leave messages on your phone because Nancy might hear them. So I call, like an idiot, hoping that you'd be the one to pick up so I don't have to ask if you're home but you're never home." My breathing catches a bit in my throat as my brain processes the thought of Steve standing at the phone, anxious to call me. "Is it cuz you're at Eddie's?"

"He's the only one who doesn't treat me like I'm Nancy's younger sister or Mike's older sister or that one girl who helped solve that Russian code that one time." I explain but he doesn't seem pleased with it. His head dips forward as he mutters a quiet 'oh my god' under his breath, hands reaching up to slick back his hair in frustration. "Am I not allowed to have friends?"

"I'm your friend!" His fingers point to himself as he laughs bitterly.

"No you're not." I whisper, heart pounding violently against my ribs as he huffs out a whine, confused as to why I'm being so mean. "I don't want you to be my friend, Steve- fuck!"

"Then what do you want from me?" He asks frantically, his hands reaching forward to take mine in his. My sad smile returns at the contact, loving the way his thumb is brushing mine in reassurance as his eyes so desperately try to meet my gaze.

"Everything." I huff but it's not much of an explanation. I can tell I'm not helping his confusion, his head only shaking gently, urging me to go on, to explain what's going on in my head. "I'm not Nancy, I'm nothing like her." I gulp, looking up at him as he gives me a deadpanned look, almost saying 'well duh'. "I'm the black sheep of my family and maybe that's why I get along with Eddie so much. But him and I could never date because all I talk about is you and you're all I've talked about for years." I bite at my lip the moment I'm done with my confession to keep myself from saying more, watching as Steve's expression practically goes through the fave stages of grief in only a few moments.

"Wha-" He cuts himself off as anxious tears continue to fill my eyes, frustrated and waiting for the inevitable of 'I don't feel that way about you'. "Fuck, really?" He asks in a hushed voice, dropping my hands from his as he takes a step back, breaking my heart even more.

"Don't say it like that." I whimper, quickly reaching up to bat the tears away from my cheeks as he curses, holding his hand out.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." He laughs nervously, resting his hands on his hips as his eyes flicker over my trembling frame. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't I- Steve you were fucking my sister in the next room over and I would lay there and sob. Sorry I couldn't profess my love." His frown deepens, hands reaching back towards me as he pulls me into a hug.

"S-Should've told me." He mutters against my hairline, nuzzling his nose against me as my eyes flutter shut.

"You made me feel like I was just a kid to you- like a kid sister." My fingers toy with the edge of his shirt, folding it between my fingers as he cringes.

"Gross, no." He laughs, leaning back to look down at me, hands sliding to rest on my lower back. "It was never my intention to treat you like that. Maybe I was overcompensating the platonic part a bit to cover up the other stuff." He laughs to himself as my brows pull together.

"Other stuff?"

"Stuff like when Nancy was watching Jonathan, I was watching you put makeup on in that mirror by the front door in your house." He admits, eyes skirting lower than mine as his cheeks warm in embarrassment. "O-or, uh, I'd come over to eat dinner with your folks and I would watch you do dishes from the other room, trying to chalk up the nerve to go and offer to help you." A sincere smile slips onto my lips at his bashfulness, my hands moving to rest on his waist as I peer up at him through my lashes. "Whenever you weren't looking, I was."

"Could've been doing more than looking." I tease, watching as his brows skyrocket, his lips parting in a shocked laugh.

"Should've been." He whispers with a grin, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm here now." My head bobs in a simple nod, tucking my lip between my teeth as I coyly look up at him as silence looms around us. He just smiles, neck craning as his nose brushes against mine. My stomach swirls at his proximity, my head spinning as his lips tentatively skim against mine.

Taking charge, I close the gap between us, my hands gripping his t-shirt in my fists as he kisses me softly. It's better than I ever could've imagined, his lips way softer and careful but maybe it's because it's me. I'm not just another girl he hooks up with messily, no, this is different.

His hand reaches up, fingers skimming along my jaw as he angles my chin, deepening the kiss as I gasp, lips parting instinctively as he laughs, forehead resting against mine as we catch our breath.

Suddenly the door opens behind us, Steve immediately taking a hefty step back from me as Robin and Eddie appear in the doorway. Eddie looks proud and smug, his head nodding and he claps his hands at the two of us. Robin just sighs, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Fucking finally."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy

[kiddbegins]

Kisses - Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek

Requested: yes

Word count: 951

A/n: he’s so 🤏🏻

Masterlist

Leaning in without realizing and then stopping just before their lips are attached to look in the other’s eyes to see if they want this too’

You had been friends with Brian for too long. Not in the sense that you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. But there was only so much playing Catan, watching Star Wars and listening to the firehouse gossip that you could take without getting your feelings involved.

Things were normal for a while. Brian was just a friend. You liked that he was just a big a nerd as you were. Liked the constant tiny squabbles over the better shows or movies. All of it.

But somewhere along the way you felt something growing. Something you couldn’t ignore. So you made a plan. This Friday he was free, no firefighter duties to look forward to. No pre existing plans. So you invited him over for a movie.

Nothing crazy, the usual if anything. But you were going to put out some feelers. Instead of beers you’ll bust out some red wine. Instead of Star Wars or some other sci-fi movie, you chose some horror film you’d never seen.

Tiny changes, things that could set the mood and all that. Nothing totally big like candles and dim lights, well, the lamp in the corner had always been favorable over the ceiling light but regardless, still not a huge change.

The main hope of this night was to not look like a whole idiot. To actually get what you wanted out of it and that he hopefully did too.

So when it was Friday and you had everything set up, still in the usual casual clothes, you nervously paced the living room waiting for him. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so worked up, but it was hard.

Your mind was running a mile a minute, heart racing so much you would think you were going to develop an arrhythmia.

That only got worse when he knocked on the door. Any faster and you’d have left a trail of flames behind you as you raced to open it. “Hi!” Your voice just slightly more chipper than usual.

If he noticed he didn’t comment on it but you internally screamed as he stepped inside, letting you latch the door behind you.

“Hey,” The usual smile on his face brightened up the room, his eyes traveling over your face and the shirt you had on as he always did, unknowing to you.

You smiled back, “I hope you don’t mind but I made a couple changes.” Your hand grabbed his just slightly to pull him gently into the living room. “Wine that I need to drink and a horror movie I’ve been wanting to see.”

Those weren’t lies, that bottle of wine had been waiting to be opened since Christmas and the movie had been on the streaming site for a while, you just hadn’t had the balls to watch it yourself.

And hey, who could help deciding to watch it with their best friend that they had a crush on? You were guilty of that but honestly, who could blame you?

“That’s fine, hope you don’t get too scared though,” he chuckled, glancing over at you. You knew you wouldn’t but that didn’t stop you from shyly smiling, sitting down with your legs crossed and patting the spot next to you.

As soon as he was set you started the movie, knowing he usually liked watching it first before any real conversation, especially days where he had been working. He needed a buffer.

At some point in the movie you had moved closer, his arm over the back of the couch just slightly touching your shoulder now.

Usually that would go unnoticed but being hyper aware of it made that one small section tingle, wanting to get even closer but deciding that that wouldn’t be entirely inconspicuous.

A bit into the movie Brian got up to use the bathroom but when he came back it was like he decided to sit right next to you.

Leg pressing against leg level of next to you. You looked over at him, eyes glancing along the side of his face.

He was never too proud of how he looked, something he’d rambled on about more than once but to you he always looked amazing. Like nobody else you’d ever laid eyes on.

Brian looked like a beautiful wooded mountain range at sunset. Just so enticing to look at. “What?” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, face going red as you got caught staring at him.

“Uh, nothing,” you attempted to lie, Brian immediately abandoning the movie, shifting onto his now bent leg and leaning his head against his palm.

“Nothing?” The man wasn’t stupid, he knew you were staring, he just didn’t know why. And the second you caught his eye, you were putty in his hands.

Just slightly you hummed in confirmation, shifting to mirror the way he was sitting. It was an attempt to make it seem fine and normal but without realizing it the two of you moved slightly closer.

It was like watching two magnets try not to snap together. Their poles reaching out for the other. The perfect otherside just for them.

Brian just nearly put his lips on yours, pausing at the last second to look over your face, the way you were looking at him and the way your eyes practically melted when he looked at you was enough.

With the slightest go ahead from you, he pressed his lips to yours gently. This wasn’t how you expected things to go. If anything you figured that you would be the one to kiss him.

Not him. But that did one thing for sure. Confirm that he liked you just as much as you liked him. If not, more.

JOIN OTIS’ TAGLIST HERE!

tags: @winchesterszvonecek

[haven-of-dusk]

Alright, it's come to my attention that there are those who do not understand the raw babygirl energy of Richard Montlaur. So here are some Janchard headcanons to right the wrongs that rive my heart.

- Jan was (privately, he'd never show it) nervous about Richard's body count when they started dating, until he found out that it's all a media exaggeration. Less than 10% of Richard's dates result in sex because he's gentlemanly enough to just go with whatever the person he's spending time with wants to do. Just eat a big meal and chat? He's down. Drink wine and watch Pixar movies? He's your man. Scroll through each others' dating apps? He's an open book. If you want to have the hot steamy sex? He'll give you a transcendent experience. So when Jan's nervous about possibly rushing things, he's pleasantly surprised to find that Richard is immensely patient and respectful.

- I mean the sex is still wonderful once they start, Richard is as much an animal in bed as he is a deadly warrior on the pitch, but again, only when and to what extent his partner wants to.

- Richard insists on big spooning sometimes, which more often than not just looks like they fell asleep while Jan was giving him a piggyback ride, but neither of them mind.

- There's one night a week where Jan gets to cook dinner, mostly because it's cuisines Richard is unfamiliar with (and most of it is Dutch Food). Otherwise, it's Richard's kitchen.

- With the other notable exception that Jan makes excellent pastries. He doesn't even remember where he learned the art, but if Richard ever opened a resturant/bistro, Jan would be in charge of all the baking.

- The wine cellar is split into three sections, usable for any occasion, private collection (the good stuff), private collection that can only be consumed when with Jan and only Jan(the exquisite stuff). Dani once brought up the wrong bottle and almost ended up in the treatment room.

- For mutual annoyance and enjoyment, Richard constantly calls Jan 'Mijn Geliefde' and Jan constantly calls Richard 'Mon Amour'

- At one point old private photos of Richard got leaked, and in response Jan attempted to do a press conference nude. They were barely able to stop him, but the whole team saw everything. Richard initially felt horribly guilty for this, thinking he'd inadvertently pressured Jan somehow, but Jan assured him that it was entirely his own idea and if anything Jan was just mad he didn't get to 'keep Richard to himself' anymore. The one unfortunate consequence was forgetting to tell Will not to touch anything in the boot room prior to them getting a chance to...*ahem*, clean up.

- They have the absolute nerdiest couple costumes (think like dressing up as Alan Turing and the Enigma Machine level dweeby).

- Richard thought Jan's family wouldn't like him, so he brought multiple gifts of food, beverage, and other stuff to compensate. Some of it went to waste because it was forgotten in favor of the Maas family excitedly showing Richard every baby picture and sharing every embarrassing story they could collectively come up with.

- The team got them 'Maas-Montlaur' jerseys as an anniversary present (before they were married ftr) in jest. Chris Powell and Arlo White were very confused when the jerseys began appearing regularly during matches.

- Richard falling asleep while Jan's giving him a piggyback ride is not an uncommon occurrence. And just in general, Richard finds Jan's hair to be a very comfortable pillow (bus rides, hotel rooms, literally anywhere).

- Richard slipping into French whenever he gets emotional, upset, or even just excited became MORE frequent because Jan took over translation duty from Zoreaux and was so good he could even sometimes predict words before they were spoken.

- Jan is unable to sleep on bus or plane rides unless Richard is seated next to him and already asleep.

- One time, an on-site commentator heavily criticized Jan's defending and even attempted to coin the term 'the Flopping Dutchman'. The day ended with a red card for Richard and a pattern since of commentators choosing their words VERY carefully when discussing Richmond's defense.

I have more, but I'll stop here for now.