#unexpected firefly

[sunset-peril]

Note - because I haven't introduced anything for this world or any characters yet, I need to do a bit of light explaining.

Vex is "Ruler 1" from here and V's Reason Why is the other ruler. Random is an undefined character. I couldn't decide who said it. Angel from Age Past is what it says on the can - there's an "angelic" dragon breed that existed in ancient times said to be a divine army, and for a still-not-100%-defined reason he exists in the "modern" age of the story. That's the part I've been working on for forever.

~~~~

Random: So it's just one dragon who's causing all this trouble? Doesn't that mean we'll just-

Vex & V's Reason Why: NO

Random: ???

Vex: You were going to say "all we'll have to do is just get rid of the one dragon and then the two subtribes can reunite," correct?

Random: Well, yeah bu-

V's Reason Why: What are you!? A harbinger of war like the angels of ages past?!

Angel from Age Past: ???? (wants to know how he got dragged into this)

V's Reason Why: You can't just drop a militant culture in the middle of an opposite society and expect it to work! Do you want me to die?! tHIs iSn't DiSNey!

[suparhythm]

Family, Finding Magic in the Mundane

"Family, Finding Magic in the Mundane!" You've Got to read this; worth your while, I promise. More Blessings To You! Like, Share, Comment if you can. Thanks.

Life is a banquet to the senses. Every sunrise a promise whispered on the wind. The air is crisp with the kiss of dawn and carries the smell of damp earth and blooming honeysuckle. A treat for the nose, a prelude to the day’s unfolding.The sun; a warm hand touching my face. It lights up with fiery orange the dewdrops on the field lilies, which turn into tiny suns. The world begins to awaken in…

[always-coffee]

**gently grabs your face** Listen to me.

When things are hard, move toward joy. Move toward those who light you up, like little fireflies your heart. Play the music you love. Take a chance. Make plans with people you adore—old and new. Put joy on the calendar like a goddamn holiday. (There is something to be said for making plans. I love plans. I…am a dork.)

When things are hard—and god knows, the news is full of terrible—flirt with someone you care about. Make some art about it—about everything. Bake something or cook something and if there’s too much, bring it to your neighbor. Pet a dog. Pet a cat. Find a reason to be silly. Be silly.

The brightest parts of my life, lately, have been unexpected magick. It’s there if you look, I promise. And, honestly, sometimes even if you’re not looking and you just run headlong into it. It's the connection and the love that will help see us through the hard stuff. It's the affection that feeds our strength.

[navybrat817]

All Dressed Up

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky visits a gallery to support his best friend and unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: First meeting, mild dirty thoughts, instacrush, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Okay, lovelies. A new AU. I'm sorry. @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline @whisperlullaby @sgt-seabass @vesearlee , I feel like you all either heard me screech, encouraged, or helped me, and I appreciate you. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo and divider by the incredible @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t dress up for most people since it wasn’t his style. He would do so for any of his brothers though, especially Steve. His best friend since childhood, and his club’s president, he always had a love and talent for drawing and painting. And after working his ass off on his exhibit it would’ve been a crime for the vice president not to show up.

Steve promised if there was ever a day when Bucky’s writing became published he’d be by his side to celebrate too. As much as they liked to give each other shit sometimes about art and how they created it, the support was there through and through. The only catch for tonight was that he had to dress nicely to get into the gallery. So, instead of the usual leather jacket or vest he wore and jeans, he went with a plain black suit and white button up shirt.

He refused to wear a tie since it wasn’t a wedding. He had to draw a line somewhere. No one paid him any mind though as they walked around the gallery, and he was more than fine with that. This wasn’t his night.

“You should be proud, punk,” Bucky said, looking over the art lining the large wall, each piece crafted with care.

“I am proud, jerk,” Steve smiled. He hadn’t worn a tie either, and it made Bucky feel a little better. “And you know you don’t have to stay the whole time.”

Bucky knew that. He also knew members and prospects would be trickling in and out throughout the evening. “Not needed at the bar tonight, so I can stay as long as I want. But I might cut out early since I see your face enough between that and the club.”

Steve chuckled. “Still haven’t sold the place, huh?”

The brunette sighed. It wasn’t the first time Steve asked if he was going to sell the bar to focus more on writing. “Where the hell would you all hang out if I sold the place?” He liked the bar. It wasn’t just a great hangout for the club, but for his other regulars, too.

“There are other bars,” Steve teased. He said that, but he loved the bar, too. “You know I just want you to-”

“Follow my compass. I know. You’ve said that so many…” He stopped talking when he saw an unexpected angel walk into the room.

Well, angel was the word that came to mind since you were wearing a white dress and the light over your head illuminated you like a halo. But as his eyes swept over you, he wondered if there was a bit of a devil in you. He wouldn’t mind bringing that side out of you if you gave him the chance.

And here he used to think love at first sight was bullshit.

“Hey. Do you know her?” Bucky subtly nodded in your direction as you spoke to another woman, jealousy flaring up for a second at the thought of his best friend knowing you and not telling him. And if you knew Steve, that was that before things even started. While the blonde didn’t have much game growing up, he came into his own after his growth spurt, and everyone adored or wanted him.

Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, making Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief before his friend scrutinized him. “Jesus, are you eye fucking her? You are, aren’t you?”

Bucky wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “And I’ll keep doing it ‘til she looks at me,” he replied, wishing you’d at least spare him a glance and get a look at him in his nice suit. Maybe you weren’t into guys with tattoos and piercings, but he was certain he could change your mind if that was the case.

“How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?” Steve asked. “Just introduce yourself like a gentleman and see where that goes.”

“A couple of months? Something like that.” Tearing his gaze away to glance at his inked hands, he chuckled. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

He could be dangerous and downright dirty when the occasion called for it, but just because he rode a motorcycle and covered himself in tattoos and piercings didn’t mean he treated others poorly. He was raised better than that. Even with his ex-girlfriends, things never ended because he didn’t treat them well. They just weren’t the one.

“We both know you are. Sometimes,” Steve answered, smirking as a beat passed. “And she’s looking your way.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to find you looking right at him with a curious stare. You had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Which was nothing compared to your smile. It was like watching the sun slowly rise to meet the day.

Fuck, he was being sappy. You ruined him with a single stare, and he wanted to ruin you in return. Make it so you wouldn’t want another man.

You whispered something to the woman beside you before she nudged you forward and he realized Steve pushed him to move, too. It only took three more steps before he was right in front of you, the gentle smell of your sweet perfume filling his nostrils. Need slammed into his body as you smiled again, and he actually felt the blue of his eyes shrink as his pupils widened.

If Steve thought he was eye fucking you before…

“Hey,” he said, his voice raspier than usual.

“Hi,” you said. It was a voice he could listen to for hours and he wondered what it would sound like when you said his name.

“I’m Bucky.” He took a smaller step closer, trying his damnedest to block out any other man around him so you’d keep those pretty eyes on him.

You introduced yourself, too, and it was a name he would never forget. “I like your tattoos,” you added almost shyly. Almost.

If he had his way, you’d see the rest of them soon enough. “Thanks,” he smiled, holding one hand up to show you. “Dressed like this, I bet you think I’m part of the mob.” After getting dressed and adding the gold jewelry, even he thought for a split second he looked like a mobster.

“Are you or is that information I can’t be privy to?” you asked, making him chuckle. You didn’t skip a beat, and he liked that.

“Not part of the mob, but I am part of a motorcycle club,” he replied. He wore his patch with pride and that didn’t seem to scare you, which was good. “I also own a bar.” He didn’t know why added that part. You didn’t ask and he didn’t want to brag, but there he was.

“So, you ride a motorcycle, and you own a bar?” You glanced back at your friend to ask her, “Do you mind if I…”

“I’m good. You two talk,” your friend smiled, giving Bucky an encouraging wink. He looked back to find that Steve walked away, too.

You smiled as you faced Bucky again. “Well, I’m happy to hear more about either of those things if you have time.”

“Yeah.” A lopsided smile appeared before he could stop it. “I got time,” he said. All the time in the world.

Over the next hour, the two of you stayed close together and talked in between looking at Steve’s pieces. He told you he was there to support Steve and talked a little bit more about the bar he owned. A hole in the wall kind of place he fixed up. While he wasn’t a big drinker, he loved making them for his regulars, and his profession allowed him to get away with all the tattoos.

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled before it faltered. “If that’s okay.”

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but his heart raced, and he wanted to see you smile again. “I’ll hold you to that,” he teased. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

You told him that you were a blood bank nurse and still fairly new to the area. While you didn’t have too many friends nearby, you liked your neighborhood and the one friend you had made invited you to the gallery since she was an art enthusiast. You also let it slip that you were single upon your move here, which he was happy to hear since he was, too, but he didn’t miss the note of sadness in your voice.

He could help fix it if you were lonely.

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” he stated.

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You don’t have an old lady?” His eyes went right to your lip when he bit it. “That is the correct term of endearment, right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his eyes soft. “Both of those things are right.”

You bit your lip again and he wasn’t sure if you were purposely trying to entice him, but now he wanted to bite your lip. “So, do you do anything for fun outside of riding and work?”

He almost groaned when you said “riding” and he had to shake his head to keep his mind from drifting. He couldn’t think of you being on his bike with your arms wrapped tight around him or you riding him or anything like that. “Well…”

He explained that he wrote a bit in his spare time outside of work and the club. It was a hobby mostly, but it would be a dream come true to get his work out there one day. If not, that was okay, too, because he had a decent life and didn’t need much. His bike, his brothers.

But to have an old lady…

“Maybe I could read…” you frowned when you saw the time. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. I should get going,” you said, disappointment filling both of you.

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. The two of you were having a nice talk, and he hadn’t had a chance to ask about your hobbies yet. “It’s still kinda early. Do you really have to go?” he asked, realizing just how desperate he sounded. God, if the prospects could hear him right now… He just didn’t want the night to end.

“Yeah, I do. I’m actually working a blood drive tomorrow and could use the rest,” you said, smiling sadly. He felt like an ass for asking you to stay when you had work to do. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about it, but you’re welcome to stop by if you want to donate. I always have this fear that people won’t show, which I realize sounds ridiculous.”

Bucky mentally kicked his ass for not knowing about a local blood drive. He was usually more on top of those sorts of things. “Where’s it at?” You gave the location and time, which was all he needed. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

And every single club member would be there, too, if they knew what was good for them.

“Really?” you smiled, your hand bumping his when you turned to face him. “You’ll go?”

He let his fingers brush yours and he smiled to himself when he felt the light shiver. “Of course, doll.”

“Doll?” you giggled. He hoped he didn’t offend you. “I hope you show,” you added in a small voice, your gaze focused on the ground.

Frowning a bit, he wondered if you didn’t believe him. Did someone let you down before? “If I say I’ll be there…” He lifted your chin, so you’d look into his eyes. He needed you to see the truth in them. “I’ll be there.”

You exhaled, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you whispered.

He grudgingly released you, knowing he had to. Besides, if he kept touching you, there was a good chance he’d pin you against the wall and show you what a work of art you were. “Good night,” he whispered, watching you go back to your friend. She linked her arm with yours as you glanced back, keeping your eyes on Bucky until you were out of sight.

He exhaled, mentally kicking his ass again. Why the fuck didn’t he ask for your number? You two hit it off, and you wanted to see him at least in some capacity beyond the blood drive, right?

Steve made a beeline for him as he stayed rooted to the spot. “It looks like you two hit it off. You know you didn’t even say hi to Chris or Sam or-”

“We’re going to a blood drive tomorrow,” he cut in. He hoped people would show, but he gave you his word he’d be there, and the club was all about giving back to the community.

The blonde’s eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Blood drive. Tomorrow. Everyone,” he said, giving his friend a hard stare. “You’re the president. Make it happen.”

“You’re the vice president, which means you supervise plans for club events or gatherings. That includes last minute things,” he pointed out, his eyebrows shooting up as Bucky got his phone out and typed quickly. “You’re serious about this?”

“Is it too much to say, ‘You better fucking be there or you’ll pay for it later’?”

The blonde grinned. A shit-eating, knowing grin, and he wanted to smack him. “This is all for her, isn’t it?”

Bucky sighed. He hadn't expected to meet someone so perfect tonight. “She’s a nurse and I wanna help. Besides, it’s good for the community and you’re all about that shit.” And he had to make a better impression after not asking for your number. “Will you at least promise you’ll be there?”

“To watch my whipped best friend fawn over a pretty nurse? Hell yeah.”

“Beautiful,” he corrected him. “She’s beautiful.”

And while Bucky would fawn over you tomorrow, he also hoped he’d get your number.

So, what do we think so far? Part of this writing style was slightly different for me, but I like how it turned out! I still need to give this reader a nickname and the AU a name, but this is a start. I can't wait for the whole club to show up at the blood drive. I also have something silly and cute planned for these two. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[writeriguess]

Hi dear! Can I request a Barbarian!Katsuki x Dancer!Reader. Katsuki is from a fierce, barbarian tribe and Reader is from a smaller tribe, better known for their exquisite dancing rituals and healing techniques. He stumbles upon her by chance while she practices her mating dance in the woods and he decides it's fate. They get to know each other and fall in love. His tribe is a bit surprised that he chose a small and un-warrior like bride, but they go along with it and they have a grand wedding. Thank you!

The Savage’s Dance

The rustling of leaves whispered through the dense, moonlit forest. Fireflies flickered between the towering trees, their golden glow barely illuminating the path Katsuki Bakugou had taken. He had wandered far from his tribe’s encampment, his senses heightened as he scouted for threats—or perhaps, for something more. The battle-hardened warrior had never been one for aimless walks, but tonight, instinct had pulled him into the woods.

Then, he heard it.

A soft, rhythmic pounding against the earth. The sound of bare feet moving in a mesmerizing, deliberate pattern. It was accompanied by the delicate jingle of beads and the faintest rustling of fabric against skin. Katsuki narrowed his crimson eyes and stepped closer, his movements as silent as a stalking predator.

There, in the heart of a moonlit clearing, a woman danced.

Her body twisted and arched, her arms lifting toward the sky before sweeping down in a graceful arc. The dim light of the fireflies caught the smooth curves of her form, highlighting the sheen of sweat that clung to her glowing skin. Her hips rolled in hypnotic waves, and the bells at her ankles chimed in time with her movements. Katsuki’s breath hitched.

She was beautiful.

But this was no ordinary dance. Even someone as unversed in such things as he could tell—it was a ritual, something sacred. A mating dance.

His fingers clenched around the hilt of his blade as heat surged through his veins. His people had their own ways of claiming mates, but this? This was something entirely different. Something… enchanting.

The dancer twirled, her long hair fanning out before she suddenly froze. Her dark eyes locked onto his, widening in surprise. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath, her exposed skin glowing in the dim light.

“You…” she breathed, taking an uncertain step back.

Katsuki smirked, stepping into the clearing. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She studied him, her gaze flickering over the sheer size of him—the powerful muscles, the numerous scars, the heavy furs draped over his shoulders. He looked every bit the warrior he was, the kind of man who had seen more battles than peaceful moments.

“You’re from the Skullcrushers,” she finally murmured, her voice laced with wariness.

His smirk widened. “Damn right.”

The Skullcrushers were a fearsome tribe, known for their strength in battle, their untamed warriors, and their brutal ways. But her people—the Moonveil tribe—were different. They didn’t war. They didn’t conquer. They healed. They danced.

And yet, here she was, standing before a barbarian, caught mid-dance.

Katsuki tilted his head. “What was that?”

She hesitated before answering. “A ritual. A mating dance.”

A slow, pleased chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Hah. So I was right.”

The heat in her cheeks deepened. “It wasn’t meant for you.”

He crossed his arms, clearly amused. “Too late for that, sweetheart.”

She gaped at him. “You—”

“—Looks like I showed up at just the right time,” he interrupted, his gaze darkening. “Maybe it’s fate.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs. This man—this dangerous, untamed force of nature—was looking at her as if she belonged to him. As if the dance had been meant for him all along.

And, gods help her, she wasn’t sure she wanted to argue.

The next few weeks were unexpected.

Katsuki kept coming back.

Every night, he found her. Sometimes, she was dancing. Other times, she was gathering herbs or tending to the wounded. And each time, he would sit nearby, watching her with a gaze so intense it made her skin burn.

She tried to ignore him at first. Tried to pretend that the massive warrior wasn’t standing at the edge of her world, waiting for her to acknowledge him. But it was impossible. His presence was too much.

One night, she finally snapped. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I want you.”

She nearly dropped the bowl of healing salve in her hands. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, stepping closer. “That dance—your dance—I’m claimin’ it.”

She scoffed, trying to push past him. “That’s not how this works.”

Katsuki grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly. “Then tell me how it works.”

Her breath caught. His grip was warm, solid, but not forceful. Not cruel. His crimson eyes burned into hers, full of want.

“I’m not a warrior,” she whispered.

“Don’t care.”

“I’m not strong.”

His lips twitched. “Bullshit. You’ve got a different kind of strength.”

Her chest tightened. “Your people—”

“They’ll deal with it,” he cut in. “They’ll respect it.”

She hesitated. “And if they don’t?”

Katsuki smirked, his hand tightening around hers. “Then I’ll make ‘em.”

The Skullcrushers were surprised.

Katsuki had never spoken of taking a mate before, let alone one from a peaceful tribe. They expected him to choose a warrior—a battle-hardened woman with bloodstained hands. But instead, he brought home a dancer.

They whispered. They stared.

But none of them dared question him.

Not when he stood beside her, his expression daring anyone to speak against it.

Not when she looked at him with something softer than any of them had ever seen in their ruthless leader.

And when the wedding came—a grand celebration with both their tribes joining together, their traditions merging in a way no one had ever expected—the doubts faded.

Because when she danced for him that night, under the watchful eyes of both their people, there was no question.

She had been meant for him all along.

[jobean12-blog]

Love Bug

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob Au)

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: You and your very busy husband are on a rare weekend getaway to your beach house when an unexpected house guest causes some trouble.

Author’s Note: this is for Missy’s @saiyanprincessswanie writing challenge! I did a Mob AU and used the prompt, “I would move mountains for you.” Thank you so much for hosting Missy! Love and hugs my friend🩷 The Mob AU part is subtle but hopefully you’ll feel it! Also, I personally hate these fuckers and if you’re interested to see what they look like, click here. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always!❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: soft fluff, fun, laughs, a scary bug, Bucky being sweet and cute, it’s mostly silly and domestic

PS this idea came about because I wrote THIS for Joel Miller the other day and I thought Bucky would be fun too! 🩷

You open your eyes and stare at the outstretched hand resting on your pillow. The simple gold band circling his left ring finger catches the light from the rising sun and it rivals the way the gold streaks along his metal arm shine and sparkle.

You reach up and place your hand in his and the firm bicep beneath your cheek flexes at your touch. He shifts behind you, tightening the arm at your waist and pressing the hardness between his legs against your back.

You really need to pee.

The steady in and out of his breathing warms the nape of your neck, every inch of his contoured chest rising and falling against your back, legs tangled together. It’s the most comfortable spot in the known Universe.

You still really need to pee.

But he rarely gets to sleep in, and you’re torn between the urge to close your eyes against the discomfort and trying to sneak off to the bathroom.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you make the painful decision to disentangle yourself from your husband and slide out of bed, releasing a breath when he grumbles in his throat. You grab his discarded button down from the floor and slide it over your shoulders.

He rolls over in a bare-chested sprawl and goes back to breathing evenly, the sheet tented where it rests between his legs.

It takes everything in you to leave the bed, but you manage to slip away and into your en-suite bathroom. The large windows by the bath frame a view of the ocean, letting in the thick rays of the sun and highlighting the beauty of the marble flooring.

You’re momentarily distracted by the view so when you walk toward the toilet at first you don’t notice the large insect sitting just below it.

Right as you step onto the rug it moves and you catch sight of it out of the corner of your eye, letting out a high-pitched scream that would wake the neighbors if they were any closer than a mile away.

Bucky is out of bed and in the bathroom before you can even call his name, sheets tangled in his legs, hair wild and mussed from both your hands last night and the sleep that followed and a large knife in his hand.

“Doll?” he croaks out, staring at you wide eyed, body poised and ready to fight.

“It’s…,” you start, backing away slowly toward your husband. “Buck it’s one of those things. With the legs. Hairy looking.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his heart starting to return to a normal beat and his head clearing, but he doesn’t lower the knife.

There’s silence other than the sound of his breathing and you squeeze yourself behind him, hanging on to his forearms with a death grip.

Finally, he lowers the knife and exhales.

“Hairy legs?” he asks as he runs a hand through his hair.

“It’s by the toilet!” you whisper.

“I don’t see anything!” he says, squinting now.

“See, right there!” you point, still safely tucked behind him.

“Whe…? Oh yeah. I see him.”

It moves again and you let out a squeal of terror, pressing yourself closer to him.

“Get it Buck!!! Get ittttt!” you whine.

Your eyes are squeezed shut and your face is hidden against his back so when he starts to laugh you feel his body shake.

“THIS IS SO NOT FUNNY!” you hiss.

“I’m sorry doll face,” he says, turning to you. “But I ran in here thinking I’d have to kill someone.”

“Don’t take your eyes off it! We could lose it and then it’ll be living in here forever and get even bigger and and…”

His nose scrunches up and his eyes crinkle at the corners, more laughter erupting from his chest.

When he finally calms down he gives you a sympathetic look. “It’s ok baby doll. I’ll handle it but you’re gonna have to let go.”

You blink several times, expression blank. You look down at your fingers that are digging into his skin.

“Oh! Right, but…”

You peek around him to see if the centipede is still there…and he is, staring at you menacingly.

“I can’t let go. What if it comes over here. I hate the way they move.”

“Then you’ll have to come with me,” he says carefully.

You shake your head no.

“Baby doll.”

“We have to move. You can just buy us a new beach house!”

“Sure, I can,” he says with a sideways smile. “But you love this house.”

You sigh in defeat and cling to him harder.

“I have an idea,” he says softly as he scoops you into his arms and skirts the wall until he reaches the tub.

He sets you down inside it, the high sides and four brass feet keeping you safely off the ground and away from the centipede.

“There,” he says.

You give him a small smile and watch as he searches the bathroom, his eyes lighting up when they land on the small hand towel neatly folded and hanging by the sink.

“YOU CAN’T KILL IT BUCK!” you screech.

He pins you with an incredulous look.

“What did you expect me to do doll?”

“I don’t know but if you squish it then I’ll never be able to use that toilet again.”

You cover your eyes with your hands but separate two fingers to peek through.

His hand falls to his side as he surveys the bathroom again, then, as if suddenly remembering he has a knife, he lifts it and starts to stalk toward the toilet.

“OH MY GOD Bucky, you can’t stab it!”

“I can stab anything,” he says quietly, his voice deadly.

“But I don’t want you to kill it,” you reply in an equally quiet but much softer tone.

He stops moving and turns toward you slowly, exasperation in his expression but when your bottom lip sticks out in a pout he softens and relents.

“Then what should I use?” he asks.

The both of you look around and then your eyes land on the stack of cups near the sink and they brighten.

“Cups Buck!”

He smiles and gets one and with calculated and careful steps, he approaches the centipede.

You duck lower into the tub and make squeaky noises every time you see the insect twitch.

“Be careful Bucky!” you whisper shout.

“Shhh,” he says softly, the muscles in his bare back tense with his cautious movements.

When he’s close enough he slowly lowers the cup over the centipede, letting out a loud exhale when it appears he has it trapped.

“Now what?” you ask.

He stands and shrugs.

“I didn’t think that far ahead.”

You slowly rise from the tub and move closer to him. “Can we just leave it there?”

“It will definitely die.”

“Oh.”

“I could just step on the cup?”

You grab his hand, holding it tightly and shaking your head. “No. I don’t want to hurt it I just want it to live somewhere else, far away.”

“We can slide something under the cup.”

“Good idea,” you agree.

“Get me a magazine doll. That should work.”

You run back into the bedroom and grab one, returning with it to your safe spot behind Bucky.

He bends down and carefully slides the magazine under the cup.

“You’re butt looks really good,” you say with a giggle.

“Good to know you’re ogling my ass during this life-or-death situation doll face.”

“It’s just a centipede Buck.”

He’s on you before you can react, caging you against the sink with his arms.

“Just…a centipede? Says the one who screamed bloody murder ten minutes ago and had to hide in the tub.”

“I was just trying to pee! It could have attacked me at my most vulnerable time.”

He tries to hold back his laughter, but the corners of his mouth turn up and he drops his head into your neck.

“You’re going to put it outside right?” you ask as your fingers smooth up and down his back. “Like all the way across the street? Maybe the next town over?”

When his eyes meet yours they still sparkle with mirth and he cups your cheek, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone.

“Of course I will.”

“Thank you.”

“I would move mountains for you doll.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too Buck.”

He kisses you softly, his lips lingering before moving to the corner of your mouth and then along your jaw to meet the shell of your ear.

You shiver in his arms.

“I’m gonna take care of his little fucker,” he murmurs. “And while I do that I want you to get naked and get back in bed.”

Without and answer you squeeze out of his hold and rush back toward the bedroom, squealing when his left-hand whips out and smacks your ass.

You can’t wait to get back into bed but not before making a stop at one of the other four bathrooms down the hall (hopefully bug free!).

[witchywithwhiskey]

For your Sweethearts Game: Johnny Storm and Let's Kiss 🥰

light up the night

pairing: best friend!johnny storm x female reader

summary: at the valentine's day carnival, your best friend makes a wild suggestion that leads to both of you confessing your real feelings.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, brief dry humping, piv sex, protected sex/condoms, kissing—like SO much kissing, semi-public sex (in johnny's truck in an empty field), dirty talk, praise kink, aftercare, love confessions, friends to lovers, pet names (firefly), happy ending

word count: 3.0k

a/n: ahhh i was so happy to get this request, Jaqui!! i haven't really written/posted anything for Johnny Storm before, and i've been wanting to ever since i saw Deadpool & Wolverine, so this was a fun excuse to try it out! and i'm really happy with how sweet and fluffy this turned out (with just a little bit of spice 🤭). thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

“Let’s kiss.”

The words, said by your best friend, Johnny Storm, were so unexpected that they startled a laugh from your lips. 

“Johnny…what?” you spluttered, pushing yourself back from your best friend’s chest, where you’d been burrowing into his thick winter coat to ward off the February chill. 

You were all too aware of the fact that you could only put so much distance between you and him since you were strapped into the metal seat of a ferris wheel, which was slowly lifting you and your best friend toward the gunmetal gray clouds in the sky. 

It had been Johnny’s idea to go to the Valentine’s Day carnival together, and though you’d tried to tell him that he must have women lining up around the block to be his date, he’d insisted on taking you. 

You supposed you should be grateful to your best friend for not wanting to let you wallow in misery alone on the holiday meant for couples while you were hopelessly single. But there was a special kind of torture in going to a Valentine’s Day carnival with the best friend you had secret feelings for and pretend it wasn’t killing you that it wasn’t a real date.

“C’mon, firefly, haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like?” Johnny was asking, dragging your attention back to your handsome best friend. His voice was low and earnest, and sounding nothing like the playful tone he had when he was teasing you. 

You swallowed and bit your lip, looking out across the carnival to give yourself time to try to think up something, anything to say that wasn’t the truth. Which was that of course you’d wondered what it would be like to kiss Johnny Storm. You’d laid awake too many nights in your life wondering exactly that. 

But you couldn’t say that. So you looked out at the expanse of red and white striped booths, the other carnival rides lit up in bright neon in shades ranging from flamingo pink to flaming fuchsia, and all the people milling about. 

A light snow was falling from the dark sky, making the scene even more magical. But you couldn’t enjoy it, not with Johnny’s question hanging around your shoulders like an impossible weight.

“Have you?” you found yourself asking, cutting your eyes to Johnny without turning your head and finding him watching you intently. 

Having all of your best friend’s attention on you was a heady feeling and you nearly lept into his lap and kissed him, just to sate the curiosity that had burning in your soul for years. But you managed to hold yourself back with all your practiced self-control.

A grin spread across Johnny’s face at your question and he wrapped an arm around your front, the other snaking between your back and the metal seat to haul you closer until you were tucked into his side. The position put your face very close to Johnny’s, and instead of pushing away like you knew you should, you found yourself drifting even closer. 

“I didn’t,” Johnny admitted, and the bluntness of his statement made you reel back. 

Your best friend was quick, though, and he cupped your cheek in his hand. His palm was so warm against your chilled skin that you couldn’t help the happy little chirp you made as you leaned into his touch. He was always so warm, and always so willing to share his warmth with you. How could you possibly not fall for him?

“But then I did,” your best friend murmured, staring deep into your eyes, nothing but genuine affection in his gaze. “And now I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

Your eyes widened and you sucked in a soft gasp of surprise at Johnny’s revelation. Of their own accord, your eyes drifted down to his mouth, taking in the plump lower lip framed by the rough stubble decorating his jaw. 

Johnny’s sister Sue was always on him about shaving, and cutting his slightly shaggy brown hair, but you hoped he never did. You liked his scruff—you wanted to feel it against your cheeks…and other places.

“You can’t stop thinking about kissing me?” you asked, your voice barely a wisp on the wind. But that didn’t seem to stop Johnny from hearing you. He always managed to hear you. 

Your best friend’s eyes softened, pure affection—and something deeper, something even warmer—in the curve of his mouth as he smiled at you. 

“Yeah, firefly,” he rumbled, ducking his head until his forehead was pressed to yours. “I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”

“Oh.”

It was all you could think to say, and yet it sounded so insufficient for everything you were feeling. There was excitement, bright and unmistakable, burning in your heart. But there was also cold fear churning uneasily in your belly. You were afraid of kissing Johnny and it leading to more, and then something happening to ruin your relationship. 

He was your best friend, the person you always counted on. The stakes couldn’t possibly be higher because you simply could not lose him. 

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him either. Especially not with the way you could taste the peppermint hot chocolate on his breath as he shifted even closer. The warmth of his exhales fanned across your lips and you felt a pull toward him like a physical tether that you were growing tired of resisting.

“Let’s kiss,” Johnny said again, his words low and pleading. “Please, firefly, I need to…” His words were bitten off by a sound of pure need and emotion low in his throat. The fierceness in his tone had your body lighting up, coming alive beneath the layers of your winter clothes despite the chill in the air.

“Johnny.” His name was the softest of sighs slipping from your lips. 

Suddenly, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you couldn’t possibly step off that ferris wheel without kissing your best friend. So you whispered the words that would seal your fate, a challange to the universe to try to ruin your relationship with Johnny. You’d like to see the universe try. 

“Do it.”

The brash, confident Johnny Storm didn’t need to be told twice. 

Your best friend’s mouth crashed down on yours, not giving you a chance to take back your words—not that you would’ve wanted to. 

The moment’s Johnny’s lips sealed against yours, you knew you were done for. He was the man you’d wanted to kiss for so long, and you quickly realized he was the only man you ever wanted to kiss again for the rest of your life.

Johnny’s mouth was ravenous as he devoured yours. It felt like the first touch of your lips had opened the floodgates on the emotions both of you had been burying for years, and there was no stemming the tide of affection that surged forward and swirled around your heart. 

You could feel the hunger in every sweep of Johnny’s tongue, in every pull of his mouth as he sucked on your lower lip, in the greedy handfuls he helped himself to through your winter coat. And you were just as voracious with your kisses, nipping at his mouth and twining your tongue with his, your fingers twisting in his fluffy brown hair and yanking him closer until there wasn’t any space left between your bodies.

It wasn’t until a loud cough sounded close by that the two of you broke apart. Your exhales puffed out of you in white little clouds in the cold February night, and it made you giggle to see them mingling with Johnny’s as you tried to catch your breath. 

When you tried to extricate yourself a little from his hold, Johnny’s arms tightened around your waist and it was only then that you realized the ferris wheel had come to a stop. The metal bar that had been locked into place over your laps was rising and a bored-looking teenager was standing by the controls, waiting for you and your best friend to exit while a line of people looked ready to board.

“Aren’t you guys a little old to be making out on the ferris wheel?” the teen muttered as you scrambled out of the ferris wheel car, making your face flame with embarrassment. 

“You’re never too old to mack on your girl, kid,” Johnny replied easily, clapping a hand on the teen’s shoulder as he passed. Your best friend threw his other arm around your shoulders and tucked you into his side as he led you away from the ferris wheel. 

A light, giddy laugh fell from your lips and you buried your face in Johnny’s chest until you’d gotten ahold of yourself. And until you’d left the ferris wheel and everyone who’d caught you making out with your best friend behind.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said to him, your voice thick with affection as you pushed up onto your toes to press a kiss to the scruffy underside of your best friend’s jaw. “Who even says ‘mack on’ anymore?”

“Me, obviously,” Johnny teased, pulling you closer and cupping your cheek. He nipped at your lower lip playfully, all while still walking through the crowded fairgrounds and making sure neither of you bumped into anyone. “You love it.”

His voice was low and husky and it sent a shiver racing down your spine, heat gathering between your thighs despite the chill in the air. Your fingers curled into the softness of Johnny’s jacket, clinging to him as you walked together, unable to pull away and look at the sights of the carnival around you.

“I do,” you agreed with a smile. He ducked down and kissed you, making your body light up and an ache to throb between your thighs. There was a desperate feeling in your chest, and you had the undeniable urge to get closer to Johnny, to feel him everywhere. So before you could think better of it, you asked, “Can we get out of here?”

A grin spread across Johnny’s face, having that edge of arrogance you associated with your best friend. But there was also a hunger in his eyes, one that matched the feeling burning in your chest, and you were thankful when all he said was, “Absolutely.”

The two of you couldn’t possibly be expected to keep your hands to yourselves, even on the short walk out of the carnival to Johnny’s truck, and you drew plenty more aggrieved coughs and clearing of throats before you finally broke free from the crowd. Your hands kept slipping beneath Johnny’s coat, tugging on the belt loops of his jeans to pull him closer, while his palms seemed to be glued to your ass and hips. 

It was all you could do to make it to your best friend’s truck without a public indecency charge, and even then, it was a near thing. But you couldn’t seem to stop touching him, kissing him, trying to get closer to him. 

For a long, blissful moment, Johnny pinned you against the passenger side door of his truck, kissing you deeply while his hands groped greedily at your ass and thighs, hiking your leg up so he could grind into your center. It was only when you tossed your head back against the truck and let out a loud moan that he seemed to remember where the two of you were. 

Johnny made quick work out of opening the door to his truck and helping you up into the passenger seat. You had to bite your kiss-swollen lip hard not to whine when he pulled away to walk around the front of the truck and hop in. As soon as he was inside, you slid across the bench seat, curling around his bicep while he cranked the engine and pulled out of the parking spot.

Carefully—extra carefully, since your lips were fastened to his neck and he was gripping your thigh tightly in one hand—Johnny maneuvered the truck into a desolate corner of the field being used as the parking lot for the carnival. It was shrouded in shadows from the tall trees surrounding the field, and so far from the crowd that you knew no one would interrupt the two of you again.

As soon as Johnny put the truck in park, leaving the heater on and cracking the windows to make sure it didn’t get too hot or too cold in the cab, it felt like the two of you were in a race to see who could undress the other faster. Coats and sweaters and boots and pants were strewn haphazardly across the dashboard and the steering wheel in your excitement to get naked. 

But when Johnny lay you down, the leather bench seat warm and smooth against your back, he slowed to a pause. His narrow hips were slotted perfectly between your thighs, a condom already wrapped around his hard cock, but he took a moment to cup your face in his big hands and stare at you.

“You’re it for me, firefly,” he murmured, staring deeply into your eyes and letting you see the love and devotion plainly in his dark sapphire gaze. “I didn’t know….” Johnny trailed off, swallowing thickly. 

You could see him struggling and you squeezed his arm reassuringly. He smiled faintly, ducking his head to kiss your knuckles and then gathered himself enough to continue on.

“I didn’t understand what it meant to always want to be near you, to be out and always wanting to come home to you,” Johnny confessed, his voice husky with emotion. His bright blue eyes stared at you carefully, watching you absorb what he was saying. “I thought that was just friendship, but then I started thinking about kissing you, and I realized it was something more.”

“Oh Johnny,” you said, your voice thick with tears, but you blinked them back, not wanting to go a moment without seeing his handsome face hovering above yours. “I’ve loved you for ages,” you admitted, laughing giddily at the relief that came from finally confessing your feelings. 

“And you didn’t tell me?” Johnny acted affronted, ducking down and nipping at your lip in a way you knew was meant to be playfully chastising. “You shoulda smacked me upside the head and told me to stop being an idiot, firefly, to see what was right in front of me.”

“You got there eventually,” you said, teasing him a little since you couldn’t help it. Your laugh was cut off by his kiss, Johnny growling good-naturedly while he licked into your mouth, tasting your happiness straight from your tongue. It was blissful and indulgent, getting to kiss your best friend whenever you wanted, and you melted even further for him.

Then the urgency returned and Johnny was wrapping his fist around his cock and guiding the tip to your dripping entrance. He pushed inside your aching, needy hole, and the time for confessions was over. Johnny buried himself inside your body to the hilt, and you let out a little sob of pleasure at finally being joined with your best friend in the most intimate way possible.

He cooed at you sweetly, whispering filthy words in your ear about how good you felt and how perfectly your pussy felt wrapped around his cock. You muffled your whimpers and whines in his scruffy jaw, your teeth scraping over his warm skin as he told you what a good girl you were, how perfectly you were taking his cock. 

Johnny fucked you slowly, with deep, firm thrusts that made you feel every inch of his cock. Your ankles hooked around the backs of his thighs, pulling him in even deeper, your pussy gripping him tightly as you clung to his body and moaned your pleasure into his mouth. 

You were the first to shatter, Johnny’s hips grinding the base of his cock against your clit until you were shaking and crying through your release. He followed you over the edge right after, your squeezing pussy wringing every drop of cum from his hard length. 

Johnny murmured his love and affection in your ear, brushing sweet, bristly kisses to your cheeks and lips as he eased his softening length from your body and made quick work of disposing of the condom. Tenderly, he cleaned you up as best he could in his truck and helped you get dressed again. Only once your winter coat was all zipped up did he pull on his jeans and sweater.

You curled up against his arm while he drove you home, your body warm and loose and sated—for the moment. 

He parked in your driveway, getting out to open your door for you and help you down from the truck. Johnny walked you to your door and paused beneath the porch light, pulling you in for a kiss while he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Do you know why I call you firefly?” he asked in a soft, sweet tone that you were coming to associate with the boyfriend version of your best friend.

“No, why?” you answered breathlessly, pushing up onto your tiptoes and nuzzling your face into Johnny’s scruffy cheek. You were already making a mental note to make sure he never shaved it again—even if the thought of rubbing your face against his smooth skin also held a certain kind of appeal…

“Because you always light up the night,” Johnny said, his voice filled with affection as he turned his face into yours, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. “No matter what is going right or wrong in my life, you’re always the brightest, most beautiful thing about it.”

“Oh Johnny,” you breathed on a soft, happy sigh. A part of you might’ve thought it was too soon, but, for the life of you, you couldn’t bite back the words even if you’d wanted to. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, firefly.” 

Johnny’s smile melted as he kissed you, long and hard, until your nose grew cold in the chilly February air. Then, he helped you fish your keys from your pockets and fitted them into the lock on your door. 

On the arm of your boyfriend, Johnny Storm, you pushed inside your home, and spent the rest of Valentine’s Day showing him your love with kisses and words and everything in between, while he showed you his love in return.

Together, you lit up the night.

sweethearts game masterlist

[cupidlovesastro]

symbols and their meaning (bug edition)

🌸moths- transformation, healing, endings, death, rebirth (pluto/ scorpio energy !!)

🌿butterflies- freedom, beauty, hope, transformation. in chinese culture it’s also said to symbolize the human soul !

🌸beetles- prosperity, luck, wealth, growth (mainly from chinese & native american cultures)

🌿ants- unity, team work, power of collaboration and cooperation. in native american culture they can also represent allies

🌸bees- dedication, prosperity, fertility, focus, team work, hard work, kindness, success, positivity. in christianity it can represent forgiveness

🌿scorpions- protection, independence, intelligence, solitude, transformation, sex, lust, fertility, defensiveness

🌸spiders- patience, persistence, omens, fate. native american culture also believe they represent creation, protection, and wisdom

🌿ladybug- positivity, good luck, spiritual guidance, trusting the universe, protection, past lives, wishes being fulfilled, abundance preying

🌸mantis- clairvoyance, meditation, stillness, awareness, balance, peace. christian’s believe it symbolizes piety or that angels are watching you

🌿dragonfly- rejuvenation, unexpected, self realization, mental & emotional maturity, fantasy, adaptability, joy, courage. in buddhism, they believe that dragon flies represent overcoming illusion, through the transformation of your perceptions.

🌸firefly- attraction, self illumination, hope, unity, harmony. the ancient japanese also thought that they were to represent love and war

🌿centipede- healing, hidden things, doubts. although in other cultures such as chinese and african, they believe centipede’s bring wealth, and prosperity

[ingeniousmindoftune]

Smoke in the room II

Pairing: Smoke x Stack xblack!reader

Summary: Stack made his choice. But choices have consequences. As he tries to claw his way back into your life, you’re finding something unexpected—something real—in Smoke’s arms.

My birthday gift to yall. 🤍

Part one

Three Weeks Later,

The mailbox lay empty. No letters slipped between its rusted hinges. Your phone screen stayed stubbornly blank—no missed calls, no unread messages. At night you listened for his voice in the long sigh of wind rattling against your bedroom window, but there was only the low whistle of the draft and the distant hum of traffic.

Yet the signs were unmistakable.

On your doorstep, a handful of roses lay discarded—petals shriveled and jet-black at the edges, their sickly-sweet perfume rotting into something sour and mournful. Against the chipped paint of your apartment door, words were gouged in uneven letters, each stroke gouging the wood as if in desperation:

I still feel you. I still love you. Let me explain.

You pressed your palm against the splintered grooves, tasting faint sawdust on your tongue, feeling bruised memories throb beneath your skin. You didn’t want to hear it—not after the nights you’d lain curled and hollowed out by his betrayal, when his fangs had cleaved your trust like iron claws ripping flesh.

You certainly didn’t want to hear it while Smoke was the one who’d held you through it all.

That first night, you’d collapsed onto his couch as though gravity had lost its mind. Your ribs felt raw from sobbing, tears soaking the cotton of your shirt, every breath hitching in the stale, liquor-scented air of his cramped apartment above the neon-soaked corner store. You clung to him—his denim jacket cool against your cheek—while outside, the sky bled pale gray and dawn birdcalls trembled in the gloom. He didn’t offer a single word or movement beyond tucking you closer. He was a silent anchor until morning light bled in through the threadbare curtains.

You hadn’t planned to stay.

But mornings bled into afternoons, and afternoons curled back into nights in a strange new rhythm. Smoke cooked dinners in his chipped cast-iron skillet: garlic and onions sputtered in olive oil, steam curling into the low ceiling. You kneaded stubborn stains from the grout of his kitchen floor, elbows aching, water dripping down your forearms. When you teased him for his dusty vinyl collection—mournful sax solos that seemed to sigh with every note—he’d catch you with a crooked grin, eyes amused but somber, calling you out the instant you tried to pretend you weren’t still raw.

There was a steadiness in him that wanted only your truth—no charades, no half-lies, and no unspoken debts. Something Stack had never offered.

Tonight, the circuit breaker had tripped again. The city beyond your window lay draped in black velvet, streetlights flickering like sleepy fireflies. Smoke struck a match and lit two beeswax candles on the scarred coffee table. Their pale amber flames quivered, casting lopsided shadows over his angular cheekbones and the threadbare tweed of the couch. The air carried the faint tang of melted wax, yesterday’s coffee grounds curled into crusty rings on a saucer, and the distant buzz of neon seeping up from the store below.

You sat across from him, knees drawn tight to your chest, your stained jeans warm against the cushion. Your eyes were rimmed crimson, glassy as wounded birds.

“Do you think he regrets it?” you whispered, voice rasping like gravel dragged across pavement.

Smoke didn’t reply right away. He rolled a spent match between his fingertips, the charred end flaking off into tiny black ash. When the last ember winked out, he exhaled a soft breath.

“He regrets everything,” he said, voice low and reluctant. “But regret doesn’t earn him forgiveness.”

A bitter edge cut through you. “Are you mad at him?”

He lifted his gaze, jaw set, fingers tightening around the matchbox. “I’m furious he hurt you. Furious he broke every promise he ever made. And I’m angry because I know he can’t undo what he’s done—even if part of you still might let him.”

Your chest constricted like stone. “I don’t want to.”

He leaned forward. Candlelight caught the flare in his dark eyes. “Then don’t lie to me.”

You swallowed, the taste of salt and ash heavy on your tongue. “I don’t want to… but I miss him.”

The apartment held its breath. Somewhere down the hall, a faucet dripped in lonely rhythm. Smoke’s voice came again, softer but fierce. “You keep staring at the door, waiting for him to knock. Your hands shake every time you hear footsteps in the hall. He branded you, Y/N. It drives me wild that even with me here, he’s living rent-free in your mind.”

You blinked back tears. “That’s not fair.”

He reached out, sliding a hand across the low table until it covered yours—warm, solid. Shadows flickered across his knuckles. “No. It’s honest.”

In that moment you saw him—not as a stand-in for Stack’s absence, but as Smoke: the quiet strength in his fingers, the steady warmth in his voice, the refuge he’d become.

Something inside you cracked.

Maybe it was the raw ache in your chest. Maybe it was the gentle insistence of his hand. Maybe it was that in a city teeming with monsters, he was the only thing that felt like home.

Your voice trembled. “What if I don’t want to miss him anymore?”

His thumb brushed light circles on your skin. “Then stop listening for him at the door, and start listening to me.”

And for the first time in weeks, you did.

Outside, under a flickering streetlamp, Stack lingered on the slick asphalt. Rainwater pooled at his boots, reflecting the neon glow across cracked pavement. His shoulders sagged—the hunger was gone, the rage locked away. In its place bloomed something raw and all too human.

Regret.

He pressed a hand to his chest, as if searching for the warmth he’d lost. He wasn’t mourning power or control.

He was mourning you.

[anika-ann]

The (Un)Expected - S.R.

Type: one-shot, soulmate AU, good ol' meet-cute (soulmates meeting for the first time prompt)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 8k

Summary: 

A soulmark shows the first words your soulmate will speak to you. A soulmark tells you there is the person for you out there. A soulmark tells you what to expect.

For that, Steve’s is a source of comfort and anxiety to him. You always had a complicated relationship with yours.

But maybe they will teach you a lesson in the end – that the only thing one should really expect, is the unexpected.

Warnings: brief angst, mention of cancer (not reader), canon-typical violence, mention of death (no major character), blood and injuries, language, FLUFF so take it easy on sugar before reading

A/N: written for the Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by the wonderful @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 . Thank you both so much for hosting and stirring life in the fandom! I loved seeing the traffic and positivity on my dash - you're doing god's work 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Steve Rogers was a sickly child.

He spent too much time to his liking in his bed – and even more time outside of it despite feeling sick for he couldn’t bear resting anymore, craving to explore the world instead – and was sneaked into a doctor’s office by his mother quite often as well. She only got him in as a favour, courtesy of her own good name – a nurse working double shifts and lending a helping hand wherever she could, a single mother working herself to a bone to take care of and set example to her only son.

A single mother, a nurse, a good person – a beautiful soul. She left this world too soon, but she left an imprint on Steve’s heart larger than any other person, perhaps besides Bucky, ever could.

All that told him, even as indirectly, that his soulmate would be one special dame. She would be kind, she would be brilliant and for that alone, he knew she would be beautiful.

Steve knew that as soon as he could read, as soon as he could decipher the words on his skinny forearm.

In a world where first words your soulmate would tell you were laced into your skin for you and your soulmate’s eyes to see only, his words told him his soulmate was a little miracle.

'I’m not a doctor yet.'

Steve had spent a fair amount of time around nurses and doctors to know that all nurses were women and the overwhelming majority of doctors were men – by the time he was ten, barely a few women were allowed to attend medical schools, let alone graduate. But you, you would be on your way to reach that. Brilliant. Driven. Desiring to help people, to heal.

It was only when other children, other guys and girls alike, began laughing at him for being too little, too weak, too bony, when his heart began to ache for a different reason than illness. If you were to be all these amazing things he had dreamed of, what were you to do with a sickly fella like him? With your words to him being these, it was a fair assumption to make that you would meet due to his health issues, perhaps a smart dame taken under a more experienced doctor’s wing during your studies. How disappointed you would be when your soulmate, the one person meant for you and chosen by destiny itself, would be… that?

That upsetting idea haunted him, hurting more than the bruises that had formed under fists of bullies Steve kept trying to save those even weaker than him from, more than stick and stones and words alike.

Then again… there was a little silver of hope in his heart, a little shy voice in his head. If you were to be his true love, then certainly you’d accept him, yes? If he tried, if he tried hard enough to be a good man, the best possible version of himself, if he worked hard to protect and feed his future family, set a good example for your future children as his mother had, worked towards making a better world, you’d accept him? If he could live with not being as great as others but never stopped trying, you would respect him and perhaps even loved him for what he was?

Then, of course, war came and those thoughts were pushed aside.

Then, he grabbed at his chance to fight that war, to do his part, to help – and incidentally, he also earned his chance to literally grow. Healthy. Strong. More worthy; but remaining good, because that was the one part of him he wanted to hold on to no matter what, that one part he would wish his love, wherever she was, would love him for, even if he suddenly shrank back into the back of skin and bones he used to be.

Then, he lost his best friend Turned into a failure.

And then… then he died.

One of his last thoughts were of you, a beautiful woman with vague appearance but strikingly kind heart and sharp mind. He prayed you’d get a new soulmate somehow, even as those cases weren’t heard of. He prayed you’d live a happy healthy life without him, at least as good as he would have tried his best to give you, to build with you, even as his own heart was breaking to pieces, regret veiling his body as water and snow and icy wind would, regret for missing his chance to meet the most special person in his world.

When he closed his eyes and still saw the white of ice and the blue of the deep sea, he’d swear he saw your face, crystal clear, for the first time – and the last time – in his life.

Seeing you, a stunning mirage, his last thought was that you were an angel gently leading him into afterlife.

When he woke up to a new millennium, one of the first things he did was checking his forearm; he words still sat there, taunting, mocking and heartbreaking, another screaming reminder of him not belonging here.

As years passed by, the sense of alienation subdued. Steve Rogers learned to belong, even as a piece of his heart was missing, longing for the past life – and the life he had never got to have – always humming in his chest quietly.

The mark on his forearm remained, a sad memento to a soulmate he had never met, turning him into a martyr.

But many people had rejected the idea of soulmates in this time, rebelling against their so-called fate, taking off on a path of searching love on their own. Steve learned they did so for various reasons – a sense of adventure before they’d truly find their one true love, a quest to choose the fortune and love on their own terms, a fuck-you to the universe when their soulmate turned out to be less than they imagined and hoped.

His own reasons, as he reluctantly started to look for a person to share his life with, were rather unique, but no one looked at him through their fingers for that. If anything, those who cared about him encouraged him, wishing for his happiness.

It was only when he got Bucky back – one of his greatest regrets not erased, not lessened since Bucky had endured unimaginable pain, but transformed, a piece of Steve’s past brought back to life – that he began to wonder about the almost blasphemous thought he had forbid himself from entertaining when he had been first brought back to life from ice.

Were you still there somewhere?

And then, a shier thought:

Is there still a chance for me to find my true soulmate?

And then, the shiest one of them all:

Is there a chance for me to find happiness with you?

When he had thought of that before, he was certain that since you were still alive – he had read reports of people claiming their soulmark changed colours if their loved one died – he had thought of you as an old lady who had hopefully lived her life as he had genuinely wished for her.

But what if fate, that little minx who had taken his best friend for life from him only to give him back, had somehow blessed Steve with a soulmark decades before you were even born? What he hadn’t lost his chance, what if you were still young enough to build a life with him? Was that even possible? There were aliens, flying suits of armour, other realms, downright magical weapons… he had been given a second chance at life. There were things happening Steve would have never thought possible before. So was there a chance…?

The idea of you being a doctor became much more plausible too – in this century, female doctors were a much more common occurrence. That, naturally, did not diminish your brilliance whatsoever, the fundamental idea of who you’d be never changing in Steve’s mind. The image only became less surreal in one way and a whole lot more surreal in another.

For his own sake, he didn’t give in into that hope fully; at least he told himself that despite lying awake at night, a ghost of a woman he had never met lying next to him, radiating non-existent warmth he wished with his whole being he could touch.

He wasn’t chasing after the ghost, didn’t allow himself that – there was no way to do so to his knowledge anyway – for the chances of success were rather slim.

But there was always hope, wasn’t there?

And the longing for love, whether it was in the hands of fate or in his own to find it, remained, built into his very body; etched into his bones, flowing through his veins, laced into his skin beyond the words on his forearm, always humming quietly in his heart.

In the age of information and science, the concept of having your ideal partner for life chosen by some mysterious abstract entity called Fate was literally otherworldly. Alien. Absurd even.

And yet, it still ruled the lives of many.

Which, in all honesty, was almost even more fascinating than the existence of soulmarks itself – the belief people had for them despite being no logic to them at all.

Perhaps it was the little piece of human soul, an inner child people so desperately wanted to cling to for its own beauty and purity, a child who never wanted to stop believing in magic, fate, dragons, mighty knights and kind-hearted ladies, in all things of fairytales and happy-endings the most. Because to a point, that was what soulmarks were – and little fairytale-like book of destiny.

One that not even science seemed capable of beating.

And you should know; you were somewhat of a scientist yourself. And despite how unfathomable the nature of soulmates was, you could not say that you rejected the idea of them, of someone who was born to belong with you, someone you could share your life with, the right partner in the crime of life. Basic bodily needs aside, wasn’t that the most fundamental need of all? To love and be loved; to belong?

Who wouldn’t wish for that reassurance that they could have that, that some strange force of universe itself created a person like that for them? They were the god’s strongest soldiers you supposed; because you were certainly not immune to that tempting comfort.

But you weren’t obsessed – and you prided yourself in the fact. Mostly because the sheer fanaticism of the world over soulmarks, the one thing that kept defying science – besides alien portals, magical blue cubes, demigods walking the Earth and things alike – was dialled up ad absurdum.

There could be billions of dollars poured into research of curing cancer. Cure autoimmune diseases. Helping the homeless. Slowing down global warming. Erasing poverty and famine. Protecting nature, endangered species. Discovering new worlds, exploring space.

But no. Governments poured billions of dollars into researching soulmarks. How was it they existed? How was it you could cut through skin, you could cut off skin and the mark would reappear somewhere else? What was the grand scheme of them? Why was it that only two people who belonged together could see them and the person speaking the words could only see it on their soulmate’s skin after they spoke the words, almost like a fail-safe that couldn’t seem to be broken with any tricks?

It wasn’t a question of physics as far as people knew; they had tried to build sets-up of various optics, thermovision cameras and complex sets of lenses and mirrors, and none of the reports you had ever heard of claimed success. It wasn’t genetic markers either; no one had discovered a sequence of DNA responsible for soulmarks, let alone turned whatever discovery they would have made into a tool of reading anyone’s but their own and their soulmate’s mark. It didn’t seem to be chemistry either; no one had made a groundbreaking discovery or at least they hadn’t informed the scientific or any other community so far.

But by gods, forget the space race. Attempting to be the first one to somehow read everyone’s soulmark and then create an algorithm to monetize it as the one and only soulmate dating app, now that was a competition overflowing with cutthroat madmen. Not to mention the crowds looking to temper with soulmarks, to make another one appear on someone’s body; or worse, to erase the original soulmark and instead design one capable of manipulating the outcome of a soulmate match.

You found the force of that obsession insane – and frankly, all the attempts morally wrong. While dedicated to science and loyal to discovery, you found soulmarks to be something sacred, one of the things that should not be touched by filthy human hands; god knew humanity, while doing a lot of good, had mucked up about just as much.

You were not alone in that belief. There were, in fact, numerous demonstrations against scientists experimenting with soulmarks, people protesting against anyone creating such tool and using it to temper with natural course of things no one fully understood, not for the lack of trying. However – as expected everywhere where politics and money were involved – these protests were in vain.

They were as vain and futile as the research of the marks itself.

As for your own soulmark, you had a rather complicated relationship with it.

On one hand, it gave you a sense of peace – there was someone for you, even as sometimes it did not feel plausible at all. You had time too – because based on those words, you would not meet your soulmate until in your twenties at least. You had plenty of time to become who you were meant to be before a man could turn your life upside down, even as that was not supposed to be what soulmates did, at least not in a bad sense of the word.  

On the other hand, it was a ball and chain. You would not find you soulmate sooner than in your twenties and sometimes, you missed them despite not having met yet. When imagining what your meeting could be like based on their first words etched into your skin, you feared they might be a little disappointed – even as you did not let that stop you from pursuing the life you wanted. And despite you wanting to choose the career either way, it felt like someone – be it god, fate or another cosmic entity humanity was yet to discover – had chosen the path for you the moment you had been born if not before.

'Doctor, are you alright?'

Four simple words that couldn’t be more ordinary and yet extraordinary for they represented one of the most meaningful encounters of your life. The source of as much comfort as anxiety.

You couldn’t stand hospitals ever since you were a child. The cold environment reminded you of the strange icy feeling that had settled in your chest over the months you had been visiting your dying father, your naïve eyes watching cancer bite off his energy and smiles first, before it swallowed his whole body and soul. He had been a ghost long before he passed; and in your mind, despite all rationality even years after, that ghost haunted any hospital you visited.

Learning what your soulmark was as a child, you had spent countless nights crying, soul torn into pieces, pushed and pulled between the visceral desire to live up to your soulmark and the crippling nausea at the mere thought of dealing with people drowned in misery caused by any illness in the cold institution they called a hospital.

However, the curious kid you had been, you had fallen in love with science itself.

And that one day at school, when a classmate of yours had brought their father to the class to talk about his job as a doctor, you had burst into tears. You began to sob in the middle of him explaining to third-graders that he was not a medical doctor, but a physicist with a doctorate earning him the degree of a doctor as well. You remembered your teacher leading you outside of class, concerned and absolutely baffled, trying to sooth you helplessly even as you were completely inconsolable – because you did not need consolation.

You were crying the happiest, most relieved tears of your life.

You could still be a ‘doctor’. And you genuinely wanted to be one, not just because of what your soulmark read. You had always wished to help people indirectly, even as you looked back at your life now. Sure, your soulmark could have been adding fuel to your drive when your motivation had been running low, but this was who you desired and was meant to become.

A molecular biologist. A doctor in making. Researching the effects of medicinal drugs with hopes to improve them.

A scientist not researching soulmarks, thank you very much.

And yes, there was the lingering feeling of missing a person you hadn’t even met yet – especially when Doctor Simmons’ face lit up like fluorodeoxyglucose in PET scans whenever she saw Doctor Fitz – but you had other things to focus on. And you had time. There was no pressure.

You were not a doctor yet, after all.

Naturally, just because you dodged the joys and sorrows of being a medical student and later on, a medical doctor, it did not mean that you had it easy. No one working on their doctorate did. But when you decided to pursue your degree and work in research, you signed up for that.

You signed up for a lot of things.

It was a little peculiar for you to be on the SHIELD campus in the science division without a doctorate. It was a known fact that SHIELD only recruited best of the best, this Science ad Technology in particular: you needed at least one doctorate to even walk through the door, which was something you were reminded a lot because you did not meet that requirement and here you were.

But SHELD owned the best equipment and you were fortunate enough to get in by the lovely game of fate, being good and driven enough and having met the right people at the right time. SHIELD Academy’s Science & Tech division had the unique equipment you often needed for your research. Your research was interesting enough for people who had perhaps more power over your little life than fate itself. Stars aligned.

It was no walk in a parc, but you were no fool; jumping after that opportunity after having one too many doors shut into your face was a no-brainer. Even though it meant signing up for a whole extra load of shit.

You signed up to be the weird girl. The privileged girl. Hell, even the stupider than local average girl, because you were only an engineer at this point.

You signed up for being the young girl, even as you had met a few people there who had started younger, having actually earned their first PhD at age 17 or less.

You signed up for mockery and misogyny, for as you were aware the level was blissfully low here compared to other workplaces, especially where science was concerned; in exact science, you observed, more than anywhere you ever heard of, it was customary to keep that one insufferable employee, because they were simply that good at their job, no matter that they had cost the department a few other employees.

You signed up for living on campus with other SHIELD recruits, which meant living in close quarters with other divisions; as a result, some days the whole area seemed to swim in testosterone emitted by the hulking special agents in making from Operations.  

But that was okay. You could do it.

There were bright sides too, many of them. Like pursuing your dream career. Being among like-minded people whose brain, to a large point, ran on the same wavelength. Hooking up with a handsome but notbrainless recruit from Operations or Communication here and there, some flings, some relationships, because if you were to wait for the love of your life, you might as well not wither completely. You were only human and you had needs along with your lifegoals.

You more than willingly signed up for working with Agent slash Doctor Jemma Simmons.  With her two PhDs and rich experience from the field, she had left the action behind in order to work on her third PhD and help humanity without having her life on the line every day. She was hard-working, with no-nonsense approach and lovely sense of humour with plenty of stories to back it up; she was overall pleasant person to work and be friends with and despite having been through amazing and terrifying experiences other people couldn’t even imagine, she remained surprisingly down-to-Earth.

Sure, she had her quirks like insisting on having a gun at hand at all times and stashing a few small vials of altered Molotov cocktail, a mixture of chemicals which would ignite upon the vial breaking, in one of the nearby cabinets – but you supposed there were worst things to get used to than that in a coworker or a friend. She used to be an active agent after all; in fact, unofficially, she remained one. Much like anyone, you knew that certain habits died hard and being through what she had been – she confessed to you that she once spent months on a nearly deserted ancient planet, among other things – left a mark. If this made her feel safer, you’d take it.

Another great thing about Jemma, Doctor Simmons, was that she was adorably English and was in dedicated relationship with Doctor Fitz who was a Scotsman, so that was the spice of long workdays at times; especially if you agreed to play Scrabble with them and a few friends in the evening.

But there were things you had not signed up for when following the alluring promise of a prestigious spot and unique equipment.

And one of them was a damn Nazi revival group in the form of fucking HYDRA attacking the lab while you were in the peaceful process of waiting for your PCR to finally be finished.

Influx of men in full tactical gear interrupting Jemma updating you the vacation plans, Fiji and all the rare species of fishes that could be observed there when scuba diving.

When you heard the first shouts, breaking of glass and dull echoes of gunshots from afar, your immediate thought was that you had been having a good day and that the experiment had been coming along nicely – and that whatever mess was happening was for sure about to ruin all your progress.

By the time panic settled in, Jemma was practically tackling you down, hand over your mouth to muffle your startled squeak at the sudden movement, her eyes alert and serious, screaming at you to keep quiet.

The sickening shouts of HAIL HYDRA, COOPERATE AND YOU’LL GET HURT LESS was what sent your brain crashing into reality; that and the distant agonized cries of people, coworkers and recruits you knew and met in the hallways every day, following the sounds of gunshots growing in volume and frequency.

You could hear Jemma shuffling next to you further.

You yourself were unable to move beyond stifling a cry behind your suddenly sweaty palm as another female voice wailed in pain.

Blood seemed to freeze in your veins despite your heart thundering in your ribcage and your temples and it helped you shit at all that you were aware that was such thing was literally impossible. By the time Jemma’s hand grabbed yours again and squeezed hard, you realized you were shaking – half in anger, half in paralyzing fear, half in utter shock. It didn’t matter it didn’t add up.

What mattered was the gun in Jemma’s hand. She was holding a gun, ready to shoot, because there were enemy agents, fucking HYDRA burst through the door, guns blazing. And killing people.

You were whispering with exasperation worth of a shout before you knew what you were doing.

“Why?! Why the fuck-“

“Probably the samples they brought in today, precious cargo,” Jemma whispered back frantically, loading the gun and reaching into another cabinet behind her. You only stared at her in utter confusion and mute horror, rapid heavy footsteps approaching and sending your already racing heart into a madness. “Gun or cocktails?”

“I can’t shoot a-!”

Before you could finish, the familiar sound of the sliding door opening and a horrifying echo of tactical boots reached your ears, a set of vials pressed into your palm.

You gulped, pulse thundering in your temples.

Those goddamn Simmons’ cocktails as you named them since she had insisted on keeping around.

You couldn’t believe the moment was here that you were actually grateful for them, even as they seemed to burn in your hand even with the vials themselves intact.

Your eyes snapped to Jemma’s face to question it wordlessly at least, but she wasn’t looking at you; she was listening intently, lying in wake as if she was the predator and not the prey you felt like.

Your own breathing seemed too loud as you allowed yourself to squeeze your eyes shut for but a moment, a desperate attempt to wake up from the nightmare; but the morning didn’t come.

Instead, a gunshot rang in the room, glass shattering somewhere above your head to your right, sending a waterfall of shards flying next to you.

And causing you to cry out in fright.

Which revealed your position to the agents flowing into the lab.

Without a thought you snapped your eyes opened, jumped to your feet and threw two vials in the direction of a black blur with a shockingly clear red patch of the mythical Hydra monster in the middle; peripherally, you saw Jemma attacking as well, deafening noise of gunshot nearly blowing your eardrum.

You crouched back behind the counter so fast you felt vertigo swing you to the left, sharp pain erupting from your palm. It was pure miracle your right hand didn’t clench in instinct and shatter the two remaining vials, setting yourself on fire as well.

As well.

Someone was screaming – a man, you realized – the acid smell of burned flesh and plastic and various chemicals punching your nose and your stomach hard. You had hit someone with the vial. They screamed because of what you had done. You had-

You had no time to feel sorry. You had no time to properly think fucking serves them right.

More steps, more gunshots, movements you weren’t sure how happened or came to you in the first place, flashes of light and crimson and noise and godawful smell--- and pain erupting in the back of your head and suddenly you were barely catching yourself on the counter with your slippery palm--- your fingers brushed metal, knees weak but hands grabbing with all your might, lifting and swinging, a sickening crack on your right before you were falling, landing on your wrist, back hitting the cabinet door and making even more noise as you sent equipment clattering around.

However, the loudest sound was another gunshot; but the strangest sound was unfamiliar whizzing and metal hitting metal and someone most definitely shouting “clear!” that sounded as distant as a whisper over the ringing in your ears.

Instinctively, your head snapped to the voice as you tried to prop up on your hands to see; the world swam in front of your eyes, dizziness forcing you to fall back on your ass and squeeze your eyes shut in hopes to stop the world from spinning, a sting in your palm drawing a hiss from your lips.

You could hear Jemma’s talking to someone, her words blurred into a mumble despite her voice sounding firm and methodical; footsteps, quick and heavy but somewhat soft, accompanied by a brush of air against your skin, making you open your eyes again just as navy blue with speckles of silvery grey glinting in a flickering light filled your vision.

Then, a face; an extremely handsome face even as a helmet made of blue similar to the rest of his suit covered the upper half of it, framing a pair of the dreamiest blue eyes you had ever seen, as beautiful as blurry as a dream indeed.

Somewhere in the back of your brain it started clicking into place – that the man in front of you looked a whole lot like Captain America and he was there to kick HYDRA’s ass; he was hunk and looked righteous and unfairly pretty, the cut of his jaw sharp enough to appear as if sculpted by ancient masters of art and it might be softened by the leather strap holding his helmet in place but that only brought out the sheer beauty of his lips even with a small bloody split on them.

And he was talking to you, his leather-clad hand gently grasping your arm as you involuntarily swayed to side when moving your head to take in the entirety of his large figure.

“Doctor, are you alright?” he asked slowly, velvety voice sweet and heavy with concern at once, the gentle but firm hold on your arm growing stronger when you blinked owlishly, the connection between the meaning of his words and his apparent intention to talk to you slow and fragile.

Your tongue felt as if made of lead even as it tasted of bitterness of adrenalin, but you willed yourself to answer, a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.

“’mm… not a doctor yet.”

As you responded, you brain began to clear; and it occurred to you that it was a fair assumption for him to make.

You had grown used to clarifying, but hadn’t done so in months, because everyone already knew. However, he was an outsider to this lab and he couldn’t know you were the exception to the local rule. And you were wearing a lab coat, one that now had to be covered in mixture of chemicals you did not wish to identify, but perhaps you should try, because your forearm was beginning to burn.

The beautiful man kneeling in front of you silently observed you for what seemed like an eternity and half, surprise written all over his face. You couldn’t blame him; you were the weirdo of the lab. The fact the person who had purposely stacked explosives at hand was less of an anomaly than that was a thing to consider, but your head hurt too much to think about that and your heart was still beating unhealthily fast and his error seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things of HYDRA having attacked your lab and Captain America being right in front of you, holding onto your arm.

His soft baffled smile as he hung his head and shook it a bit with a breathless chuckle, and then lifted his downright shining gaze back to you, well that certainly made for a spectacular distraction from such unimportant thoughts.

Did his thumb just brush your arm as he still held you up a bit?

And had anyone ever told him he had a stunning smile that could melt hearts even if it was barely there and it was certainly melting yours?

“Apologies, miss. I’m going to help you get to medical, alright?” he suggested, those damn gorgeous eyes roaming your face with what almost seemed like wonder, even as his voice sounded all kinds of reassuring. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Safe. You were safe. Because there had been HYDRA agents, but Captain America and actual SHIELD operatives had come to the rescue. And because Jemma was-

Jemma. Your straightened, dull ache pounding in your back as you did so, vision clearing a fraction with the sudden realization that you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. Your friend whom you owed your life very likely, but even if you didn’t, you would have-

You craned your neck over Captain America’s impressive frame, head snapping from left to right, nausea rising with the movement, but that didn’t matter, you had to-

You turned your alarmed gaze back to the man who was still holding you, an urgent question on your lips.

“Jemma? Is she--- Doctor Simmons, brunet, lab coat-“ you paused, realizing bitterly that you had just described half of the Science and Technology. “Female. She’s a doctor and an agent too, she was with me had a gu-“

A warm squeeze on your arm, the concern which had grown even more evident on Captain’s face melting away and giving way to a soothing smile.

“She’s alright. She’s already left to be checked up and to give her statement.”

Your shoulders sagged, your head dropping a bit; the violent vertigo that seized your body at that was not pleasant and you tried to blink it away, gaze catching the reflection of the still-blinking fluorescent lamp on the Captain’s shield.

Oh. That was probably what had made the whizzing sound before. As your brain conjured an image of that, a spinning shield flying through the air, you cursed yourself mentally for letting your mind even go there since you had already felt like you were the flying piece of metal and the thing you’d hit eventually would be the floor.

“My head is spinning,” you muttered absently as you attempted to refocus your gaze, praying to gods of religion and science alike you wouldn’t throw up on the poor caring man.

Why was he still sitting here with you? Surely there were much more important things to tend to than one little post-grad? How was he so kind and gentle? Wasn’t he known for inspiring speeches in a deep serious voice and for beating up villains with both his physical strength and brains?

So many questions and no answer in those pretty blue eyes.

In fact, the number of your questions grew exponentially when the hand on your arm released the pressure and gently rubbed your elbow instead; his free hand carefully cradled the back of your other hand, the contrast of leather and his warm skin surprisingly sensual, suddenly making you understand why so many regency era literature spoke of hand-holding as indecent even as it was barely Fifty Shades of Grey level of filth.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Rogers said, snapping you from your thoughts. “Let me help you up and they’ll check you up too, including this nasty cut, okay?”

Huh?

Purposely slowly as not to make the vertigo worse, you glanced at your hand in his, feeling a fresh sting just by looking at your palm, your gaze instantly snapping away.

And falling straight onto two intact vials full of liquid of a distinct colour, lying carelessly about two feet away from Steve Rogers’ tactical boots. Your heart jumped in your chest, your hazy mind finally growing aware of your surroundings.

“Shoot! Careful around those, they’re highly flammable!” you warned him swiftly, his gaze snapping to the vials in question, while ours slowly trailed over the utter, utter messthe lab had become.

The sheer amount of broken glass, spilled chemicals, broken pipettes, torn papers and unidentifiable piles of junk was staggering and it was actually a miracle nothing had exploded yet – and as a cherry on top, a few feet away, a relatively small portable PCR machine, the very equipment you had been using, downright murdered along with your experiment and a smudge of blood around it. Jesus.

“Okay, that’s good to know. More the reason to get out,” Captain Rogers remarked, slight amusement lacing his voice, only growing stronger as he continued. “Keep a lot of these around?”

You could have scoffed, but you didn’t. You have no idea, pal.

“My friend is paranoid…” you explained, still staring at them, even as you mentally added ‘or not’, since those little things might have very well saved your life. As your gaze returned to Captain Rogers, your eyes caught on something else, having you sit up straighter in sheer horror. “Is that a stab wound?!”

You gulped at the sight, even as your uninjured hand instinctively reached out towards it – as if you could fix it. The already dark suit, a lovely navy blue, appeared downright black at left his side, right where it seemed to be singed by a flame.

Had that injury been there the whole damn time he had been sitting here with you, eternally patient with your slowed brain, Simmons’ cocktails lying around in one huge chemical dump in risk of exploding any damn minute?

You logically knew the answer had to be yes, but it made zero sense – and his answer made even less sense.

“Bullet, actually. Some sort of chemical damaged the Kevlar lining and they got a lucky hit. It’s just a graze.”

“A gra-“ you choked on the word, spit stuck in your throat causing you to cough and a groan escape past your lips as the sudden rapid movement sent your head pounding again.

“Hey, you-“

“You’ve been shot and you called my cut nasty?” you questioned through the tears, earning a smile worth giving up a career for – painfully warm, kind and… almost fond.

You truly must have hit your head hard.

…as if it hadn’t been evident before.

“I heal fast. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright, doc.”

A knee-jerk reaction – again. What was it with him? Had he hit his head, forgetting you had already explained – you had, you hadn’t imagined that, right? – and now he called you a doctor again, turned into a familiar nickname, no less.

“I’m not a doct---- holy shit.”

It slammed into you like a train, struck you like a lightning, even as neither of those things had ever happened to you – yet, you imagined it had to feel like this.

A massive force, a force of nature, realization as bright and as unexpected as a lightning from a clear sky.

Doctor, are you alright?

He had asked that. He had asked that. He had said your words. He had said your goddamn soulmate’s first words to you, what must have been minutes ago, and only now it hit you.

You were left staring at him with wide eyes, myriad of emotions written all over his face, including  slight amusement and what you had earlier inexplicably identified as fondness, because the reason why he was still sitting here with you – though perhaps that was what he always did when rescuing, what did you know, you didn’t, this was your first meeting, that was why he had said the words – was that unlike you, he had realized you were his soulmate right away.

He kept watching you, silently letting you process the crucial revelation, a tight but no less kind smile on his lips.

“You said my words,” you said oh so intelligently. “You--- what… what did I—say?”

It was perhaps the stupidest question of all you could have come up on the spot, but you genuinely couldn’t remember – and wanted to know what words he had been looking at his whole life.

…this part of life? Or before the ice too? How did he feel about that? How did he feel about you? Was he disappointed? He didn’t look like he was, but didn’t even know what you had said—

What you did know and remember was that you were supposed to be smart and yet it had taken you an eternity to even notice you were facing your soulmate you had been probably spewing complete nonsense, you were now stammering like an idiot and for someone who had been worried, always, even if in the back of their mind, if their soulmate would find them good enough, you were generally making a bloody awful first impression.

But seriously, what had been your first words-

“You said you weren’t a doctor yet,” Captain Rogers reminded you, voice soft with affection of someone who had imagined hearing those words at least as many times as you had wondered about yours, hoping they would be pronounced by someone who’d respect you and cared about what kind of person you were, and would hopefully, eventually care for you. Loved you even. The tender way the syllables rolled of his tongue, spoken as if they tasted of honey, nearly chased fresh tears to your eyes. Alright, perhaps your first impression hadn’t been as bad as it appeared in your – albeit injured – head.  “But if you really don’t remember saying that, that’s not a good sign. We need to get you medical attention. Come on. Hold on.”

Blinking slowly, still processing the light and yet suffocating feeling that found residence in your chest as it was starting to truly settle that this man, this painfully beautiful and criminally gentle man, was your soulmate, he was leaning closer to you, his hands guiding yours to wrap around his neck, a wordless order you had obediently followed, and then one of his arms was sliding under your knees and his other wrapping around the middle of your back.

And then your vertigo hit you anew because you were suddenly up in the air, hands gripping hard at anything you could reach – conveniently, the only thing was him, because he had lifted you upin his arms, some of your weight resting against his chest – despite the pain that shot up your left hand.

“Whoa-“ And then, because your memory did serve you at least a little: “You--- have been stabbed.”

“Shot,” he repeated patiently, fondly almost, and you did recall he had said that.

You recalled despite the scent of pleasant aftershave and peak man suddenly enveloping you as much as his arms and the firm armour – or perhaps that was the muscles underneath? And those pretty blue eyes were watching you with a glint of amusement and a surprising amount of affection for a guy saying he had been hit by a bullet, while effortlessly carrying the girl he had just met in his-- very, very strong, muscly arms and perhaps your head was not only spinning because of the sudden height you found yourself at.

…amusement? How was he amused? Was that-- was that a joke? Was he making fun of his bullet wound, playing it down? 

“That’s… really not better.”

He grinned down at you as he made his way to the exit.

Walking. Watching you. Grinning and not even really looking where he was stepping.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was one of those people. You had met men like him at Operations, except for some reason – perhaps some sort of a soulmate telepathy – you had a feeling in him, that the peculiar recklessness many people from suffered, the disregard for their safety, because they could handle it, was dialled up to eleven in him. On a one to five scale. Because scaling mattered; you were a scientist. You’d know.

However, he did make it out of the laboratory without blowing anything up – perhaps at least that recklessness was balanced up by enhanced senses of a supersoldier and indeed, healing fast. And you hoped with your whole heart that walking out unscathed was a conscious effort, be it for him (somehow you doubted that) or for the cargo he was carrying (you had no doubt about that, not when he was looking at you like that). At least he had kept the helmet on; you were thankful for that, even as you’d love to see him without it.

See your soulmate.

You knew what he looked like everyone knew what he looked like. If they had missed the WW II. ed, they could barely miss the news about an alien invasion he had had a hand in stopping, the fall of majority of SHIELD, and other exciting horrifying news.

“I’ll be fine, doc. Now let’s get you away from exploding vials and lab equipment you could knock me out with. I’d rather be safe when I ask you out for dinner.”

You gulped, gripping him a bit tighter as a memory hit you – literally.

The PCR machine. You had done that. You had grabbed it and used it to smash into a HYDRA agent’s face, using the nearest improvised tool of defence. Jesus.

I really did that?

“You… saw that?” was what you asked instead, a few second ticking by as the rest of his words registered in your brain – and god, you really hoped your cognitive abilities would restore soon and the head injury had not caused permanent damage. “Oh.”

As much as your heart started pounding at that, a pleasant somersault in your stomach for a change, it was a little unfair to sort-of ask you when you were in your current predicament. Being carried like that, so close to him, so gentlemanly and tenderly handled despite your weight no doubt straining him, especially since he had been shot – grazed –, yoursenses wrapped in everything that was him and pulling you in, you were fairly certain you might say yes to just about anything he’d ask.

And not just because he was your soulmate.

Your soulmate carrying you in his arms, while wearing a very flattering suit of armour.

“If you’d like, of course,” he added with slight hesitance that only made your heart race further, because he was laying out his own heart for you already, expressive, genuine, and maybe sweetly handsy but not pushy despite his title and rank technically giving him every right to do whatever the hell he wanted. “But either way, I’ll save the real question for when I know you’re not suffering from a concussion. That sounds good?”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. It did sound good, his consideration warming you from inside out. His voice sounded good too. “Sounds good to me.”

His smile was bright as the sun itself and basking in its light and warmth felt just as precious. Except he was to be your private sun forever shared with other to a point, but yours. Chosen by fate itself, defying all you had ever believed, beating time by decades, only so you could find each other.

“Looking forward to it, doc. Maybe I’ll get to know your name too while we’ll be at it,” he teased lightly, but without malice. “My name is Steve.”

Steve.

You knew that. You liked that.

Hand trembling a little, but not because you worried he’d drop you as you partly let go of his shoulders, you reached for the clasp on his helmet, a fluttery feeling in your chest eager to indeed see Steve rather than the Captain.

You felt your lips curl up and mirror his when he gave a tiny nod at your brief hesitation, your fingers finally undoing the strap and revealing his face with his help.

His hair was adorably ruffled, a slight shade of dust on his cheeks whispering of where the protective gear had been; but scientifically speaking, as well as speaking directly from heart, he was absolutely beautiful, his tender smile telling you he thought the very same about you.

He was meant to be yours; as you were meant to be his.

And you couldn’t wait to get to know him.

You could tell there were people around you and they were probably staring; but for the moment, you didn’t care at all. You had just met your soulmate.

And you weren’t even a doctor yet.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Steve. But I have to admit…” you said, teasing him with a pause, rewarded by his eyes earning a curious glint, “that the Doc nickname is kinda growing on me.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Oh this feels like coming back to my roots 🤭 but hey, this challenge is a revival of all thigs good of the past, so why not go with the good old-fashioned soulmate meet-cute with a little angst beforehand, right?

AND BEHOLD I WROTE SOMETHING SHORTER THAN 10K. SHORTER THAN 8K ACTUALLY! It’s an extravaganza miracle 😂

Also. There might be some unrelated smut in the works, but I will not finish that today so... won't be part of the cum together extravaganza... ah well 🤭

Thank you for reading and potential feedback 💕

May the Fourth be with you and the rest of May be kind ✨

[mattsundaes]

osamu miya x f!reader

“my mom asked me to return thi—” you cut yourself off abruptly as you’re met with the sudden, unexpected surprise of a familiar pair of gray eyes when the front door of the miya residence swings open. 

gray eyes that certainly don’t belong to the woman you intended to return the pie pan currently clutched in your hands to.

“osamu?” your voice comes out small, uncertain, a little fragile around the edges.

the corner of his mouth curves upward in a smile as he leans against the doorframe. “long time no see.”

–

the porch swing out back is as welcoming as it ever was, though the real estate to be found across its faded yellow cushions has waned as the two of you have grown. it was enormous to two seven-year-olds who spent long summer evenings on their backs across it, shoulder to shoulder with their little feet kicked up along the arm rests in opposite directions as they gazed up into the sky beyond the porch watching the fireflies come to life.

you can only imagine how ridiculous the two of you look now, heads parallel instead for lack of space and your legs thrown entirely over either edge at the knee, the swing shuddering with a precarious creak with each of your frequent outbursts of laughter.

for all that’s changed in the years since you graduated from inarizaki high and packed your bags—the new general store in town, your dad’s fancy electric car, the bright color of the shutters that adorn the front of the miya household, the dark shade of osamu’s hair, his muscles that have since generously filled out—

for all that’s changed, this still feels wholly the same: this easy rhythm the two of you slip into, the way it feels as natural as breathing to tell osamu everything—all the good and the bad and the wonderful and the terribly shitty things in your life that have happened between now and then.

(then, when you were eighteen standing outside of your mom’s old sedan on a sticky july morning, the trunk packed full with everything you held dear. everything but the gray-haired boy standing in front of you hugging you tightly goodbye.)

(then, when quietly realizing that you were in love with your best friend was the most terrifying feeling in the world.)

(now, with four years of university, two wasted years at a soulless corporate job, and the aftermath of a terrible relationship kicking up dust in the rearview.)

(now, when you know that for all the miles and the minutes, all this endless space that you’ve created—your heart will always be the steady pulse of a firefly cupped in osamu’s hands.)

–

it’s late beneath the glow of moonlight that pours across the porch when you finally ask, “how’s your girlfriend?”

osamu laughs, and you feel warm despite the cool night air that’s begun to nip at your bare legs. “don’t have one. tsumu’s probably got enough of ‘em for the both of us.”

it’s embarrassing, the thread of hope that slips between the careful grip of your fingers and begins to unspool in the defenseless gaps of your ribcage. “you mean to tell me there’s no mistress of onigiri miya? i find that hard to believe.”

he snorts this time, and a frog croaks somewhere off in the distance. “be nice, maybe i’ve got a broken heart over here.”

you shouldn’t be jealous, and yet—

“someone let you go? what was she thinking?”

osamu sighs, wistful. “never had her.”

your heart thumps as you turn your head, expecting to be met with osamu’s upside down side profile but instead finding yourself nose to nose with him.

“why not?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“didn’t think that was what she wanted.”

the sound of osamu’s breathing and the trembling in your chest drowns out the steady hum of the katydids that echoes across the backyard.

“and what if you were wrong?”

you’re met with a sharp, careful intake of breath that mirrors the tightness in your throat.

“s’a shame i’m not a time traveler then, i guess.”

this time, it’s your turn to laugh. “i hear she’s back in town.”

“yeah?” he says, a little breathless, a lot hopeful. 

“there’s still nobody else i’d rather count fireflies with, osamu,” you whisper.

and as osamu tilts your chin with a gentle hand to tentatively brush his mouth against yours—

as you find yourself on top of him, fingers tangled in his hair as he cups the back of your head and kisses you until you can hardly breathe—

as you begin to forget where you end and he begins—

(you’ve both changed and you’ve grown, but faint yellow lights still wink in and out of existence in the sky above, the southern breeze still carries the faint chill of the lake beyond the woods, and osamu still feels more like home than anything ever has.)

—the porch swing sways, and you can feel osamu's smile in every kiss—

you fit perfectly here atop these old cushions now, in a tangle of limbs and lips and patient hearts.

[talesofesther]

ten reasons not to kiss her

➥ Ch four: The fourth reason

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: Natasha slowly adapts to a life by your side, all the while thinking of all the reasons why she shouldn't kiss you.

A/N: A very fluffy lil chapter. <3

Masterlist | Previous chapter

It was a little past 9 a.m. when you knocked on Natasha's door the very next day. The familiar smile on your lips made Natasha's heart swell. She was half expecting you to be holding a plate of cookies again, but your request had been a most unexpected one.

The local animal shelter was organizing an adoption fair. With no further explanation, you wanted to adopt a dog, and wanted Natasha to accompany you.

Her mouth hovered open in surprise. Natasha had been requested for many kinds of tasks; infiltration, undercover work, stealing information, assassination. She had never been requested for something like this; it was novel. The fact that you still wanted her presence beside you made Natasha's stomach flutter pleasantly. She felt privileged.

You had sunglasses atop your head, and a light blue, comfy dress hugged your body perfectly. Natasha fidgeted with her fingers, one corner of her lips raised the tiniest bit against her own volition at the sight of you. Unabashedly, her eyes drifted lower on your face.

She recovered quickly, though, only stepping inside her apartment to grab her aviator sunglasses and boots before following you outside.

Natasha walked beside you on the street with the giddiness of a teenager on their first date. She couldn't wipe the small smile off her face, and her voice had a lingering tenderness to it; Russian accent bleeding heavier into the syllables. If her team saw her now, there would be endless teasing.

The sun shone brightly in the sky, but a pleasant wind ruffled the green leaves of the many trees in the park. In a large field of grass, people gathered. The atmosphere was welcoming; children ran around, and dogs barked as they followed them. Along with it were several round fenced areas for the animals available for adoption.

Natasha thought of how many first experiences she had shared with you already. It felt special, accidentally intimate.

"It'll be so hard to choose," you spoke, emotion dripping from each word as you covered your mouth with one hand at the sight of so many dogs looking for a new home. Sometimes Natasha wondered how you kept your heart if you always wore it on your sleeve.

Grass crunched beneath her boots. With each step, Natasha's hand brushed against yours as an excuse to touch you. You didn't seem to mind. You leaned closer to her, too.

She couldn't help but observe how the shadows of leaves cast over you, allowing for only your lips and right cheek to be kissed by the sun. Adjusting her sunglasses atop her nose, Natasha envied the bright star in the sky.

"You'll know it when you see the one." Being hopeful came easily when she stood beside you.

And you did know. The black dog had been the only one left from his group. He had tousled fur and one floppy ear. He wasn't small, and when you made a beeline for him, Natasha wondered how he'd be a good fit for your apartment.

She followed after you regardless, never straying far. Being with you was easily the most important task she'd been called for.

You promptly kneeled on the grass, uncaring if it stuck to your knees or stained your dress. You cupped the pup's face, and he loved you just the same as he leaned over to lick your cheek.

Giggles fell past your lips, your eyes closing and crinkling on the sides because of your smile. Natasha wished she could keep the sound of your laughter like fireflies in a jar.

She kneeled beside you, pushing her sunglasses up too. Her hand reached for the dog, caressing gently as her own smile stretched her lips. In between black fur, Natasha's hand found yours; she held her breath to find the courage not to pull away.

"It's him." You turned to Natasha, smile now directed at her. It came as a surprise when you grasped her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I can feel it."

Natasha found herself incapable of looking away from your eyes. The golden sun reflected against your pupils and shaped the outlines of your face. You belonged in a museum, and she was merely there to gaze. Her heart beat to the rhythm of your name; a dangerous thing, to want so badly what you shouldn't have.

It was the fourth reason why she shouldn't be thinking about leaning in to capture your lips with hers.

"He is lucky," she told you, nothing but a breath falling past her lips. Natasha realized then that the black dog wouldn't be the first stray that you rescued.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter

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[aventurineswife]

Hiiiiiiiiii I would like a bit where Reader has chronic pain that is acting up and it’s bad enough that they can’t rest because they feel pain no matter what position they try to sleep in so they end up spending the next day in their room privately trying to get their pain under control using every method they can find (while avoiding the ones that turn out to make it more painful) and eventually they throw in the towel and send a message in the Stellaron Hunter’s group chat: “Health is in the yellow, pls send some heals 🥲”

It was meant to be sent to Silver Wolf only, hence the gamer slang; but they accidentally hit the group chat.

Health is in the Yellow

Summary: You, dealing with chronic pain, struggle to find relief throughout a sleepless night and into the following day. After trying numerous methods in vain, you accidentally send a message for help to the Stellaron Hunters' group chat instead of just Silver Wolf. Despite the awkward mistake, Silver Wolf offers help, easing your pain with her unique aether manipulation. The rest of the group chimes in, providing support in their own way, and you find solace in their unexpected camaraderie.

Tags: Stellaron Hunters x Reader, Chronic pain, Comfort, Friendship, Group Chat Shenanigans, Healing, Humor.

Warnings: Mentions of chronic pain, Some lighthearted teasing, Brief emotional distress.

The night had been long—too long. It started with an ache that you thought would subside, but it quickly escalated into a full-on flare-up. Chronic pain had become an unwelcome companion over the years, and some days it felt like it was winning. No matter how many different positions you tried to sleep in, there was no escape from the constant throbbing, a relentless reminder of your body’s limitations. The pillows had been tossed aside, the sheets tangled around you as you shifted in an endless search for comfort.

By the time dawn broke, you were exhausted but still wide awake, pinned by pain. With a heavy sigh, you rolled out of bed and limped toward the bathroom, the cool tiles doing little to soothe your muscles. A few stretches, some massaging, but the pain stubbornly lingered. You tried taking a warm bath next, hoping the heat would ease the tightness in your joints, but all it did was make you feel heavier. Nothing worked.

You slumped back on your bed, staring at the ceiling. “Great. Just great,” you muttered to yourself. This wasn’t how you planned to spend the day, and yet here you were.

You were used to pushing through it, to pretending everything was fine. But today felt different. You could feel the exhaustion weighing on you, the pain cutting deeper with every passing second. Desperation made you reach for the next remedy in your arsenal—deep breathing, meditation, whatever you could think of—but nothing seemed to make a difference. At some point, you just threw your hands up in frustration.

“Alright, screw it,” you muttered.

Grabbing your device, you scrolled through the Stellaron Hunters' group chat, your mind a blur of frustration. The screen was a collection of messages from Kafka, Blade, Firefly, and Silver Wolf. You had always preferred Silver Wolf’s more... relaxed approach to things—she was a hacker, after all, and probably knew a thing or two about fixing broken systems, even if they were your own body.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, ready to message her directly.

It was meant for Silver Wolf alone, a message wrapped in gamer slang, but in your daze, you didn’t notice the subtle notification that it was about to be sent to everyone.

You hit send, and immediately your stomach dropped.

The group chat buzzed with activity almost instantly.

You winced. That was typical Blade.

A ping from Silver Wolf caught your eye, and you couldn’t help but let out a small, embarrassed laugh at her response.

You typed back quickly, your face flushed from the attention.

You hesitated for a moment. The others were clearly concerned, but they didn't understand. Silver Wolf, however, had always been someone who didn’t ask questions unless she had to, and somehow, that felt better.

“Sorry, that was meant for you. Wasn't thinking straight.”

“I’ve been dealing with it for a while,” you typed. “Just didn’t expect it to flare up this bad today.”

You rolled your eyes at the 'healing potions' comment. Of course, she'd go there.

“I’ve tried everything,” you replied. “Heat, stretching, even breathing exercises. Nothing's working. It's just... too much.”

You smiled faintly at the screen, grateful in a way that you couldn’t fully articulate. Silver Wolf had always been a mystery to you, someone who enjoyed the game of life in her own way. And in that moment, she had leveled the playing field a bit for you.

Within moments, a quiet hum of energy flooded your surroundings. You could sense the subtle manipulation of aether, a digital presence coalescing around you, guided by Silver Wolf’s expertise. The pain didn’t disappear immediately, but it was enough to allow you to breathe more freely. You slumped back into your pillows, feeling a sense of relief that you hadn’t expected.

You chuckled softly, even as the warmth from her healing touch still lingered. For the first time in what felt like hours, you could finally breathe without the weight of pain. Maybe the day wouldn’t be as unbearable as you feared.

“Thanks,” you typed, your fingers finally relaxing. “Seriously, I owe you one.”

And there it was, the chaotic and endearing presence of the Stellaron Hunters, all working in their own ways to ease your burden.

As you settled back into your bed, the message notifications kept coming, but this time, you couldn’t help but smile.

With a sigh of relief, you closed your eyes. The pain wasn’t gone, but for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

Maybe today wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

[0mysteiarchives]

"Without a trace."

• Firefly , Aventurine , Misha , Robin

A/N: Felt quirky soo... reader dying alone arc

Warnings: reader actually dying like fr and angst ?? idk.. also ooc or something... i'll just put it in case

Well..! So you were caught by death at an unexpected moment, but..

Not a single person in Penacony knew you were gone?

-

Your body feeling heavy and your vision becoming blurry, you held tightly onto the last string of consciousness you had left, thinking about the person you cared the most..

Firefly had offered to take you around the plaza to play different games, try different pastries, watch the beautiful scenery from her secret hideout until by each other's side like a little 'date'..

Oh, how she eagerly waits for you as people come and go by her with the happy feelings she hopes to share with you, not even knowing you're gone.

Adventurine had made a bet with you, and the loser of the game has to take the other to an expensive, and luxurious restaurant. He joked that it would be a romantic moment between the two of you and watched as you brushed him off and accepted the deal.

Oh, how disappointed he felt when he never received a single message, thinking that you had backed out without telling him as he walked away from your meeting spot, unaware that you're even gone.

Misha had accepted your offer of helping around the Reverie out of sympathy, you watched as his expression turned from a confused to a happy, and appreciative one. He felt grateful that you would keep him company and have time to catch up.

Oh, how deeply sad he felt as he never saw you walk through the hotel entrance, thinking you had abandoned your promise. He'd overthink that you were gone.

Robin had given you a free ticket to her next concert, giving you a sweet smile and telling you to keep it a secret from her fans, to which you gave into and accepted the invitation. She gave you a hug before parting ways to get ready and make herself presentable mostly for you.

Oh, how hurt she felt when she was unable to find you within the crowd, quickly scurrying down after her performance to ask her fans, her staff members, and even her brother for your whereabouts. How heartbroken she'd be to find out you were gone.

And oh, how you wished that you could have seen them for one last time with tears in your eyes, as you apologize that you two may not meet ever again.

-

Literally chilling in my chair w food and water casually writing random angst I thought would be cool rn

[navybrat817]

Deep in the Woods: Part 2

Pairing: Soft!Dark Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: A relaxing getaway in the woods may become your permanent home when you catch the eye of a lumberjack.

Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Part 3

Chapter Summary: You chat with a friend about the grumpy lumberjack and pay him a visit.

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.5k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, bits of MCU canon, cheating mentioned (reader's ex), grumpy x sunshine trope, invasive behavior, bits of insecurity, tension, reader is too trusting, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: Next part of our lumberjack is here! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t make small talk when he came back to the table with his second helping. You sat for maybe a minute before you went to clean out your bowl. As pretty as he was to look at, it felt rude to sit there and watch him eat and you weren’t going to force him to chat. Standing at the sink, you felt him staring at you. He didn’t look away either when you snuck a glance at him. He looked fascinated and you couldn't imagine why.

“Do I have food on my face?” you asked, swiping at your cheek when he continued to stare.

“No.” He swallowed his last bite and licked his lips, making your cheeks warm as you looked away. “Was just looking at you.”

You glanced down at yourself, a nervous giggle bubbling up. “Not much to look at,” you mumbled, going back to get his empty bowl. “So, you said early afternoon tomorrow to go to your place. Will 1 o’clock work?”

He leaned back in his chair, nodding. “Should be fine,” he said, observing you in continued curiosity as you finished cleaning up. You weren't used to someone observing you the way he did, and you couldn't pinpoint if the feeling in your stomach was nerves or butterflies. “You trying to kick me out?”

“No,” you said, your brows pinched as you sat back down. “Does it seem like I am?”

“Just cleaning up quickly and asking about tomorrow. Seemed like you were trying to get me out of here.” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I could be wrong.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” You hadn’t exactly planned for his company, but you didn’t mind, and you weren’t trying to be a bad hostess. You almost reached across the table to touch his hand but opted to give him a soft smile instead. “It’s nice having you here.”

His gaze softened, his lips inching upward before he cleared his throat. “Any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Not really. I do have to get on my laptop for just a few minutes, but that’s it,” you answered. Since the trip was meant to be a romantic getaway and you were alone now, you didn't have much of anything planned besides relaxing. “You?”

“No,” he said, tilting his head. “Why did you say that earlier?”

“Why did I say what?” you asked.

“That you aren't much to look at,” he said, tilting his head with another tiny smile that made your knees go weak. “You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes widened, your cheeks hot. “That’s…” You thought for a second that he was joking, but his eyes were serious. The compliment was also completely unexpected, especially from a man who wasn't too welcoming a short time ago. “Thank you, Bucky, but I’m not-”

“Don’t do that. If I made you uncomfortable, just say so.” His cheek twitched and guilt churned in your stomach at the thought of upsetting him. “You don't need to brush off the compliment by trying to put yourself down.”

You looked in your lap, not wanting him to see the sadness in your eyes. Your ex should've called you beautiful, should've made you feel that way, too. And what happened? He strayed. You couldn't hold onto him. As much as you wanted to think there wasn't anything wrong with you, there was still that voice of doubt that said you weren't good enough or pretty enough. Insecurities had a tendency to seep in like poison. What was the remedy for that?

“I wasn't trying to brush off your compliment,” you promised, lifting your gaze. He didn’t look convinced and that made you feel worse. He was only being nice. “It’s just… My confidence is a little shaken and self-deprecating is a defense mechanism, I guess.”

You wanted to run to the bedroom and hide when he regarded you. Why did you tell him that? Why did you tell him anything? He wasn’t your friend or confidant, and it wasn’t fair to unload anything like that onto him.

“I’m sorry. I-”

“Don’t apologize. I understand what it's like,” he said, glancing at his metal hand. “To have your confidence shaken.”

After what he had been through, you could only imagine. “How did you pull yourself out of it?”

“Still working on that,” he replied, his eyes distant as he pushed himself up from his chair. “I should get going.”

“Oh, okay,” you smiled politely and got up to follow him to the door. While it wasn’t your intention to push him out, you may have inadvertently driven him away. “Thanks again for chopping the firewood.” It saved you a lot of trouble.

“Thanks for the meal.” He swept his eyes over you once his boots were on. “Guess we took care of each other, huh?”

“I guess we did,” you said. And you really appreciated his compliment. It felt nice after everything.

You were reminded once again just how large he was when he straightened up, your heart racing when he stood directly in front of you. That close you could smell the forest on his shirt. “Don’t touch that axe again,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “If you need anything, you come to me.”

Your throat went dry. He was so dominant in his stance, something in his tone sending a delightful shiver down your spine. There was also a predatory shadow in his eyes that gave you pause. He could eat you alive.

Out here, all alone, he could do anything.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“If I need anything.” You had to clear your throat. “I’ll come to you.”

Bucky stepped back and took some of the warmth with him. “Lock the door tonight. I need you safe,” he said, leaving without another word.

The silence in the cabin was deafening as you were left alone. Bucky was… something. Curt at times, a bit defensive, and didn’t have regard for your personal space bubble, but you weren’t going to judge his social skills when yours were nowhere near perfect. He also seemed to like your company at least a little and was oddly protective of you.

“Probably thinks I’m just a damsel in distress,” you muttered, going to get your laptop.

You thought back to the conversation you had with Bucky. He was out here for nine months now and had a cat. And you… your stomach sank when you realized you told him you lived alone and worked from home. He already knew you were out there by yourself and you basically implied that no one would realize if you were gone. At least, not right away.

“It’s fine,” you said, pushing the weird feeling away. Bucky Barnes was a hero, and you were a stranger in his territory. It was natural that he’d have questions. You had nothing to worry about.

You decided to sit out on the porch so you could look at the picturesque view again. Part of you wondered what it would be like to live out here full time. To walk outside on a cool morning and inhale the fresh air. To see the sun rise through the trees. You wouldn’t have to worry about the bustling sounds of the city but could instead take in the quiet.

Which was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing.

You smiled when you saw Kenna’s name pop up. She was one of your oldest friends. “Hey,” you answered, putting the phone on speaker so you could continue to type. “What’s up?”

“Hey, girl. Work sucked. I’m seriously considering getting a sugar daddy.” You scoffed. She would never. She hated relying on others. “How about you? How are the woods?”

“Gorgeous,” you smiled, stopping to look around. “Sorry work sucked.”

“It’s whatever. You actually get reception out there in the woods? Nice.”

“So far, so good,” you said. You expected it to be a bit spotty, but it was fine for now.

“And you're feeling okay?” she asked with a hint of concern. “That cabin was supposed to be for-”

“I’m fine. Really.” You didn't want her to worry about that. “But I may have done something kind of stupid.”

“God, you didn't call him, did you?”

“No! No way.” You blocked his number and all social media accounts. You wanted nothing to do with him.

“Then what did you do?” she asked curiously.

“Well, there’s this kind of grumpy, really hot lumberjack who lives near the cabin I’m staying in,” you said, looking around to make sure Bucky wasn’t nearby. It looked like you were all alone. “He wasn’t exactly nice to me when we met earlier today, and I may have snapped at him a little bit.”

“You snapped at a guy who was rude to you? That doesn't sound stupid. Sounds like he deserved it.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t the stupid part,” you said, taking a breath. “I may have told him that I am here all alone for the next couple of weeks,” you blurted out, leaving out that he knew you lived alone, too, and that the grump in question was Bucky Barnes.

Your face scrunched up when you waited for Kenna’s response. “Oh, sweetie…” There it was, the condescending tone complete with a “sweetie” on top. “Why would you tell him that?”

“I don't know!” you exclaimed, lowering your voice with a sigh, “Because I’m an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot.” There was a pause on the other end. “I mean, you did kind of shine a beacon over yourself that says ‘hey, take advantage of me!’ because your self preservation skills aren’t the sharpest, but I know that wasn't your intention.”

You made a face at the phone, your fingers taping the keys harder than you needed to. “Wow. So, I am an idiot and anything that happens to me is my fault?” you asked. You were being defensive when Kenna was only being honest, which you appreciated. But being in the woods, the only thing you should have to worry about was bears, not people with bad intentions.

“No! That’s not what I meant. You just see the world in a much brighter light than most of us do, you know? You feel like you can trust people to have your best interest at heart when you open up to them because you choose to see the good. But the reality is, the world isn't that bright, and most look out for themselves first.”

“Rose colored glasses, I know,” you said, softer this time.

“Listen, I shouldn't have said you put a beacon on yourself. People who do bad things are the ones at fault, not the people they take advantage of.” There was another pause. “Maybe you won’t have to worry about this guy but try to be careful.”

“I will,” you said. You had to look out for yourself.

“And before you say more, let me guess. You were nice to the grump after you snapped at him?”

“You know me too well,” you smiled sheepishly. “I fed him.”

“Oh, God, he tasted your cooking? Yeah, you’re in danger,” Kenna teased. She always praised your cooking skills. “He’ll probably be on the doorstep every day asking for a meal and you’ll give him one.”

You giggled. “Because I’m a pushover?”

“It’s because you’re a good person, so stop with the self-deprecating,” she said. First Bucky, now Kenna. “If I could just give you some of my pessimism and you give me some of your optimism, we’d be perfect.”

“The perfect blend,” you said, though you didn't think Kenna was that pessimistic. She was just realistic.

“Also in your defense, a hot grumpy lumberjack is like something out of a romance novel. I probably would've jumped his bones.”

“Trust me, you would,” you said. Bucky was drop-dead gorgeous, and he would probably have fun with Kenna. Why did that thought make you feel sick? “He has a cat. And he said I was beautiful,” you said, your heart skipping a beat from the memory.

“Oh, he did, did he? Okay, I know I just told you to be careful, but… maybe this guy can blow your back out.” You looked around again and debated taking her off speakerphone when you thought you heard a twig snap in the distance. “I mean, you deserve multiple orgasms after what he who shall not be named put you through.”

“Kenna…” you sighed, not in the mood to discuss your ex. She never liked him but tried to tolerate him for you while you dated. You were grateful she didn’t say “told you so” when you broke up. “I just met this guy.”

“And? People go to bars and leave with people all the time. And all I’m saying is that your ex is out of the picture, and you have some wounds exposed,” she said carefully, not wanting to upset you. “So let this guy lick them clean if he offers. Let him lick something. I mean, he’s a lumberjack. He’s probably pent up and a beast in bed.”

Heat spread between your thighs before you mentally dumped a bucket of cold water on yourself. No way did Bucky want you. “So, I’m no longer supposed to be careful. I’m supposed to let him, what, fuck me?” you asked.

“Be careful and let him fuck you. Establish boundaries but have fun over the next couple of weeks. Go see his cat and then show him yours.”

You burst out laughing and covered your mouth so the sound wouldn’t echo. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m also the best,” she stated. She really was. “And who knows? This could be the start of something new.”

“I don’t think…” You sat up when another twig snapped, this one closer. You couldn’t see anything when you did a quick scan from your seat. “Hey, what would you think about coming out here for a couple of days so I’m not alone the whole time?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. She was probably looking at her calendar. “Hmm. I’ll try to swing it with work, but no promises. I’ll keep you posted,” she said.

“Yeah, just call or text me,” you said, shutting your laptop. If she couldn’t, maybe one of your other friends wouldn’t mind spending some time away from the city. “I gotta go.”

“Me, too. Take care. Carry pepper spray. Be safe,” she said, hanging up.

You slowly went to the edge of the porch and looked around the side of the cabin. There was a good chance the sounds came from an animal nearby, maybe a deer. You could blame the chill that ran through your body on the breeze. It was getting darker though and not being able to see much beyond the nearby trees didn’t soothe your sudden nerves.

With a shake of your head, you went back inside. No one was there. You were just being paranoid.

Locking the door like Bucky instructed, you breathed a bit easier and wondered what you’d cook for him tomorrow. Something not too heavy since it was for lunch, but tasty. It was nice to have someone to cook for since the plan was to cook for two for the next two weeks.

You also thought about what Kenna said. Would there be any harm if anything transpired between you and Bucky? It would be nice to have some fun, but that wasn’t really your style. You were always a relationship kind of person. And Bucky, well, you had no clue what he wanted.

“Forget it,” you muttered.

Curling up on the sofa, your heart ached as you stared between the board games on the shelf and the small fireplace. There really wasn’t much to do by your lonesome, but there was reading. Television. And you wouldn’t put stock in Bucky spending lots of time with you while you were there. He wasn’t responsible for you.

Sniffling, you curled into yourself more. The cabin was meant to be filled with laughter, sounds of pleasure, and more. Not silence. But you’d still have a nice time. You owed it to yourself. And if anything, maybe you’d end the trip with a new friend.

You were in much better spirits when you headed to Bucky’s cabin the next day. The spring in your step was partially thanks to the good night's sleep you had after reading. The bed was extra comfortable, and you woke up bright and refreshed. You could get used to that feeling.

The other spring in your step was, well, because you were having lunch with Bucky. You didn’t want to admit how long you took to pick out an outfit in between making lunch and baking cookies. It wasn’t like you were trying to get his attention or impress him, but you still wanted to look nice and presentable. And you wouldn't allow the thought of loneliness to dampen your mood.

“Wow,” you whispered when his cabin came into sight. It was larger than the one you were in, simplistic and beautiful in design, and had a wraparound porch. You wondered how often he sat on the porch swing and if he brought Alpine out with him.

Taking a breath as you walked up the stairs, you gently knocked on the door. You didn’t know why you were nervous. It was just lunch with Bucky. A handsome, brooding-

You didn’t realize that Bucky had opened the door until you blinked, his blue eyes locked with yours. How many people cowered under his stare? He took up almost the entire door frame and a tiny sound escaped your lips when you noticed he was shirtless. The man had no shirt on.

You bit your lip involuntarily, trying your damnedest not to leer. Were you supposed to look at his massive chest? The scars on his left shoulder? The metal arm? Or was your gaze supposed to dip down past his torso to his jeans and… No. No. You weren’t supposed to stare at all.

“Right on time.” His voice was gruff, holding a hand out to take your bag. “Did you have a good night?”

“Um, yeah. Did a bit of reading and went to bed early.” His fingers touched yours when you handed the bag over and you let it linger longer than you should’ve. It wasn't like there was any tension between you two, right? “You?”

“Yeah. Uneventful,” he said before he deadpanned, “You staring at me?”

Your mouth fell open as he raised an eyebrow. Saying yes would make you look like a creep and saying no might hurt his feelings. “Well, you’re shirtless,” you answered, making a point to look away when you gestured to him. You felt kind of bad looking, but it also felt wrong to not look. As if that was an excuse. “You’re not cold?”

“It’s warm in here and I run warm as it is.” He didn’t look at all embarrassed when you snuck another glance at him. “It’s also more comfortable with the arm sometimes to go shirtless,” he explained, giving you just enough room to squeeze past him. You couldn’t stop your body from pressing against his since he didn’t provide much room and you hoped he didn’t notice the hitch in your breath. “If it bothers you-”

“This is your home and I want you comfortable,” you said, putting some distance between you once he shut the door. If he wanted to go shirtless, you wouldn’t stop him. You could deal with him and his sexiness for a short time and get through a meal.

“I appreciate that,” he said, taking your coat and purse. “Make yourself at home.”

You lingered in the living room. Rustic with the exposed wood beams, but cozy and inviting with the plush sofa and chairs. The large stone fireplace drew your attention, along with the rug in front of it. The perfect place to sit and gaze into a fire on a cold night.

You moved close to the mantle to look at the three photos that rested there. One was of the sun shining on a large body of water with trees on each side. It looked warm and peaceful.

The second was Bucky with two other men, all three of them in leather jackets. You recognized them after taking a closer look: Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, heroes just like Bucky. While they looked relaxed and happy, Bucky wasn’t smiling at all.

Was that photo taken before or after the tough mission?

But the third photo wasn’t a photo at all. It was an empty picture frame. Where was the picture?

“Wakanda.”

You jumped and spun around, nearly bumping the mantle with Bucky so close. Your racing heart didn’t go back to normal immediately. How did he move around so quietly? “Wakanda?” you repeated.

He nodded to the first picture frame. “Where that photo was taken. It was right outside of my hut, sometime after I started healing. I didn’t have any nightmares that day.” His smile was soft as he reminisced. “It was a peaceful time.”

You smiled softly, too. He deserved peace. “It’s a beautiful view,” you said. The view he had there was beautiful and peaceful, too.

“I assume you know who Steve and Sam are?” You nodded in confirmation. “That was Sam’s birthday. He made us take a picture together and insisted on framing it.” He rolled his eyes, but there was affection there that he couldn’t hide. “I only have it up here because Steve said it would hurt his feelings if I threw it out.”

You looked at the photo again. Bucky’s hair wasn’t as long as it was now and his stance wasn’t as stiff, but the brooding expression was there. “I think that’s nice,” you smiled. It was good that he had friends. “And what about that frame?”

His jaw clenched, his fingers grazing the glass. “It’ll be a family photo,” he whispered longingly. “One day.”

Your heart broke for him and the urge to soothe him skyrocketed. Before you could stop yourself you put a hand on his arm. His muscles tensed under your touch and you pulled away, regretting your action immediately. “I’m sorry I touched you.” You felt terrible. You should’ve asked. “I’m sure it’ll be a beautiful photo. A beautiful family photo for your beautiful home,” you assured him as he let out a breath. He’d have that one day like he wanted.

He leaned in close, his lips close to skimming your ear. “Your touch doesn’t bother me,” he whispered like it was a secret between you before he pulled away. If he caught you quivering, he didn’t say so. “If you think this room is beautiful, wait ‘til you see the rest of the place,” he said, leading you away and not mentioning the family photo again.

You gasped when he brought you to the kitchen, your eyes bright as you took in the room. The rustic and cozy theme continued and you wondered if Bucky built the cabinets. You envied the open concept and counterspace and you wanted to weep over the large stove. The kitchen was the heart of a home and it was very much true for Bucky’s place.

“You like it?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? I love it,” you said, running a hand along one of the counters. You didn’t miss the way his chest puffed out with pride. “My kitchen is so small, but a space like this…”

He unpacked the bag of food you brought, giving you a sideways glance. “Maybe you can cook here,” he casually stated.

Your eyes lit up. “Really?” you smiled, nearly throwing yourself into his arms. You refrained. “I can cook here?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, tucking his hair back. Standing in front of the counter, shirtless, his hair down, he looked like a wet dream. “Like I said, I’m not as good of a cook as you. It’ll be nice to get some better use out of it.”

You clapped your hands giddily and he actually smiled a full blown smile. “Thank you, Bucky. Really,” you said. You’d make something extra special. “I hope you like the sliders. I made cookies, too.”

He turned to face you, his muscles rippling as he stepped a little closer. This man really didn’t understand personal space, did he? “How did you know I wanted dessert?” he asked, that husky tone back in his voice. Was he implying… No.

It was like Kenna was both the angel and devil on your shoulders, one telling you to flirt a little, and the other telling you to play it safe. “Just a guess,” you said lightly, going for something in the middle.

You didn't feel like you could breathe properly until he stepped back. “I almost forgot…” he trailed off, sauntering from the room.

You swallowed as you stayed rooted to the spot. What did he forget about? That he was still walking around without a shirt on?

Bucky came back with a beautiful cat in his arms, and you were close to swooning. It was quite the sight seeing a shirtless Bucky Barnes holding a cat, who looked at you with a curious stare. You didn't blame her for staring. You were a stranger in her home.

“Al, this is the woman I was telling you about,” he said, making your heart flutter when he said your name. He actually talked about you to her? It didn't mean anything special. He probably told her that a new visitor was stopping by. “Can you say hi?”

Alpine gently meowed, bringing a smile to your face. Bucky smiled, too. They made quite the pair.

“You can hold out your hand for her,” he said.

You did so gently, not wanting to startle her. “Hey, Alpine,” you smiled.

Her nose tickled your fingers before she nuzzled it, urging you to pet her. You did so, which earned you a purr in response. It was nice to get her seal of approval since Bucky said she was particular with people.

“Wanna hold her?” Bucky offered.

“If she’ll let me,” you said.

As soon as you held out your arms, Alpine crawled into them. Bucky looked pleased when she got comfortable and continued to purr. “She really likes you.”

“I like her, too,” you smiled down at the feline. She was a sweetheart.

“Perfect…”

You glanced up to find Bucky holding up his phone. “Sorry. Just thought it would be a nice photo,” he said, his expression not at all apologetic as he showed you the picture he took of you holding Alpine. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Oh, no. That’s fine,” you said. Maybe he didn't have pictures of others holding her.

He glanced at the photo again and nodded. “I might have to frame this one,” he said, tucking his phone away.

Your smile wavered as he grabbed a couple of plates. That wasn't weird, was it? No. It was just a guy wanting a sweet photo of his cat.

“Let’s eat,” he said, rubbing his chiseled stomach. “I’m starving.”

We deserve a shirtless Bucky, don't we? Is that photo going in that empty frame? What do we think will happen next? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[gurugirl]

Best Friend's Dad!Harry

best friend's dad!harry x reader - forbidden relationship au

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, age gap, cheating, lying, angst, breeding kink

Song to listen to: Illicit Affairs (you guys have said over and over again that this song fits this series perfectly and I couldn't agree more)

note: should be read from top to bottom in order (unless noted that can be read as standalone)

Let Me Show You (6.3k words) - can be read as standalone

How your illicit affair with Mr. Styles began

Desperate (3.6k words) - can be read as standalone

A party at the Styles' house + sneaky bathroom sex

The Big Tease (7.8k words)

Some heavy teasing leads to you giving in to Mr. Styles

Not Fair (6.5k words)

Harry suggests something to you that blows up in his face *angsty*

He's Not You (7.8k words)

The aftermath of Harry's bright idea has some downfalls and he didn't expect to feel this way.

Liar (6.1k words)

Harry's wife suspects something is going on but she doesn't know what. Harry can't stay away from you and you don't want him to.

More of You (5.1k words) - can be read as standalone

Harry's at your place for a couple of days and you're enjoying having him all to yourself.

Crush (3.5k words) - can be read as standalone

A flashback: When your feelings for Mr. Styles morph from just finding him attractive to a full on crush you feel a little guilty. But then when he shows more than just a friendly interest in you at Fae's 22nd birthday party you two become close and eventually ebb on inappropriate, but you can't seem to stop.

Magic Spell (5.3k words) - can be read as standalone

A raucous Halloween party turns naughty when you and Harry find a hidden room at the Baylor mansion.

Under His Bed (4.5k words)

Harry invites you to stay at his house for the night and the following morning you both get an unexpected visitor.

Relax (4.9k words)

Fae asks you something that you aren't prepared to answer. You and Harry discuss what to do next.

Here's to Us (6.4k words)

A quick little weekend getaway is sweet and romantic. You reveal something that makes Harry do something a bit out of character.

Homewrecker (7.2k words)

The one where you and Harry finally come clean to everyone. Featuring an angry Fae, a spiteful soon-to-be ex wife, divorce terms, and lots of tears.

The Warning (4.5k words)

You and Harry are trying to heal after coming clean to everyone and Mrs. Styles comes to you with a warning.

A Little Naughty (3.3k words)

Your parents invite Harry to come with you for Christmas and you feel a little bit naughty after everyone's in bed.

Best Valentine's Day (4.2k words)

It's Valentine's Day and Harry's got something special planned.

Intuition (3.4k words)

Harry's got a surprise for you.

Must Be Nice (3.4k words)

You and Harry feel like everything's coming together perfectly. You're both getting all the things you wanted. But when you run into Fae while shopping and she notices something new about you, it bursts your little happy bubble.

The message blurb (453 words)

Fae unblocks you.

Heartburn (4k)

You and Harry have been anxious about seeing Fae at your baby shower but things go so well it leaves you both feeling relieved. Except for the small run-in with Fae's mom. Featuring: lactation smut!

Quiet Christmas Morning blurb (1.5k)

You have a lot to celebrate with Harry this Christmas.

MORE TO COME!

divider by @firefly-graphics