#want him to be a sopping wet bloody boy

[two-out-of-three]

mark making and starring in iron lung movie hmmm……… I hope we get a scene of him drenched in blood

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A & 🕶️, the rest is up to you! <3 (@a-little-unsteddie)

Thanks for the prompt. I'm having way too much fun with this mafia AU! 🤣😎

@a-little-unsteddie

Forbidden flowers

Words: 971

Rated: M

Tags: Mafia AU; mob boss Dick Harrington; mobster Eddie Munson; obsessive behavior; stalking; lust at first sight; sexual fantasies; violent imagery

Notes: Part 1

Richard Harrington’s house is a fucking palace. 

The fact shouldn't be as surprising, maybe. It pays well, being the boss of the city's criminal underbelly, even Eddie knows that. Not like he's planning on staying one of Harrington's lowly little hitmen forever. Don't get him wrong, he's good at what he does, but that doesn’t mean he wants to go on doing it forever, bloodying his hands fighting the boss's fights. He wants his own share of the money, the power, the splendor of it all. A guy can dream, can't he? 

Speaking of dreams, even his wildest ones seem pale and bland, now that he's seen the house from the inside. Leaving the higher-ups to talk business in Harrington's office, he has strayed through light-flooded halls decked in expensive art and sculptures, footsteps echoing on marbled floors, until he finally found a pair of glass doors leading outside. 

The patio opens into a lush garden. It looks like something from an Italian postcard - dominated by gleaming marble and lean pillars, overgrown with a sea of white and purple hydrangea bushes. Their fragrance hangs in the hot summer air, thick and sweet and almost cloying. Sparkling behind the blossoms is a huge, lavish pool. 

In the water is a fucking nymph. 

Eddie pauses, unlit cigarette halfway to his mouth, ducking between the flower bushes to hover closer. The boy in the pool doesn't notice him, too focused on doing his laps. Eddie watches his lean muscles flex as he glides through the water, watches how sun-bronzed skin glistens in the sun, and feels something curdle in his gut. 

Want. 

White-hot and all-consuming, more overwhelming and intense than anything he's ever felt in his life. 

He doesn't know how long he stays hidden between the flowers and stares. At some point, the boy swims over to the far end and hoists himself out of the pool - one long, graceful ripple of those muscled arms and shoulders. He shakes the water from his thick, chestnut hair before padding over to the deck chairs standing a small way off, still blissfully unaware of Eddie’s eyes following his every move. A small water bottle is standing at the ready on a side table, droplets of condensed liquid glistening on the glass. The boy takes it, tips back his head and empties it with a few deep, greedy gulps. His throat - long, and graceful and dotted in moles - bops with it. Then, not bothering with the towel hanging over the backrest, he flops down on one of the chairs, sopping wet and half naked, stretching out in the sunlight like a content cat. 

Eddie decides one thing, then and there. 

Fuck the money. Fuck the splendor and the power and the glory, fuck all of it. Let him just have that boy. 

Let him feel that body writhe under his. Let him tangle his fingers into that glorious swoop of hair and tilt back that head, let him sink his teeth into the soft, golden skin of that neck. Let him hear his own name, near unrecognizable with despair and pleasure, fall from those pink lips. Let him have all of this, and he'll die a happy man. 

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” 

Eddie lets out a startled noise he'll absolutely deny making later and whips around. Gareth is leaning in the open patio door, regarding him with crossed arms and a furious expression. 

“H-how long have you been standing there?” Eddie croaks. 

Gareth shakes his head at him. 

“Long enough to see you slink around in the bushes, staring at the boss's son like a total creep,” he hisses. “C'mon, let's go. Harrington will take out your eyes with a rusty screwdriver if he catches- are you listening to me?” 

“No,” Eddie says absentmindedly, already pushing apart the branches again. Lilac petals rain down onto his boots. “That's Harrington's son? Didn't even know he had one.” 

“No, that's his gardener,” Gareth scoffs behind him, but still goes on to answer Eddie’s unspoken question. “Rumor has it daddy and him don't … get along that well. Harrington wants him to take over the firm but Junior isn't exactly interested. Likes the money and the lifestyle, obviously, but not so much the violence and bloodshed that comes with it.” 

Eddie thinks he'd drench the entire world in blood for one taste of those lips. 

Gareth tugs on his arm.

“C'mon,” he says again. “Before anyone sees us. I'd like to keep my eyes, I'm sorta attached to them.” 

Eddie sighs in defeat, casting one long, reluctant glance through the leaves and petals. Then, following a sudden impulse, he reaches out and snaps off a branch with a thick, vibrant cluster of violet blossoms on the end. 

Gareth gawks at him. 

“Are you insane? You can't just pluck flowers from the boss's garden!” 

Eddie shrugs lazily, bringing the blossoms up to his nose. Their scent is sweet and enticing and full of forbidden possibilities. 

“Don’t see him around, do you?” 

Gareth groans and turns to go. “I dunno why I put up with you.” 

Eddie smiles, slowly following after his retreating back. At the threshold, he pauses and turns one last time. The boy is dozing in the sun, eyes closed, droplets of water glistening on his body like so many tiny diamonds. Eddie raises the branch in his hand - a secret parting salute. 

“See you soon, little nymph,” he mutters. 

He strides towards the front door with a new spring in his step. Because he knows exactly what it is he wants now, and he knows that he will not stop before he has it.

And if that means wrestling Richard Harrington’s crown from his cold, dead hands, and setting his empire aflame, and painting the ashes red? That is something he will gladly do.  

Steve, meanwhile: Huh, wonder who that loser lurking in the flowers was. What a weirdo. Kinda cute, though ...

Part 3

More celebration ficlets

[l1tw1ck]

hello i had a funky thought and thus

may i ask for shorts with some slashers of your choice and how they would react to reader who is absolutely obsessed with fucking them dumb when they come home after they kill someone? covered in blood and all? 👀

(you and ⛩️ anon are slowly corrupting me and i don't enjoy it)

Sexy & Bloody

Michael Myers, Stu Macher, Jason Voorhees x Top Masc Reader

hehe~~

CW: Blood, Creampie

Michael Myers

Michael came home with his clothes covered in blood and was beyond surprised when he saw you sporting a boner at the sight. You're turned on from seeing him all bloody? Just hearing that makes him excited

He gets bent over within seconds, knowing he'll be getting his tight ass abused by your cock for hours upon hours. He's not opposed to it of course, the idea of it makes him extremely aroused. You cut a hole in his jumpsuit, wanting to fuck him in the outfit he murdered people with. It's not like he doesn't have a closet full of them anyway.

You fuck him viciously against a desk, shaking the table and dropping various items onto the ground. You tell him how good he's making you feel and how sexy he looks right now, bringing him close to coming. Drool's spilling out of his mask as you fuck him stupid, he's out it, just mindless and drowning in pleasure. Being the sensitive guy he is, it didn't take long for him to end up coming in his underwear. He moans like a dumb slut, unable to think of anything but you and your cock.

Stu Macher

ftm stu

He wasn't shocked at all, only turned on and eager to have you inside him. You always fuck him like a feral animal once he comes back from killing, something that makes him all the more exhilarated and better at killing, knowing you'll back at his house waiting for him.

He's sopping wet and full of cum as you thrust in and out of him, crying out like a dirty whore. "More! More!" He moans, rolling his eyes back as you hit him deeper than normal. He doesn't know how you can come so many times and still keep going, it's like you're a machine and his bloodiness is your fuel. He tries to form words, to tell you how good he feels but nothing comprehensible comes out, just mere babbles from a dumb whore.

You constantly let him know how sexy he looks covered in blood and your cum, always causing him to squeeze your length tightly. This time causing him to have a powerful orgasm, and pulling you into one as well. You unload your cum inside him for the nth time, his hole milking you dry.

Jason Voorhees

"You look so hot right now" You told him, eyes wandering along his bloody body. He felt his heart beat faster at that and the sight of your boner, he squeezed his legs together and let out a soft whine, letting you know he wants it too

"Such a good boy." You praise, slamming into him with unnatural vigor. He's lying on the bed, burying himself into your pillow as you brutally fuck into him. The sheets are dirty from the blood on his clothes but neither of you care, you're more focused on how hot he looks and he's focused on how good he feels.

He grips the sheets tightly, likely going to rip them by the end of this. His moans are muffled by the pillow and he obviously doesn't speak but you can tell he loves this by the way his walls flutter around your cock and how he's come so many times that a spot in the bed is drenched in it. You thrust one last time, burying your cock deep in his hole as you come. Just the feeling of it causes him to come as well, ruining the sheets and likely the matter too.

[icycoldninja]

Allow me to cook:

Can you write the DMC men with the reader just about to go home after being on a mission together to get rid of a devil but then it starts raining dogs and cats

So they had to take shelter under a flimsy tree that can barely cover them from the rain

While they were hiding from the rain, the boys noticed the way the reader��s white blouse clung to her skin and it doesn’t help when her clothes and skin are pretty much soaked in blood so let’s just say…the sight of her blouse soaked in blood and water from the rain and how it clung to her skin ( the blouse is rather thin as well ) makes her strangely alluring

The way the wet clothes clung to her skin highlighted her sculpted figure, the visceral of the unfortunate devil hanging on her body and the crimson color of its blood washed over her doesn’t really help with the situation as well

She’s pretty much aware of their stare so she just keep silent as she doesn’t have much energy to do something about it. Right when they’re abt to compliment their someone abt it,

They heard a small sniffle

When they turn to look at her, they noticed a small droplet of tear forming at the corner of her eye threatens to fall. Turns out she’s tired from fighting the devil due to many nights staying on guard, now that the adrenaline starts wearing off do the tiredness and restlessness start catching up to her. Plus this whole scenario also embarrasses her as well. All she wants is to get back to the shop, have a warm meal with them, take a total bath and sleep but the rain starts pouring and now she feels exhausted, dirty, sleepy and embarrassment all at once

When they ask a simple “Are you okay?” did her sniffle turn to full on sobbing and whimpering

P/S: If you can, pls make the reader as tall as them or somewhat a tall lady. There’s not much fics featuring a tall reader so if you do, I’d appreciate it

As a tall lady myself I shall write this with gusto. Enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Tall!Wet!Bloody!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-You guys had just wrapped up a messy mission and were on your way home, when out of absolutely nowhere, it started pouring.

-Naturally, you took shelter under a nearby tree, though unfortunately, you'd already been soaked to the bone. Your clothes were sopping wet and clung tightly to your form; the white, bloodstained blouse you were wearing appearing to meld to your body like second skin.

-For some reason, Dante found the way your bloody, demon flesh stained shirt cling to you alluring, and couldn't help but stare, even if it was rude.

-You saw him staring out of the corner of your eye and felt extremely embarrassed. You knew you were dirty, but what could you do about it at this time? You were so, so tired, and the feeling of being stared at judgementally was so frustrating, you found yourself with tears welling up in your bloodshot eyes.

-Just as Dante was about to compliment you on how morbidly lovely you looked, you started sniffling as your frustration turned to sadness and you began to cry.

-Absolutely flabbergasted, Dante asked you if you were okay, wondering if you'd gotten injured without telling him. That was the final straw for you, and your exhaustion, embarrassment, and self disgust taking its toll.

-Dante hates seeing you upset, so he pulls you close and kisses your drenched forehead before tugging off his coat and using it as a makeshift umbrella.

-"C'mon sweetie, let's get you outta here. We'll go home, get you in the bath, have some pipin' hot pizza, then maybe hop into bed early, sound good?"

■ Vergil ■

-You and Vergil had just returned from an exhausting mission, both of you drenched in blood, sweat, and demon entrails.

-To make matters worse, it started raining, heavily. You two took shelter under a tree, letting out a great sigh of relief and slumping against the trunk.

-It was then when Vergil realized that you were soaked to the bone, your wet clothes sticking to your figure and emphasizing every curve.

-This, added to the way the bloodstained on your shirt were now liquefying and sliding through the fabric, made you look strangely more attractive than usual.

-He was just about to compliment you on how lovely he thought you looked, when he heard a little sniffle from your end.

-It seemed that all that fighting made you extremely tired and the guts on your clothes made you incredibly embarrassed; this, combined with Vergil's staring had brought you to tears.

-Vergil asked you if you were alright, but that only seemed to drive you further into tears. You must have been so exhausted, you poor thing. Vergil tugged you close, your foreheads touching, and kissed you, guiding you down the street afterwards.

-"Don't cry, my dear, we will be home soon, where you can take a nice, warm bath, have some food, and lie down for a while. Shhh...."

□ Nero □

-You and Nero were on your way home from a grueling mission, both of you hunched over in exhaustion and covered in gore.

-Just when you thought your day couldn't get any more miserable, it began raining fucking hard, prompting you two to take refuge under a tree.

-Nero wasn't too happy to be soaked to the bone and looked over at you, expecting a similar reaction, when he saw hoa your clothes clung to your skin; blood from your shirt trickling down your long legs in a way that just looked so sexy for some reason.

-He couldn't help but stare at you, even though he knew it might make you feel uncomfortable.

-He didn't expect you to start sniffling and tearing up, though, and was scared he'd somehow hurt your feelings when he saw you doing so.

-He asked you if you were okay, but that only seemed to make it worse, as now you were full on bawling.

-Worried he'd done some irrevocable damage, Nero quickly pulled you into a hug, shushing you and desperately trying to get you to calm down.

-"Hey, hey, c'mon, don't cry, baby. I get it, you're tired 'n all that. Just shush, okay? It's okay, it's all okay. Let's go home, where we'll be safe and dry, that ok?"

● V ●

-You and your lanky goth weirdo that you pulled by being a badass giantess were coming home from a mission, when all of a sudden, it began to rain.

-V found the whole situation beautifully poetic, but you found it annoying, and ran to take cover under a tree.

-There, V found that you looked even more beautiful when your clothes were drenched and stuck to your figure, the blood and guts of your enemies sliding off your body and down your legs like gory honey.

-He had to admit, he was enthralled, and couldn't take his eyes off of you, even for a moment.

-You, on the other hand, felt extremely embarrassed by your situation and exhausted in general. You were so disgusted with yourself for being so dirty, and was sure that V was ogling you because he thought the same. Though you were wrong, your fatigue got the best of you, and you started crying.

-V was shocked to see this, as he never wanted to see you upset, and hurried to come up with a way to make you feel better.

-"Hush now, Wanderer. Do not cry. Everything is okay, now come on, let us return home. You will be out of the rain soon enough."

[poetryinsilence]

Boyfriend Corey Cunningham 🔪 (18+)

🚨contains possibly some dark (maybe) triggering themes

-Corey is sweet and nice when you first met him. Kinda like the boy next door type

-He’s always there when you need help or when things needs a fixin’ (broken down kitchen appliances, car needs an oil change)

-You bump into him quite often when you’re out on grocery runs or simply going for a walk (weird coincidence right?)

-gradually, he began asking you out on dates and movie nights with him and you slowly fell in love with the cute quirks about him

-you’d be the one to confess that you love him. After hearing so, he would be on the verge of tears and pulls you in a tight embrace cuz he’s not the only one that feels the same way

-he’d open up to you about his upbringing and the way his mother treats him growing up. You would be in tears and cupping his face gently and kissing his pain away

-Corey had a habit of picking you up and dropping you off work. You insisted that it’s not necessary but he said that “it’s what boyfriends are for”

-occasionally, you swear you caught a glimpse of him outside your window during your shift. You look up and he’s gone

-one particular day, at the end of your shift, some old guy heckled you and got a bit handsy grabbing your wrist. Corey jumped out of nowhere and decked the guy right in the face

-you were shaking with nerves and heart dropped to your feet but he held you and rocked you till you calmed down. “It’s okay, baby. I got you”

-you’d ask him why he’s here but he said “I just had a feeling I should pick you up today”

-next evening he knocks on your door and you’re shocked to find him bloodied and battered, holding a bouquet in his hand.

-“what happened?!” “…some guy ambushed me”

-ushered him inside the house, you turn to call the cops but he grabs your wrist and you flinch from the sudden pain. Corey shakes his head and firmly said he doesn’t want to make this a big of a deal

-the deafening silence fills your bathroom, he flinches a little when the disinfectants smooth over his cuts. But the pain doesn’t really bother him.

-he would find himself, entranced by your touch, his hand trails the curve of your waist and inch his way up to the shape of your face, skin soft and supple and radiate with heat

-one thing lead to another, you’re sprawled out across the bed, him caging you in between, drawing out your jawline with feverish kisses

-your first time with him, he was gentle, loving. He made sure your needs were met before his. The next day when you look in the mirror, he peppered you with his markings, purple bruises and a few bite indents

-although, you initially thought the biting was just a spur of the moment and a kink he enjoy, you didn’t really mind the marks that he left you

-but over a while, his teeth sinks deeper into your skin, drawing blood at the moment of chasing both your highs. You look up with starry eyes, Corey hovers over you with a bloodied mouth agape. A prey trapping its victims, he’d draw his lips onto yours, showing you how good you taste

-the bite marks begin to appear more and more over your body; shoulders, arms, stomach, thighs. Corey knew people can’t see the marks he left on you, or else people in Haddonfield will question you. In the end, they will tear you away from him. No one can take you away from him

-they heal, scabs and scars over one another, he would rebrand them when they start to fade. You peer at your own reflection, markings scattered all over your body that you could connect them like constellations. For some sick and twisted part of you, you felt content that Corey will always be a part of you

-Corey— like the ever silent killer, appears in the reflection dawned with a stoic expression, snaking his arms around your waist in a tight embrace. The scent of you calms the bloodthirsting beast inside him, and the touch of your skin makes him weak to the knees, so much that he could either break you on the spot, sopping wet and twitching, and leave you begging for more. Or, you could ask him to die for you, and he would happily end his life at your will

-the next couple of nights, Corey came home, soaked in blood and bruises, a lone sunflower in his hand. One flower for each night (each victim), he counted. He said ‘it reminds him of you’ and beamed at you with the biggest smile on his tattered face. But, you were more concerned about his well-being than his act of gift giving

-and the cycle repeats itself— you would treat his wounds in your shared bathroom, then somehow you would end up pressed against the mattress with him stuffed inside you, filled to the brim

-if out of desperation, he would devour you while in the bathroom— situations on top of the sink and him between your legs until you come screaming for his name

-while cooking dinner one particular evening, the voice over the tv announced the bodies of a few missing citizen’s of Haddonfield found in an abandoned field

-“oh my god…isn’t that the guy that came to my work a few days ago?” Your voice trembles. Corey slips you into his body, rocking you side to side, soothing your nervous state and planting a kiss at your temple. “That’s a shame…” he mutters, pressing himself at the nook of your neck, “didn’t expect they would find him so quickly”

[stvharrngton]

caramel

a/n: just a lil angsty prompt. i didn’t mean for it to be this long lol but oh well!!! i kinda wanna write a part 2 for this maybe? but i’m not sure

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of steve’s shitty dad

prompt: My roommate/ex/family kicked me out into the rain. I have nobody else to call but you - you and steve are broken up but he’s stuck in a storm as has nowhere else to go.

requests are open!

“Get out of my house.” the older man spat.

“My fuckin’ pleasure, Dad!” Steve retorted right back, voice dripping with sarcasm. The boy snatching his jacket and car keys from the dish on the table by the door.

He swung the front door of the house open, stepping out into the cold Hawkins air, “And don’t come back until you figure out how to be a real man!” his so-called father shouted after him.

Steve could only scoff before slamming the door behind him, “Fuck!” he screamed, voice hoarse before his fist collided with the solid brick of the house. Knuckles now bruised and bloody.

Wincing in pain as he cradled his injured hand to his chest, crouching down to sit against the wall, trying to think of some way to get outta this down and away from his Dad.

The faint patter of the rain began to hit the ground and then the heavens opened. It was pouring now - lashing down with violent thuds to the pavement and the cars that lined the street.

Shit. Steve was stuck. He sure as hell wasn’t going back inside to grovel to his Dad. His car with barely enough gas in the tank to get outside of town and his wallet in the confines of his bedroom. Double shit.

Maybe he could swing by Robin’s house? No, her Mom would kill her. He couldn’t go to Dustin’s - it was a school night, and that would be totally lame to seek shelter from a 14 year old.

Steve was left with one option and it was his least favourite option. He stepped out into the rain with a sigh, jogging across the drive to his car. The engine rumbled as the BMW pulled out, rain thrashing the roof of the car.

~

The TV crackled in the background of the room, the picture the only light illuminating your features. The thunder rumbled as the rain hit against the window of your living room. Your parents out of town allowing you to claim the comfiest couch and the softest blanket as you sprawled out.

Your brows furrowed as you noticed a pair of bright headlights turning down your street, absentmindedly throwing popcorn into your mouth. You turned your attention back to the TV until you were startled by a knock at your door.

Jumping up you padded over to the window, peaking behind the curtain to see who it could be. Your eyes wide when you saw the familiar burgundy BMW that belonged to your ex-boyfriend sat in your drive.

“What the fuck?” you whispered to yourself, wondering what on earth could be bringing Steve Harrington to your house at 12:38am, in the middle of a storm no less.

You sighed opening the front door, your mouth hanging agape at the sight of the boy before you. Hair drenched and sticking to his forehead, clothes sopping wet. Tired eyes and a glimpse of his bloody knuckles as his hand came to drag down his face.

“Steve? What are you-“ you cut yourself off, seeing his bloody and scraped hand, “are you okay?”

“I’m perfect.” voice dripping with sarcasm, “Look, I just- I’m sorry for just showing up, but I have nowhere else to go.”

You shot him a sympathetic look, lips downturned in a frown. You desperately just wanted to wrap your arms around him, to hold him and tell him it’ll all be okay - but that wasn’t how you acted around each other anymore.

Nodding, you stepped to the side to let the boy cross the threshold, shutting the door firmly behind him. “I’m gonna go grab you a towel and a change of clothes,” fingernails tapping against the railing of the staircase, “I still have some of your things… just- just wait here.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, thanks.” Steve muttered back, hand coming to scratch the back of his neck. He sighed as you disappeared up the stairs. Everything was so awkward between you, tension thick and atmosphere heavy.

You were gone no longer than a few minutes, appearing back in front of Steve towels and clean clothes in hand. “Here,” you spoke handing them over, “you still know where everything is?”

He nodded, how could he forget. Your home once his second, your home preferred to his own, “I do,” a soft smile sent your way - your stomach churning at the sight, pushing the butterflies back down.

“Right,” you nodded, eyes refusing to meet his own, choosing to linger on something else, anything else. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then.”

You busied yourself by making hot tea for the boy upstairs. Although Steve always ran hot like a furnace he would be sure to catch a cold standing in the wet material of his clothes for so long. You still cared for him, of course you did. No breakup could switch off your feelings for Steve.

His sock-clad feet padded back into the living room now, complete with an old pair of sweats you never gave back and a Hawkins Phys Ed t-shirt you kept. He sunk into the sofa, the opposite end to you, a hand raking through his still damp hair.

“I made some tea,” you muttered, gesturing to the steaming mug sat on the coffee table.

“Oh, thanks, ba- uh, shit,” he fumbled, “I mean, thanks. Thank you.” Steve cursed himself under his breath, cheeks flushed and neck hot. The heavy tension returned.

“So,” he cleared his throat now, “how’ve you been?” eyes burning into the side of your face. You refused to meet his gaze, eyes locked on the buzz of the TV.

“Steve,” you scoffed, “why’re you here? What happened?” you didn’t mean to come off so abrupt, but you weren’t in the mood for niceties with someone who broke your heart.

“Right,” he clicked his tongue, hand gesturing at the thin air before him, “right. Sorry.”

A deep breath. A sigh.

“Well, you know how my Dad is, right?” he asked. You nodded. A man with a cold heart and not an ounce of love or parenting know-how in his body.

“We, uh, got into a fight, again. A big one this time though,” Steve sniffled and you winced, “told me I was no good, doesn’t think my life choices are good enough, I guess.” he shrugged, “told me to get out and not come back so here I am.”

You reached out to rub your fingers up and down his back but stopped yourself short, fingers curling in on themselves, “I’m sorry, Steve.” you muttered. There was so much more you could’ve said, that you wanted to say. Refusing to toe that invisible line.

Steve shrugged then, “It’s whatever,” eyes drawn to the liquid in his mug, “nothin’ I haven’t heard before.”

Your heart shattered into pieces at that. Steve always thought so bad of himself, you knew that, and it clouded his judgment at times. But he was good. Steve was a good person. His father was just cruel.

His features twisted in a grimace, eyes a little sad, like he was thinking about what he was going to say next. You wished the awkward feeling in the room away.

“Hey,” Steve spoke, “what happened to us?”

Was he being serious? You couldn’t tell, his gaze lingering on you, eyes lacking their usual spark, a flint of hope glossing over. A hope for resolution for this situation you both found yourselves in.

“What?” you gawked, “What’re you talking about?”

He shrugged, “It used to be easy,” he said, “now you can’t even look me in the eye.”

Steve stared at you like you held all the answers, why his life seemed like it was caving in on itself. Why he broke up with you, why he let the best thing in his life go.

“Steve,” you blinked, baffled, “you broke up with me.” Your tone was accusatory, but you were simply stating a fact, “What do you want me to say?”

He sighed, fingers tugging at his hair, something you knew he did when he was on edge. He inched closer to you on the sofa now, “I don’t know, okay? Fuck,” Steve cried, “I messed up, I know that, got too caught up in my own head, but I’d do anything to make it right.”

Steve was insecure. So desperate to be loved and to have someone to look after and care for, it often made him push people away. Especially the people who cared about him most. Like you.

You looked at him now, properly. Tears prickling your lash line, threatening to spill over, “Steve,” you spoke softer now, tone hushed and cautious, “what are you trying to say?” you asked.

“That I want to start over,” he reached for your hand, taking it in his own and you let him. His voice almost a whisper, “Us. Tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it.” he spoke, dead cert.

Your eyes flitted down to where your hands were joined, then back to the boy’s face. His eyes boring into yours, gaze all warm honey and hoping, wanting.

Steve was all you wanted, all you ever wanted. He was warm hugs and soft kisses, boyish charm and addictive smile. Steve was sweet lemonade on a hot summer’s day, the smell of fresh coffee in the morning, the promise of forever. He was your soulmate, you were sure.

“Steve,” you sighed his name for what felt like the thousandth time tonight, “I…” you trailed off. Your head was a mess, you half wondered if the boy had come to your house for other reasons, not just because his Dad kicked him out in the dead of night during a storm.

Your hesitation was like kick to the stomach, Steve’s heart dropping to the pit of it. He gave your hand a squeeze before he dropped it, fingers coming to scratch at the back of his neck, “Maybe I should get going,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry- uh, for dropping in on you like this.”

You knew the apology was sincere but those words carried weight; sure he was sorry for showing up to your house unannounced, but you knew he meant he was sorry for breaking your heart, for pushing you away, for making you cry for days on end wondering what you did wrong.

He moved to stand then, making his way to the front door, “Hey, wait,” you reached after him, delicate fingers clasping around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t go,” you whimpered. Steve’s brow furrowed, concern lacing his features.

“Okay.” you spoke, nodding.

“Okay?” Steve’s eyebrows quirked, eyes scanning your face.

“It’s not a no, but I need time, Steve,” you hushed, fingers trailing down his hand until they were laced with his own, “and I can’t let you go back out in that storm.”

His lips turned up into a soft smile, sticky sweet and all fond. He wouldn’t mess it up this time, he could never, he swore to himself.

“We can go as fast or slow as you like,” his free hand came to brush your hair over your shoulder, fingers caressing the supple skin of your cheek, “you won’t regret this, sweetheart. I promise.”

You nodded, you knew there wasn’t an ounce of dishonesty behind Steve’s words. Glancing at the clock on the wall over his shoulder, the time reading 1:49am.

“I think you should get some sleep,” Steve’s eyes heavy, dark circles adoring the space above his cheeks, “guest room’s all yours, Harrington.”

Neither of you would sleep that night, itching to cross the invisible boundary you had set to crawl into bed with each other. To dream of what forever looked like.

[airbendertendou]

tsukasa is sick of you n bodyguard!fujio

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

after a week of fujio walking you home, you began to feel bad. you felt like you were taking his time ; making him do something unnecessary and out of the way just because you were a little scared.

"i can hear your thoughts." tsukasa speaks as he reads a magazine. he glances up at you, a smirk on his lips at your frustrated frown. "thinking of how to confess to your prince charming?"

you stop what you're doing, turning to completely face the boy. "just what are you talking about?"

"you and fujio." he says it so simply, so easily. you stay quiet, raising your eyebrows in question. "the two of you circle around each other all the time." he folds the magazine, laying it on the desk beside him as his eyes meet yours. "there's a bet going on."

straightening up in your seat, your frown deepens. "what kind of bet?"

"the kind where—"

"[name]!" fujio bursts into the room with bloody knuckles and a grin. he holds out a tattered, sopping wet book to you. "got your book back! is that my lesson plan?"

"oh—" you grimace, holding the book between your pointer finger and thumb. you can't hurt his feelings, though, so you grit your teeth and smile. "i'm sure some time in the sun will make this all better. thank you, fujio."

he bounces where he stands, shrugging his shoulders before sitting in front of you. tsukasa hides his laughter with a snort. fujio takes the papers you were writing on previously, scanning them a little before nodding with an impressed face. "not bad, i can actually understand this."

it was a deal you made — as long as fujio was walking you to and from school, you'd help him study. tsukasa stands from his own desk, crossing his arms and leaning down to speak closer to your ear. "what do i get for walking with you, [name]?"

you look at him from the corner of your eye, "well, what do you want?"

"hey," fujio is glaring at tsukasa, "don't make me anemone."

"...an enemy?"

fujio blinks, "that's what i said."

you sigh, silencing the fight that was going to break out. grabbing your school bag, you stand. "it's getting late. ready to go home?"

——♡——

"you're hopeless."

no sooner than the door to your home closed, tsukasa was speaking. fujio ran a hand through his hair, sticking his hand in his pocket soon after. he shrugs, "no idea what you mean."

"i take it back," tsukasa crosses his arms. he peaks at his friend, "you're both hopeless."

fujio whips his head around, eyes wide. "did [name] say something?!"

tsuaksa sighs, speeding up. fujio lets out a loud hey! before quickening his pace. "tsukasa! you're being anemone again!"

——♡—— anon requested : hoho what about both u and fujio having huge crushes on each other, bugging tsukasa just to rant/gush bout how each other is (separately, of course, and w/o the other knowing), and he's just so done having to be secret keeper for two idiots 👀 how would that go, u think? (Also does the rest of oya know hehehe)

anon said : A Fujio fic please 😭 it’s so dry there are barely any

🍓FOREVER TAGS : @straysugzhpe ♥︎ @star2fishmeg ♥︎

🍓 H&L TAGLIST : @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @strxwberrychocolate @simpforchuchu @thatpoindexterpixy @cheshirecatuniverse

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name. if youd like to b tagged / untagged, let me know! ♡

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

A Pirates Life

Summary: You're a pirate Captain and your never going to guess who your first mate just found in the hull.

PirateCaptain!Reader x Stowaway!JasonTodd

1.7k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, praise kink, sub jason, sex as an interrogation tool, teasing, biting, hair pulling, oral, restraints, swearing.

"Cap'n," Jones calls from behind you, "found this in the hull."

"Looks like you found a stowaway," Frenchie comments to your right.

"Right, let's get a look at ‘em," you turn from your perch on the hull. The two men carry an even bigger one on their shoulders, his light brown trench coat stretching over him, his hair sopping wet and dripping on the deck of the Sirens Call.

“Smells bloody rancid, mate,” Jones comments, before flopping him onto the deck. You step forward, your eyes not so wide they nearly fall out of your skull. Your brain starts to spin as it registers what you're seeing with every step closer. He was gone, you couldn't find any trace of him. How?

Drawing your sword, you point it at the man's chin, his face slowly drawing up with the blade, his eyes looking anywhere but you, seeming to stare up at Frenchie for some kind of help, but Frenchie laughs, knocking the man on the ground on the shoulder. "What's this?"

"Captain,” he moves forward, his hand reaching towards your skirts, “I can explain," Jason says, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in a year.

"Up," you snap the tip of your sword into his chin, watching as he stands on shaky feet, "Frenchie, Nak, bring him to my quarters," you smirk at the men, "this interrogation will require privacy."

"Yes, cap'n," they say in unison, the pirates sharing a knowing look. The last man that had a private meeting with you ended up so poorly that they had to scrub the blood from the planks, “Mate, on ya feet,” they shove him upwards, setting Jason's hands behind his back, and marching him towards your cabin.

“Close the door behind ya lads,” you instruct them after they've tied the young man to one of your dining chairs, “and if ya hear screaming-”

“No we didn't.”

“Good boys, off ya go,” you smirk, locking the door behind them and turning towards your stowaway who's watching you like a hawk, his hands tugging on the ropes, “Why are you here?”

“Didn't know this was your ship.”

“So, an accident ? Coincidence? Divine providence?”

“You going to kill me?” he stares defiantly up at you, something akin to hope shining in his eyes, “just do it.”

"There be no need for killing you," you perch up on the table beside him, laughing as he struggles against the coarse rope binding him to the chair, "and no need for a struggle Jason. Why don't you start with telling me why you left?"

"No."

"No? You know I hate that word," you dig the heel of your boot into his thigh, "why were you hiding on my ship?"

"I won't," he turns away, but you see how tightly his lips are pressed together. How badly he's fighting this, fighting you.

"Hiding won't help you," you grab his hair, yanking on it and turning him back to face you, "when did running ever help?"

"I can't."

"Do you want to stay on the Sirens Call?"

“Please.”

“That's a better word,” you smile, bending over to kiss gently on his forehead, “say it again,” you whisper into his still damp hair, the brine of the sea filling your lungs. He must’ve been down there since you left Metropolis.

“Please,” he whimpers, his eyes pleading with you and you hear him inhale sharply, “Please Captain.”

“And what will you do while you're here?” You recline back, grabbing your carved dagger from the table. “Everyone on the Sirens got a job, can’t afford freeloaders.”

“Serve.”

“Aye, but who do you serve?”

“My captain,” he stares up at you, his eyes not sure whether to focus on your knife, your tits, your cheek or your lips.

“Very well,” you slice into his shirt, cutting the worn fabric in two. You beam at him, his torso shines in the candlelight, “you can stay,” you hop down from the table your dagger still in hand, “bit if you run again,” slicing through the course leather of his pants leaving them in tatters as he sits most naked on the chair and you press the pointed tip into his thigh, “you won't want to see me again. Do you understand?”

“Yes Captain.”

“Good boy,��� the dagger clatters as you release it. Your fingers grip into his thick thighs, his hair brushing right under your nails as they drift up his leg. You watch his face, the harsh rise and fall of his broad chest, taking in the fresh scars that seem to have covered him since you parted. Your mouth starts to water when you finally reach your prize, his girthy cock throbbing for you already. It's only been a year since he disappeared. Disappeared is probably the wrong word, but as you lick your lips all you can think is that it feels like an eternity that you searched for him, even after he abandoned you.

“Please,” Jason's hips rise, his movements almost frenzied, but Jones secured him well and good and there's no getting out of those binds, sept for cutting, “Please captain,” he begs when your teeth bite into the supple flesh of his thighs, “Fuck, captain, I- “Jason moans pitiful and agonised, when your hand wraps around his cock.

“Yes, baby?” you tease him, licking your way up his thigh, your tongue lathing at the sweat in the crease of his thighs, “tell your captain what you need.”

“Your mouth, please,” his hands strain against the binds, his fingers trying too hard to reach out for you, “captain,” his voice breaks as he starts to wail.

“This mouth?” You mock, breathing over the tip of his achingly hard cock. “The mouth you abandoned,” your tongue darts out slipping at the droplets forming at the end of him, “that was almost marooned,” your nails dig into his thighs as you rise on your knees, “that though you dead for a year,” you feel his blood start to trickle down your fingertips, “that mouth?”

“Yes, my captain,” he pleads, like the pitiful boy he is, “I'm sorry, for all of it,” his cock twists as your mouth grows closer, and your lips nearly brush over him, “it wasn't my plan, I- I'm sorry.”

“Good boy,” you praise him, mouth closing over his tip, your tongue flicking over his slit and your hand starts to stroke the base. Fuck, he’s so big you can’t fit much more of him in your mouth. You can’t help but moan around him, his taste so perfect. The sight of his strong legs shaking, makes your pussy drip and your tongue push even harder up into him.

“Captain, ohhhh-” he moans, pushing his cock further into your mouth, “fuck, I, please,” his cock throbs as you take him deeper and deeper in your mouth, “feels so good,” you swallow him as deep as you can, his cock pressing down your throat as you start to choke, “yes, deeper,” he pleads, his knuckles turning white as he grips the sides of the chair, “can I feel you? Please Captain, I wanna feel your insides,” he starts to squirm as you slow your place leaving him teetering on the edge of cumming, “I- I wanna make you feel like this.”

You peer up at him, the devil sparkling in the corner of your eye when you see visible anguish on his face as you draw him from your mouth, “Do you remember now?

“Yes, I could never forget,” he glances down at you, his eyes drinking in your body, “Can I see you?” His voice soft and a slightly higher pitch than normal, a drunken smile on his face when he sees you raise an eyebrow at him, “Please can I see you my Captain.”

“No.”

“Please, haven't I been good?” Jason pouts at you, his teeth biting at the back of his soft lips, “I can be so good for you.”

“You will be good, Jason," your legs spread over those thick thighs, sliding them down towards the back of the chair, your ass resting almost on his knees. You notice his eyes trying to catch a glimpse of you, tutting at him, you fan your skirt out, blocking his view completely, "you need to learn," you grind your clit into his throbbing cock, "you're going to learn."

"Please fuck me," he begs, his eyes pleading so desperately into yours, while his chest heaves into the front of you, "I want to make you cum, Captain. Please allow me."

"You will," you rise, slipping your soaking pussy over his rock hard cock inside you, his sizable girth spreading you open as you engulf him. Your hands grip into his shoulders as you begin to grind down on him, "stay still," you moan, your clit hitting his stomach with every forward movement.

“Can I move Captain?” Jason’s long lashes flutter and you feel his thighs flex beneath you.

“No baby, stay still.”

“You feel so good.”

"As do you,” you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, moving your face closer to his, “you're being so good for me."

"Thank you, Captain.” his biceps flex, the ropes straining to keep him contained, “You're so full of me,” you can see how hard he’s trying to stay still and it only makes you want to push him further, “your pussy is clinging to me."

"Fuck, feels so fucking good." Your fingers twine into his hair, pulling his head back and exposing his neck, "my best boy," your teeth sink into his neck, "maybe this will remind you who you belong to," you lick at the bruise, "not that you could ever forget."

"Never," he moans into your ear, you can feel his legs shaking underneath you, "fuck I wanna cum, Captain."

"No," you command, your voice ringing clear, your tone still sultry and panting "tell me why you're on my ship."

"Really right now?"

"Yes, Jason," you slam your hips into his, fucking him so hard his eyes start to roll back into his head, "why are you here?" you do it again.

"Someones after me." He pants, trying to hard to fuck up into you.

"Why?"

"I didn’t do what they wanted," his hands strained on the chair, "It was-," he pauses, seeming to find a thought in his head. “They asked too much.”

“What did they want Jason?” you start to pull yourself off him, “If you don’t want to I could always stop.”

“No, no-” he begs, his eyes almost brought to tears, “Same reason I left, left you on that island.”

“Which is?”

“You.”

"Silly boy," you start to move again, unsure if you're quite ready to hear the rest of that explanation just yet, "did you know this was my ship?"

"I-" he squeezes his eyes shut, until your hand tugs on his hair and forces them open and you raise your brows at him, "yes."

'Good boy,'' you moan moving faster, slamming your pussy over his cock as your insides start to swirl and you feel that pressure on your clit grow tingly, "Such a good boy," you moan, arching your back and pressing your chest into his face, "I'll keep you safe. Fuck."

"Yes, Captain, please," Jason begs, "please I need your cum, I needed it for so long."

"I fucking-" you bite down on your lip to keep the screams in as you start to shake and your pussy clenches so hard on Jason’s cock, "cum, cum for me." You command him through shaky breaths and he releases his flood into you and it fills you over and over, his cum pools down out and around his cock and onto his thighs.

"Captain," he breathes, panting, "can you untie me?"

"No dear," you smile at him, "you need more interrogating."

“I was telling the truth you know,” he sighs, resting his forehead into your breasts.

“I believe you, but I don’t understand.”

“Bruce.”

“That stuck up prick, what has he got against me?”

“He wanted me to bring you in, punished me and when the Shadow pirates got their hands on me- I just did everything I could to keep you safe, Captain.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you,” you reach over to your dagger freeing his hands and they immediately wrap around you, hugging you so close you feel like you're wearing a corset.

“I’m so sorry, Captain. I should’ve told you, should’ve-” he's cut off as a wave crashes into the port side of the ship sending you both flying across the room. When the world rights itself you see the chair in tatters and Jason laying on the ground.

"Fucking waves. Have you been harmed?" You ask, rushing to his side and checking for any markings you didn't leave. Only finding new scars you’d noticed in the heat of the moment, "who did this to you?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Was it her?” the ship rocks again and Jason tumbles back onto his but, “We can discuss that later," you give him a hand getting up. Your sea legs seemingly a lot sturdier than his, "all hands on deck."

"I'm naked."

"Your clothes are in the chest, put them on and meet me at the stern."

"You kept them?' He calls as you reach the door.

"Yes, your mine," you give him a knowing smile as you identify the door, "I hoped you'd find your way back to me."

Part 2- He's the pirate.

AN: Not doing a taglist today because im still not very well.

[dollivication]

Hihiiiii, this is gonna be long, i've got a rant AND an idea thingy. i've mentioned before not bein into anyone other than Wesker in Resident Evil buuuut I just watched Resident Evil: Vendetta and I GET THE HYPE, I ADMIT, I GET IT. LEON'S MODEL IS SO FINE. I'm guilty to say seeing him in the movie and the old games vs in RE2+4 Remake, I prefer this design. He's more rugged? LAIK I KNOW HE STARTS OFF AS A ROOKIE BUUUT THEY COULDA KEPT HIS LOOK I saw people speaking about the newer design for his character saying they gave him the 'dumbass pretty boy' look cuz it makes more sense for him as a rookie cop in 2 but man.... Rookies can look like anything so if that were the case for the change....eeeeeh.... Also unpopular opinion, I also prefer Louis' old design. I'M SORRY, HE DOES GIVE OFF THE CREEPY UNCLE VIBE IN THE REMAKES MODEL. ANYWAY, I hope you're doing well today, staying hydrated and fed! Gotta look after yourself above all else. To make this less of a rant, I shall be the first (I think) to make a Wesker scenario/idea thingy. Wesker is all about himself, right? It's a part I surprisingly love about him. BUT LAIK, if he deems you special enough to make you his 'pet', just know he's NEVER letting you leave him. He knows all, where you go, who you talk to, what you're doing, etc. And if you even think of trying to contact anyone (perhaps a certain STARS agent...) you can find yourself tied up by his Uroboros tentacles and used for hours until he's done with work and uses you himself. He's superior, he tells you that, and he'll fill you up with his cum, talk about giving you a 'purpose' , laik breeding you to have his obviously 'superior, god-like children' OOP- He's a feckin menace, I can imagine if you go to get help in person (he has eyes on you at all times, so ofc you can roam around but not for long if you keep creep round some rookie or CHRIS) you'll end up in a bloody puddle, not dead but certainly taught a lesson... ☉▵☉ JUST AN IDEA FROM A DEPRAVED WESKER FAN DON'T MIND MEEE Love ya, Dolly (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ -Nell 🍓

NELLLLLL HAI HAILLO HEY :3!!!! WHEN I SAW THIS I LIT UP I CANNOT LAI… it’s always a treat to hear from yu!!! ^.^ and oh my we have MUCH TO DISCUSS TAKE A SEAT MWAAA 🩷🩷🩷

VENDETTA LEON IS JUST A SKRUNKLE!!!! HE IS a sopping wet andgrumpy kity… AND NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT,, it would be interesting to see him laik dat in re2.. laik how could this stingy critter get even stingier… a leon miserable from the start would’ve been pretty funy methinks LMAO

you are SO right about luis’ old design you are voicing thoughts i am 2 shy to say.. laik his new design is great!! but there’s a certain peculiarity to his old wan that screams yucky weirdo uncle.. might be dat wack ass hair and outfit GIGGLING he looks laik a vampire too !!! they’re both in special parts of my heart…. 🩷

I AMMM DOING SPLENDID and oh my lordy lord i forgot to drink water today THANK you for the reminder LMHREKSLFG i promise that’s not usually like me.. I HOPE YOU ARE DOING THE SAME HOWEVER !!!!!! please take lots o care!!!! >.<

THE. THE WESKER SCENARIO. IM SAT.!!!!??? TENTACLES,, ESPECIALLY FROM UROBOROS,,, ARE THE WAY TO MY HEART …. THE SUPERIORITY COMPLEX. BY JOVE!!! he’s so narcissistic and he’d probably tell you to be thankful that he chose you to have his kids… anyone would die for a chance like that!! (he is NOT wrong HEL))

his freaky ass would probably even put a shock collar on you,… god forbid you do anything that’s remotely out of line! AND ESPECIALLY god forbid you go near chris he’ll actually tweak the fuck out … i want wesker to stab me and say it was my fault for pushing him i CANNOT lie.. laik yur rite king i’m sorryIMSO SANE IM SO SANY

nell i’m hugging yu so tightly rn this crumb of thought was yumy… i lauv wesker so badly….sighs dreamily💔💔💔

[thestalwartheart]

Hey!! This is for the prompt meme! I’d love to see you do 1 or 30 for James/Vesper, because I think it would be interesting to get your take on them. But also feel free to ignore that and write for any other pairing :)

the love that does not rust

Rating: Teen & Up Audiences Warnings: Canonical Character Death (Vesper Lynd) Relationships: James Bond/Vesper Lynd Word Count: 860 Summary:

The first time he said it was on a beach on Lake Como, but it hadn't been the last.

[Read below or on AO3.]

I wonder if that’s why I love you.

The first time he said it was on a beach on Lake Como, but it hadn't been the last.

I love you.

Well, I’m hopelessly in love; nothing to be done about it.

I don’t know why I love you, you know. You take so much pleasure in being awful to me.

Every night, they would lie together skin to skin. Work up a sweat in the summer heat, then relish the burn of their muscles in the aftermath. Trace the marks they left on each other, then shudder through their sensitivity for one last touch. Another would inevitably arrive, then another, and another. The evening breeze always felt like heaven.

Love felt like heaven.

Vesper felt like heaven.

A bird interrupted his declarations one night in Padua. It flew right into their hotel room, tiny, clueless and frightened. Vesper squealed with horrified delight.

In the tiny streets of Bergamo’s Upper Town, he murmured the words into her hair. She grasped his hand so hard he thought would bruise.

In Verona, she sprung out of bed at one in the morning, determined to run to Juliet’s balcony and see it without the crowds. Neither of them could stop smiling. She was loud, her mood utterly infectious as she called out Romeo! Romeo! and grasped him by the collar of his t-shirt to drag him into a wild and filthy kiss.

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night, he’d quoted. Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear. Of course, he followed that up with a joke about what he could do with his rude hand.

He kept the rest of the quote to himself. There was no need to ask the trite questions of a bloody sixteen-year-old boy.

Did my heart love till now? Rubbish. James knew it hadn’t.

By the time they got to Venice, Vesper must have lost count of how many times he’d told her. She never once said it back, even after she implored him to keep saying it.

Tell me again, she’d say.

Are you sure you want to hear it?

You could say it a hundred times a day, darling. I’d never get tired of hearing it.

The one-sidedness never bothered him at the time. It still seemed worthwhile to tell her, to make her sure of it. There was no point in diluting his feelings or hiding them away. She already knew everything there was to know about him. He was all in, and he wanted her to know it.

The necklace, however, did bother him, not that there was much to be done about it. It stayed around her neck until that morning, always visible every day, despite the hundred times she fiddled with it as if she were about to take it off.

He thought when she took it off, she might admit it: that she was in love, too. She might even admit what that look on her face was about, the momentary flicker between whatever expression had been there before he said it and the wide, beaming smile afterwards. That smile, Christ. He’d never seen its like on a woman before.

Some days, he thinks he knows better what that look was now.

(Love.)

But most of the time, he feels as lost about it as ever.

(Was it love? Or was it remorse?)

He feels bloody lost now, standing in front of her grave. More lost than he’s felt since he held her for the last time in Venice, fisting his hands in that sopping-wet red dress.

He’s never talked to a grave before. When he left Skyfall — both times — he never looked back. All the dead agents he knows are names on a memorial wall, where it’s impossible to get a private moment with the dead. There are too many names and too many people in the living world grieving them. The only person he’s ever felt the urge to visit is M, and she would have risen from the dead to scoff at him had he tried talking to her.

Vesper, he has slightly more hope for, though he hasn’t a clue what to say. It’s been a long time.

It’s been no time at all.

I loved you, he thinks. I’d have forgiven you everything because of that. Even if you never said it back. Maybe I still love you.

Mathis once told him it was easy to love the dead because they could never do anything to prove you wrong.

Then tell me how to stop, James had thought. Tell me how to stop, and I will.

He never had found a way to stop. Sometimes the love feels as fresh and sharp as the day they ran away together. If she’s anywhere now — and he’s not sure she is — she must know that. God knows he said it enough.

His eyes sting with the effort of not saying it again, and he blinks away the blur in them until he can, once again, see her face smiling back at him.

That smile is still without its equal.

VESPER LYND

1983-2006.

“I miss you.”

[fathermarty]

I Don't Wanna Be Your Friend ✰ Cedric Diggory

┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Reader

Requested Anonymously: "hello! I was wondering if you could do a Cedric diggory x female reader fluff (they’ve been best friends for years) where they are studying by the black lake or any lake and then they start getting playful and teasing each other, so they eventually play fight their way into the lake (maybe Cedric throws her in after many times of telling her to join him in the water) and start being playful again until they realize the position they’re in and stare at each other realizing that they could be something more than just friends and then a sweet kiss (he holds her face) ensues :) and they ask each other out! a song inspired this but I forgot which one so if you have a song that can go with this lmk haha!"

Warning(s):

So I don't know if this is the song you were thinking of, but I for sure thought of "i wanna be your girlfriend" by girl in red when reading this request. I really hope you like it, xx.

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.�� .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Cedric would you just sit down?!" You playfully yell at your best friend who went from skipping rocks to throwing random twigs into the lake.

"Buy y/n/n! I want to go swimming, go swimming with me?" The smile on his face knocks the breath right out of you. Your heart swells at anything this boy does, but when he smiles it unlocks something else inside of you.

"Ced, I am in my school robes. I don't want to go into the lake!" You return to looking at your book, not being able to concentrate on the words in front of you because Cedric is staring at you.

"C'mon y/n, I promise the Black Lake won't eat you!" He teases you with a lazy smirk planted on your face.

"I'm not worried about the lake eating me! It is cold, and we don't have any towels to dry off."

"You're a party pooper, I will go swim by myself." Cedric takes off in a sprint towards the water. You smile at his retreating figure, thinking you are off the hook.

Oh were you wrong, you didn't even hear Cedric approach you, but when your book went flying you saw the boy in front of you with a mischievous smirk.

"Cedric Diggory! If you touch me while you are sopping wet I will bloody kill you!" You say slowly but with a smirk.

"I would love to see you try dove." Cedric grabs both your hands to pull you up from the ground.

You are smiling but also trying to resist him pulling you into the lake. "Y/n stop fighting!"

"NEVER!" At this Cedric picks you up bridal style and takes off to the lake. You stop fighting and instead brace yourself for the inevitable surrounding of water.

When Cedric reaches the water he takes a few steps in, and then turns around and trust falls into the water with you secured in his arms. Both of you come up, but now you are sitting in his lap. You both laugh and realize you are closer than expected.

Cedric cradles your face to wipe the mascara running down your cheeks. The gesture is so small, but monumental when realizing you both are looking into each other's eyes, holding your breath.

"I don't wanna be your friend, I want to kiss your lips," Cedric whispers, still cradling your face gently.

"What are you waiting for?" That is all Cedric needed to hear before he brought your face to his connecting your lips. You wrap your hands around his neck to pull him closer, wanting to be as close as you could to him. The kiss was so soft and spoke more for both of you than you could ever express. It was love, you both knew it, you both could feel it from the other.

You pull away, "I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath." Cedric smiles and places his forehead against yours.

"Oh, y/n, I believe I have fallen for you so deeply."

"Good thing Ced, I have loved you forever."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Cedric is a dreamboat, he's so soft and sweet. Ugh I love him.

How did this turn out? Good, bad? It's my first time writing for Cedric, so I hope y'all love it. My request are open!! <3

[petrichor-han]

philia; yang jungwon

PAIRING | jungwon x fem!reader

CAST | yang jungwon, ej (i-land), jake sim, nishimura riki, mentions of jay park 

WC | 3.9k

GENRE | fluff, childhood friends!au, one-sided love, school!au, slight angst

WARNINGS | explicit language, attempted sexual harassment, see-through clothing, blood, smoking, drinking

SYNOPSIS | yang jungwon thinks he’s in love with his best friend. after all, you do everything together and everyone at school thinks you’re already dating. taking the next step in your relationship seems like the right thing to do, and jungwon is ninety-nine percent sure he’s going to ask you out—until you introduce him to your new boyfriend.

request to be added to current and future taglists here!

MASTERLIST | KINDS OF LOVE COLLECTION

You met Yang Jungwon when you fell over running to school in the rain.

It wasn’t the most elegant first impression, no. In fact, it probably counted as the opposite. You still remember the smell of irony blood mixed in with the earthy, deep smell of dirt and grass, drifting upwards into your nostrils as your face pressed against the road. It was humiliating, and even though you were ninety-nine percent certain no one was around to see what had happened, you didn’t want to walk into class with the front of your uniform soaked completely through. Especially considering the fact that the uniform consisted of a thin white shirt, which did little to hide yourself now that it was drenched. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, wiping your bloody nose with the back of your hand, “fuck.”

“Uh… are you okay?”

“Do I look like I’m okay?” you snapped, folding your arms in front of your chest as you sat up on your ankles, fiery eyes looking straight at the person in front of you. But your gaze softened once you realized who it was.

Yang Jungwon. The class president. He nervously shifted from one foot to the other, trying to avoid looking at your sopping shirt. “Sorry, that was a dumb question,” he said, sucking in a deep breath through his teeth. “What I should have said was, do you need help?” He extended a hand out to you, and you chewed on your tongue, pondering for a moment whether it would be worth it to still even go to class.

He wiggled his fingers. “Come on. You can be late if you want, but I refuse to be.” Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, and his warm, dry fingers enclosed around your cold wet ones, his firm grasp pulling you up off the street easily. He sucked in another deep breath upon looking at your ruined state. You shivered under his gaze, feeling pathetic and completely beside yourself. Maybe it wasn’t too late to run away and never come back, never talk to Jungwon ever again. But he simply handed you his navy blue umbrella and shrugged off his backpack, setting it down on the damp sidewalk, and slipped out of his zip-up hoodie. He handed it to you with a toothy smile, cocking his head to the side cutely when your jaw dropped and you asked him why he was being so kind. “You needed help. What kind of person would just walk away?” he said, helping you into the hoodie, not minding the light drizzle that made dark splotches on his own white uniform.

You arrived to school late regardless, but upon seeing your bloodied state, the both of you were promptly excused. Jungwon nudged you playfully as you both trailed the teacher, wiggling his eyebrows. “See, it all worked out, didn’t it?” he whispered. “I knew it would.” You couldn’t help but smile at his giddiness while wiping away the dried blood from your nose. 

---

You had your first kiss at the age of fourteen.

By then, the two of you had been best friends ever since that time he helped you get to school properly, and were as thick as thieves. You were never apart; spending every class together as well as seeing each other outside of school. When you were invited to a party by the boy you liked, you immediately turned to Jungwon, begging him to come with you. “Come on, you know how much I like EJ,” you whined, clinging to the stiff, ironed arm of his uniform shirt, “and he specifically asked me to go! Me, of all people! That’s gotta mean something.”

“If he asked you, specifically,” Jungwon snapped, “then why in the world are you inviting me, another guy? Wouldn’t that give him the wrong impression?”

You rolled your eyes impatiently at him. “Jesus, Won. Everyone knows we’re just friends.” Jungwon wasn’t sure why his heart seemed to catch in his throat at your response, so all he did was shrug you off and deny you again and again, until you finally relented and decided to go alone, sulking while picking at your lunch and trying to guilt him into giving in.

You showed up to EJ’s house right on time, dressed up in a pretty skirt that Jungwon had grouched at. You nervously wrung your hands after you rung the doorbell, leaning one way and then the other to try and see if anyone was coming to the door. And then there he was, in all his glory. EJ, that tall, handsome boy who you could never take your eyes off of. “Hi, EJ,” you said breathlessly.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” he said cheerfully, pulling you into a side-hug that was only a little awkward. “Come in! We were just about to play spin the bottle.”

Spin the bottle? You pushed your lips out in a slightly confused pout, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart thudded in your chest at the thought of possibly kissing EJ. He led you down to his basement, and you held your breath as soon as you walked in. All of his friends were sat in a circle on the floor, spinning an empty soju bottle back and forth. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the stench of cigarette smoke that lingered in the room even though no one had one between their lips at the moment. “Oh, it’s just her,” one of the other boys said, breathing out heavily in relief. He reached deep into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a slightly crushed box of cigarettes, taking one out and sliding it between his thin lips. The girl next to him lit it for him, leaning against his shoulder as he took a long drag. You must have looked terribly frightened, as one of the other girls looked you up and down, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, an air of only slight concern present in her voice. She lit her own cigarettes and you squeaked as she took a few puffs.

“We’re only fourteen,” you mumbled, looking at the floor, which you now realized was littered with multiple empty green bottles. “We shouldn’t be smoking.”

The room was silent for a moment before they all burst out in laughter, and you felt yourself shrink, feeling like a stupid little kid in a costume. You didn’t belong there. “You found yourself an innocent one, didn’t you EJ?” one of the guys roared, and everyone erupted in laughter again. You chewed on your bottom lip nervously, too afraid to look back up at EJ. But then a large, comforting hand placed itself on the small of your back, and you felt him whisper into your ear.

“Don’t mind them, they’re all idiots. You don’t have to smoke if you don’t want to, even I don’t do it,” he said, and you wiped at the tears forming in your eyes quickly, smiling a little at him as he guided you to the circle and sat you down next to him. His hand lingered on your back, but it didn’t make you uncomfortable. Instead, you mirrored the girl who lit a cigarette for the boy with thin lips and leaned on EJ’s shoulder, albeit a bit hesitantly. He looked down at you, surprised, but his smile widened. “Do you want to go first?” he asked, sliding the bottle over to you.

“Oh… okay, sure,” you said, feeling a deep pit form in your stomach. You weren’t sure if you wanted to play; you didn’t want to kiss anyone in this room except for EJ. But he smiled down at you, encouraging you silently, and you could feel the skeptical glances from around the room, and you spun the bottle as hard as you could. You watched it, holding your breath as its pace slowed. EJ licked his lips in anticipation. You watched as it passed over EJ once again, slowing, and finally stopping on the boy with the cigarette. He shook off the girl on his arm and blew a cloud of smoke up into the air, smiling at you in a way that chilled your blood.

“Pucker up,” he said in his low, gravelly voice, and you tried to scramble backwards.

“P-Please, no…” you said quickly, “I don’t want to play any more.” The boy grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you back to the center of the circle.

“You have to,” he said, voice rising, “you have to.”

You looked back to EJ for help, hoping that he would tell his friend to knock it off, but a sick smile had spread across his previously handsome face. He scooted forward and held you in place with an iron-strong grip. “You have to,” he said eerily, “it’s the rules, (Y/N).”

Tears spilled over your flushed cheeks as you whimpered, “No, please,” over and over again, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. Everyone else was laughing at you, clown faces faded into the dark corners of the dingy basement. You wished you hadn’t come, you wished you’d stayed home.

You wished Jungwon was there.

And suddenly, he was. “Get off her,” he said stiffly, and the hands roaming your wrists and ankles froze as everyone turned to look at the door. Jungwon stood there, his normally styled hair pushed up with sweat, round glasses askew, as if he had just rubbed his face. His sweater vest was crooked and his shoelaces were sloppily tied. “Get off of her,” he said calmly, “or I’ll report you all for underage smoking.” EJ made sure the smoking boy held you in place before stalking over to Jungwon, his tall, lanky frame dwarfing your best friend. You whimpered as EJ held a fist to Jungwon’s nose, but he didn’t flinch. A bead of sweat dripped down from your hairline to your neck. You felt numb.

“How’d you even get in here?” EJ asked, trying to sound intimidating. But his voice shook slightly. You knew he was nervous about what Jungwon had said.

“Door was unlocked,” Jungwon responded coolly. “I called the police and gave them this address. If you try anything, they’ll know what happened.”

EJ clenched his fist tightly, and you watched as the circle of people shifted uncomfortably. The people smoking put out their cigarettes and a girl quickly got up from her spot and darted up the stairs. You heard the front door slamming quickly after she disappeared from sight.

“Fucking bitch,” EJ muttered. He pushed Jungwon by the shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards into the wall. “Tell them not to come. We’ll let her go.”

Jungwon eyed the boy holding you, and he let go of you. You scrambled away from him, scooting across the floor on your bottom as adrenaline ran through your veins. You hurried over to Jungwon, and he caught your clammy body in a hug. “Are you okay?” he murmured.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” you whispered.

“I heard about EJ’s parties from another classmate,” he said softly, “I knew this couldn’t end well.”

“Are you going to say you told me so?”

“Maybe when we get home.” He held onto your hand tightly and guided you up the stairs, keeping an eye on your classmates who were still trying to clear the basement of empty bottles and cigarette butts.

The fresh air had never felt so freeing before, and you burst into sobs as you felt the sunlight on your skin. It felt like you had been imprisoned there for years. “Your skirt,” Jungwon said, horrified.

“What?” You looked down. Your previously white skirt was decorated in cigarette droppings and dust and dirt and who knew what else, but you couldn’t care less. “Oh, Won,” you sighed shakily, “thank you for rescuing me.”

“I couldn’t just leave you there,” he said simply, adjusting his glasses. “But I wish I could have saved your skirt too.”

“Who cares about the skirt,” you snorted, “not me.”

Jungwon smiled, but you could see his hesitation. Frowning, you pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m okay, Won. Alright? Look, I’m here and I’m in one piece. You saved me.”

His gaze flickered down to your lips, and you hesitated only slightly before pressing your sticky pink lips to his. It was sloppy and messy and when you parted his lips were just as sticky and pink as yours. It wasn’t the best timing; you still felt like shit and you smelled like tobacco, and he was worried for you and smelled like sweat from running all the way to EJ’s. But instead of scaring you, the contact comforted you, and Jungwon patted your cheek endearingly as your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Let’s go home,” he said, avoiding eye contact. But he hid a smile.

“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here.”

---

Jungwon wasn’t sure when exactly he fell for you. Maybe it was the first time he met you, or the time he saved you from your asshole middle school crush. Maybe it was when you went to the pool together and he realized that even though he’d seen you in swimsuits before, this was the first time he ever really noticed how pretty your collarbones were. Collarbones, of all things.

Or maybe, it was that strawberry lip gloss flavored kiss that never left his mind. From the moment your lips parted from his and you looked at him shyly, he was well and truly smitten. He immediately forgot the name of the girl he was supposed to go on an ice cream date with the next afternoon, and even when she had thrown her schoolbooks at him at school the next day he hadn’t cared. Because he had been staring at you, cleaning the chalkboards up in the front of the classroom.

“Why do you even like her so much?” his friend, Niki asked with a disgruntled look. He stared at the bright colors and pixels dancing across the TV screen as Jungwon pressed on the game controller buttons mindlessly. “She’s an airhead. And she gets herself into trouble a lot. She acts like an immature kid half the time, and she isn’t even that pretty.”

Jungwon threw down the controller. “Shut up,” he said, furrowing his brow at Niki.

Niki put his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying. There’s nothing special about her, that’s all.”

“Everything about her is special!” Jungwon yelled. His character on-screen died as he burst out at Niki, who looked at him with wide eyes.

“You’ve got it bad, dude,” he said, picking up the abandoned controller on the floor. He reset the game. “Seriously. If you like her so much then just tell her. There’s no way she’ll turn you down.”

“You don’t know that,” Jungwon moped, “she’s never said anything about seeing me as more than just a friend.”

Niki turned to Jungwon, jaw slack as he stopped focusing on the game once again. “You can’t be serious right now.”

“What?”

“All you guys do is spend time together. This is the first time I’ve seen you in over a month because you spend all your free time with her,” Niki said, upper lip curled into a unbelieving smile. “And even when you’re apart all you do is talk about her. And Jake said that she does the same shit about you when she’s with him.”

“What? Why’s Jake hanging out with her so much?”

“You’re missing the point!” Niki bellowed, throwing the controller across the room. Jungwon flinched. Niki sighed, rubbing his aching temples with his fingers. “Alright, listen. Neither of you have ever dated anybody and I don’t think you’ve even had crushes on other people.”

“Well, she liked EJ back in middle school,” Jungwon said weakly.

“Until he fucking assaulted her,” Niki snarked, “I sincerely doubt that she still likes him.”

“But still…”

“Still what?” Niki asked, “Hell, you’re the one that saved her from that situation. That puts things even more in your favor. Literally just ask her out and get it over with, because we’re all tired of seeing you look at her with these pathetic puppy-dog eyes every time we come around and she’s there. If she says no, I’ll eat my own socks.”

Jungwon opened his mouth, then closed it. “You will?”

Niki slammed his palm against his forehead, groaning. “Missed the point again, dumbass.”

The next day at school, Niki nodded to him as he walked by his classroom. Jungwon sat straight up in his chair, organizing his pencils back and forth, eyes flickering to the door every time he saw movement. After the encouragement from Niki and his other friends, he finally decided that he was going to confess to you. And if he didn’t, Niki promised to do it for him, in a much less gentle manner. A pencil slid off the smooth glossy surface of the desk, and Jungwon groaned as he leaned down to pick it up. As his fingers closed around the slim wooden utensil, a pair of scuffed black shoes came into view. “Jungwon?”

“Huh?” Jungwon shot back up, banging his head on the underside of his desk on the way up. “Ow, damn it!”

“Shit, are you okay?” Jake asked, looking at Jungwon with concerned eyes. “That sounded… hollow.”

“My head isn’t hollow!” Jake chuckled, patting Jungwon on the head. He hated that, it made him feel like a stupid little dog, or a kid or something. Jake wasn’t even that much older than him, yet he always treated him like a child. It pissed Jungwon off, but since Jake was so close with Jay (and Jungwon adored Jay) he never said anything about it.

“Of course it’s not, you little smartass,” Jake teased. Jungwon pushed his hand off of his mussed up hair. “Anyways, have you seen (Y/N)?”

“Why are you looking for her?” Jungwon snapped.

Jake raised an eyebrow at Jungwon’s reaction. “Uh… we were gonna go buy some bread at the cafeteria before class started,” he said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

“Well, I have something to tell her today, so you can buy bread with her another day!” Jungwon said indignantly, standing up and crossing his arms. “So leave her alone.”

Jake backed up. “She asked me, not the other way around,” he clarified, “chill, dude.”

Just as Jungwon was about to blow up at Jake, you walked in, and it was as if he was a cooling pot of boiling water. He sat back down in his seat and arranged his pencil again. “(Y/N)!” he crowed happily, waving you over. “I was waiting for you!”

“Wonnie!” you cheered, leaping into his arms. Jungwon eyed Jake, whose full lips were pushed into a disappointed pout. “I missed the bus, so I had to walk to school again, sorry I’m late,” you chirped, poking his cheek.

“Next time you miss the bus just tell me, I can come pick you up,” Jake said nonchalantly, and you turned to him, missing the way Jungwon’s expression darkened.

“You can drive?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah! I got my license last week,” he said, pulling out a keyring out of seemingly nowhere, twirling the clinking contraption between his long fingers. He winked at you. “I’ll even drive you home today.”

“(Y/N) and I have plans after school,” Jungwon said darkly, and you looked back at him, surprised at his angry voice.

“About that… I wanted to ask if we could cancel our movie after school today,” you said hesitantly, “Jake wanted to go out for ice cream.”

Jungwon clenched his jaw. “But… I already bought our tickets.”

“Won, I told you you didn’t have to buy them. I said I would just buy them when we got there,” you said, feeling guilty.

“Just leave her alone,” Jake said protectively, “how was she supposed to know you bought tickets before-hand?”

“You leave her alone,” Jungwon retaliated, “stop acting like you’re her boyfriend!”

The two of you froze, and Jungwon felt like he had been stabbed in the heart. “Jungwon,” you said carefully, “did… did you not know?”

“Know what?” he asked in a small voice. He felt his throat closing up as the worst possible outcome began solidifying itself in his reality. 

“That Jake and I…”

“Since when?” he interrupted. 

“Last week.” You clasped your hands together as Jungwon looked down at the floor, expression completely blank. Jake pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll see you after class then…? I think you need to… work through… this on your own.” He quickly maneuvered around Jungwon’s desk and exited the classroom, leaving you alone with Jungwon.

“Jungwon…” you said quietly. “Why are you so upset?” You thought you knew why, but you didn’t want to assume and make him even more upset.

“I like you, (Y/N),” he said, and your response got caught between your lips, the words entangling themselves into a knot, making it impossible to say anything at all. You were complete and utterly speechless. “But if you’re with Jake and he’s good to you, then it’s okay. You look good together,” he said sincerely, and you looked into your best friend’s deep brown eyes, feeling nothing but platonic love and pity as you watched tears well up in those deep pools of honey. “Don’t look at me like I’m some pathetic fool,” he chuckled, turning away and wiping his eyes. “I’ll really be okay. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“You’re my best friend, Jungwon, you know that. I think us being anything else than that would ruin what we have,” you said carefully, trying to be cautious and delicate with your words, not wanting to hurt Jungwon further. But he threw his head in the air and laughed, poking your nose and surprising you with the lighthearted action. 

“I’m not that upset, don’t patronize me,” he sighed, “I’ll get over it soon, so don’t worry. But if he hurts you, make sure he knows he’ll have to deal with me.” He playfully made a fist and punched you in the shoulder.

You mustered up a smile. “Alright, alright,” you laughed, before ruffling his hair, something he only allowed you to do. “Since I had to cancel our plans after school, want to go get breakfast together now?”

“But what about Jake and his bread?”

“Jay can buy it for him for all I care,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Now come on, let’s go before everything is sold out at the snack shop”

As you grabbed him by the hand and dragged him down the hallway, just as you’d been doing all these years, he realized that just maybe, it was better things turned out this way. After all, you were right; things between the two of you were just fine, and there was that girl from the class next door who had asked if he wanted to go out for lunch next week…

Jungwon’s heavy heart felt much, much freer than it had in a long time as he watched you wave to Jake as the two of you passed by him walking back to his own class, his facial expression one of shock as he spotted the two of you, closer than ever. He managed an awkward half-smile at Jungwon, who surprisingly reciprocated it before you pulled him around the corner of the hallway.

Yeah, he thought, it was better that it turned out this way. As you slowed this time, he ran in front of you, dragging you behind him rather than the other way around, making you laugh out loud. And for once, rather than swooning, Jungwon just laughed himself, relishing the feeling of laughing with your best friend, and nothing more. 

© petrichor-han 2022, all rights reserved

[ussgallifrey]

The Kids Aren't Alright || 1.3

✦ Summary: Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy but, between the three of you, there’s enough lyrics to write an anthem. Bucky falls first for the blue-eyed artist with a fighter’s spirit, then for the girl made from stormclouds and spitfire. You’re doomed from the very start.

✦ Pairing: Steve x named!Female Reader x Bucky

✦ Warnings: Angst, descriptions of injuries, drinking, grief, hurt/comfort, mild violence, minor character death, non-explicit smut, pre-serum Steve; references to child abuse, consensual underage sex, murder, suicide; underage drinking and smoking, unhappy ending, unhealthy coping mechanisms, WWII.

✦ Word Count: 17.1k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Author’s Note: The reader is named for convenience (and it comes from a specific song in the playlist), though - as with all of my reader-centric stories - her looks are never described in detail nor is she white-coded.

[MasterList]

[ S W E E T H E A R T ]

No one pays Steve Rogers much mind.

He was a real spectacle when he showed up last year though. New faces were a rare sight around these parts, so him and his Mama were the talk of the town for at least two months straight. Not to mention, he had that strange city accent and a sickly lithe body that had kids wondering if a light breeze would knock him over.

But now, no one gives a damn about the scrawny boy.

He’s got an artist’s soul, but kids ‘round here don’t care much for that. Where the older boys tend to spend their free time throwing a ball around the barren field next to the school, Steve’s always sitting on the stoop with a book full of drawings - good ones too.

At least, Bucky thinks they are - having spotted a page covered in beautiful lines and strokes.

Sometimes, he longs to join the smaller boy on the steps of the school, with his charcoal smudged fingers. But he knows how that would look and he’s already got enough of a reputation surrounding him.

And I’d promise you anything for another shot at life.

It’s a small town and people talk.

And perfect boys with their perfect lives.

His Momma always tells him to keep his chin up, to not let the words and stares grind him down - it’s not his fault his Daddy went and did what he did. And he’s got his sisters to worry about so sitting on the sidelines, drawing fanciful pictures, isn’t a way to get himself up on the ladder - so to speak - in a place like this.

Nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy.

He can turn a blind, but still envious, eye to boys like Steve. It’s the other kids, the bigger kids, that don’t like it one bit.

On a day at the start of the school year, he finds the little blonde boy with a fresh shiner and blood dripping from his nose under the old willow tree next to the school’s woodshed. A sopping wet sketchbook at his feet and angry tears welling up in his eyes.

He doesn’t want Bucky to see him like that, quickly rubbing his snotty face with the back of his bloody hand.

He’s seven years old and he just spits out a glob onto the ground and says, “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

“Oh, I bet, pal.”

It’s no wonder the kid gets the ever-living shit kicked out of him at every turn.

He’s about thirty pounds lighter and a foot and a half shorter than even Bucky. Guys like Will Marsden and John Sicamore, who throw hay bales all day long, they’ve got enough strength to push back a grizzly if they wanted.

Doesn't matter that they're twelve, someone like Steve is an easy target.

With his quiet voice and soft blue eyes and heart of aching gold that likes to weave stories through charcoal sketches. Even at eight and a half, Bucky knows - deep down - that Steve is something special to him. Just doesn’t have the right words to name it yet.

Maybe that’s why he knocks John Sicamore flat on his backside and pummels him into the dirt with a raging fury of threats that sends even Steve running to pull him off the older boy.

“He’s not worth it! Bucky, he’s not worth it!”

The only reason Steve’s able to pull him off the other boy is because Bucky lets him - after taking one look at his pleading blue eyes - collapsing back on the ground with a grumble.

“Had him on the ropes.”

He gets a ruler to the hand and a letter home to his Ma for his troubles. But from that point on, everyone knows; if you mess with Steve, you’ll have Bucky hot on your tail.

So, the kids tend to leave them to themselves. Bucky likes it that way though: just him and Stevie.

Their own little world somewhere beyond the old country schoolhouse and miles of nothin’ but yellow wheat fields.

Steve’s got enough stories rolling around in his head to fill a lazy afternoon under the willow trees. With the passing clouds, Steve gives him tales of stuff he’s never heard before - a place called Tír na nÓg, fairie rings, battling gods - real mystical folklore stuff.

Bucky could listen to him talk for days.

And if he finds himself staring just a little too long at the other boy’s pink lips or sweet ocean-colored eyes, then that’s no one’s business but his own.

No one ever prepared him for you, however.

Little girl, you got me staring odd.

You show up on a too-hot day in late September, with scraggly pigtails and a dress so dirty no one can tell the original color from the grime. You’ve got a bloodied scrape on your cheek and a look in your dark eyes that says you don’t care who sees it.

Or was that just a telescopic camera nod?

Admittedly, it’s a little frightenin’.

The teacher makes you get up next to the desk and introduce yourself to everyone and Bucky goes a little red in the face when you inform the class of twenty-six other kids that your name is Winona Bennett and you can spit farther than anyone there.

It’s crude as hell and the boys break out into gasping laughter. Given it’s your first day, you’re not reprimanded for it but he can tell you’re already being placed on a list in Miss Perry’s mind with that stern, discontented look of hers.

In that first week, he never catches you tryin' to play with the other girls like his sisters. You had tried to join a game of ball with the rest of them but had gotten shoved out of the way before you could even make it to the makeshift home base to try.

Bucky watches you from the outfield, during lunch, as you sidle up next to Steve on his usual stoop, pointing and saying things over his shoulder in a real animated way.

The poor kid has his shoulders hunched up to almost his ears and Bucky just wants to laugh at the scene. Talkative little you’s not even aware of the effect you have on the other boy. But you’re on your knees and you’re touching the page now - just talk-talk-talking away.

Steve’s mama raised him right though, so he just lets you rub your dirty finger over his drawing - like a goddamn pushover. Every day plays out the same after that. You sit next to the blonde boy. Sometimes talking, sometimes drawing your own pictures with a stick in the dirt.

You scare off the older kids whenever they come stomping 'round - shouting out threats that Bucky somehow knows for a fact that you’re willing to act on. He’d pay good money to see Will get a handful of worms shoved where the sun don’t shine.

Between his fists, your tough demeanor, and Steve's sharp wit, no one so much as thinks about touching any of you.

Oh, I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine. What a match - I'm half doomed and you're semi-sweet.

You’re two years younger than him, a year younger than Stevie, but you’re reading about five levels ahead of either of them.

You can’t do arithmetic to save your life and history lessons always leave you struggling to keep your eyes open. But you have a knack for spelling though your way of talking is plain. It’s all just up there in your head during the end-of-term contest.

Miss Perry has to pull out the giant dictionary from her desk to find new words to go through just for you. Since Thomas Baddon - who’s sixteen - had gotten as far as solemn before flubbing it up at sincerely. Then there you were spelling things like mercurial and pulchritude like they were real words that Bucky definitely knew the meanings of.

Steve had shot him a dumb look from across the room as if to say: are you seeing this, pal? And Bucky wasn’t all too sure that he was. He was lost somewhere in that gap-toothed smile of yours.

No one’s all too sure when it happens, just that it does.

It’s definitely sometime after that weird week in late October when he’s getting dressed up in his Sunday best, despite it being Saturday, and escorting his Ma into town with their prettiest glass dish topped to the brim with a rhubarb pie.

Your house is on the outskirts of town, past the charred remains of the old flour mill near the county line marker. You’re standing behind your Daddy when he opens the door and his Ma gives him their deepest sympathies for your recent loss.

“If there's anything we can do - there's a line of fine cooks in this town just waiting for the chance to lend a hand, Carl.”

The man snorts a pitiful smile, nodding his appreciation with a misting of tears in those dark brooding eyes of his.

Bucky hadn’t seen you in school for a whole week up until then, but now it all made sense.

The funeral was on a Sunday but it didn’t have that large of a turnout, even with their close-knit town. There wasn't much of a body to even bury, or at least that's what the man standing next to him had muttered under his breath. Apparently, hogs don't leave much meat on the bones.

When he looked over at you, it was like you were a million miles away with that distant stare of yours. With your Pa's hand clutched down on your little shoulder like a bear trap's vice.

In all the time he's known you, Bucky's never seen you so small before now.

After that, it seemed like all the adults would say the last name Bennett like it was a dirty word, quickly ending the conversation whenever a curious kid came 'round.

“Well, I heard that he didn’t want her to go in the first place. Mrs. Johnson said she heard shouting from the barn that night and I wouldn't be surprised if - oh. Jimmy, you’re home. How was school, darlin'?”

He was used to that too, especially in the year after his Dad did… well… what he did. Barnes was tarnished every way this side of Chicago and it was only after several months that the community would look at his family with more than fleeting glances.

They had come all the way here, middle of nowhere Iowa, to start over. It only lasted a few months before a hail storm killed off most of their crops and the bills started racking up. Him and his Ma never could scrub all the blood off the barn wall.

When you do come back to school, you’re off more than ever. You pick fights with the girls and even some of the guys.

You cut off a lock of Dot’s pretty red hair just for mispronouncing the word regardless as irregardless and you smacked Evan McCormick with his own baseball bat when he said you couldn’t even hit a ball if it was right in front of your face.

He kind of loses sight of you after that - sporadically coming to school here and there. Steve mentions it, once or twice. But Bucky just brushes it off - what did he care, after all? You were just a kid in a sea of people.

Sometime in early December, when the rain’s pelting down on everyone, and the prevailing wind has a sly promise of snow in the distance, is when it happens.

Bucky lives about two miles away from the one-room schoolhouse, whereas Steve lives a little closer - more towards the center of town. He’s got Becca and Grace trudging alongside him, trying to keep themselves dry with their books over their heads when you come running up to them - in nothing more than a summer dress.

“What’re you doing?” he asks with a little too rough of a tone.

You were more Steve’s pal than anything. The closest Bucky ever got to talking to you was when morning roll was being called and your name came directly after his on the list. Or when he escorted his Ma to your house with another pot of stew or freshly baked bread.

But it had been almost two weeks since the last visit.

“ ‘m walking with you,” you state, as though it’s obvious.

Becca shoots him a look. The girls had wanted to wait back in the coatroom, see if the storm would pass. But when the weather refused to let up, they had to hightail it out of there, so now they were running late for their afternoon chores.

You had been the only other kid waiting around when they left.

He huffs, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead, “Why’s that?”

“Want to.”

Your hip bumps against his as you move into his side. He bites the inside of his cheek - not sure if he’s feeling more embarrassed or irritated by it.

The four of you wade through the mud puddles of the country road in complete silence.

You had been there before him when he came to school that day when, usually, you were the one running late. He hadn’t paid the back of your head much mind throughout the day. And hell, he didn’t even see Steve try to start a quiet conversation with you during lunch like he sometimes did.

So, Bucky’s not all too sure why you want to tag along with him in the middle of a rainstorm, but he figures you’re not planning on telling him anytime soon so what would be the point in asking?

Rebbecca and Grace run ahead to the house, screaming like chickens as the rain picks up - muddy footprints clinging to the white porch steps.

He’s stuck in that strange place next to the front gate and you’re sopping wet and looking at him like a stray when he loses the nerve to ask you in.

“See ya tomorrow?” he says instead.

“Not inviting me in, Buck?” your teeth are chattering.

He shrugs, taking in your dirty dress and mud-caked shoes - thinking of the pristine rug in the dining room, “My ma wouldn’t be all that keen.”

Your brow creases and your eyes, even in the downpour, seem to spit fire.

“Fine.”

You’re still standing next to the gate when he goes inside. Letting the water cascade around you in the middle of the open, hands locked on your bare arms when the chill wind picks up.

He’s on his knees, staring over the back of the couch at you, feeling that strange feeling turning in his stomach like whenever he’s skipped out on his chores and told his Ma otherwise.

“You’re not too bright, are ya?” Becca comments from next to the woodstove, patting her braids down with a towel.

He huffs an angry sigh, turning back around and plopping down on his bum.

“Momma! There’s a girl outside and Jamie won’t let her in!” he hears a second later as Gracie tattles on him.

Winifred Barnes comes storming out of the kitchen with a bewildered expression, wooden spoon in hand like she’s ready to tan his hide, a baby on her hip.

He’s quick to stand, moving towards the door, “She just followed me home, Ma. I don’t even know why she did it.”

She peers through the windowpane, “That’s that poor Bennett girl. She looks like a drowned rat out there - go get her, Jimmy. I’m not going to have that child freezing to death outside so long as I’m still breathing.”

Bucky never noticed the bruises on your arms before, not until you’re drying up in front of him in his living room. You're swimming in his Ma's dress, but she insisted on scrubbing your’s up and mending the back seam.

“Sending a child off to school in this, I swear.”

After that, he tends not to ask why sometimes you never want to go back to your house after school. And from the looks of it, his Ma doesn’t care too much if you’re trailing behind him when he comes home either.

Some nights, you stay 'round long after the sun goes down for the day. You end up wedged in bed next to his sisters because his Ma doesn't have the heart to send you back to your Daddy.

You must not like the arrangement much though because sometimes Bucky catches you sitting in the living room or in the kitchen. Just staring at nothing. Sometimes he sits with you, other times he doesn't.

He only ever broaches the subject once.

He had 'a run into town to wake up Steve's mama to get the bottled treatment for you - his Ma didn't have none and you didn't want to go bugging the Doc with your troubles, no matter how much his Ma insisted.

Bucky had sat there at the kitchen table, watching as she wrapped your palm up with a tannic acid compress. The burn had looked downright nasty - a big old blister bubbling up on your small hand.

“Your old man do that to you?”

You’re sitting on the couch now, with a blanket wrapped 'round your shoulders, staring at the embers of the wood stove that he had just put another log into.

You blink, face scouring up into something fierce as you try to keep your tears back. Bucky inches closer, arm on the back of the sofa - fingers nearly touching your shoulder.

“Pretty girls like you shouldn’t cry like that,” he says softly. He’s not sure why he says it, just that he thinks it sounds right.

Under all that hard stone-faced demeanor, you’re real pretty. And he doesn’t think it’s fair that someone like your dad should make you cry at all. He’s not worth crying over.

You make my head swim. I’ll keep you warm and not ask you where you’ve been.

You sniffle, leaning your head against his arm, voice little more than a whimper, “Hold me?”

Bucky’s not all that sure how to comfort you proper-like, but this seems like a start.

He’s ten years old and you fit perfectly against his chest, head nuzzled in under his chin as he keeps a steady eye on the fire. Fingers splayed over your back as your breathing slows to little warm puffs against his sternum.

Between you and Steve, Bucky’s surprised you make it as far as you do in school with all your combined absences.

You for your own reasons that he tries not to think about, and Steve for his constant illnesses.

If he’s not sitting on the school steps worrying about you back home, then he’s sitting in a chair next to Sarah Rogers at his best friend’s bedside - waiting to see if this fever will pass, if his breathing will settle, if the insulin will act in time.

Sometimes he reads to him. Stories out of that fairy tale book that Steve pretends he's too old to read from. He's not as good of a storyteller as the younger boy, and none of them are as wonderful as the stories Steve used to weave, but he does his best.

He'll try and change the names up - silly things like Peganormasus von Winklebottom, or he'll make the princesses gag at the thought of kissing the handsome prince or something.

“You better watch that coughing, pal, or I'm gonna make the prince kiss the woodcutter instead.”

Steve hacks into his elbow, forehead damp with sweat as he gives a delirious smile, “Now there's a real story.”

He coughs, feeling a sudden blush erupt across his cheeks, “Anyway…”

Either way, it usually gets the blonde boy laughing and smiling that nice smile of his, so Bucky counts it away as a win for himself.

He's woken up with rocks on his bedroom window more often than naught. Pushing up from his bed, rubbing the sleep outta his eyes as he opens the latch for you before plopping back down on the edge of his bed.

You've got it down to a sort of science now after one too many close calls with his Ma and sisters. Climbing up the old drain pipe next to the house to get on the roof over the porch before making it to the second-floor window.

He's already got his arms open, waiting, when you crawl through the window and land on the cold floor.

“Come 'ere, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a tired yawn.

It’s the first time he ever calls you that - he won’t remember that fact a few years down the line, but it’s definitely the first of many. Why he says it, much like with everything else when it comes to you, he's not all too sure. Just that it seems right in the moment.

This had been going on for the past five months now - ever since your Pa went and decided to get married to that young new shopkeeper.

It’s not every night, not even every week. But just often enough to have his Ma worryin' over getting authority figures involved when she’d find you, inevitably, on their living room couch. You never got caught sneaking out of his room each morning though.

The town talked 'bout it all the time in their quiet gossiping whispers, but hell if any of 'em wanted to get in the middle of that mess. Folks were weird like that - they’d turn a blind eye to the bruises but still scoff at your too-small shoes or uneven braids in the same breath.

You melt into his arms as he pulls you down onto the bed, kicking his legs to get the blankets back up and over you as you curl into his left side.

He doesn't know when you weaseled your way into his life like this, but he's not complaining much about it. There’s just something with it that feels right. Like some part of himself, way deep down, just knows that this is the way things are supposed to be.

Bucky's not sure what he believes in when it comes to the idea of fate. But he figures there's gotta be something to the concept when your arms feel so right wrapping 'round his middle.

Sometimes you stay up all night, letting his soft stories keep the two of you from drifting off. Other times, you draw lazy patterns on his arms and hands with your finger, humming an old song he doesn't recognize.

“ 's pretty,” he says one night, voice cracking from disuse.

You stop the gentle tune, licking your lips, hands clutching his shirt, “Thanks.”

“What is it?”

Your knee knocks against his thigh as you try and curl in further, mouth muffled by his chest, “Dunno. Mamma used 'a sing it.”

When he isn’t torn between you and Steve, he’s at home fixing things on the farm. Mending the fences, tinkering with the tractor, rushing to help his Ma with the late harvest. His grades are slipping fast, but the crops don’t plant themselves and he’s the only one strong enough to haul the water and split the wood.

He’s thirteen when he decides to leave school at the start of winter break.

He had heard his Ma talking to someone the other night - his Dad's spirit, apparently, from the sounds of it - contemplating selling off her good pearls to get them through till the spring. And that had been the nail in the coffin for him.

“Oh, George. What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?”

George Barnes left them hell to deal with when he blew his brains out and going to school all day wasn’t helping them out of that situation any time soon.

She doesn’t put up as much of a fight as he thought she would.

“I’ll take up odd jobs, work down at the mill or somethin’ - Winston’s had a for-hire sign in their window last week, I can deliver groceries and feed. I’m gonna make sure we’re fine, Ma. I promise.”

Steve, on the other hand, has a string of words for him when he returns to school for that last week of instruction.

“Don’t worry about me, pal. You got a bright future ahead of ya - ”

“So do you,” the younger boy snorts indignantly, slamming the sketchbook closed on his lap.

Bucky scuffs his boot on the ground, avoiding the other boy’s gaze as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets, “Steve - ”

“No, you got a chance to get out of this place, Buck. A real honest to God chance. Don’t throw it away like that.”

They had talked about it before, on one of those hazy summer nights. A few years out and he could go to trade school, maybe become a mechanic or somethin'.

If they studied their asses off, they could try and get into the university downstate. It had an art program there that had Steve nearly salivating at the idea of joining. Best in the state, he had said.

But now… now that just seemed like a young farm kid's dream. Visions of leaving the only thing you've ever known.

“I gotta do this, Steve. There’s five of us and my Ma can only do so much. Martha's never even had her own clothes before - she’s three and every dress she’s got looks like a quilt from all the patchwork. She needs help and I oughta be the one to do it.”

Steve sighs, long and low, “ ‘m gonna tell Winona.”

Bucky’s eyes flash towards the other boy’s in an instant, “Don’t you dare. I’ll whip your hide, pal.”

He gives him a contemplating look, slowly nodding, before taking off ‘round the schoolhouse in a sudden burst of energy, screaming your name.

“Shit - ” Bucky takes off after him, stumbling over the willow's snow-covered roots, but it’s already too late.

You’re stomping ‘round the corner with a storm brewing in your dark eyes as you level him with an unordinary sternness, “James Barnes, you better listen and you better listen to me good.”

There’s only one girl who could take him down with nothing more than a single scathing look. Sometimes, he’s afraid to admit he’s grown a bit of a soft spot for you.

He’s thirteen and his chest aches when you don’t follow him home on that last day at school. You don't come 'round at all. No more rocks on his window, no more gentle humming in his ear.

Bucky catches sight of you, three weeks later, when he’s helping out the widower in town with her leaky roof. He’s precariously balancing on a wooden ladder, trying to patch up the spot above the kitchen, when you come down the snow-covered street with Steve on your arm. The other boy’s cheeks are bitter red from the cold wind, but he’s smiling - laughing at something you said in his ear.

He doesn’t know why, but with his icy hands struggling to grip the hammer and nails just right, seeing the two of you sends a hot rush of anger coursing through him with such a sudden intensity, it makes him nearly vomit.

Steve spots him because of course he does. You, on the other hand, are very pointedly looking at everything but him.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Steve.”

The blonde boy shuffles his feet awkwardly, “How was your Christmas?”

“Fine,” he spits, slamming the hammer down too hard, bending the nail.

The younger boy had been absent from church for the past two weeks - probably held up in bed once again. And you weren’t there for Christmas mass either, but he was trying real hard not to think about why that might have been.

“You workin’?”

Bucky tosses the hammer down on the shingles, exacerbated, “That your first guess, pal?”

Steve’s eyes widen, bright blue against snow white. Bucky’s stomach lurches.

I’ve got troubled thoughts and self-esteem to match.

You step in, grabbing hold of your companion’s elbow, “Come on, Steve. Barnes is a big boy now. He doesn’t have the time of day for kids like us.”

The hammer goes skidding across the roof, sliding down until it lands in the snowdrift next to the house, words spitting out like venom from his twisted lips, “You think you know everything, don’t you, sweetheart?”

What a catch. What a catch.

You scowl, blowing him a raspberry before dragging Steve along by the arm.

Something deep inside of Bucky breaks as he watches the two of you trudge through the snow.

And all I can think of is the way I’m the one who charmed the one who gave up on you.

Part of him wants to take off down the ladder, go running after you both with a flurry of apologies. Instead, he digs the discarded hammer out of the foot of snow and climbs back up to the roof to finish the patching job.

Who gave up on you.

It’s Easter Sunday when he sees you walk into the church with Steve and his mother.

You’re never there for Sunday service - nor is your Pa and his young wife, but it is a holy day so he imagines Mrs. Rogers was able to convince you to come along with them.

Steve looks scrawny in his ill-fitting tie and too-greased hair. Whereas you are clearly wearing a new dress. And, Bucky suspects, it didn’t come from your own family. The fine lace collar looks like the handicraft of the fragile woman next to you.

The three of you come down the row where the Barnes’ are sat - because, of course, his Ma and Sarah Rogers were still the best of friends.

“That’s a lovely pattern, dear,” his mother says to you before the service starts. "Sarah, you did wonders with that lace."

You duck your head, hands fidgeting in your lap, “Thank you.”

Instead of shouting over the row of kids to speak to one another, Sarah moves down to sit between Bucky and his Ma - which makes his four sisters want to sit next to the women, so he ends up getting shoved to the end. Which forces him to sit next to you and Steve without any buffer.

He’s fourteen and he is all too aware of your body next to his. Of that small space where your dress is pressed up 'gainst his hand. The accidental nudge of your shiny shoe against his.

Bucky's also aware that three months for an apology is too little too late. But it’s Easter Sunday and they’re sitting in the house of the Lord, so he’s got to try.

Turning his head slightly towards you, keeping his voice low, “Winona?”

Your eyes flicker up to his, dark and full of simmering hope.

“I’m a real jerk and you don’t owe me nothin’ - ”

You nod, eyes level with the pew in front of you, “You’re right. I don’t.”

Taking a shaky breath, he continues, “Yeah. But I’m sorry. With everything I got, sweetheart - Steve - ” the other boy perks his head up, catching his gaze as well - “I’m real sorry. To both of you. The two of you didn’t deserve a lick of my frustrations.”

Steve’s eyes flicker from him to you, “ ‘s okay, Buck. You got a lot on your plate.”

“Doesn’t mean I should’ve been a jerk - ”

“Oh, you were a real punk,” you say with a sly grin, gently knocking your shoulder against his. “But, if you promise to come ‘round every now and then, I think we might be able to forgive you some.”

He nods, it’s a start.

That following Tuesday, he stops by the schoolyard - much to your surprise. Comin' 'round to walk you both home, just because he can. You fill him in on everything that he’s missed while he regales all the odd jobs he’s done in the time since.

He's got a comfortable arm around the other boy's shoulders while your hands seem to brush together whenever you have to shove yourself over into the two of them when a wagon or car goes by.

Steve bids his farewell, waving you both off when he starts hacking into his arm. Promising he’ll have his mama take a look when he gets home.

And then it’s just the two of you - walking side-by-side down the dirt road to your house on the outskirts of town, fingers occasionally brushing together. He wonders, briefly, why he’s never done this before.

“She cracked my knuckles something good,” you sigh, rubbing your hands together. Bucky can still see the bruising on them.

“Well,” he whistles low. “Maybe don’t go pickin’ fights with people like them and you won’t get yourself a permanent dunce cap.”

You come to a stop, eyes locked on a place far away from here as you gaze out at the empty fields - still muddy from last night’s rain.

“They said my Mamma was better off dead than livin’ with me as a daughter, Buck. Said my Daddy should'a finished the job.”

His brow creases, hands balling up into involuntary fists at his sides. A bunch of words come to mind as he looks down at the top of your head, but nothing comes out. He never seemed to know the right thing to say.

“Maybe they’re right. Didn’t care much either way when I slammed her head into the ground.”

He says the only thing he can, “ 'Nona...”

Your lips form a grimace, eyes briefly meeting his, “Thanks for the company, but I think I’ll go on from here alone, Buck.”

He flounders, unsure of what to do - only knowing that he wants to reach out and grab hold of you before you wander too far from him. But you’re already jumping over the ditch, shoes squelching through the wet wheat field.

Steve is where he finds some semblance of an answer.

The younger boy is wrapped up in bed again, shaking like a leaf every few minutes as the remnants of his latest fever run their course.

“It’s rough, Buck. Ever since you left, she’s been off more than she used to be. Don’t think we’ve gone a single day without something - always getting it from Miss Perry.”

She’s been scolded, sent to the corner, rapped on the knuckles, tanned on the backside, made to write lines and apology letters and promises of doing better. From the sounds of it, she’s a single fight away from being kicked out of the school entirely.

“I’ve tried, believe me. It’s like she doesn’t care if she stays or goes anymore.”

Bucky laces his fingers together, leaning forward on the wooden chair, “Why?”

“Dunno. 'S here more often than not,” Steve admits.

In this tiny one-bedroom apartment above the post office. Bucky takes a look around the room, wondering where exactly you sleep. Wonders if you’ve been finding comfort in Steve’s arms ever since he dropped outta school and stopped being around to help.

You come to Steve’s house, on his thirteenth birthday, with a blooming yellow and purple eyelid. No one says anything 'bout it, but Bucky sees red and he can tell that Steve feels the same flash of anger.

He’s gifted a set of charcoals, a new shirt from his mom, and a batch of over-baked gingersnaps from you. It’s a modest celebration, just the three of you there to partake in the simple raisin cake, but it feels right.

“Gonna have to draw up somethin’ pretty for me,” you say, picking up each little crumb from your plate, savoring the rare treat.

Steve blushes all the way to his ears before replying, “Can’t just draw pictures of you all day.”

Bucky blinks at the boldness of it, surprised to hear it come from his best friend’s lips. Maybe he had missed out on more than he'd originally realized.

You give a small smile, shyly hiding your eye with your hand before looking over at him, “I said pretty, Steve. Gotta sketch Bucky instead.”

That makes both the boys snort with laughter, though his cheeks flush with a surprising heat at the implication. He can feel Steve’s sudden gaze, burning with something still unsaid. It just doesn’t feel like the right time to pry into it though.

Later that night, when the sun’s gone down and the parade has given way to drunken partiers, you’re sat between them both - watching the fireworks going off in the distance. Head on his shoulder, hand on Steve’s knee. Dark eyes shimmering with the colorful explosions high up in the sky.

It’s the first time he ever thinks about kissing you.

He's sixteen when he pays your first bail posting. Four dollars right out of his own pocket to get you outta there. It’s not like your old man was gonna be coming to the rescue any time soon, nor did he probably give a damn.

It had been his kid sister who came running to the mill to tell him what happened - cause she saw it from across the street at the post office with her friend. He had thrown the last six sacks onto the truck and hightailed it into town.

Cut me off, I lost my track. It's not my fault, I'm a maniac. It's not funny anymore, no it's not.

“The hell were you thinking?” he mutters when you're a safe enough distance away from the police station, hand locked on your wrist, cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Dunno,” you reply numbly, allowing yourself to get dragged along - all the fight dissipated from your body.

They said you had stolen a handful of things from Winston’s store. Times were hard for everyone. But he never… never could have thought that you would go stealing things. And it wasn't just food - no, that he could understand.

It was the top-shelf stuff, the things worth an actual pretty penny.

“I need to get away from here, Buck. From this whole damn town.”

My heart is like a stallion, they love it more when it's broken.

You come to a stop at the edge of the main street, where the cobblestones turn to dirt road. He fixes you with a look. He thinks of you and your brilliant brain and you and your drunk of a father. He pictures your life, for a flash of a second, if you remain here in this place for another second.

Do you wanna feel beautiful, do you wanna? Yeah.

You look like you’re seconds away from crying all over your pretty cheeks. Hands balled up into angry fists at your sides.

Taking a drag from the cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a rush as he holds it between his fingers, he asks, “Where you wanna go, sweetheart?”

‘Cause I don't know where you're going, but do you got room for one more troubled soul?

It’s then, when you look up at him with wide wondering eyes, that everything shifts.

I don't know where I'm going, but I don't think I'm coming home.

He’s not sure just what he’s offering you in that moment, he’s only got a nickel in his pocket after all. But he’s looking into your dark, gorgeous eyes and he just wants to give you the world. Whatever it takes.

And I said I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead.

Bringing your hands to his cheeks before rising up on your toes, your eyes seem to assess his gaze for a moment.

And then you’re pressing your lips to his.

This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end. Say, yeah.

A shocked gasp of air escapes his mouth until he comes to his senses and kisses you right. Pushing against your embrace as he tugs you towards his chest with a desperate hand grabbing hold of the collar of your dress.

It’s not his first kiss, but it doesn’t matter none. Nothing before this can even compare.

The cigarette falls to the ground, forgotten, as he grips your waist with his now free hand, dragging his tongue along your bottom lip like you’re not standing in the middle of main street - like he didn’t just bail you out of jail.

Let's be alone together. We could stay young forever.

“Take you wherever you want, ‘Nona,” he promises against your lips, unable to stop himself from pressing another soft kiss to them.

You nod, foreheads rubbing together, tears balling up in the corners of your eyes, “Take me somewhere safe, Buck. Please. Get me out of here.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, tucking your head in under his chin - holding you there, tight, with his hands.

Another kiss to your hair, a little more assured in his own voice, “Okay.”

Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs.

When you turn fifteen, you spend the evening drinking stolen whiskey in the woods next to the watering hole outside of town.

It’s become your own space - hidden away in a grove of wispy willow trees and old cedars. With a really tipsy Steve by your side and Bucky staring down at you fondly with a protective arm around your waist.

You didn't put a name to it, even though it had been a year and a half, everyone just seemed to understand that wherever you went Bucky wouldn't be far behind. And that was enough for the two of you.

He doesn’t flinch, barely even registers it actually, when you lean over - laughing at something you had just said to them, a little slurred ‘round the edges - and kiss the other boy squarely on the lips.

Steve soon discovers that your mouth tastes like fresh-picked blackberries and whiskey.

It’s strange, or he should find it strange, that you’re soon tugging the other boy’s shirt free from his pants. Pulling at his suspenders and unbuttoning his overshirt. Bucky should find it strange that Steve is kissing your neck and looking at him for any sign of distaste or confirmation.

Hell or Glory. I don’t want anything in between.

He should really find it strange, but he doesn’t.

Because none of it is. It’s just always been the three of you, it seems.

So, Bucky rubs your bare calve as you lay on Steve’s chest and exchange lazy drunken kisses. Propping his chin up with his hand as he smiles, feeling a warmth spreading through his chest - igniting his heart like a direct ray of sunlight.

It's only after several more swigs of courage from the bottle that Bucky gets to discover what the other boy's lips taste like for himself.

It ain't like nothin' he's ever had before - can't even compare it to you, it's just that much different. But damn him, the whole thing just feels all that more right.

"I wanna get away from here," you tell him, some odd number of days later, with your fingers rubbing little circles on his bare chest, hooking under the hem of his open shirt.

Bucky's got a hand on your shoulder, drawing idle patterns as the radio croons in the corner. He’s got you all to himself for the next hour and he’s not plannin’ on wasting a second of it.

"Where you wanna go, sweetheart?"

Your expression is earnest when you meet his adoring heavy-lidded blue eyes, "Anywhere."

My words are my faith, to hell with our good name.

He's seventeen when he buys a 1927 Chrysler from a poor chump who was willing to sell it for almost nothing - desperate as hell after his company went under.

Bucky spends three days babying it before he drives into town and grabs the two of you from Steve's apartment. Because if you wanted to get out of town, there was no way you were leaving without the other boy at this point. It was the three of you or bust.

His Ma thinks he's got a job in the next town over. Steve's mama is working a shift at the hospital three hours away - there was another TB outbreak. And your Pa, well, if he wasn't in a drunken stupor he probably wouldn't even notice if you left or not.

At the first crossroad the three of you come across, you just close your eyes and point - no real destination in mind. And Bucky honors your choice, heading south through a never-ending sea of wheat fields.

They cross the Missouri border later that afternoon, with your hand clutching his inner thigh. Leaning against Steve as he strokes the base of your neck, while rows and rows of towering green trees pass by.

You're humming something sweet and lazy and Bucky's not sure if he's ever seen you so relaxed before. He wants to see it all the time now, addicted to the way your smile widens every time you catch his eye.

Stopping just off the roadside, when the daylight begins to wane and Bucky's squinting to see the road in front of him, you set up a makeshift camp. A little fire roars as you dole out the sandwiches you had packed for the trip.

You're resting in Steve's arms, offering him a warm smile from across the firelight.

Sometimes Bucky wonders how it all fell into place so natural-like. He knows this ain’t normal, doesn’t really care all that much about that fact. But it’s never been… hard. No hiccups, no bumps in the road so to speak.

"Play me something, Buck?"

He shakes his head fondly, "Not on your life, sweetheart."

Steve drops his chin onto your shoulder, joining your crusade, "Play something for the girl."

One look at him and the dancing embers reflected in his dark blue eyes has Bucky standing with a lazy stretch, a rush of warmth filling his belly as he grabs the guitar you had made him throw in the backseat. How the hell you had enough money to buy it for him on his birthday is still a mystery, but he’d never smiled so wide before when you handed it over.

He takes his time, fiddling with the tuners for a minute as you run your hand up and down Steve's arm. Giving it a practice strum before situating it the way he likes, Bucky gulps a nervous breath.

"Something sweet," you add, fighting back a yawn as Steve chuckles against your cheek, dropping a chaste kiss there.

"Alright, alright," he waves his hand at you before grabbing up the pick between his fingers.

His voice starts out off-pitch and scratchy, but a cautious glance at the two of you has him gaining a bit more confidence as he sings into the soft night air.

"Every kiss, every hug seems to act just like a drug. You're getting to be a habit with me."

Throwing a wink your way, you giggle against the other man's embrace.

"Let me stay in your arms, I'm addicted to your charms. You're getting to be a habit with me - you know you are, sweetheart!"

Steve whoops in agreement.

"I used to think your love was something that I could take or leave. But now I couldn't do without my supply."

He finishes off the rest of the song with some wild chords and overzealous strumming before carefully tossing the guitar to the side and plopping down on the blanket next to the two of you.

"Am I your habit, Buck?" you ask with a coy smile.

His hands find the smooth skin of your chest, fingers trailing down your sternum to the gentle curve of your perfect breasts.

" 'd say that's a fair assumption," he murmurs with a heavy gravel, eyes gone dark with desire as he leans up to capture your lips with his own.

A teenage vow in a parking lot. 'Til tonight do us part. I sing the blues and you swallow them too.

Bucky wakes up with you in his arms and Steve's hand gripping his bicep from the other side of your sleeping form - still lightly snoring into your hair as you twitch in your sleep.

Watching the two of you for a long quiet while. Lost in this strange new world, dewdrops on the edge of the blanket and soft morning fog still rollin' around, your body curled into the warmth of his chest - Steve not far behind.

He stares at your eyelashes, almost reaches out to touch them. The same with your kiss-bruised lips. When Steve’s eyelids flutter open and they meet each other’s cautious gaze from over your bare shoulder. A silent understanding passes between them as Bucky brings his lips to the other boy’s knuckles.

If they had a choice, if they didn’t have people waiting for them back home, Steve and him probably would’ve followed you to the ends of the Earth if you asked them to.

But you’re young, barely got enough between the three of you combined to afford gasoline and food at a hole-in-the-wall diner on the way. You definitely don’t have the funds to be in the middle of New Orleans, but here you are.

Car parked back on the side of the road amongst the billowing maiden grass, you standing up to your knees in the cool waters of the Gulf - pretty green dress rucked up around your thighs as you stare out at that crystal blue horizon.

Steve’s squinting against the radiant sunlight next to him, gently leaning into Bucky’s side without being too obvious in case anyone comes ‘round.

“She makes me want to do this forever. You too,” he adds after a soft moment.

Bucky affords him a glance, fingers rubbing over the edge of a sand dollar he had picked up from the shoreline, cigarette dangling from his chapped pink lips.

“That so?”

The blonde nods, tucking his hands in his pockets as he looks out at you - you’re bending over now, hands dipping down for something below the water’s surface.

“Place like that isn’t right for her - for us. Never seen her smile so much.”

He takes a long drag, blowing the smoke from his lips before sucking it back in with a sigh, “Gotta make a livin’ somehow, Stevie. Can't just live on corned beef sandwiches and pretty dreams.”

The other boy glances down at his bare feet in the warm sand, voice soft, “I know.”

Bucky hands him the sand dollar, letting his fingers graze across the smooth pads of Steve’s palm for longer than necessary. The seashell gets safely tucked away in his shirt pocket, right above his heart.

You come skipping back up to them then, holding a thing of little shells for the two of them to see. But it’s not shells, it’s a handful of water that you immediately throw into Bucky’s face.

You take off running as he chases you across the beach - swooping you up from behind as your infectious laugh echoes against the gentle tide rolling in.

We are wild - we are like young volcanoes.

Steve watches from the shaded spot next to the small sand dune, laughing as you come charging at him - tucking into his side and pulling him down on top of you with a breathless smile.

“Save me, darlin’!” you cry, smile as bright as the sunlight overhead.

We are wild. Americana exotica. Do you wanna feel a little beautiful baby? Yeah.

Bucky’s eyes flicker from the image of the two of you towards the seemingly perfect scene of the water lapping against the shore. He wonders, briefly, what a carefree life would even look like for the three of you. If it was even possible.

Biting at his lip, he flicks the smoldering bud onto the beach and wanders back over to you both - allowing himself to get dragged down. Sand in his hair, lips on his cheeks, laughter bubbling up from his chest.

There’s hell to pay when they come crawling back into town a week and a half later. The rumors were already flying, apparently, when the three of you up and disappeared. But now? It’s a miracle he can even walk into the church without burning up on the spot.

His Ma's got him banned from seeing either of you. Though you still manage to sneak 'round once or twice to keep his mind from worrying too hard.

Bucky can tell. Steve can tell. They see the way it all eats at you, slowly. While they only hear a fraction of what you get - your reputation, and your Pa’s preceding you, already gives you a target on your back.

When he hears one of the guys pondering if you snuck out of town to go see that kind of special doctor who helps get rid of certain… things, Bucky almost punches a damn hole in the side of the silo - the foreman has to restrain him from beating the guy’s face in when he calls you easy.

You’re fifteen and you don’t deserve an ounce of what’s being thrown at you.

You spend more time waiting ‘round outside the mill than you do at school - no matter how much he tells you off for it. Anytime you’re at the watering hole, you’re reluctant to let them leave for the night. More often than he’d like, he’s waking up to the cool morning breeze and a tree root under his back.

Shivering like a leaf when he draws you and Steve near.

If he just had a little more money, he could get out on his own - get his own place. Then it wouldn’t be late-night rendezvous and freezing cold sunrise wakeups. He just needed a little more.

Drumming his hands on the counter as Officer Pently completes your processing, Bucky fixes you with a stern expression that you choose to ignore completely. Steve’s impatiently bouncing on the balls of his feet next to him, just out of sight from the sheriff’s deputy.

Between the two of them, they have enough for your twenty-nine dollar bail posting.

You’re sixteen and you’ve just been arrested on your second arson charge. Hell, they had passed the blackened remains of the old barn on the way here. Bucky had wanted to stop and help the volunteer firemen lugging buckets, but Steve had pushed him forward.

“Yeah, ‘cause they’d want our help, Buck.”

Things had been getting worse. Sure, he had a steady job working at the mill and Steve had just graduated a few weeks back. But you? Hell, you still felt trapped in this place. Suffering under the weight of your father, of school that you didn’t feel was necessary anymore.

Bucky knew you heard the gossip that surrounded your every move. The whispers of troubled homes, lack of guiding maternal figures, hanging around with delinquent youths like him and Steve. And when exactly were you going to start acting like a proper young lady?

He’s not all too sure why the gossiping bats think you need to suddenly change into something you clearly aren’t. He likes you - they like you - just the way you are.

Rough edges and sly smiles and a perfect body that seems to sing under their touch.

“What was the reason this time?” Steve asks plainly as you step out onto the street, watching as another crew of men haul water from the stables across the street.

You shrug, taking Bucky’s hand in yours, gently rubbing a hand on the back of Steve’s arm for a moment.

“It was an eyesore. Bound to come down eventually.”

Bucky nods, pulling you in by the waist - dropping a kiss to the top of your head. There was no use arguing with you anymore, he learned that several arrests back.

“It was. But, sweetheart, you’re gonna run us dry if you keep this up.”

“Guess I just have to get better at hiding the evidence then, huh?”

Steve scoffs, falling into step next to the two of you, hands stuffed into his pockets, “Or you could just not do it.”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a gentle push, “Sounds dull.”

He cranes his neck behind you to lock eyes with Bucky, “She’s gonna burn this place to the ground, pal.”

For his benefit, Bucky does give you a wary look then - silently agreeing with the sentiment, “Probably, Steve. Probably.”

It’s a few months later, the day after a massive snowstorm rips through the state - covering the tiny town in looming frozen drifts.

Bucky spends the better part of the morning shoveling out a path to the barn, hauling in wood from the shed with Becca. He doesn’t make it into town until well after noon, and by then, Steve’s apartment has got a nice sprinkling of frost on the inside of the window panes.

“Jesus, pal,” he breathes out, watching his breath linger in the air of the kitchen.

“T-tell me 'bout it,” the younger boy mumbles, shivering under a pile of blankets before falling to another coughing fit.

His mama was out of town again - for a birth actually - but the storm had kept her from returning home last night. And Steve was in no fit state to be taking care of himself, bringing in wood, or boiling water.

Bucky, after getting the fire going again, settles in behind the other boy, letting the blankets drape over them both. He’s still got his gloves on when he wraps his hands around Steve’s small torso - resting his cold nose against his soft blonde hair.

He still shivers, even with the extra body heat there to warm him up. His chest seizes up with each painful hack and cough. He’s trying his best to hide the blood in the handkerchief, but Bucky’s not blind.

There’s nothing he can actually do - Steve refuses the aspirin 'cause it'll only make the stomach ulcers worse off. So, Bucky's stuck just holding the younger boy as tight as he can - willing it to pass once again.

He gets so wrapped up in Steve, that it’s nearing nightfall before he even has a second to think about you. Now that the sick boy is finally out, twitching in his sleep, wrapped up in Bucky’s arms. It shouldn’t bother him so much, but the idea of you not being here with them is really picking at his brain.

It doesn’t sit right with him, at all.

You should be here. Or they should be there. Whatever.

You needed a house - a proper house - all your own. He’s not sure if you even want that. You're not the apron-wearing homemaker his mother is. He can't picture you carrying around chubby-faced babes or darning socks for them. You can't cook or bake to save your life.

If he can find you a place though, with willow trees shading your lazy summer days. Somewhere with enough space for a little garden. A nook tucked against a window for you to read in while Steve draws or Bucky dozes.

He can picture the three of you - somewhere away from this godforsaken town in the middle of nowhere Iowa. In a bed big enough to hold you all. Steve’s sketches and drawings on the wall, his guitar in the corner. A cupboard for all the dresses he would buy you.

He wanted you to have the best - the prettiest things. He so wanted you - and Steve - to have more than what this world had afforded you both.

But living on a mill boy's wages wasn't going to get you very far.

Sarah’s back in town the next morning, there to take over on Steve’s usual round of medications, which gives Bucky the chance to head out your way to check in on you. He sneaks a kiss to Steve’s cheek on the way out while his mama prepares the doses, fingers lingering for just a second too long.

The house is nearly seven miles from the center of town and he’s finding himself very grateful for the fact that his Ma got talked into buying a horse last autumn to help with the plowing. Because it means he’s high off the deep snow-covered road, instead of suffering through it in his old boots - risking a nasty case of frostbite.

The ride itself is pretty quiet, passing only one other person out braving the cold on the entire stretch of path. And then, in the distance, he sees it.

The low curling plume of black smoke against the stark white landscape.

“No, no, no, goddamnit,” he’s muttering to himself, kicking the sides of the stallion - making him gallop through the snow as fast as he can.

The overwhelming smell of burning wood hits him like a train car within the next half-mile and by then he's frantic, clinging to the horn as he urges the horse on faster. Past the abandoned flour mill, crumbling into the earth now, the giant dogwood tree comes into view and he’s throwing himself from the saddle to take off running.

The entire house is engulfed in vicious orange flames.

He screams your name - raw and desperate as pure panic courses through his veins - sprinting towards the front of the house. The heat radiating off the building has him stumbling back, wiping his brow before he throws his weight against the door - trying to get it to budge.

The sudden rush of oxygen when the wooden door breaks free of its hinges sends a wave of fire right at him - barely able to dive out of the way in time. Within seconds, the entire porch is aflame and Bucky can do nothing but stumble back into the yard - watching in horror as the second floor begins to creak, support beams splitting in two.

As the top of the house buckles and crashes down onto the main floor, a burst of heat shoots out with a warning whip-like crack. And then he hears it over the roar of flames - howling sobs from around the back of the house.

He slips on the snow, desperate when his boots sink into the drift and his hands clutch the cold, as he goes running towards the back kitchen entrance.

There he finds you, splayed out on the ground, clutching the hem of your bloody dress. Screaming out snot-covered angry sobs.

“Winona,” he sighs, thanking the Lord above that you’re safe, as he takes three careful strides before sinking down on his knees next to you.

Your chest quakes with the torment of your pain. Bucky pulls you ‘round, tucking your face against his coat as your muffled screams continue to wrack your body. Two bloody handprints find their home on his front, bracketing your head.

He spares your Pa a brief glance over the top of your hair. The ghostly wide eyes and massive pool of crimson blood seeping out onto the fresh snow tell him enough.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I got you, come on,” he whispers against your ear, pulling you up into his arms, trudging back through the snow till he’s able to get you up on the horse - still waiting a ways down the road, a little spooked.

When he’s sure you’re settled on right - still crying out, but settled - he goes back to the side of the house.

Your hands instinctively reach out for him, mouth gaping as you try to say his name when he returns minutes later.

“Shhh, it’s fine, sweetheart. It’s all fine.”

You can only blame your problems on the world for so long before it all becomes the same old song. As soon as we hit the hospital I know we're gonna leave this town.

He wipes the blood from his hands out on the snow before dragging his boot through it to cover it all up. Hopping up behind you in the saddle, clicking his tongue and turning the creature away from the smoldering remnants of your home.

Bucky doesn’t take his hand off your middle, even when they arrive at Steve’s front door - to the gasping horror of Sarah Rogers.

It takes three days before the authorities are able to go out and investigate the structure - attributing it to a kitchen accident when they find your Pa’s charred body next to the woodstove.

It takes you almost a week to even utter a word to either him or Steve. But when you do, all you have to say is that the young shopkeep skipped town and that he didn’t take it well. Then you clamp your lips together and stare off out the little window in Steve’s room.

They never bring it up again.

You’re seventeen and your job prospects are nonexistent. They watch you go from place to place, looking for an opportunity only for none to be given out. Steve bites his tongue while Bucky glares at each and every business owner whose store you walk out of.

It ain’t right. ‘Specially when a job that supposedly didn’t exist gets filled by the end of the week by some other desperate sap.

You’re living with Steve and his mama now, but you’re barely around. Finding your balm with the bottom of a whiskey bottle. They don’t know where you keep gettin’ 'em, but there’s probably a good reason why Winston’s wasn’t willin’ to hire you.

Bucky works the long shifts at the mill every day before going home to help out his own family. He’s nineteen and it feels like his back’s already breaking under the weight of responsibility.

He tells his Ma over and over again that they should hire sparehands to tend the fields, but she's not ready to give up on his father's dream just yet. So, it falls to him to do it all.

The dream of several summers past - that impromptu road trip down to the ocean - ain’t nothing more than a distant idea now. Memory’s all clouded over with flour dust and calloused hands that split open and bleed out.

His car’s long since sold off, the horse too now. Steve’s mama is working all the long shifts at the hospital three hours away - sleeping in the waiting room instead of traveling back home each day. They’re struggling to pay for Steve’s new round of heart medication.

And you’re doing real odd jobs to help out - tailoring clothes for the blind widower, filling in for the diner’s chef even though you can’t cook to save your life.

None of it’s amounting to anything and it has Bucky wanting to walk out into a field and scream till someone up above gives him a damn answer.

“What’d that cabinet ever do to you?”

Your voice pulls him from his silent stupor, sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed with a curious look on your pretty features.

“Just thinkin’,” he murmurs, turning away from the wardrobe situated in the corner of the small room.

You hum, “Mhmm. Can see that a mile away, darling.”

With a sigh, he rounds the bed, taking a heavy seat next to you. Steve was picking up an order for his mama across the street.

“This isn’t what I want for us.”

Your soft hands creep ‘round till he’s being pulled into your embrace, fingers splayed out over his stomach, your lips on his neck. A ghost of a kiss to his sensitive skin.

“We’ll run away then,” you whisper, slowly pulling at the buttons of his shirt.

Bucky scoffs, voice catching in his throat as his aching blue eyes meet your gaze, “Can’t live on pennies and promises, sweetheart. I oughta be - shit!”

Your fingers dip down below the waist of his pants, lips quirking up into a pleased smile.

“You sound stressed, Buck.”

He gulps, hands flying back on the bed as his hips thrust up to meet your careful touch, “You’re tellin’ me - fuuuck, sweetheart. Oh, honey, just like that.”

You never give him a real solution to his all-consuming problem, but you certainly know how to distract him and Steve.

The three of you are all just living day-to-day, as much as you can. Saving every bit you’re able to for that all too distant dream lingering in your minds. He gets a minor raise when he takes on a supervisor position at the mill. You find work at the bar across town while Steve sends out a few submission pieces for the county paper.

It’s enough to keep you comfortable but stuck. For a whole year, it stays that way.

And then Steve’s mama collapses on the way to work and suddenly the world comes crashing down on the three of you as you watch her wither away before your very eyes. It’s slow, it’s stretched out, and it’s all too painfully real.

She passes on a Thursday in early spring, chickadees singing a song for her outside the window when she takes her last breath, rosary beads slipping from her frail fingers - landing in a clattering heap on the floorboards.

Steve walks down the back stairs and stalks over to the empty cornfield behind the apartment to stare at nothing for a long while. Bucky holds you by the shoulders as you sob into the bedcovers.

Sarah Rogers had been too damn kind for a town like this. She took you in when no one else would, fixed every god-awful injury you brought to her with teary eyes and a quivering lip. No one but his own mother could compare.

After getting things fixed away with the coroner and the church for the following Sunday, Bucky wanders out in search of you two. He finds you, a short distance away, with your arms wrapped around Steve - who’s shaking like a leaf on the ground as he sobs something awful into your chest.

It tugs at Bucky’s very soul as he trips over his own feet in a rush to get to the two of you.

“Shhh, darlin’,” you whisper, hands tucked into his soft blonde hair, rocking him back and forth.

Bucky kneels down, hesitant for only a second before he folds himself over the other man’s back, wrapping the two of you up as much as his arms can reach. Tears running down his cheeks as he meets your equally solemn eyes.

You had to get out of here, your gaze seems to say, or this town was gonna eat you all alive.

The tombstones were waiting, they were half-engraved. They knew it was over, they just didn't know the date.

It’s a warm night in early August. The crickets are croaking out their usual tune as Bucky leans back on the wooden staircase that leads up to Steve’s apartment above the post office.

The man in question is carefully folded into his side, hand on his chest. Moonlight shelters them from the rest of the world, far from the eyes of the town's inhabitants. The lightnin’ bugs flutter in and out of sight at the base of the steps.

“Should do it,” Steve mutters after a long stretch of silence.

Bucky pauses his hand in the other man’s hair, letting it come to a rest at the base of Steve’s neck instead. Wide dark eyes try to read his features - he hadn’t been expecting an answer so quickly.

“Y-yeah?”

He hums in reply, taking a careful drag of his asthma cigarette, flicking the ashes to the ground below them, forcing back a cough with his fist - pounding on his chest a few times to quell it.

“Can’t get a house together unless you tie the knot.”

Taking a moment to watch Steve’s carefully neutral expression, Bucky reaches out, entwining their fingers together. He inspects each knuckle with quiet contemplation.

“I’d put a ring on your finger if I could,” he muses, voice quiet as he rubs his thumb over Steve’s left ring finger.

That makes the blonde scoff, smiling behind the cigarette, “I’d look awful in a dress, pal.”

“Says you,” he laughs, grabbing at Steve’s waist, pressing a rough kiss to the sweet junction of neck just under his jawline. “Move out to Utah, get me two pretty little wives.”

Steve shakes his head, lightly kicking at Bucky’s leg, “Not on your life, Buck.”

With a quick jerk of his arms, he pulls the shorter man into his lap, giving a playful little thrust upwards. Lips quirking into a Cheshire-like grin, “Just need some convincing ‘s all.”

Steve gasps, chest shuddering as Bucky begins to gyrate his hips all slow-like. He keeps him locked there, hands clamped on Steve’s boney hips.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps down a moan - he’s never looked more beautiful.

“Oh! S-so wrong, you jerk.”

He watches Steve hobble across the room from the rather comfortable place in the younger man’s bed, lighting up a cigarette of his own in the afterglow.

The shadows and rays of moonlight illuminate Steve’s body in a real artistic way - he almost wishes he could sketch as well as the other man could. He’d fill up a whole book with nothing but this.

“Here,” the blonde says a moment later, tossing the ring over into Bucky’s waiting hands.

He catches it in his palm, fingers unfurling to inspect the delicate gold band.

“You sure?” he asks, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. It was his mama’s after all.

Steve nods, plopping back down in the bed, resting on his stomach, “Positive.”

Bucky tucks it back up into his fist, pulling the habit from his mouth so he can lean down and kiss the other man right on the lips, smoke blowing out of his nose and curling up into the quiet air of Steve’s bedroom.

He thinks about it for a full week straight. There are about a million and one opportunities for him to pop the question, but none of them ever feel right. And he’s beginning to wonder if the right moment will ever actually occur.

Thankfully, everything just kind of falls into place one summer morning.

He’s watching you from the small kitchen table in nothing but his pants and boots, suspenders resting at his sides, as you pull the bedsheets from the bed - claiming they needed a firm washin’ after the past week. Steve didn’t put up much of a fight about it, already digging around for the washboard and basin.

But Bucky, he just can’t stop staring at you. That gorgeous early morning glow on your cheeks, sunlight glimmering in your eyes.

Pressing his fist down on the table with determination, he takes two long strides over towards you, pulling the bedding from your hands - tossing it on the floor in a heap - as he rests his large palms over your hips.

“God, I love you.”

You laugh, pushing at his biceps as he nuzzles into your neck, stubble rubbing across your smooth skin.

“Steve! Come and get your hound!” you call out over your shoulder.

The blonde watches from the doorway with an amused smile gracing his lips, arms crossed over his small chest, “Told you to stop lettin’ strays in here, honey.”

And maybe it ain’t romantic like in the stories you love to read, but he drops down onto one knee and grabs your hands together in his, “Think I wanna spend the rest of this life with the two of you.”

He digs out Sarah Roger’s wedding band from his back pocket and flashes it at you, smiling in anticipation as you glance between him and Steve with wide eyes. The other man, for his part, shrugs - biting down his own amusement as you snatch the ring from between Bucky’s fingers - inspecting it with a squint.

Voice a little distant as you say, “I’m not wife material, Buck.”

He nods, standing back up, dusting off his pants as takes the ring from you, just to slide it onto your left hand instead.

“Nah, you’re not,” he agrees with a mischievous expression. “But we love you all the same, sweetheart. And if I wanna buy that farm out on the county line, I can’t have you livin’ with me in sin forever.”

With a shake of your head, you place your hand on his cheek - eyes tearin’ up with what he hopes is joy, “Like we ever cared about that before.”

You plant a kiss to his lips, fast and hard, before bounding over to Steve to kiss him squarely on the mouth - dropping quick pecks to his cheeks as you coo over the ring. Bucky feels the elation bubble up into his chest as he watches the two of you. Grinning at the sudden realization that he was gonna marry you.

The church isn’t the right fit for the three of you, so you end up getting hitched at the county courthouse with Steve and his Ma as witnesses in mid-September - when you finally hit eighteen. His sisters get all dolled up for the occasion, but he can’t stop beaming at you.

“No use in wearing somethin’ that’ll only see the light of day once,” you had told him.

Opting for one of your nicer blue dresses instead - saying it brought out his and Steve’s eyes. You broke out a bottle of perfume for the occasion too, dabbing it just behind your ears so he could become fully intoxicated by your scent when he leaned down to kiss your neck. Hungry, ravenous eyes meeting your knowing expression.

You and Steve were able to find a ring at the consignment shop in town that morning without having to spend too much on it. So, at least he gets to wear one to match yours. It feels strange on his hand for a long while. But soon, it feels like it's always been there - like a second skin.

He spins you ‘round on the front steps of the courthouse, bubbling laughter clear as the sky above as you lean down to kiss him. Steve’s envious eyes from across the way bring promise of what the night will bring you all.

“Could always hop the train over to the next county and get hitched,” you tell the blonde man on the way back home. “They’d never even know I went and got married twice over.”

That makes Steve laugh quietly, shaking his head with a smirk - fingers stretched out just far enough to graze against your own, “Maybe another day, honey.”

For the sake of his family, you play the sweet couple part real well. A peaceful little luncheon put on back at the farm with Evelyn and Grace fawning over your ring.

His Ma quietly asking how far out till she’ll be expecting to hear the pitter-patter of little feet around her house. Bucky gulps down his drink and quickly reminds Steve about his plans to go see the farmhouse later that week - ignoring the question entirely.

The three of you had counted out your savings the other night, you would have just enough to put down a decent payment on the property. No one needed to know why a newlywed couple had their best friend living with them - no one ever seemed to question the closeness of the three of you actually.

“You’re a sight, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your ear, hands wrapping ‘round your waist when he catches you alone in the kitchen.

“Must be that married glow about me,” you retort, swatting at his hand that dares to dip lower on your backside, head craning to look out of the kitchen door where his family is still pestering Steve at the dining table.

With a laugh, he spins you in his arms, eyes flicking down towards your very kissable lips, “And what a glow it is, Mrs. Barnes.”

Shaking your head, you sigh, batting your lashes up at him, “Gonna take a while to get used to that.”

Bucky shrugs, tugging you a little closer, “Got our whole lives.”

The house is well-kept when him and Steve go to inspect it the following Thursday. The old man is vying to move back east to be with his son after the recent passing of his own wife, and at the mention of Bucky’s newly married life, he seems all the more eager to sell it. Clearly, their reputation hadn’t reached his ears.

They end up shelling out almost the entirety of their funds for it, but it’s definitely worth the expense when you see the house for the first time - face lighting up with joy as you plant a kiss to his cheek and then to Steve’s before you take off running for the front door.

He carries you over the threshold before grabbing Steve and dragging him over the front as well, much to the other man’s annoyance.

It’s a nice enough home for a young couple such as yourselves. On the outskirts of town, situated on nearly five acres. The house itself is up a ways on a small hill, with the kitchen overlooking the fields below.

“Good spot for a garden,” Steve muses as you look around the yard.

You’ve got your hands draped over his chest, resting your head on his shoulder, “Wanna plant geraniums up here by the door.”

“Sure, honey. Make it look real nice.”

Bucky watches the two of you from afar, lighting up a cigarette and smiling a wicked grin.

It finally felt like everything was falling into place.

And in the end, I'd do it all again.

You carve out a quiet little existence for yourselves there at the farmhouse. Maybe a younger version of himself would have been eager to break out of the small town - go off in search of something bigger than himself. But now, watching you from the back porch as you rock back and forth in the swing, book in your hand, he doesn’t mind it one bit.

They never have to worry about strangers coming ‘round since the house is far enough away from the main road to keep the rare passerby from spying on them. It lets them feel a little more free from how carefully guarded they’ve been in the past. They don't gotta hide.

Steve’s got his pad of paper out on his lap, chiding him with a stern look for moving his head again.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, trying to get the angle right - chin in his hand, elbow on his knee, looking relaxed while being forced into statue-like stillness.

“Better be,” the other man says with a soft snort, hungry blue eyes flashing up from the page to roam over Bucky’s bare chest. The tip of his pencil circles his lips absentmindedly as he seems unsure if he should be looking at his current sketch or at Bucky.

He blinks, “Keep staring, sweetheart and you might just knock me over.”

That makes him chuckle, apparently giving up on the endeavor as he tosses the book and pencil off to the side just so he can come striding over, “Plan on doin’ more than that, Buck.”

Steve always tastes like sugar when he kisses him.

I think you're my best friend.

It’s honest work that he does at the mill. Earning enough there and from doing the odd tinkering job on the side to keep the three of you afloat. You seem content, for the most part, working at the bar in town.

Maybe he catches that sort of wild look in your eyes every now and then - that thrumming sensation in your chest that seems to say I need to get out of here. You weren’t made for the idle homemaker life - and they don’t expect none of it from you. Steve handles the cookin’ while you keep the garden from being ruined by their ignorant hands.

But when those moments hit, those sudden angry frustrations, you take to the yard - venting your thoughts on the woodpile more often than naught. They turn a blind eye when you reach for one of the bottles in the highest cabinet though.

It wasn't worth arguing over. Him and Steve just pass a cigarette back and forth on the front stoop, smoke billowing up into the softness of night until the moment passes and then they come back to pick up your shattered pieces from the bedroom floor.

You never talk about things before this little existence. Bucky doesn't feel like it would do you any good anyway. Steve doesn't know what to think, but he's always got that sad look on his face when you start hollering at the night clouds.

They've picked up enough broken bottles and wrapped enough bloody fingers for a lifetime. But it's better than handing you over the shotgun and letting you go buck wild on the stray critters that come ‘round to steal things from your precious garden.

"Maybe my head's not screwed on right," you tell him one night, hands wrapped 'round your knees as you shiver on the kitchen floor.

Steve’s already swept the length of it, using a wet rag to pick up the stray pieces of glass. He can’t even remember what set you off - just something or another about his day at work and a new guy - Carl. No, that was it. That was definitely the tipping point. He should've known better.

Bucky settles down next to you, hand on your knee, "Is anyone's, sweetheart? You're my girl and we love you and that's enough for us."

Sighing a deep, lonesome thing, you drop your head on his shoulder.

"Deserve someone better than me, Buck."

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in, "See, that's the trouble, Winona. Don't want no one else but you."

Steve shows him his sketch later that night, rough dark lines making up your solemn shape next to Bucky's softer figure on the page. It's raw and open and he loves it.

The good moments, the good days, and weeks always outnumber the bad. The fragile mornings, before the world awakens and pulls them out kicking and screaming, are his favorite. Just wrapped up in a pile of warmth and love, someone’s hand in his hair, another over his heart.

You get four years of it before everything goes to hell.

“Buck. Bucky! James!”

He looks up from the tractor’s engine, hands covered in grease and oil, brows rising at the urgent tone in your voice that has him running from the workshed to the house.

“Winona? Sweetheart?” he calls, trying to rub his hands clean on the work rag.

Mind already racing. Steve had just come out of a bad state three days ago - between the arrhythmia and the ulcers, you had wanted to call in the doctor, but the reckless bastard was insistent that he was fine.

He’s tracked in mud and snow through the kitchen and living room, half expecting to see Steve strewn out on the floor, but your demeanor makes him freeze when he finds you sitting in the chair next to the radio - eyes real distant as the announcer’s static-cutting voice fills the room.

“ - The President made a brief statement which was read to reporters by his secretary. A Japanese attack upon Pearl Harbor, naturally, would mean war. Such an attack would naturally bring a counterattack and hostilities of this kind would naturally mean that the President would ask Congress for a Declaration of War. There is no doubt, that from the temper of Congress, such a declaration would be granted - ”

His body slumps against the wall as Steve’s nervous eyes meet his from across the room, hand gripping yours as you continue to stare at the radio.

Don't you know that the kids aren't all, kids aren't alright?

He gets his draft notice a month later.

You don’t say anything then, standing from the kitchen table - as he gazes over the yellow paper - and storming out the back door.

“I’m gonna register,” Steve announces, eyes flickering to the screen door still flapping open in the winter wind.

Bucky’s eyes flash with a sudden rush of anger, “Like hell you are.”

They wouldn’t take him anyway. Despite Steve’s best efforts to try at every recruiting point within a fifteen-mile radius. His anger over it almost rivals your own.

It just makes Bucky’s heart ache.

At night, you cry into his arms. Real angry sobs that make your chest heave no matter how many reassurances he kisses into your skin, no matter how many times Steve smooths his hands over your body.

“Could run away,” you propose one cold January morning, wrapped up in the quilt next to him, Steve snoring softly on the other side of you.

Bucky shakes his head, voice soft, “Not from the government, sweetheart. Not from this.”

On the morning of the twentieth, he spends his time covering your skin with deep lingering kisses. Devoting each part of your bodies with all the attention he can afford to give. He kisses Steve, long and desperate, hands never straying far from his waistband - afraid to let go.

“I love you,” he murmurs, over and over again.

There’s a handful of men at the train station outside of town, a few he recognizes. Most joined up on their own accord, unlike him.

His bag is resting at his feet, eyes scanning the crowd. You’ve got your arm looped through his, face downturned into his shoulder. Steve’s silent on the other side of him, keeping his face as neutral as possible. Hands jammed into his pockets to keep himself from reaching out.

You tense up the second the train whistles down the tracks, fingers digging into his arm like a vice - unwilling to let go.

I'll be yours.

“Hey,” he coos, turning to pull you into his arms - hands moving up to your face, forcing your eyes to look at him.

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna be just fine. You got Steve to keep in line while I’m gone and I’ll be making some decent pay that I can send back to you guys - ”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your pretty eyes, the same old assurances didn’t mean nothing to you.

“It’s not fair, Bucky. It’s not.”

When it rains it pours.

He pulls you in close, savoring that final whiff of your perfume as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“It ain’t, sweetheart. But I don’t got a choice about it. So - ” he pulls back, settling you with a look, “You gotta keep that chin up for me, all right? ‘M gonna need those letters of yours to get me by. Maybe a picture to get me through a lonely night.”

That makes you give a pitiful laugh, wiping at your tears before pulling him back into a tight embrace.

Around them, similar farewells are taking place as the men slowly file onto the waiting transport train.

He presses one final kiss to your forehead, eyes fluttering shut as he savors it. Reluctantly, pulling away when the engineer starts to call out - clamping his hand down onto Steve’s shoulder, unable to do anything more than that.

“Gotta keep each other steady for me. Few weeks and I’ll get some leave, come back down here for a day or two, all right?”

Steve, uncharacteristically, pulls him into a tight fast hug. A blink and you’ll miss it kind of thing. It just makes it that much harder to leave.

Stay thirsty like before.

From the compartment’s open door, he watches as you slip your fingers between Steve’s, holding onto each other like an anchor. Bucky keeps his eyes on the two of you, rooted there on the platform until your figures disappear along the horizon line and the tight sob threatening to bubble out of his throat finally quells.

Don't you know that the kids aren't all, kids aren't alright?

He comes back to town in late March with a shorter haircut and a hardened look in his steel eyes. The reports that were comin’ in from command weren’t lookin’ all that promising. But when he sees you there in the yard, on your hands and knees digging through the freshly-made flowerbed, all thoughts about the future seem to fade from mind.

“Bucky?” Steve calls, pulling off from the back stoop, eyes squinting in confusion.

You look up, mouth falling open in shock as you go tripping over your own damn feet to come running at him, jumping up into his arms as you screech with delight.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he croons, dipping his lips down to your neck, beaming from ear to ear.

Nothin’ much has changed about the house which makes him feel like he never really left. That night, you two spoil him twice over. Fillin’ his belly with warm food, followed by an even sweeter dessert in the comfort of the bedroom.

“Gonna miss this,” he comments, voice ragged, as he smooths his palm over your backside. His other hand rucks up the damp sweat-coated curls threatening to spill onto his forehead.

Steve’s sprawled out next to you, drawing idle patterns on your arm. Features easy, body warm and sated.

“Miss you more than anything,” you say, voice muffled by the pillow.

Bucky ducks his head down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade, “Need something to remember me by, sweetheart?”

“Depends,” you turn your face towards him, a coy smile on your disheveled features, “ - what’re you offering?”

You squeal as he flips you over onto your back, a blind hand reaching out for Steve as you head into the third round of the evening.

He has enough time to visit his Ma and sisters before he has to go back. Another, more difficult goodbye from the train platform this time.

“Gotta write us every now and then, you know,” your voice is walking a thin line between fine and breakdown, as you sniffle - looking away from his face because it’ll only get you cryin’ again.

“Just don’t go runnin’ off with my best friend while I’m gone, all right?”

Steve snorts, jabbing his fist into Bucky’s arm.

“Stay safe, Buck.”

“For us,” you add.

He nods, pulling you in for a final kiss, “Always, sweetheart.”

It doesn’t hurt any less the second time around, watching the two of you fade from sight.

The next day, they’ve got him and the rest of the division on a train for New Jersey. He tries to write something down for you on the ride, but the boisterous energy running rampant through the compartment keeps him from it.

From Jersey, they’ve got them headed to the docks in Brooklyn. The tight-spaced buildings and flocks of people are eye-opening for a country kid like him. Almost wishes he had a camera to take a picture for the two of you.

The ship is god awful. He’s running for the bucket every few minutes, guts rockin’ back and forth, sloshing the empty contents of his stomach around. They’ve got the entire 34th Division pressed together in hammocks, five-high. He sketches out a quick picture of it, on the side of one of his letters. It’s not as good as what Steve could do, but it’s enough.

It takes a whole damn week before they land in Belfast and by then, the mood of the men has shifted to something a little more solemn. At least he has two letters to send out by then. Addressed back to Iowa with a prayer.

From there, it's two more months of training then he’s on another ship - down to North Africa. His unit’s in Algeria for nine days before he receives your letter. He reads it by the light emitting from his cigarette, dug into the side of an abandoned village’s wall.

You tell him about the books you’ve picked up from the store. Promises of Steve’s health and well-wishes from his Ma and sisters. He can still smell the hint of your floral perfume on the page, tucking it into his breast pocket - close to his heart.

He’s able to survive off your infrequent correspondence, holding on to the hope that jumps off the page between the curves of your rushed penmanship. Sometimes, Steve’s scrawling writing joins in on the letter.

She’s found a cat, Bucky. I can’t convince her to get rid of the damn thing. It’s leaving its fur just about everywhere. Doesn't even chase off the barn mice - damn next to useless.

Don’t believe a word that punk says. Snowball is perfect - not as good of a replacement for you, but she’ll do all right.

I'm sorry, but Snowball’s a real god awful name, sweetheart, he writes back. A smile cresting his face as he unfurls the sketch Steve’s included of the small white kitten curled up on your lap.

Bucky’s dreamin’ of the day he gets to walk back down the drive leading up to the house. When he sleeps, sometimes he’ll get a quick flash of a memory of the three of you together. It’s enough to keep him going, those presses of normal life against the backdrop of wartime horrors.

That pretty little picture of the two of you resting in his pocket helps ease his troubled mind sometimes too. You and Steve are always on his mind. Even when the remnants of his division get sent up to Sicily for the next invasion wave.

Just seems like a never-ending nightmare.

It's October 1943 and he’s just gotten your letter wishing him a happy anniversary a whole month and a half late.

His heart aches, thinkin’ of the two of you alone, him a thousand miles away. Not the way he thought he’d be spending his fifth wedding anniversary with his beautiful wife. But, he supposes, nothing in life could have prepared him for any of this.

They’re working with the 442nd and 1st Infantry Divisions, as well as a group from the 92nd. This spot is strategic for a number of reasons that don’t much matter to a sergeant like him. All he knows is that he’s been instructed to hold it down for as long as possible until they can get naval assistance in the pushback of troops or evacuation of their own forces.

Something changed in him, about a year back when he made his first kill.

Head like a steel trap. Wish I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't.

He never writes home about it, doesn’t even know what he’d say if he could put the words together to explain it. But there’s something hardened, something dark growing there in his roots. Bucky just hopes he can cut the damage before he comes home to you.

He bore witness to what happened to his own father. The madness that seemed to clutch at his mind. He doesn't want that for himself, doesn't want you to see that same monster in him.

Bucky can only hope and pray it'll disappear when this whole damn war ends. He has to believe it will, for his own sanity.

I don't just wanna be the footnote in someone else's happiness.

They're able to advance their position far enough to make the smallest of dents in the German line. But it never seems to be enough - like a perpetual stalemate.

It's Christmas of that same year when he gets his first real bit of leave - finding himself wandering the streets of an Allied-controlled town twenty miles from the Front. Steve would be creamin' himself if he could see this place - the landscapes here, somehow untouched by the war, would give him weeks worth of drawings.

As of late, Bucky's been seeming to find your faces just about everywhere he looks.

The short blonde-haired fresh-outta-school young-faced private in the newly deployed artillery battalion, who's drinkin' his first beer in the shell of an Italian cafe, has him doing a second take - nearly calling out someone else's name.

Does your husband know the way that the sunshine gleams off your wedding band?

The woman with dark familiar eyes that invites him back to her place with a flash of a smile has him thinking of a much prettier face a few thousand miles away. Even as a man of needs, he can't accept the offer.

Does he know the way? Does he know the way?

Instead, he writes to you and Steve - thanking you for the new portrait you had gone out and taken together. And a more proper thank you for that sultry drawing of you stretched out in bed that Steve had included.

Of the crickets that would convince me to call it a night?

And then it's back to his unit, trudging through blown-out towns, pushing against a strong defensive line that never seems to break.

But I will never end up like him.

It's July, the following year. They're in Anzio and the entire thing is a god damn shitshow. Sometimes, Bucky wonders if there's any point to all this if it never feels like they can dig their damn nails in far enough to make a lick of difference.

Behind my back I already am.

“We got a sniper up there on our three!” the private next to him shouts over the sharp sound of gunfire. “Can’t get a lock on him!”

Keep a calendar, this way you will always know.

He hums, gritting his teeth as he spits out the bud of his cigarette. Shouldering his rifle, eyes peering through the scope, “Where are you, you son of a bitch?”

Slowly tracking across the rocky landscape, he’s able to distinguish the position by the quick flash of sunlight reflecting off a metal cartridge.

“Bingo.”

He’s lining up his shot, waiting for the bastard to pop his head up for even a second.

The last time you came through. Oh, darling, I know what you're going through.

The breeze rustles against his mud-caked cheeks - makes him think of easy summer days under the wispy branches of an old willow tree. A pretty head resting on his thighs, another hand gripping his own.

The last time you came through. Oh, darling, I know what you're going through.

And then he’s being thrown backward - skull rocking with shockwave pain as the sky appears overhead when he lands on the ground. Voices shouting out commands sound all muffled and far away from the darkness that quickly surrounds him.

Oh, darling -

For a strange moment, as the sky and sun seem to shrink down to a darkened tunnel up above him, he wonders - for the briefest of seconds - if the last of your pink geraniums survived the sudden cold spell.

You had written him about it two weeks ago, fretting over the state of your garden - with Steve playfully teasing those worries in the margins.

Oh, darling -

He knew how devastated you would be once the final petals fell. Even if it was just another inevitable part of life.

But then again, Bucky never could stand to see that pretty smile of yours fall from your beautiful face.

Oh, darling.

Next Chapter >>

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[amazingmaeve]

━ stop thinking

summary ━ y/n’s sixth year at hogwarts is horrible with snape being headmaster but ginny weasleys there to make it better.

request ━ Could you please write a ginny x female reader imagine with the prompts 61, 65 and 156 from the smut list? The one that you posted today was awesome! Thank you :)

warnings ━ smut (18*)

word count ━

note ━ sorry for not uploading for a while :(

Y/N always knew that there was this deep attraction to Ginny. Deep down she felt something for the red headed girl. But she could never admit it to herself.

She always told herself that she didn’t like girls that she liked boys. But Ginny kept appearing in her dreams no matter how hard she tried to block them out. There wasn’t denying that Ginny was a beautiful woman.

Ginny had no idea of what Y/N was feeling even though they’ve been friends ever since their 2nd year. She didn’t think Ginny was attracted to girls since her crush on Harry Potter.

This attraction towards her friend started in Y/N’s 5th year. It was a dream that ended with the two of them kissing. Y/N woke up with a start, her heart racing. She touched her lips remembering the kiss. No she thought she couldn’t be dreaming about this.

But the dreams got worse, it wasn’t bad it was good but Y/N kept telling herself she shouldn’t be dreaming this. The dreams got more sexual that she woke up with her pussy throbbing and wet.

Y/N got accustomed to the dreams and enjoyed them until she woke up to her reality.

She came to terms with her sexuality in the 6th year. She wasn’t going to make a move on Ginny since Ginny didn’t seem like she was into women.

The summer between her 5th and 6th year the dreams kept coming. It was the summer where she used her imagination and touched herself. At first it was weird to Y/N jerking off while thinking of her best friend but got used to it. Of course she would never do it at Hogwarts with Ginny in the same room.

She still kept her friendship with Ginny alive but tried to keep the thoughts out of her head. She couldn’t lose a friend over this.

Something else happened in her 6th year, Ron, Harry, and Hermione went off to find the horcruxes to defeat Voldemort. At first hearing about Voldemort when she was younger she was confused why people were so afraid of him since she was a muggle. But then she got the explanation.

Y/N was terrified of Voldemort after she heard what he did. The people he killed. It didn’t get real until he returned in her 3rd year when Cedric Diggory died.

Hogwarts was different after Dumbledore died at Snape's hands. But she had to go back to school and finish her education. She felt unsafe at Hogwarts since Snape to have favoritism for Slytherins and Slytherins didn’t like her at all. Ginny always reassured her that nothing would happen, they didn’t have the guts to try anything.

That comment made butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Then one day everything changed between the two of them. It was midday and Y/N wondered where Ginny was and wondered what she got on a test since she helped her study.

Y/N was sitting on her bed nervously waiting for the girl. Ginny came in with a sigh and Y/N knew that it wasn’t good.

“That bad,” Y/N asked as Ginny sat at the end of her bed. Ginny nodded as her face contorted with anger.

“Got a D,” Ginny mumbled, rolling her eyes. “Snape’s favoritism is really getting to me,” She snapped.

“Don’t worry about it, once Harry and the others get back everything will fall into place,” Y/N softly reassured her, giving her a pat on the arm.

“Hopefully,” Ginny whispered and her face contorted to a smile. “You always know how to cheer me up,” She laughed.

“Just- just my talent,” Y/N stuttered as her heart fluttered at her laugh. She hated the feelings she had but couldn’t get them to stop.

Ginny then made eye contact and Y/N gave her a nervous smile. She felt herself gain some confidence and leaned in and pressed her lips against hers.

At first Y/N thought Ginny wouldn’t kiss back since she thought she liked only boys. But to her surprise Ginny kissed her back softly putting her hand on Y/N’s thigh giving it a squeeze. The kiss deepened and she fought for dominance but in the end Ginny won.

“I didn’t know you like-liked girls,” Y/N stuttered as they pulled away. Ginny immediately went for her nick kissing and sucking on the skin trying to find her sensitive spot.

“How could you not? I gave so many signals,” Ginny giggled then nibbling on her ear lobe.

“Oh,” Y/N muttered then let out a tiny moan as she started to suck on the spot behind her ear.

Ginny's hand still splayed out on her thigh made its way up further and further. It was easy since Y/N was wearing her skirt/school uniform. Her hand four it’s way all the way to the top of her thigh as her lips continued to work on marking her neck.

Ginny's fingers went to her covered pussy and began to rub hard circles on her clit. Y/N leaned her head back and Ginny took that time and managed to lay her down on the pillow and laid on top of her. Ginny took her school shirt off leaving her in a bra and. Y/N felt her heart racing and her pussy was waiting in anticipation.

Ginny smirked at her reaction and played with the hem of her shirt and trailed her fingers on the bottom of her tummy and at the top of her skirt. Y/N’s breath hitched as she tugged at the hem signaling she wanted it off.

Y/N leaned up and lifted her arms up while Ginny pulled the clothing off. Her eyes widened as she noticed that Y/N was wearing a bra.

“Bloody gorgeous,” Ginny whispered and leaned in and kissed her again.

Y/N’s hands found her hair as Ginny's wandered to her boobs. Her right hand softly massaged the area as her thumb found her hard nipple. Y/N moaned into her mouth as Ginny's soft hands fondled her.

Needing some air they parted but Ginny returned to the crook of her neck sucking hard giving hickeys. Y/N moaned as she used her fingers and pinched her nipple. Ginny giggles in her ear loving the reaction.

She moved down Y/N’s body kissing and sucking praying her body.

“Stop teasing me so much,” Y/N whines, rubbing her legs to help the ache in her pussy but it didn’t solve anything.

“I just love teasing you though,” Ginny stated, smirking and then started to lap at her hard nipple. Y/N moaned as she felt her panties get even more wet.

“I guess I’ll just get myself off then,” Y/N whispered as her hand travelled between them and found her panties. Her hand ended up beneath her panties and started to massage her wet clit.

“Stop being dramatic,” Ginny rolled her eyes and pulled Y/N’s out from her panties and brought them to her lips and started to suck on them. “Hmm you taste amazing,” She moans around her fingers.

Ginny continued to kiss down her body and pulled her skirt off throwing it across the room. Now she was completely naked besides her panties.

“Wow I cant believe how wet you are already love,” Ginny says astonished seeing the wet patch on the white panties while being face to face with her clothes pushed. She put her thumb on the wet spot and softly rubbed the nub

“How can I not when you’ve been teasing me,” Y/N pouted and gasped, her pussy aching even more.

“Good point,” Ginny nodded.

She removed her finger and moved them up to the laced hem of the underwear and pulled them off slowly. She threw them in the pile where her shirt and skirt was.

Ginny immediately spotted her clit since it was engorged, wanting to be touched. Ginny used her heads spreading Y/N’s folds apart letting the cool air hit her warm pussy. It made her moan as she clenched around nothing.

Ginny leaned in and started to lap at the nub as Y/N whimpered feeling pleasures course through her body. It felt so surreal since the only touch she had was from her hand.

Meanwhile Ginny's hand travelled to her sopping wet entrance and slowly pushed in two fingers and Y/N arched her back and moaned as she curled her fingers to her g spot.

“Ginny,” Y/N moaned loudly, not caring who heard since all she was focused on was Ginny's mouth and hands pleasuring her.

She finally wrapped her lips around her clit and started to suck harshly making Y/N moan her name louder. Her fingers were thrusting in fast and hard, still hitting her g spot. She could feel her high approaching as she clenches around Ginny's long fingers.

“I’m- I’m gonna cum,” Y/N moaned tugging on her red hair.

“Let go darling,” Ginny came up for a second then went back to lapping at the nub faster wanting to see her cum.

Y/N moaned and shook as one more harsh thrust of her fingers to her g spot sent her over the edge as she finally came on her fingers. Y/N was moaning while cumming and Ginnys tongues on her clit helped get her to that high.

Ginny leaned back in relief and pulled her bra off with her skirt and panties as Y/N laid there with a happy smile on her face.

“Like that love,” Ginny asked, smirking and kissing her way up Y/N’s body.

“Hmm,” Y/N hummed nodding her head yes.

“I’m glad,” Ginny smiles as she lined her pussy up with Y/N’s and started to rub her clit against her own. Ginny moaned as both of their sensitive nubs pleasured each other.

Y/N leaned back and moaned as her overly sensitive clit made contact with Ginnys. Ginny started to rub harder chasing hers and Y/N’s highs. Ginny's hand found Y/N’s hard nipple and gave it a harsh tug.

“Ginny,” Y/N whimpered, clenching around nothing.

“Yes love,” Ginny moaned, putting her other hand on her neck, giving it a squeeze making Y/N moan.

Ginny started to bounce even harder and faster and one more brush against her clit Y/N leaned back and moaned yelling Ginny's name. Ginny started to chase her high with Y/N’s help of course.

Y/N’s thumb went to her clit and started to rub furiously fast and Ginny moaned, squeezing her eyes shut, meeting her thrust bouncing on her hand. And with one movement the rope in her stomach snapped.

“Y/N,” Ginny moaned loudly cumming all over her fingers. Ginny sighed happily and stayed like that for a minute before rolling off Y/N.

Y/N cuddled and rested her head on Ginny's chest as Ginny ran her fingers through Y/N’s hair. They stayed there in each other’s arms.

“I love you,” Ginny blurted out, making Y/N’s eyes widen in shock. She leans on her elbows on her pillow.

“Really,” Y/N asked doubtfully.

“Really,” Ginny nodded leaning up to kiss her.

“I love you too,” Y/N says back smiling at her and hid her face in the crook of her neck feeling, herself fall asleep, even though it was during the muddled of the day.

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Pinky Promise

Summary: Fred and Y/N have been rivals for a while, but no matter if it was pranks, or quidditch or something else, they always had their limits to not hurt the other. In fact, for the past few months Y/N and Fred have been growing closer, and even developing feelings for each other, but everything changes when one of Fred's pranks go to far, and he needs to find a way to fix it to save their relationship.

Warnings: Swearing, Fred being kind of a dick, Reader getting angry, confrontation, some angst, kind of a lot of angst actually, ends in major fluff though, also humor because I may not not how to spell but I’m hilarious.

Word count: 2.7K

A/N: comin at cha with ANOTHER ENEMIES TO LOVERS FRED WEALSEY FIC??? Why am I so uncreative? Idk, anyways I hope you enjoy!

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You were beyond furious. You didn’t think there was a strong enough word to describe how angry you were, and you were pretty sure if you were any angrier steam would be coming out of your ears. And the reason for all this anger you may ask?

Fred Fucking Weasley

You stormed through the hallway, heading straight to the dining hall. It was late, and you barely anybody would be in there, but you knew he would be. 

You stopped in the doorway, scanning over the tables until your eyes landed on a familiar mop of red hair. Locking your eyes on your target, you stomped over, clutching your bag tightly in your right hand.

“Oh shit- what did you do this time?” You heard Lee whisper to Fred, as you got closer, but you paid him no mind, eyes locking with Fred’s, who had that same stupid smirk that he always did. It made your blood boil.

“Good evening love, how’s your night going?” Fred asked nonchalantly, as if you were friends and not life long enemies.

“I have to say, it was going quite well, until I found this” You seethed, slamming your bag onto the table in front of him. “Say, does this bag look familiar to you?”

“Nope, can’t say it does” Fred shrugged, but the glimmer in his eye said differently.

“Really? Why don’t you take a closer look” You insisted, grabbing the bag off the table, flipping open the top, and flipping it upside-down, causing an eruption of water to fall from the mouth of the bag.

The water continued for what felt like forever, pieces of paper and pens falling out with it as the contents emptied out onto the floor, soaking yours and Fred’s shoes, but neither of you made a move.

After the water had finally stopped, you threw the bag into his lap, causing him to look down at it, a thoughtful hand on his chin.

“You know, now that I’m looking more closely at it, it does look a bit familiar” He said simply, and judging by the nervous looks on George, and Lee’s face when they saw you, you for sure had steam coming out of your ears now, but you kept your composure.

“Oh, well that’s good. You see, I’m trying to solve a bit of a mystery of who could have done this. Would you have any ideas?” You asked, crossing your arms in front of you.

By now, most of the cafeteria had cleared out. They have seen you and Fred get into heated arguments before. But this was different.

This was going to be fatal.

“No clue, but I have to say whoever thought of it is a bloody genius” He complimented, giving you a grin.

“Genius you say? So you think, flooding my one bag, and ruining all my homework, as well as my ten page essay that I’ve been working on all month, that’s due tomorrow... is Genius?” You asked, the calmness in your voice adding a coldness to the room that shot straight to everyone's bones.

And judging by the now terrified face Fred wore, he was feeling the effects of your voice as well.

“Oh, I see there's been a mix up, I’m actually George-”

“You are fucking not! Don't get me caught up in this” George interrupted, standing along with Lee to flee the scene 

“So sorry about him, Y/N, he can’t be helped. Try not to go to hard on him-” Lee started, but a quick glance his way shut him up instantly “Actually on second thought, do what you see fit, see ya Fred”

With that, George and Lee practically sprinted out of the dining hall, leaving you standing over Fred, who suddenly felt very small.

“I swear, I had no idea your essay was in there, if I had known I wouldn’t have-” Fred started apologizing, but was quickly cut off when your hand slammed down on the table beside you.

“You see Fred” You said, taking a seat on the bench next to him. “I think you did know. We’re in the same class, you’ve seen me working my ass off trying to get this essay done, and you’ve even asked for my notes, which I refused because of this kind of shit you pull” 

Fred swallowed thickly, his heart beating out of his chest at your anger. He had seen you angry before, and he’s been cross with you a few times as well, but those died down fairly quickly, and most of the time there weren't to many hard feelings. And you were right, he had seen you working on that essay, both in class, and at two in the morning in the library.

“Now” You continued “We’ve had out little quarrels in the past, you prank me, I prank you, you hit me with a quaffle at quidditch, I hit one back at you, nothing too serious. But this” She paused, picking a sopping wet pile of papers off the floor, and plopping it in front of him “Is really really fucking low. Did you know, I was already failing this class?”

The question put Fred on the spot, and he felt his heart sink to his stomach. He had always known you to be extremely smart and quick minded, so to hear you weren't doing so well in that class came as a surprise.

“Yeah, I’m failing because, fun fact, I’m fucking exhausted. I’m staying up till three in the morning every night, trying to get caught up in classes. I’m writing back and forward to my family constantly because they’re going through financial problems again, Umbridge is constantly writing me up for no reason, and on top of all of that, I still need to be worried about this” 

Your voice was beginning to shake a bit, and you both knew you were about to cry, but you were determined to keep the tears in until you were done. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“So... Fred, consider this little rival, or fight, or whatever the fuck this is, over. I’m done, you win, just please, for the love of fuck, leave me alone” 

With that, you stood up and left the dining hall, quickly wiping the stay tear that snuck out on your way. All the while, Fred sat in shocked silence. He had always seen your little back and forwards as friendly competition, and had even thought they were a bit flirty at times. In fact, you two had been getting a bit closer these last few months, and had even started hanging out as friends. But now, he had royally fucked that up, and he needed to fix it.

The next day, you were exhausted. You had spent a lot of the night crying, which you hated but all the pent up emotions just came flooding out. Yes, you were absolutely pissed at Fred, but most of all, you were hurt. In the last few months, you’re arguments had died down a bit, and you found yourselves hanging out from time to time, always accidentally, but you enjoyed his company none the less.

You had even begun to like him a bit, maybe even more than a friend. He was nice, and charming, and wicked funny, and always tried to make you smile, but now, after seeing how careless, and almost mean he had been, you knew you needed to shove those feelings down. So you did. 

Your first class was potions, which of course you had with Fred. He sat behind you, and for a while, he made the class bearable, passing notes back and forward. But now you were absolutely dreading it.

Fred was sat in his usual seat, waiting for you to walk in. He had come in early, hoping to get the chance to talk to you, but when you walked in just as class began, he knew he would need to try a different approach.

Not even five minutes into the class, you felt a piece of paper land beside your elbow on your desk. You looked down, finding a folded up piece of paper, which you immediately knew was Fred's.

You could feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head, but instead of turning around, you simply flicked the paper off your desk, returning your gaze to the chalkboard. A few minutes later, another piece of paper, this time on top of your notebook. Again, you flicked it off. 

Finally, five pieces of paper later, you smacked your quill down and picked up the newest piece of paper from your desk, unfolding it and looking it over, Fred watching you closely as you did

Can we please talk? I’m sorry

You finally turned around to meet the boys gaze, his eyes instantly lighting up at the change, but his spirits quickly fell when he saw your face, not angry, or frustrated, but sad.

You had had enough, facing the boy, you placed the paper back onto his own desk right as the professor dismissed the class, quickly slipping out of the room before Fred could follow you.

You avoided him like the plague the rest of the day. You didn’t have many other classes with him, and the ones you did share you made sure to find an empty seat far away from him, you even skipped lunch, choosing instead to read in your next class. 

You even skipped the class where your essay was due, not wanting to show up and hand over nothing, you decided to spend the rest of the day alone, and try to redo your assignment, even if you now only had a day to do it.

Fred only saw you again after class by the forbidden forest. He had found you pretty easily, you weren’t in any of your usual spots, so he knew this would be the next best spot to check. As he approached you, he found you had changed out of your uniform and were now in some joggers and a sweatshirt, sitting with your back against a rock as you scribbled in the notebook in front of you.

You chewed your lip as you tried to rewrite your essay, looking to your textbook and back every few second, before messing up on a word. Frustrated, you scribbled out the paragraph you had been working on and threw your notebook and quill to the side, resting your elbows on your knees as you held your head in your hands.

You quickly snapped out of it though when someone behind you cleared their throat, getting your attention and making you jump out of your skin. Panic surged through you, expecting a teacher, or worse, Umbridge, but the fear was soon replaced by irritation when you made eye contact with none other than the very red head you had spent all day trying to avoid.

“What do you want Fred?” You asked, turning back to face the forbidden forest, away from him. 

He didn’t answer, instead you were met with the sound of grass shuffling beneath his feet as he got closer, taking a seat before holding something out to you, causing you to look over at him.

It was your bag from yesterday, but now completely fixed and dry. It looked like brand new. 

You took the bag from him and looked it over, going over the seams and the straps before finally opening it, finding your notebooks, pens, and homework assignments all neatly tucked inside.

“How did you- When did-” you rambled trying to find the words and you shuffled through your belongings, finding them all intact and dry before finally turning to look at him “Why did you do this for me?”

Fred wasn’t expecting that question, but he still answered, looking down at the grass.

“I felt really bad after yesterday, and not just because of that stuff you... anyway, I know I went too far, and I shouldn't have done it in the first place, but I wanted to have a reason to talk to you I guess, and I did it in the worst way possible, and I wanted to make it up to you. I’m sorry”

You looked at him, before turning back to the bag, noticing there was something missing, but before you could say anything Fred continued.

“I was also able to save your essay, it took a while but it was all there. I was going to give it to you in class, but you didn’t show up so I turned it in for you and said you were sick. I got to read some of it by the way, its really good and I would be surprised if you-”

Fred was cut off by you moving your bag to the side and turning to face him, wrapping your arms around him to pull him into a hug. 

Fred was too shocked to move for a second, but quickly found himself returning the embrace, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you closer. You sat like that for a minute, your face buried in his neck as a thousand emotions flooded over you. Finally, you pulled away, looking him in the eye.

“I’m not saying I’m not entirely grateful” you started “But you could have just come and talked to me, why did you feel you needed to do that to talk to me?”

At this, Fred’s face began to heat up a bit and he looked back down, fiddling with the grass. He was hoping to fix your friendship and move on, maybe one day growing to be something more, but now he was faced with the choice to tell you his feelings, or lie, and he didn’t want to deny it anymore.

“We’ve always had our little competitions and stuff, ever since we were kids, and for a while we really hated each other. But then, these last few months I got to know you a lot more, and I always knew you were funny, but you’ve got a wicked sense of humor, and you’re super smart, and are always helping people, and you’re always kind to everyone you meet, and I thought I might have had a crush or something. And I didn’t really know how to interact with you in a not competition way, and I didn’t want to freak you out, but after the bag, seeing how it hurt you, it broke me. And I realized that I liked you a lot more than I thought I did”

Fred looked up at you, waiting for your reaction. Were you angry, upset, happy? Your face wasn’t giving him any signs, but then, a small smile crept to your lips, and despite how hard you tried to fight it.

You laughed.

“I’m sorry” You started, trying to fight the laughter bubbling in your chest “I’m not laughing at you, I’m not, it’s just-” Another laugh. “God were just a bunch of idiots aren't we?”

Fred was looking at you like you’d gone crazy

“What do you mean?”

“I like you too dumb ass” You confessed.

“You... oh... Oh!” Fred exclaimed, finally putting the pieces together. “Wow, I really fucked up didn’t I”

“Oh for sure” you nodded, causing Fred to let out a groan, shaking his head before looking back to you, a smile on his face.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the rest of the space between you and pressing your lips to his. Fred returned the action, bringing a hand to the back of your neck to pull you in closer, deepening the kiss.

After a few seconds, you both pulled away, each with goofy smiles on your faces.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Fred asked.

“Only if you promise to never do it again” you said

“Deal” Fred answered quickly, holding out his pinky to you, which you wrapped your own pinky around, shaking on the agreement.

“Wow a pinky promise, that's some hard core shit” You joked in a serious tone.

“Hey, if it means I get to spend more time with you, I’d pinky promise to anything” Fred replied, to which you gave him a feigned shocked expression.

“Anything?! Aww, you like me like me” you teased, laughing as Fred playfully pushed your shoulder.

“Shut up you like me like me too” Fred argued

“That is true” you nodded, before smiling and grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling him into another kiss, smiling as he pulled you even closer.

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A/N: Heeey, so I was hit with the biggest surge of motivation today and I literally got two weeks of homework done, deep clean my room, and wrote this, so if I go dark for a few months its probably because I’ve used my adrenaline budget for the year lol.

But seriously, I know this fic gets a bit... deep ig? Idk, I’ve been going through it recently and I wanted some angst that would actually reflect how I would react in that situation if you know what I mean? Like I see a long of angsts where the love interest does something really mean, but a simple apology solves everything and yeah. No hate if that’s your writing style, its just not my thing, and I wanted to express my emotions through here, because nobody directly fucked up an entire month of my work but it certainly feels that way sometimes.

Anyways, rant over, I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave any feedback or recommendations you may have.

[brat-tamer69]

Dead Branches and New Leaves

♡ Summary: Levi’s relationship with his son Eren reaches a new low, and Y/N is there to confront Levi in an effort to rebuild. Very much inspired by this picture and in response to this request.

Part Two TBA

♡ Notable Tags: AU, Married, Parenting, Levi x Fem!Reader, Broken family, daddy issues, argument, angst and over 3k words holy shit!

❥ Disclaimer: Levi and his actions in this are not intended to be perceived as anything other than him being emotionally unavailable. He lost his temper and it is acknowledged numerous times that he is remorseful. I would like to emphasize that he is not emotionally or verbally abusive but this content may be upsetting to some readers. Please use your own discretion if you are sensitive to the topics.

♡ Send requests here!

Levi’s head instinctively whipped around to face the house’s front entrance when the screen gritted against the doorframe’s track. If he was not mistaken, his son would come bounding into the house from the front yard to ask for yet another snack. And Levi would once again shave down a carrot and before handing it over so it could be crunched down in seconds. How the kid had the energy to take off and put on his rain boots so many times in such quick succession, Levi didn’t know. But Eren did thankfully understand that if not for that talent, his dad would rip him a new one for tracking mud onto the freshly mopped tile.

As if summoned by thought alone, the percussive pattern of little feet hitting the floors echoed, and the urgency in it suggested that he was running. Levi pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, trying to cling onto what felt like the last second of peace he might have since Eren was running.

“Dad! Dad!” the toddler addressed him shrilly.

“What is it, runt?” Levi sighed and rotated in his spot in front of the stove to face his son.

“I was playing outside, and- and there was a big boom in the sky! And- And I wasn’t scared at all,” he added matter-of-factly. “But there was a little kitty outside, and I think him was scared.”

Levi stared down at the boy, bemused by how he managed to squirm and point every which way during a ten-second-long story. He then shifted his gaze back in the direction of the screen door, praying that Eren had possessed enough sense to close it behind him on the way in as the heavy rain had been accompanied by wind all morning. Levi had bargained with Y/N to support his stance of keeping Eren indoors but, in exercise of her wonderful parenting strategy, she insisted it would be better for him to play outside and get used to the daunting nature of thunderstorms.

Well, it’s working, Levi noted as he circled around the “big boom” Eren pointedly mentioned he wasn’t scared of. Still, his concerns were loyal to the furry little pest that seemed to be taking shelter in his front yard. “It’s ‘he was scared’,” Levi corrected. “And that’s too bad. Maybe he’ll run off somewhere safe on his own.”

Eren deflated, his shoulders and his volume falling while the size of his eyes grew. “But what if he can’t, Dad? What if the rain gets him sick?”

“Then the rain gets him sick,” Levi shrugged. “Not everything is meant to survive in this kind of weather, Eren. Besides, he might already be sick if he’s out there hanging around our house.”

An indiscernible emotion flashed across Eren’s face and disappeared just as quickly Levi picked up on it. But before he could engage, Eren was sprinting away and to the front yard again.

“Whatever,” he mumbled to the likes of himself. One thing he’d learned since become a father was that the less he knew, the better. If Eren did do something drastic like fall into a puddle of mud or befriend a sickly cat, he would scale the mountain of mishap once he approached it. For now, he had his focus on finishing dinner just as he promised his wife he would, and that was all he had the mental energy to do.

Perhaps one too many moments passed where Levi worked on simmering his kimchi nabe in the quiet, the slightly gentler rain being the only noise in the background. As he replaced the lid to the pot, he seemed to simultaneously sink back into reality. The thunder had finally ebbed. Y/N was still working on hemming some of Eren’s new clothes…

And Eren. The damn toddler that was notorious for popping up for snacks and attention hadn’t reappeared once in the past twenty minutes. The thought made Levi’s mouth dry and his throat swell faster than they would if he’d have swallowed a handful of cotton rounds. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. A clenched fist still equipped with a ladle, Levi set a brisk stride toward the front yard where, if his nonexistent god had any mercy, Eren would still be playing in the rain.

During the walk, the rain, the shuffle of his house slippers against the tile, and every other noise slowly faded. All he had in his ears was the vivid imaginary scream of his wife as she found out her son went missing under his watch. And the image of Eren with teary eyes burdened by fear was not any kinder to his growing panic.

“Shit–” he spat.

“Momma said that’s a curse.”

Levi looked down at the origin of the voice, the relief he felt in seeing Eren standing in front of him in perfectly healthy condition lasting but a second. It was instantly replaced by rage. As the panic drained from his body, every inch of him became ignited by disgust, disappointment, grief and a slew of other emotions he was too angry to even process. The blankness in his mind caused by the adrenaline rush was being filled in by the stench of the sopping wet stray cat being held out in front of him. “Eren…” he seethed in a low voice. “What the hell is that?”

Eren chewed his lower lip in hesitation. Levi almost wrenched when the boy had the gall to hoist the rancid being up higher, as if his father wanted to inspect it. “It’s the kitty! See?” he answered in earnest. “It’s the kitty I told you about! I told him to go find a new house so he doesn’t get sick, but he didn’t want to! And his tummy is bleeding, too!”

A soaking wet, bloody, feral cat. Levi didn’t know if he should give in to the hysterical, exasperated laughter bubbling in the depths of his stomach or if falling to his knees and sobbing would free him from the chaos he felt. Helpless to his anger toward his own child, all he could do was touch his hand to his face in a feeble display of his emotion. The outwardly endless consequences to Eren bringing a bleeding cat inside the house started to appear in his mind one by one, each adding to the pressure he felt building underneath his temples.

“Daddy?” Eren squeaked.

Levi was so distracted by his inner turmoil that he hadn’t even realized the minutes of silence that passed between them. “Go put it outside and wash your hands. Now.”

By the particular tone of voice his father used, Eren knew better than than to disobey him—even a single casual command from Levi would normally be enough to move him. But after trading glances between his dad and the injured cat, Eren shook his head.

Levi was in disbelief. He could feel his heart racing with every ounce of searing blood it sent through his veins. His hand trembled as it gradually fell from his face to reveal a nearly crazed expression, his eyes opened as wide as they could go but his brows furrowed impossibly low over them. “Did you just shake your head at me, boy?”

“Uh, well, the- the kitty is scared and has blood on him,” Eren gulped. “H-He can’t stay outsi–”

“Put it outside. And the next time I have to repeat myself, I’ll put you and the damn cat out.”

A small gasp escaped Eren’s quivering lips, but he swallowed it quickly before tucking the cat underneath his arm and escaping out the front door in a flash. Levi sucked in a shuddered breath, only now noticing the thick, brown splatters of mud and the droplets of red that created a trail to the yard and soiled his previously spotless tile.

“What happened? Where’s Eren?” Y/N’s soft voice questioned as she paced into the kitchen. “I heard you raise your voice. What’s going on?”

The worry in his wife’s shaky words gave way to her equal distress if not for the hand gently laid over her heart. It was enough to draw the ire from Levi’s body. Like the bright red leaving the eye of a cooling stove, anger steadily seeped from parts of him he wasn’t even aware were tensed. His set jaw unclenched, he lowered his shoulders and his fingers loosened from their intense hold on the ladle.

“Eren,” Levi replied to his wife in a breath at long last.

“Eren what?” she urged, her pupils growing.

“Eren’s fine. He just brought a fucking dying cat into our house.”

Confusion distorted Y/N’s features while her eyes moved frantically across Levi’s face in search for some sort of unspoken answer. When she didn’t receive it, she whirled around with a small huff then grabbed a fistful of her skirts and hurried to the front yard.

By her reaction itself, Levi knew he was finished. Y/N’s kindness knew no bounds in even the most stressful situation. In circumstances where his own instinct would be to react first, his wife was guided by the purest ethics; she would comfort, ask questions then gather herself enough to find a solution. But her consideration skipped him this time, and it was because she was livid with him. Levi could tell that much.

Bending at the knee to retrieve the cleaning supplies from the cabinets, he expelled a wearied sigh. He figured there was no better way to postpone is annoyance with the situation than by losing himself in the pleasures of cleaning on his hands and knees. He forced himself to focus on the acrid scent of chemicals burning his nostrils instead of the gut-wrenching sobs he could hear once his wife opened the front door. He tried to remember which solution was best to polish the ivory colored tile, but god damn it, he couldn’t think when he saw Eren’s little body, defeated and dripping wet, shuffling down the hall. His knuckles blanched as he all but strangled the cloth, putting all his upper body strength into scrubbing away what little remained of the muddy footprints.

Y/N watched Levi in silence for a brief period, absorbing how pathetic he looked down on the floor, frantically erasing the nonexistent spots while his son cried himself to sleep in the other room. She didn’t know what possessed her, but her nails were starting to dig into her palms in effect of how hard she was trying to contain it. If not for the pitiful picture of her baby boy standing outside, wailing over the corpse of a cat, she might have been frightened; she had never felt this way about Levi. But today was different—for everyone.

Levi released his rag and sat back on his heels when the shadow of his wife fell over him. At the same time, a coldness that he was far from feeling fell over his eyes. He could only hope it would protect him even a little bit.

“What the hell did you do?” Y/N demanded of him through her teeth, her voice faulted by an emotional tremolo.

He rose to face her and swiped his palms over his apron. “I did what any parent would do if their kid brought in a dying cat from outside. I told him to put the vermin back where he found it and wash his hands.”

“You cursed at him,” she sneered. “And you threatened to put him out of the house if he didn’t listen to you. It’s raining!”

He tried to keep his voice leveled though his need to emphasize his point superseded the attempt. “Well, if he listened to me the first time, I wouldn’t have cursed. And he’s a smart kid– He knows I wasn’t going to put him out.”

Already jaded by the argument, Levi mentally readied himself for Y/N’s rebuttal. But it didn’t come. Instead, her open hand flashed across his line of peripheral vision, and if it weren’t for his unique reflexes, it would have left a bright red print on his left cheek. Overwhelmed by the sequence of events, Levi’s defenses fell. By putting his energy in holding his wife’s wrist tightly, just mere inches away from his face, he’d lost his composure. His mouth went dry as it fell slightly agape and his eyebrows were pressed upwards together in sheer astonishment.

“Y/N–”

“You bastard!” she cried, her tears leaking through her voice as well as onto her face. “Do you have any idea how scared and alone he felt, watching that cat die in the rain?! And to make things worse, you were punishing him for your selfish ass obsession with keeping the house clean!”

Levi’s eyes darted past his distraught wife and landed on Eren’s bedroom door, paranoid that his mother’s shrieks might wake him. “It wasn’t like that.”

Y/N shook her wrist in his hold defiantly. “Then explain it to me! Explain to me what the hell you wanted to do! What, were you scared of telling him he couldn’t keep it?”

“No, I wasn’t!” he growled back. “The first thing I told him to do was let the damn thing go. It was a dying cat, Y/N! That thing could have given him or any one of us all kinds of diseases with its filthy fur in seconds! What if it had bit him or scratched him?”

Y/N met her husband’s eyes squarely and stared into them for an unwavering minute. His volume had fallen off marginally by the end of his question. Her eyes narrowed as his softened. She caught him. Letting out a mirthless laugh, she finally ripped her wrist from his grip. “You didn’t even check if it did, so why are you bringing that up as if you actually care?” she whispered.

Shit. “He would have told me it did,” he answered then swallowed, not quite convinced of his answer himself.

“Don’t you get it? He doesn’t want to tell you anything, Levi. And he wouldn’t ever if he had the choice.” He braced himself as he noticed her hands balled at either side of her waist. “You’re so goddamn bent on policing him that you forget to parent him, and you’re nothing but an authoritarian that feeds him. Our son has the biggest heart, and by the way you treat him, he would never know that he got any of it from you because you act just like your father figure, not his.”

Levi prided himself on his steel-like aplomb. But if anyone could melt steel, it was Y/N and any selection of words that came from her heart. Often times, they were sweet—almost cloying as he felt he never deserved her praise. This time, they were filled with venom and provided a sensation no different than someone plunging a blade between his lungs. In fact, each of his breaths in following were shaky at best.

Y/N knew that Levi hated being likened to the weasel of a man that raised him almost as much as he hated the man himself. Still, she pressed on, resolved to defend Eren and put an end to the struggles he had with his dad. “You’re silent,” she pointed out. “Because you know it’s true. I’ve tried so many times to get you to understand, to be more gentle with Eren, and you just aren’t. Today would have been the perfect opportunity for you to bond with him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t even treat him like he was worth something. You didn’t reason with him. You didn’t listen, you didn’t explain the why’s or even make sure he wasn’t being hurt by what was happening. You just cursed at a child– My child for having empathy. And you let him sit out in the rain, grieving and crying alone.”

Nausea washed over Levi as the color drained from his face. He felt as though someone had tied an anchor to his lungs and allowed them to dangle precariously in his chest. Tears sprung to his eyes when he realized that the way Y/N described the evening’s events were simply how it happened for Eren. While Levi had been driven by his compulsion toward cleanliness, Eren was acting on his innocence. The child wasn’t hardened by and consequently numb to death like his father was. Eren only saw an injured animal, retrieved it then looked to his dad for help. And Levi had sent him away, practically abandoning him. Even if it was just for the moment that he’d lost his temper, the impact on Eren was irrevocable.

He started to fix his lips to apologize, but he knew the words would be insultingly inadequate given the circumstance. “What do you want me to do, Y/N?” he asked thickly.

By the time his words were out, it seemed an eternity had passed and Y/N already had most of her back to him. What he could see of her face was a perfect and painfully personal illustration of disillusionment. “I want you to stay here, with Eren.”

“What?” Levi felt his own voice sounded like a distant echo in the room.

“I can’t stand to look at you, to be perfectly honest. And you hurt Eren more than you’ll ever know. You need to fix this—all of it while he’s young or you’ll never have the relationship with him that I always wanted for the both of you.”

Y/N turned to walk away again, but in this instance, it felt more final. It was why Levi threw his hand out toward her as if it had any power to halt her from such a distance. “Now you stop right there,” he ground out, masking his misery with a roughness. “You can’t just leave after the shit you’ve said. So where the hell do you think you’re going?”

She paused, providing truth in her earlier statement by keeping her eyes trained on one of the pristinely cleaned tiles. “I’m going to say goodbye to Eren then going to my mom’s house. And if he’s not attached to you by the time I get back, then you can set up a new living arrangement with her.”