#write something under 2k words challenge impossible

[thevioletfury]

Domesticity– Kuro One-Shot

Summer heat and unfamiliar places lead to restless nights. Ciel and Elizabeth talk. Married life fluff. Rated T/M(?). 2k words.

“Can’t sleep?” Ciel’s voice rang out from his place in the balcony doorway, his slender frame leaned against the frame. He appeared more boyish than usual; standing barefoot with tousled hair and wearing a matching pajama set that were rolled at the ankles and wrists, an homage to his former self. Now at 19, his youthfulness continued to find ways to stick around.

“Well, thrashing around in bed would only irritate both of us, so I’m trying to bore myself back to sleep”. Elizabeth responded without glancing up from the page in her book, Walden by Henry David Thoreau, illuminated by a single candle on the glass table next to her. She sat curled up in a chair on their balcony, though it was really her balcony since she was the only one who used it. “It’s far too stifling inside, I couldn’t take it anymore” She admitted plainly. 

It only took a couple strides for Ciel to take his seat next to her. Height was one of his indicators that he was not a child anymore. At around 15 he’d caught up to Lizzy’s height, and by 17 he noticed he could see clear over the top of her head. “The manor still isn’t to your liking?” He posed to her, his gaze wandering off into gardens and forest below them. 

Three months had passed since their wedding, though if you told her it had been merely days, she would’ve believed you. Nothing was to her liking because this manor was not hers, it was theirs. Frankly, Elizabeth was not used to sharing anything prior to marriage. She had a brother, but their lives were entirely separate. Then suddenly on a random day in April, she was sharing an estate, a name, and a bedroom with someone else. It was incredibly odd to her to not be waking up in the same room she had been for the past 20 years of her life. The adjustment had been difficult on Ciel too, that went without saying. He had been quite comfortable with his solitude and enjoyed having control over the frequency of company. On that same day in April, that privilege was taken away too. They were always in each other’s space and still trying to find the rhythm of their life. And now, to agitate things further, it was the peak of summer. 

Unable to come up with a more eloquent response, Elizabeth said, “It’s just hot”, sighing softly as she adjusted in her spot. If it weren’t for the optometrist nagging her about reading in the dark, she would’ve snuffed out the candle ages ago. Even the slightest amount of heat it emitted was seemingly canceling out any scarce breeze that came along. Finally, she closed her book in her lap. “I’m just restless, it’s no one’s fault but my own”.

Ciel looked at her. She had grown up too, more than himself, he’d argue. Her hair was always down, framing a face that had sharpened from once being stout. The way her eyebrows were always slightly furrowed made it appear that she was in a constant train of deep thought, a trait no doubt adopted from her mother. Sharp, calm, and opinionated was how he’d describe her. All her girly traits and pleasures were still there under the hard shell she had created to protect herself, just over time they became more strictly reserved for those closest to her. He understood this all too well and did not question her when she had started to change. He’d been numb to her beauty before, but the longer he stayed around her, the quicker the ice within began to thaw. 

Her explanation was met with a hum. It’s not that he was indifferent to her discomfort. If she asked for something, he’d see to it immediately. They both knew this, sitting and silently staring at one another in the darkness. “Should we go for a walk?” He suggested, gesturing to the vast acreage at their disposal below. 

Elizabeth turned her head slightly in confusion, like a dog that can’t understand what is being told of them to do. “At this hour? And with no shoes?” She asked, her book moving from her lap to the table as she adjusted her nightgown around her legs. This was another thing she was not used to: the freedom that came with marriage. There was no more chaperoning or parental observation. It was just the two of them and the privacy their home provided. It was freeing. Surely, she understood that this was quite the paradoxical take on marriage for the times. Many women her age, many that she personally knew, would rather describe their arrangements similar to that of a bird having its wings clipped. Grounded, caged, and miserable. Ciel never made her feel that way though, intentionally or not. 

“Shoes can be easily acquired” He responded cooly, a successful attempt at humor in her opinion. He sat forward in his chair, his own tiredness revealing itself around his eyes. If he felt compelled to, he was close enough that he could reach out and touch her, but he didn’t. “I think it would help if we did” He said as a way to compel her to agree with him. He used this tactic often, even if it really was just for her benefit. 

Contemplating, her eyes narrowed at him, waiting for him to change his mind or suggest something else. Reciprocated silence was all she received, causing her to reach over and pinch out the flame. “Alright, let’s find you some shoes then” She said as she stood, taking his arm and tucking her book under the other. 

-

They walked arm in arm through the garden paths, the white moonlight lightening everything enough to be navigated in the dark. The pair was silent, not stopping to admire anything like you normally would in the daytime. Despite being closer than ever before, they didn’t know what to do with each other. Marriage had widely opened the door for intimacy, but the furthest they’d got was fervent kissing and uncertain groping. The truth was that neither of them were ready for the consequences that came with the act of being intimate; that they both agreed on. In the first few weeks of their marriage, Elizabeth realized something else. Most of their personal interactions throughout adolescence had been centered around conflict. It had been fighting, bleeding, arguing, testing, and crying. And now that there was no conflict, they did not know how to interact. Now there was just domesticity that they were both unfamiliar with.

“Do you have a favorite animal?” Ciel asked out of the blue after some time, choosing which paths they were walking along. He knew them best.

The question dragged Elizabeth back down to Earth from her thoughts so suddenly that she wasn’t sure he had even opened his mouth to speak. Perhaps the walk really was helping her become tired. “A favorite animal?” She repeated back, mostly to make sure she wasn’t completely hallucinating. 

“Yes, if you have one” He responded simply.

Elizabeth thought about it for a moment. This was one of the lesser profound questions she’d been asked by him, grateful in her exhausted state that it lacked complexity. She mentally narrowed it down to a few options before giving her final answer. “Deer. I think deer are my favorite. I’ve always had an affinity towards them”.

Ciel turned to her at this, though she did not move from his arm, so they were standing terribly close. Marble benches and statues around them were exceptionally illuminated from the moon. “And why is that?” He asked. 

Even given the warmth in the dead of night that had bothered her so badly before, she couldn’t help but lean into the heat he was giving off. “Well… they’re pretty innocent animals. They’re too small to be put to work but too big to be domesticated by humans. So they just… exist”. She explained to him, allowing their bodies to continue moving in tandem. 

“Do your parents know about your fascination with deer?”. His voice almost carried some laughter in it. It was ironic given that her parents were avid hunters, taking pride in slaughtering an animal she cared so deeply about. Even Ciel knew about this obsession, which caused her to smile as a childhood memory resurfaced in her mind. 

Nodding as she briefly closed her eyes to recall the story. “Yes, in fact when I was young, maybe 9 or 10, I wrote my father this long letter about how I didn’t want him to hunt deer anymore. He was upset that I was defying him in a way but also impressed that I was able to speak my mind so freely at a young age”. She said up to him, leaning her head against the side of his arm. 

Now, he was laughing, or really more of an amused chuckle. Probably imagining the dramatics of it all, something her father was an expert in. “Please tell me you remember what you wrote in that letter. Or still have it stored away somewhere so I can read it”.

“Something about how deer are God’s creatures and that it’s cruel to hunt something just because it doesn’t serve a human purpose”. Elizabeth smiled as she replayed the scenes, looking much different from a child’s perspective. It really was an earnest attempt on her part. “My father won’t give the letter back to me. So if you want to see it, you’ll have to ask him”.

Satisfied with her reply, they fell back into a comfortable silence. They were not keeping track of time while they walked, though it was obvious morning was approaching as the sky slowly transformed into a deep shade of blue instead of black. Eventually, the question was reciprocated.

“Owls. I think they’re fascinating” Ciel answered after his own pause of contemplation. “I don’t have some historical emotional attachment like you do though, so my answer is far less interesting”, he teased. At some point, they stopped underneath a tree that made the manor appear small in the distance. 

“You know–” She started, having detached herself from his arm to lean against the tree instead. “– now that I think about it, you’re a lot like a deer”. 

“How so?” He inquired back, crossing his arms across his chest as he waited for a response. He felt that she was always coming up with the most intelligent things to say. It always impressed him.

Smiling, which was never a good sign from her, reaching her hands forward to rest on his chest. “Well… you have these big, round, beautiful eyes that everyone can’t seem to resist” She started, eliciting an eye roll from Ciel. “...And you have these long limbs you still don’t seem to know what to do with” She continued, enjoying the way it made him shake his head and smile. “And I think you’re very innocent, regardless of what you think”.

Ciel looked at her for a long while, finding strange comfort in her words. It wasn’t necessarily a compliment, but rather a fond observation he was unaware she’d been making. Years in the making, he’d bet. He knew too that partially he was being taunted back, but did not mind. “What about the whole domestication part? Do you think that’s accurate too?”. He asked, disguising his need for confirmation as playful banter.

Her eyes narrowed again as she considered her reply. She saw right through the disguise. Normally she would gush over him, tell him that he’s a fantastic husband and even more reliable partner, and to never question it. Deeply, she still believed all that to be true, but chose a different response instead. “I do, but I’m more than content to just exist with you. There’s really nothing else I’d ask for in this life”. 

So, they returned back to their manor and their bed, no longer restless. Still hot, but definitely not restless.

[danny-doodles]

Steve’s Hobby

This is a short 2k blurb about one of my Steve hcs, I am only really good at critical analysis writing so I’m sorry if this is bad!! Creative writing isn’t my strong suit but I felt like I couldn’t really explain this hc in a drawing as well as writing it could.

Growing up Steve was often taught the importance of words from his father, thinking it would be useful for his son’s future in the business. Steve was never the best reader, letters jumping around the page made it too difficult, so instead he listened to everyone around him. Teachers, his parent’s coworkers, older kids, all of them taught him the importance of the meaning of words.

How certain words would make someone a town pariah yet others a god among men. Steve was a more quiet kid but as he grew up he also grew confident in his words. He could tear someone down with one sentence, ensuring they knew he was not to be messed with. That’s why he was so confused when he struggled in his english class, he knew the power of words and the many meanings, but his teacher never understood. Sure he made grammar errors, how no one else struggled with the dancing letters he didn’t get, but how could the teachers not understand his connections? Steve shouldn’t have to explain why the red of the handmaid’s cloaks represented the ripping of humanity from the women, it was so clear to him. Obviously the boar head could be comparable to the church, how could his teachers not make the connection?

Even Nancy didn’t understand, someone he considered smarter than him. He knew she was trying to be nice when she critiqued his college paper but it still left him in the fog. Basketball was war to him, a fight that was pointless with one but possible with many. A challenge that called for leadership and a strict order. Everyone had the roles, knew where and when to shoot, needed the ability to think quickly on their feet and not struggle under the pressure. Uniforms to not only separate from the enemy but to show they are a unit reaching for a common goal. It was so clear leaving no need to explain, especially to Nancy.

But she didn’t get it, no one got it.

Maybe he wasn’t as good with words as he thought.

Steve from then on fumbled his words when he got nervous, scared he would say something that made him sound dumb and point out his weakness with words. The concussions didn’t help either, making him take longer to grasp concepts. Reading felt nearly impossible, the headaches were unbearable. Not to mention the kids' comments, judgmental and brutal as if Steve didn’t have a reason to struggle in the first place.

Everyone around him loved to put him in a sudden spotlight and when he didn’t say the right line he was booed off stage and dealt with the looks of disappointment from his co stars for messing up. So Steve stuck to what he knew, his quick remarks. Were they bitchy? Yes, but not coated in malice like they used to be. Piggybacking off others points with sarcastic comments so the other person kept talking, anything to get the attention off him.

But Steve had a secret hobby that he shared with no one, not even with his platonic soulmate with a capital P Robin.

Steve wrote poetry.

Years of horrors that by law he couldn’t share that caused vicious nightmares and a clammy grasp on reality at times tended to keep Steve up. Another gift bestowed by his father though was a feeling of shame when sharing his emotions. Didn’t help that those emotions were typically down played or outright ignored by others. Therefore a bottle filled with his emotions rested in Steve’s chest, which after Vecna he really realized probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. So Steve took to writing them down, but he did it for himself.

No need to explain everything, he knew what he meant, he knew every context of every word. He wrote on his experiences, his emotions. He wrote when he was happy, he wrote when he was sad. Steve wrote and wrote and found his love for words again. And god did it feel good, it felt like taking back his voice from a world that underappreciated it. In a weird way it felt like revisiting a relative he had last seen as a child, that sense of freedom and the loss of expectation because in their eyes he was still that little kid. All they wanted was to see someone they loved and to Steve the words welcomed him back with a hug that rivaled his Nonna Maria’s.

Steve would ponder over lines at random intervals of the day, biting his pencil between his teeth during the quiet hours at work or simply jotting down a line right before picking the kids up. Steve wrote so often he kept his small little notebook on him at all times, usually accompanied by a pencil bound to it with a rubber band. (Turns out having hearing aids and glasses made it really difficult to put pencils behind one's ears). At this point everyone had seen his notebook, pale blue with some star stickers because he never had a shortage of them. Everyone assumed it was for something different. Some thought it was grocery lists, to-do lists, something productive. Others thought it was like a pocket calendar with all his plans listed so he didn’t forget. Dustin insisted it was meant to hold the definitions of anything D&D related so Steve never forgot, meanwhile Robin argued it was to hold all the wonderfully obscure movie recommendations she loved to give. All of them were wrong though and Steve kind of adored it that way. He didn’t have to explain himself that way, he could continue to hide under the blankets. Steve no longer held his tongue out of fear of others but because he had an outlet he much rather prefer.

Listening now felt less like a pop quiz, waiting for him to mess up his response, it felt like an actual conversation. Steve may not speak up as much as he would have before the Upside Down but he fell back in love with his own voice and maybe one day he would feel confident enough to share it with the Party, but for now it was all his.

No matter how much they wanted to prove who was right, the kids and older teenagers never touched the book when it was rarely separated from Steve. Well...after someone tried to grab it and they learned they really shouldn’t touch it.

While at the Harrington house the Party were preparing for a campaign session when the argument about the pale binded pages was brought up again. Steve had left it on the kitchen counter while he went to the bathroom, and Mike decided he was done with the bickering. He shot up and went to retrieve and open the book but before he could grab it the book flew through the air.

All the heads turned and landed on El holding it in her hand, “We are not Steve, this is his. It is rude to invade his privacy, would you like me to watch you without telling you,” everyone quietly shook their heads, “Then we do not watch Steve without him knowing.”

That’s exactly when Steve walked back in, it takes one look across the room at all the embarrassed faces and El holding his book with frustration painting her eyes to know what had occurred while he was gone. He walks up, kisses El on her head and softly thanks her while taking back his little literature.

After that incident no one dared touch the book or face the wrath of their favorite mage. They would find out when Steve was ready for them to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That damn little book haunted Eddie’s thoughts. He knew Steve was not what he assumed him to be so anything was on the table, he had been wrong about the guy before who's to say he won’t be this time?

Of course Eddie wanted to respect Steve’s privacy because Eddie personally would be mortified if Steve had seen any of his notebooks, mainly because of the pages of lyrics that not so subtly hinted at an itsy bitsy affection for the badass babysitter. If that didn’t give Eddie away the random ‘Eddie Harrington’ and ‘Steve Munson’ with hearts all over would finish the job. So yeah, Eddie was not crazy to offer up any of his notebooks to venture into Steve’s book. He just had no idea the universe would present him with a much more favorable offer.

Steve and Eddie started hanging out a lot more after Vecna, no shocker considering they shared a hospital room, and soon the bat buddies would spend their time together outside of the hospital. That’s why it wasn’t surprising for Steve to let Eddie venture into Steve’s room while he went to pick up their lunch.

Eddie was somewhat of a curious cat, so when he spotted the notebook and some papers scattered on Steve’s desk he was like a moth to a flame. He softly glided his fingers over the blue cover and exhaled some breath in a soft laugh over the star stickers Steve oh so loved. It was the paper though that caught his eye when he finished observing the book. It looked like lyrics at first but then he realized some of the lines were too short to be lines, if anything they looked more like stanzas from a poem. Steve had poetry on his desk, did Steve read poetry? Thee Steve Harrington likes poetry? God his whole doctrine was garbage huh. Eddie moved the paper towards him and started to read.

Watchful gaze

Setules on the glass.

Wishful gaze

Silent pleas of escaping rolling in the mouth

Fingertips slipping through the veil,

Grasping for warm hands,

Receiving lukewarm.

Hesitant to grab.

Dependency clasping the palms

Such a feverish feeling

Poking at the appendages,

A coldness that numbs.

Gently gripping for the heat,

The balmy yields.

Smoke and simmers,

Arms rushing to sides

Frozen.

Yearning for ardor,

Turn not yet given,

Waiting for the impossible,

Waiting for the unobtainable,

So understanding.

So relieving.

So desperate.

So alone.

Standing for the calling.

So patient.

So pathetic.

Empty Hands by Steve H.

Eddie was staring at the very last line on the paper, utterly flabbergasted. Steve wrote this? Steve writes poetry?! Is that what resides in the little book? Before Eddie could even find the power to turn to the book to look, Steve walked into his room. Again a quick look is all Steve needed to take before he knew what happened in his absence.

“Oh! Uh..I’m guessing you read it.”

Eddie slowly looked back up while caressing the paper, “Yeah, you..um..you really wrote this? Is that…uh..what’s in your notebook? Cause I will admit I never would have guessed that.”

Steve started scratching his neck, “I don’t blame you,” he huffs, “But yeah I write poetry, helps to let some of the thoughts out considering our lives y'know?”

“I totally get it dude! Lord knows my lyrics are infected with the whole spring break bullhonkey. So..totally cool if you don’t want to tell me but, why is this one out of the book? Were you gonna write it into the book?” Eddie picked up the paper to place it next to the notebook and turned to face Steve.

“Actually I copied it from the notebook, I’m gonna, okay wait, you can’t tell anyone this-”

“Even Robin?” Eddie exaggerated his smile to look wild.

“Even Robin.” Steve nodded with his eyes shut.

Eddie put his hands together and swayed while standing, “Wowww look at me, lil old Eddie Munson getting to learn the secrets of the mysterious writer Steve Harrington.”

“Eddie, you want to know or not?” Steve sighed as he put his hands on his hips.

“Yes. Yes please,” Eddie eagerly replied, barely letting Steve finish his sentence.

“The last time I went to Indy with Robin to go shopping at their mall we went to a cafe. The bulletin board had a flier for a poetry night and I got curious I guess.”

“You gonna perform the poem there?”

“That’s the plan.”

Eddie could understand wanting a fresh slate when it came to having a reputation. “Craving anonymity? Must be tough considering you are Hawkin’s golden boy.”

Steve smiles brightly and Eddie sees his shoulders lose tension, tension Eddie didn’t even notice because he was so distracted by the fact that holy shit Steve is a poet. “Exactly.”

Honestly Eddie would give anything to hear more of Steve's hidden works, he grabs some of his hair and brings it to cover his mouth, “I know you don’t intend to tell the rest of the bunch, but uh..would you allow a humble bard to observe your lyrical performance?”

Eddie looks at Steve’s face for any hint of annoyance and finds none, instead he finds a look that he could hope to be correct in his guess is excitement.

“Really? You’d want to hear more, it's not confusing or stupid to you?” Steve softly smiled at Eddie, making him swoon inside.

“It's art! It doesn’t need to make sense, it just needs to make you feel good, who cares if others are confused. And for what its worth even if I’m not right on the money that poem made me feel Steve, I mean as the expert in self-expression it felt real and vulnerable, y’know.” Eddie had to shut himself up before he himself waxed poetry about just how much he is dying to hear more from Steve to learn more about him.

“Thanks Eddie.” Steve gazed at Eddie as if no one had ever told him that before. Which now that hes thinking about it that’s probably the truth. Guess Eddie needed to constantly remind him then.

Eddie smiled, mirroring Steves while bending at his waist, “Oh but of course my liege.”

“Oh my god okay Eddie cmon the food’s gonna get cold.”

Steve started to leave his room and Eddie rushed to follow him, “Now that I know what the book is filled with may I pretty please read it?” Rapidly blinking his eyelashes in an attempt to look innocent and pure but instead looking like a piece of dust got in his eyes.

“Nope.”

“Ugghhh c'mon Steve! Just imagine the look on the little hellions when they see me opening the book! God the jealousy! The feeling of betrayal when they see me reading Steve Harringtons’s treasure trove of text and they are none the wiser to what is inside. And the best part, I have permission! The power I would hold Steve! The possibility, I could use them like little puppets to do my bidding while they crave information I alone hold!”

“Eddie that sounds like a headache for me waiting to happen, they’re just gonna badger me to tell them because they would claim it’s unfair you know and they don’t.”

“Eh, their egos could take a little hit don’t you think?” Eddie was now resting his head on Steve’s shoulder as the younger started to bring the food out of the carry out bag.

“Can I read your lyric notebook?”

Eddie’s eyes went wide as his brain proceeded to remind him of every lyric he had written around his devotion to Steve. Red in the face Eddie responded quickly, “Nope! Mmm you smell that Stevie I’m so hungry, aren’t you?”

“Subtle Munson.”

“Tis my middle name.”

Steve fondly rolled his eyes, “Sure.”

As they settled down on the couch Eddie tracked Steve grabbing the remote, “So I can really watch you?”

Steve turned and looked at Eddie with a calmness on his face. “Yeah Eddie.”

Eddie grabbed his hair as Steve stared at him, “Cool, cool, it’s a date.” Eddie froze about to panic silently as he tried to fix his slip up.

“Yeah, it's a date.” The two looked at each other, neither wanting to look away. After a minute or so Steve turned on the TV and if the two fell asleep together it was their business.

[haztobegood]

My 2023 Fic Fest Participation

One of the best parts of this fandom is the many many fests that we have! I love seeing all the creative themes that this fandom comes up with to inspire more fics year after year! Thank you to everyone that modded fests and created spaces that inspired some amazing works this year!

Number of fests: 5

Numbers of fics: 5 out of the 7 fics I posted were written for fests, and I also created a fanfic trailer for big bang!

Favorite fest/fic: @wankersday has been a staple for 5 whole years now! I've written every year and always look forward to reading the wide variety of fics that everyone comes up with. This year I wrote a short one inspired by Louis starting his world tour A Cure for First Show Nerves.

Fests you would love to do again this year (if they come back): I always love @1dtrickortreatfest every year! I've been challenging myself to write more spooky/scary ficlets for it each year.

Tagging: @disgruntledkittenface @reminiscingintherain @fallinglikethis @louandhazaf @allwaswell16 @lululawrence @uhoh-but-yeah-alright @beelou @kingsofeverything @jacaranda-bloom and anyone else that wants to share!

A list of my creations and reflections is under the cut!

A Cure for First Show Nerves for @wankersday E, <1k, Harry/Louis | Canon Compliant, FITFWT

I was very busy buying a house and moving during the first half of the year, so this is the first full fic I wrote and posted in 2023. I was struggling to come up with anything to write for the fest. Louis' tour started a few days before the fest and the pictures from that inspired this little oneshot just in time for me to add it to the collection!

No (Birth) Control for Knot in My Name multi-fandom event E, 3k, Harry/Louis | A/B/O, Breeding Kink

I saw this event on tumblr, billed as a way to feed AI learning with tons of A/B/O content, and happened to be working on this fic at the time. I was happy to contribute to the anti-AI cause and added my fic to the collection.

Ghosted for @1dtrickortreatfest NR, 666, Harry/Louis | Ghost Story

This one is based on a tweet I saw on tumblr. I saved it to my prompt folder a while back, and when I started looking for halloween/scary prompts, it jumped out to me. Based on the comments it looks like it was much more angst than spook, but I love the way it turned out nonetheless.

Chaos for @louisrarepairfest E, 100, Louis/Bodyguard | Drabble, Implied Dom/sub

I wanted so badly to write a long smutty fic with Louis and one of his bodyguards. But writing was so difficult this year, and writing smut was near impossible. I tried so many times to start this fic, but it wasn't getting anywhere. Putting a hard 100 word limit on it challenged me to create something with the exact emotion I hoped to capture in a longer fic, and I am still floored by how well it turned out!

Baking Memories for @louisrarepairfest T, 2k, Louis/Jack Cochrane | Christmas Baking Shenanigans

I could not stop listening to The Snuts after seeing them live in Minneapolis. Always was my top song of the year. I started to go down the rabbit hole of videos they've shared on youtube. And then this happened. Writing fics where Louis is forced into the kitchen is my favorite thing.

Art for take me back, take me back by @panye for @onedirectionbigbang

I created a trailer and moodboard for this big bang fic! There were so many cool locations and visuals used throughout the fic, so building a trailer to hype the story and fitting it to San Fransisco by Niall was a lot of fun!

Past summaries 2021 2022

[nocturne-pisces]

Pisces Sun (1)

A/N: this is for @fuckandfluff ‘s 2K Thot Shit Challenge - my prompt was “I’m sure them other girls were nice enough, but you need someone to spice it up.” - Girls Like You (Maroon 5 ft. Cardi B). Lines inspired by the song are bolded. This work doesn’t have any thot shit in it, but if it tracks I might write a follow up with another song.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 3.6k (ahaha whoops)

Warnings: uh, this is mostly just angsty dumbasses in love, but also like cursing I guess and mentions of sex. this is not canon compliant.

Masterlist

Tony had foregone his usual oversized crystal chandelier in the ballroom of the compound. He had it taken down in favor of something more subtle, yet exponentially more beautiful.

Tonight’s charity banquet theme was ‘Under the Stars’. Impossibly, intensely dark blue fabric paneling hung, billowing from the ceiling in different shades. A conceptualized version of the same sky outside the front doors. Through that fabric, hung on what you could only assume was fishing wire, were the smallest yellow tinged LED lights, blinking softly. And if you squinted just right, you were pretty sure that you could see the big dipper.

Tony had declared that it was a black tie affair, plates were 500$ a piece, and all of the proceeds were going towards the Sokovia Restoration Program.

As an Avenger that had been there when it was blown to pieces, seeing the families displaced first hand, you’d bought twenty plates and invited the local children’s choir. When Pepper found out what you’d done she’d cornered you in the office and reminded you that it wasn’t your fault. You had done what you had to put an end to Ultron and Tony had felt bad enough about that to donate quite a few million dollars to begin with.

You had to remind Pepper that everything you needed was provided for you by them. There was nothing you needed that you didn’t have. Going without play money for a few months was nothing compared to what these families were missing. You just wished you had enough time off between missions to go back and help rebuild, even though you weren’t entirely sure the people of Sokovia wanted to see you.

Tonight, though, you decided to give yourself a break from the guilt. Your therapist had agreed that it was a good idea. The world could always be saved tomorrow, but tonight you could just live in your own.

Enter Bucky Barnes. He always felt like the orbiting moon. Always there, always beautiful, but always just out of reach. Whether by choice or circumstance, you couldn’t decipher. He kept his distance and you let him have it, fearing any kind of tryst formed by overstepping.

But you couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered over the corner of his jaw, sliding down over the tendon in his neck and following the curve of his collar bone just under his sweaty t-shirt after he got done sparring with Steve.

Your room was just down the hall from his. He lived between Steven and you. Between the sun and the void. After you watched one too many walks of shame leave his apartment, you’d decided that wasn’t a trajectory you wanted for a relationship between you and him. You didn’t want to be a comet; seen once burning bright against the night sky and then never seen again.

How were you expected to resist those supernova irises when their gravity threatened to swallow you whole every time he made eye contact during a briefing? You were only human. How were you expected to fight feelings for someone that, like the moon, you couldn’t physically touch? It was like wanting to know what the Aurora Borealis tasted like. It made no sense but your mouth watered anyway.

So you stuffed it all down. Let it implode in your chest like a dying star and went about your life like there wasn’t a black hole sucking your heart into oblivion. And that’s how it had stayed for two years. After a while it got the slightest bit easier, but there were still moments that felt like re-entering earth’s atmosphere and burning alive.

As much as you just wanted to have a good time and let go -- tonight was one of those reentering the atmosphere moments.

You first started to feel the fragmenting combustion when you entered the ballroom, a flowy silver satin dress falling over your form effortlessly, and you spotted him over by the tables. He wore his long hair half up to keep it out of his face, even though there was always that errant lock that escaped and fell over the sharp peak of his cheekbone. You followed that lock of hair down his jawline, scruffed but well trimmed, and then down the column of his neck.

His dress shirt was black, a silk tie laid neatly over the buttons and tucked into his blazer. As you neared the table to greet the rest of your teammates you caught the design on his tie, it was subtle in design but unmistakable to you. You’d spent enough time on the team that you knew his birthday was March 10th and, therefore, knew the constellation stitched into his tie was that of Pisces.

Pisces; a water sign. Selfless and compassionate. Deep as the ocean, endlessly empathetic, and incredibly intuitive.

But if all of that was true, how could he not feel how your heart shattered when you saw the woman on his arm? You had no right to feel any kind of way about the women he brought to the compound. You hadn’t so much as hinted at your feelings for him. Retaining your silence, leaving rooms when he entered them, keeping your conversation to a minimum during briefings and debriefings. All so you could keep yourself from being confronted with the truth by the man that you were in love with.

That you would never and could never be good enough.

Steve detected your approach first, flashing an award winning smile and giving you a once over.

“Well if it isn’t the North Star herself.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, that is the cheesiest shit you’ve ever said to me.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw the next dimension, but the heat that crawled up the back of your neck and into your cheeks betrayed you. Getting this kind of attention in front of Bucky made your stomach do flips.

Sam was the next to pipe up, “Aw, come on. We never get to see you dressed up. Your tac suit does you no justice. S’not our fault you look damn good.”

“Sam!” Your hand flew to cover your mouth, desperately trying to cover the shade of red that was painting across your face.

“Alright alright, let up. You know she gets weird about compliments,” Nat called, waving off the boy's protests before taking you by the arm and steering you towards the bar and away from your own personal hell.

You ordered your usual rum and coke and Nat ordered a martini, extra dirty. When the bartender brought your drinks back you took a long sip, letting out a contented sigh as you felt the sharp edges of embarrassment dull.

“Ugh, thank god, I need a drink after that. I hate it when they do that.”

“You sure that’s why you need a drink?”

You whipped your head around, your eyebrows knitting themselves together as you met Natasha’s gaze.

“Nat, I don’t know what you’re--”

“Oh please,” she chided, “everyone knows how you feel about Barnes except for Barnes. Fuckin’ idiot.” You felt like your stomach had opened a wormhole and it was draining all of the color out of your face.

“Everyone?”

“Except Barnes. That's why the boys do that compliment shit, they’re trying to remove Bucky’s head from his ass, get him to realize he might get something real with you instead of bringing home every hussy in the tri-city area just to kick them out in the morning.”

The only thing you could think to do was stare into your drink, the idea of something real with Bucky flashing images  across your mind's eye that you had locked away a long time ago. The image of Bucky wrapped around you while you stood at the stove cooking dinner, of Bucky asleep on your lap in the quinjet after a mission, of his body atop yours while you pull each other apart at the seams.

“You have to talk to him.” Nat’s words crashed into you like an asteroid, carving a landing ditch of fear and nausea across your face.

“Y-you know I can’t do that,” you plead, shaking your head violently.

Natasha leaned close to you, holding your line of sight with a dangerous intensity. “Then you’ll always wonder what it’ll be like to be loved by him, and you’ll watch him search for that love in the girls he brings home. Until one day, he finds it with someone that isn’t you.”

“Nat, please…” you croaked, your throat raw from unshed tears.

“No, you need to hear this. I’m sure those other girls were nice enough, but he needs someone to spice it up. To make him feel alive again. And from where Sam, Steve, and I are sitting. He needs a girl like you. Talk to him by the end of the party, or I will.” She left a quick kiss on your cheek before she picked up her drink and walked away.

You gaped after her as she left you in pieces at the bar.

And just like that, the concept of having a fun night blasted off into the endless void of space.

On the other side of the room, or maybe on the other side of the universe, Bucky was becoming painfully aware of the sweat trickling down his back. He was too dressed up. He was wearing too many layers of too many constricting clothes and he was pretty sure he was suffocating.

And then you walked up to the table in that dress and he felt the vacuum of space steal the air from his lungs. His date, Melanie, who also happened to be his counselor, noticed the way that Bucky’s knuckles turned white on the hem of his jacket from the strain of not turning to look at you.

She had agreed to go to the benefit with him on a purely platonic basis because she thought it would be a good idea for him to have a night out and he said that he would go out if she was there as moral support.

Melanie also read the heartbreak in your face when your eyes razed over where hers was laid in the dip of Bucky's arm. It wasn’t difficult for her to put two and two together. You must have been the one he spent so much time talking about during his sessions. The one he tortured himself over. The one he said he didn’t deserve but couldn’t let go of.

Melanie had been telling him for months to just talk to you, just say hello. You have to start somewhere, James, even if it’s just a discussion about the weather. But he was too chickenshit to do anything. It was different when it was some girl in some bar and he didn’t care about how he looked when he told them he just wanted a release for the night.

It was different because he knew that if you spent the night with him under the stars, he wouldn’t want you to disappear with them when the sun rose, and that was something that he’d never felt before.

When it came to Bucky’s fears, Hydra didn’t even hold a candle to what your solar flare smile did to his heart. It terrified him into inaction.

She also saw the way that Bucky’s jaw set, teeth gnashing behind his fake smile, because his friends had started going on about how beautiful you were. She could see him beating himself up, about how it should be him calling you beautiful, how it should be him twirling you, how it should be him with his fingertips on the satin of your dress.

And then Nat took you to the bar and his gaze fell to his feet. The vast expanse of nothing returning behind his eyes as he drowned in his own self loathing.

Melanie took Bucky to the dance floor, where she could have this conversation with him in private without being seen leaving the room with him. His left hand fell respectfully in the middle of her back, holding the other with his right as they waltzed to some modern slow song that Bucky didn’t know.

“So you’re just going to let her get away like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, closing it again when he couldn’t find anything to say.

“You realize that one day she’s going to give up. You’re going to keep ignoring her and she’s going to find love in someone else, and you’re going to spend the rest of your life wondering what a love with her would have looked like. You got what the vast majority of people will never get in this life, a second chance. And you’re barely alive. You live one day to the next wasting time when you could have a genuine connection.”

Bucky stopped swaying, his eyes closing while he felt the weight of her words sink onto his chest, cracking his ribs one by one.

“Mel, she doesn’t want a guy like me, I’m too-- crazy.”

Melanie drew a deep breath, feeling the frayed edges at the end of her patience.

“James, I’m going to stop being your counselor for a second and be your friend, because you need to hear this, and I mean with all of the respect in my heart. For 104 years old, you are quite possibly one of the biggest idiots I have ever met.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, taking half a step back. She held onto the lapel of his jacket so he couldn’t rocket away from her.

“I have listened to this shit for the last time. You don’t get to decide for her what she wants. You don’t even see how she looks at you. You tell her by the end of the party, or I will.”

“Isn’t that like illegal or something?”

Melanie shrugged. She didn’t have a normal clientele. She was employed directly by Fury and worked out of the SHIELD offices.

“You might be able to make a case for unprofessional, but good luck getting Fury to do anything about it.” She leaned up and left a quick kiss on his cheek before retreating to the table. Her boyfriend, Sam, opened his arms to her and after a few moments they excused themselves for the night.

Bucky watched as they retreated, standing in the middle of the dance floor, seething.

Natasha walked up to him then, playfully punching his arm. “You okay, Barnes?”

He turned to her before looking back to Sam and Melanie. Before the couple got out of the door, Sam turned and winked, Bucky assumed it was because his girl had bested the super soldier.

Back at the bar you were throwing back your third rum and coke, trying to drown the way that it felt like the weight of the moon was crashing into your chest. Natasha couldn’t have been serious. Your own best friend threatened to out you to Bucky, to expose the way your heart soared like a shooting star every time you stood too close to him.

You couldn’t be in this room any longer. The heat of all the bodies around you made you feel like you were standing on the sun. When you turned towards the door you saw Sam leaving with Bucky’s date, looking way too affectionate. You stood there confused as Sam winked at someone in the crowd, but it was quickly followed by the feeling of the axis of the earth shifting as you realized that Bucky was no longer with a date at this event.

You swore your heart rate hit light speed as you thought about going to find him, asking him to dance and confessing all the feelings you had for him. But before you could go through with it your feet carried you out to the gardens and into the cool night. You closed your eyes and laced your fingers over your head and willed fresh air to enter your lungs, an ache settling in your ribs with how hard you were fighting to breathe normally.

When you opened your eyes again, you looked up to the night sky. Even through the light pollution you could see the North Star, and the little star off to the right that always accompanied it. You knew what it felt like to be that star. The one that’s just a little dimmer, a little offset, the one that was never noticed first and discussed even less.

You wrapped your arms around your middle and sat on a bench willing gravity to disappear so you could float away. So you wouldn’t have to watch as Nat told Bucky how you felt, because you sure as shit weren’t going to do it. You weren’t going to let him reject you to your face. You’d let Nat do it so you could pretend it wasn’t real the next day.

The terrace doors swung open behind you, revealing none other than the man in the moon himself. Ethereal and staring directly at you. His face was twisted with anxiety, and your stomach plummeted. Nat had told him, you were sure she had, and he had come to tell you that he wasn’t interested. Flattered, maybe, but not interested.

The way that nausea crawled over your features, Bucky would swear that Melanie beat him too you. And you would tell him the same.

Standing from the bench, you took a few paces towards Bucky, swallowing hard when you heard the doors latch behind him. You both started speaking at the same time.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry--”

“Listen, I know what Melanie told you--”

Silence fell, anxiety and nausea wiped away and replaced by confusion. Bucky was the first to speak, because you were pretty sure that if you opened your mouth the only thing that was going to come out were the drinks you’d had.

“I’m so sorry about Melanie, this wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

You assumed Melanie was his date, but you hadn’t spoken to her. You shook your head softly. What were you not supposed to find out? What was he supposed to tell you that he believed his friend had?

“Melanie didn’t talk to you?” Bucky’s eyebrows cemented together under the worried wrinkles in his forehead.

“I’m assuming that Melanie is your date, and if so; no, I haven’t spoken a word to her.”

“Uhh, Melanie is Sam’s girlfriend...and my counselor.”

“Oh.” Your eyes dropped to where you were worrying your hands together, the heat of Bucky’s gaze on you threatening to turn the core in your chest molten hot. You looked back up at him. His mouth was hanging open, dumbstruck like you’d just caught him in something terrible.

“Did Nat talk to you?”

He closed his mouth and shook his head. Bucky pulled his shaking hands out of his pockets, tucking the errant strand of hair behind his ear.

“I--”

You had started to say something, but before you could get anything noteworthy Bucky felt everything click into place. He realized then that Sam wasn’t winking at him.

He had been winking at Natasha.

“I think we’ve been set up.”

“What do you mean?”

Bucky realized that if were to explain his theory, he would inevitably have to tell you everything. His heart hammering away and his hands sweating he threw all caution to the wind and just decided to come out with it.

“Melanie is my counselor. I talk about you a lot during my sessions and she agreed to come with me tonight as moral support because I don’t go out usually. I guess when she saw how I reacted to Sam and Steve fawning over you, she’d decided she had enough of my shit. She told me that if I didn’t confess I was in love with you by the end of the night she was going to tell you herself.”

Bucky’s face felt hot with embarrassment, waiting for the rejection that was coming his way. The silence lasted long enough for him to look up at you. This particular solar flare smile singed it’s imprint into his heart, scarring it’s permanence.

What followed was the star twinkle of your laughter and he swore this is what it looked like to see a star explode up close.

“Oh, Bucky,” you groaned, taking the deepest breath you’d taken in two years.

“‘Oh, Bucky’ good? Or ‘Oh, Bucky’ bad?” He asked as he wildly searched your face for clues on how he was supposed to feel right now, though he didn’t have to wait for his answer for too long. You closed the gap between the two of you at warp speed, coming to stand only inches from him.

“‘Oh, Bucky’ as in I’ve been in love with you for two years and Natasha threatened to expose me if I didn’t tell you tonight.”

The moment you got the words out you felt planets crashing together as his lips crashed into yours. His hands found purchase against your cheek, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck as his metal hand held you impossibly close to him. You fisted his silk tie and tangled your digits in the hair at the base of his skull.

Of all the colors you’d ever seen of the milky way, you believe that the ones bursting behind your eyelids as you felt Bucky’s tongue dance with yours were more beautiful.

While you didn’t have a hand in helping hang the stars in the compound ballroom, when you and Bucky came up for air, he looked at you like you hung the ones in the sky shining down on the pair of you now.

And for a fleeting moment you understood what it must feel like when new universes exploded into existence.

Drop a line in my inbox and let me know what you think? This is the first full length Marvel fic I've written, so... *upside down smiley face emoji*

[danihow]

I. Sweet melody

Non-idol!CF!Jung Wooyoung x CF!Fem!Reader

ATEEZ

Five feet apart AU

Word Count: 2k (I know is really short, but I liked where it cut so I'm getting on writing the next one)

Summary: Wooyoung just met an angel, this beautiful almost ethereal girl that lived five rooms away from his, yet, why was she ignoring him that hard?

Warnings: Angsty thoughts, sad and kinda depressed Wooyoung, mentions of insomnia and the CF, hospital setting.

A/N: This was an inspiration hit (didn't last long btw), hope you enjoy it. And please, if you spot any error, tell me.

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Sleeping was usually hard for Wooyoung, and this is not trying to intend that he doesn't sleeps, or he dislikes it, all the contrary, he loves sleeping as much as he loves eating and cooking, and he loves it a lot. The thing is that, despite his liking for resting, his illness and himself didn't allow him to as much as he'd want. There were nights were his mind just wasn't up to sleep, either the meds causing some insomnia and giving him more energy than what he needed at night or his thoughts making it impossible of him, his ears picking all the sounds around him and holding on tight to them to the point were it was frustrating.

On the other nights when falling asleep wasn't the challenge, the action of sleeping consistently without any type of disruption seemed to be an even worse for the man. Sometimes being awoken by the alarm of low oxygen levels in his blood at 11 p.m., or his body coughing him awake at 2 a.m. along with a lot of other stuff such as food sickness, headaches or other symptoms his body just turned on while he was fast asleep. Forcing him out of his dreams really constantly.

And tonight, much to his unfortune, it was rather a really annoying mix of both. Being woken up around 11:35 p.m. by some phlegm stuck in his throat causing him to cough in order to breathe again. And then, still drowsy and wanting to go back to sleep, even if his eyes were closed and his body relaxed, he wasn't able to reconcile with dreaming again, a groan leaving him as he fumbled to his right side, tired.

After some more trying and failing to fall asleep again, the black haired man accepted his defeat against his body, picking up some chatting from outside his room, two male voices from which he recognized one, Doctor Seo Eunkwang's voice resonated not too far away from his room door, probably from the front desk as he apparently gave an hospital introduction talk to the other male voice, which sounded younger.

He laid down for some more minutes trying to either identify the other voice or fall asleep again like it could be some sort of miracle he could hope for, damn well knowing it wasn't actually going to happen anytime soon.

Tired of turning around over and over from left to right, feeling uncomfortable in his own bed under the blanket that now crumpled at his feet he felt the need of getting up, his bare feet making contact with the cold tiles of the white floor, eyes wandering around to find his slippers, slowly slipping his feet in once he spot them. The mattress cracked slightly under the shift of his weight as he stood up, stretching his back muscles, his right arm sore of staying on a weird pose while trying to sleep.

Where was Wooyoung going? To explore the hospital. Was it really late for that? Yes. Did he care? Actually no, considering that if he couldn't sleep the least, he could do was something productive.

Closing the door behind him and putting his mask on over his oxygen cannulas the man was ready to go.

The hospital wing where he stayed at was actually pretty quiet, the furthest from the ER as possible, the only sounds that could be heard were the machines working inside each room muffled by the door along with the casual chatter between the night shift nurses. Walking where his feet guide him to, he spotted Dr. Seo, waving goodbye a man a little taller than him but much younger, probably near Wooyoung's age, bag in his shoulder and ready to head home.

Right, he was one of those that could leave the hospital and go home, unlike him.

"Is something wrong Wooyoung?" The doctor asked as he spot his new patient.

"No sir, I just couldn't sleep so I'm going to walk around a bit."

"Oh sure, be careful of the other CF patients, they tend to walk around too." He smiled, warning him sweetly as he started walking again towards the elevator. "Goodnight."

"Mhm. 'Night." He waved, his eyes following the older man until he was out of eye reach.

The other CF patients.

All he has heard from the multiple nurses he had talk to was about the other CFs, yet he never spots any of them, almost as if they were a legend, a ghost that haunted him.

"You are the new guy?" Another voice pulled him out of his thought, turning around just to be met by a pair of big dark eyes that smiled at him friendly, the guy that Dr. Seo was talking to.

"Uh, yeah... I'm Wooyoung."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Seonghwa, one of the night shift nurses." The man said, his mind leaving a bunch of files on the desk besides him.

"Same to you." He muttered, quickly scanning the man, wanting to pay attention to who he was talking to and who he very much would see every day. He was a bit taller than Wooyoung, but not too tall to stand out for it, his hair was black and a bit wavy as it rested against his forehead, parted in the middle, his eyes were happy and curious, his face quite peculiar, in a good way, giving him an air that reminded Wooyoung of a calm river.

"You look quite young to be a licensed nurse." He spoke his mind, bringing a chuckle out of the nurse, who nodded along with his words.

"I've heard that a lot lately, but I graduated not too long ago, I'm almost 24." He said, checking occasionally on the monitor for any patient call.

"Alright, I'll leave you be." He says, passing the little bag with his little portable oxygen tank through his arm for it to hang in his shoulder. "See you around I guess."

"See you Wooyoung, I'm going to be here if you need me." He said, nodding to him as he smiled warmly, not in the pitying type of way other nurses smiled at him on his previous hospital, this smile Seonghwa held was more of the friendly kind, a genuine one.

"Bye." He said seconds before turning around and keeping up on his walk, hands resting on his sweatpants' pockets, mind concentrated in analyzing the hospital he now habited, the white walls he would see now daily, mind formulating his new routine.

It wasn't until he reached the glass walled bridge between his wing and the middle hospital wind that he was able to spot the night outside, the shining lights of the hospital surrounding, big building rising high not too far away, the dark but clear sky allowing the almost full moon to be appreciated by the eye, it may not be much but for Wooyoung, it was enough to put a tiny refreshing smile under his mask.

"I guess it won't be too bad." He muttered for himself, eyes scanning the lights until something grabbed his attention, his ears picking some sweet voice humming lowly to a song he could not pinpoint where he heard it before.

It was kind of enchanting for him, his feet moving to where his ears said, following the sound to find the source of it, hearing it from his right, back to his hospital wings and up the stairs, the more he walked the louder the sound got and the more he liked the tune of it. He went up the stairs, not too slow but definitely not fast or harsh enough for his steps to be easily heard.

Bip, bip.

"Fuck." He couldn't help but say, checking up on his oxygen tank to see if it was already that low, but the little screen held a pretty noticeable 75%. "Huh? What was that sound then?" He thought to himself, checking his phone to find no notifications.

"Oh shit." He heard, not noticing until that very moment how the humming had stopped until all he heard was rushed steps, closer and closer to him, almost startling him until, from the top of the set pf stairs he saw a figure, a female figure, who was panting a bit. "Move!" She exclaimed, and who was he not to, so he moved to his side, his hips resting against the railing before she almost sprinted down the set of stairs and got lost, her steps slowly becoming further and further, until he didn't hear them anymore.

"Well, that was something..." He said to himself, alone again in the staircase, silence ruling now. "Wait, the song..." He started, gaze looking up to the rest of stairs that went up for at least two more stores and then down, action that he repeated a couple of times. "It was her?"

Still, his heart wanted to hear more of the song, so hopeful he kept on the set of stairs, set by set until he reached the door of the rooftop. He maybe could go to the rooftop, but he had forgot his sweater back at his room and didn't want to catch anything that would make his life harder. How would it feel like wanting to do something and being able to do so without thinking of conditions? Wooyoung did not knew, all he knew was to always have his sickness in mind, his whole world revolving around it even if he spited it.

He surrendered for the night, having no more choice that going back down. Reaching his floor, he looked out to the unexplored wing of the hospital, not finding it in him to go and keep on looking around this new home of his, resigning to just go back to his room, and maybe talk to Seonghwa if he was around. He needed new friends here.

Steps slow and light, hands on his sweatpants’ pockets, mind somewhere far away, unconsciously humming to the sweet melody he heard on the stair case, the melody still fresh in some corner of his memory, replaying over and over again like a broken record player, but he didn't mind at all, not when it brought such a warm feeling inside of him, contrasting severely with the cold air of the air conditioning the hallway had, skin cold and inside warm, making him feel cozy in his body after quite some months of it.

"You're back that soon?" Seonghwa asked, spotting the black-haired as he walked out of one of the rooms, some sort of content concern in his features as he closed the door, the cart of supplies guided by his opposite hand.

"Got bored, going to try and sleep a bit more." He says, nodding to him before walking up to his door. "Goodnight." He said before opening up and closing behind him, taking his mask off and the oxygen tank, putting it in its place besides his bed. The melody still playing in his mind, gears unable to process anything else.

His back hit he mattress, cold again after his absence, blanket refreshing enough to make him feel comfortable again, snuggling until the blanket sits under his now bare feet, the moment his head hits the pillow he doesn't feel the same heaviness of insomnia again, a part of him hoping to sleep, and the other having no hope in feeling well rested the moment the morning hits, used to his unintentional routine. He tries closing his eyes, shifting away from the window and the light that came from the outside, maybe he needed curtains.

While recalling his day, he reached his "outing", the people he met and what he had heard, unable to move forward of the melody in the stairs while not knowing why; slowly and unexpectedly the sweet humming in the back of his mind soothing him to sleep.

Having a good night of sleep was something rare for Jung Wooyoung. But tonight, it apparently didn't bother him at all, a sweet melody ghosting his ears and a pair of unknown eyes appearing just before dozing off into his hospital bed.

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Taglist [Open]:

@baguette-atiny @mirror-juliet

©danihow. 2022. All rights reserved. Re-uploading, translating or any sort of modifying any work piece is not allowed.

This is a work of fiction, people mentioned or involved are actual human beings and none of this work is based on actual facts over the celebrities mentioned nor is intented to portray them in a realistic way.

Some themes are not factually acurate, any problem detected on the information given may be comunicated to me via DM.

[wkemeup]

Honey and Chamomile

summary: Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: lots of fluff, but also nightmares, and lots of tea because im a fanatic a/n: this was written for @coffee-with-bucky​​‘s 2k writing challenge and it’s a thousand years late, but I hope you enjoy it! My prompt was 🌟 tea 🌟

It starts late in the evening as the thunder rolls in, low breaks amongst the clouds in the distance, a flicker of lightening touching the night sky and illuminating the shadows cast by the city. Painted raindrops slide against on the windowsill, racing one another to the edge of the pane. It’s soothing as you close your eyes and lose yourself in the soft tap-tap-tap to the walls of the tower and the hums of thunder miles beyond the city. It’s better than the silence, anyway.

The whistle of a kettle sings by the stove and it pulls you gently from your stance at the window. Mug in hand, you grab a bag of peppermint tea from the small box to the right of the kettle; paintings of sunsets and starry nights along the wooden frame. You close the lid and tug the string of the bag so it lays over the lip of the mug. Hot water finds its home at the center and the air around you fills of candy canes and memories of nights wrapped in blankets by the fireplace.

You hear footsteps behind you as you set the kettle back on the stovetop, careful of the bright red rings of the burner, and slowly wrap your hands around the mug. There’s a shuffle at the edge of the kitchen as the warmth of the mug touches your palms, soothes right up into your arms, the liquid too hot to drink but the steam of it is comforting against your cheeks. Crisp and cool amongst burning heat.

“Didn’t think you were home,” you say quietly, back turned to the figure who takes in a sharp breath in response.

The team was out on a mission, one Cap insisted you stay clear of after your near fatal gunshot wound in Bratislava last month. You fought it tooth and nail, but what Cap says goes, and well, you didn’t.

“Steve says I need more time,” Bucky replies, voice barely a whisper and you can practically picture the way he digs his hands into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants, scrunching at the fabric from the inside as a way to ground himself.

“Steve’s a little overprotective, don’t you think?” you chuckle lightly, turning from the window where the raindrops cast down along the glass in full, sweeping lines to find Bucky standing just beyond the plane of the kitchen. Just close enough to make his presence known, far enough to escape. Always one foot in, one foot at the exit. Self-preservation is a hell of a drug to kick.

“He’s right, though. Hard to trust a teammate who doesn’t trust his own mind,” Bucky mumbles slowly, scratching at the nape of his neck.

The shine of silver catches your eye under the dim overhead lighting and he notices it almost instantly, the way your gaze draws to solid metal, how you study the lines and bolts in his joints, and he drops his arm. He holds it then behind his back, tries to play it off casually, but you see how he hides it from view, like he’s been caught with something he shouldn’t have. A weapon.

You sigh, setting the mug down on the counter, the whisper of peppermint on your lips. He sells himself short, gets locked up in the mindset of what Hydra conditioned him to be, struggles to come back to himself and trust that he can control his own mind again. You know how often he wonders when he’ll lose it again, when he’ll break to someone else’s will and be forced to commit terrible acts again. It’s never a matter of ‘if’, but ‘when.’

He wonders when he’ll hurt Steve, or Sam, or Nat, or you. He wonders when the final straw will break and the floor will be ripped out from under him, when he’ll take a life he can’t give back. He wonders when enough will be enough and you’ll decide he’s not worth the trouble.

“I trust you,” you say, and you do mean it, but Bucky only shrugs, eyes downcast.

He shuffles he feet again. It’s uncomfortable for him to hear, you realize. It's foreign in his body and he barely recognizes the kindness in it when he feels it, the certainty of it, because it has been so long since he knew anything but cruelty and manipulation.

So, you pull a second mug from the cabinet; the one behind the Captain America logo painted on the side and Tony’s Disney themed mug that reads ‘Greatest Place on Earth 2003’ down the handle. You grab onto the edge of the mug tucked far into the back; light blue in color, soft undertones along the bottom. It’s painted like the waves of the ocean. It reminds you of him.

Bucky doesn’t say anything as you grab a second teabag from your wooden box and drop it in the mug, or as you fill the cup with the steaming water. You set it at the edge of the counter, eyeing him carefully as he remains still in his stance. One foot in, one foot at the exit.

“There’s sugar and milk if you want some,” you offer but Bucky shakes his head.

“No, no, this is just fine,” he says, voice a little uneven, almost as if he’s surprised by the gesture.

He steps forward, out of the shadows of the hallway and lets the soft lights of the lamp at the couch’s end touch his skin. They illuminate over messy hair, a few strands out of place, creases in his cheeks from pillow cases, the way he sways side to side in his stance. Nervous energy for a man with precision behind a barrel unlike anyone you’d ever seen.

He takes the mug, testing the heat of the surface, before he pulls it between his hands. You busy yourself with your own tea, taking a sip as you watch him bring it the mug to his lips. He pauses, smelling the hot water and you’re almost certain you see his cheek twitch. Ever so slightly, gone in an instant, but a remnant of a smile remains.

“I’ll be at the gym by nine tomorrow morning if you want to join me,” you say as you head towards the hallway. “I’ve seen your left hook and I could use some help on my stance.”

Bucky swallows back scalding hot tea like it’s nothing, his shoulders pushing up by his ears, startled by your request and it makes you laugh a bit. He chokes out a short nod, flustered perhaps judging by the pink in his cheeks. 

You smile back at him, pausing at the doorframe to look at him one last time as he leans against the kitchen sink.

The smell of peppermint lingers in your wake.

***

You sit on the couch in the living room with your feet kicked up on the ottoman, book resting in your lap and a warm cup of tea nestled in your right hand. Its leans onto your chest as the steam of a sweet, woody scent of green tea filters through the air. 

Fresh off of a month-long surveillance mission in Chechnya, your body is sore from long nights in cramped cars and your mind a little disengaged from hours staring out at a single window through the short end of binoculars.

Natasha sits quietly at the kitchen table behind you, flipping through the files spread out amongst the surface in organized chaos. The soft hum of a playlist on the overhead speakers drown out the grunts of Steve and Sam sparring down the hall in the training room.

You smile as you hear the shuffle of footsteps at the edge of the room, feet dragging purposefully along the tile. You don’t have to look up to know who is it, but you do wonder when Bucky decided to start dragging his feet to alert you to his presence.

He used to be impossibly quiet in his steps, like he was hunting prey even with his defenses down as much as he would allow them. He's snuck up on you a few times before without meaning to, his voice in greeting startling you enough to drop a mug of scalding tea from your hands and onto your exposed thighs and the tile below. If you think hard enough about it, you’d realize it was that moment, as he scrambled to dry your skin of the hot water, frantic apologies under his breath, as he knelt into the broken shards of your mug, that his steps became louder when he approached.

He hasn’t been able to sneak up on you since.

“Hey,” he says quietly from the edge of the room.

You smile to yourself, eyes still on the lines of the novel though you haven’t looked up at him yet. “Hey.”

“Smells good.”

You nod, taking in a heavy whiff of the steeping tea. “Wanna try?”

Bucky sits down on the couch beside you, a full cushion as a barrier between, but you don’t mind. He’s slow to warm up, cautious with even the people he trusts most, and you have no interest in pushing him beyond his boundaries. He sits rigid on the couch, stiff, though you can tell he’s trying to relax. He's fighting with his muscles and arguing with his mind.

“Here,” you offer, extending the mug to him.

He stares at you, blue eyes flickering from the tea and back to your face suspiciously.

“I haven’t poisoned it, Bucky,” you tease, pulling it back to your lips and taking a sip in proof. You sigh as it passed down your chest, warming you from the inside. It doesn’t slip your notice that Bucky’s eyes linger on your lips long after you’ve extended the mug back to him.

“If it’s a germ thing, I can make you a fresh cup,” you offer, laughing a bit under your breath.

“No, uh, thank you,” Bucky musters out and slowly takes the mug from your hands.

You nod and quickly return to your book, though you keep an eye on him in the reflection of the television screen. He studies the mug for a moment, looking over the slightly uneven edges of the ceramic, the speckles of golden flakes mixed amongst the brush strokes.

“Did you make this?”

“Steeped it myself,” you chuckle. “Strenuous work.”

Bucky laughs at that, though it’s muffled a bit, restricted, but it’s still there, still light and airy and incredibly beautiful.

“The mug,” he clarifies as he holds it up. “Did you make the mug?”

“Hey, even an Avenger need a hobby, right?” you shrug, albeit a little embarrassed. The walls of the mug are uneven, the painting done under dim lighting after hours as the little ceramics shop would have been swarmed with fans if not for the kindness of the owner who let you stay late into the evening. “I know it’s not very good--”

“I like it.”

Bucky smiles softly as he nods at you, examining the mug further. He traces over the handle that’s slightly too small for his grip, the edges that sway up and down like waves, the dot of red paint at the bottom that accidentally made its way onto the surface.

He takes a sip and you watch as his whole body seems to sigh in response. Muscles easing, tension leaving him. It’s a respite.

When he hands the mug back to you, you expect him to leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he stays quietly with you, sitting contently as he picks up a newspaper from the end table and you resume your place in your book. Perfectly quiet. Comfortable.

***

“Will you just take the medicine... please?”

“I’m an Avenger, Bucky, I can fight off the common cold.”

“You can barely breathe on your own. I might call for an ambulance. It's starting to look dire. Life or death kind of situation.”

“Oh, shut up,” you laugh, swatting his hands away as you quickly move to cover your mouth as another coughing fit takes over. It burns deep into your lungs, aches hard in your chest, makes it quite hard to catch your breath again, but you feel a soft touch on your back; gentle, soothing circles of a flat hand pressed to your spine, and you manage to find air again.

You wipe your lips as he pulls back. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” he says with a soft smile, waving you off.

“I could get you sick. You should’ve had me quarantined like everyone else.”

“Aren’t you dramatic today?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can't get sick with this serum running in my veins, you know that. Besides, no one’s quarantining you. They’re just--”

“--avoiding me like the plague?”

Bucky grimaces. “Yeah, maybe.”

You smile tiredly at him, heat a little fuzzy, vision a little tunneled, but you enjoy the way he smiles back at you. He has such a nice smile, pretty, to the point where it’s almost unfair. It curves up into his cheeks, creating lines around and under his eyes, bright and cheery and you almost forget he’s also a ghost story of an assassin with the sharpshooting range more precise than a drone.

Before you can realize what you’re doing, under the haze of a clouded mind, your hand reaches out and touches his cheek. He freezes under your touch, surprised more than anything else, and he watches with wide eyes as you dreamily trace the lines in his face, the curve of his jaw and the tip of his nose. Your head feels a little fuzzy and your eye lids flutter heavily, just as Bucky begins to smile again.

“Take the meds, doll,” Bucky asks again sweetly. He slowly pries your hand from his face and sets two red pills in your left hand, a glass of water in your right. He guides your hand with the medication up towards your mouth. “Please? I miss my training partner. Can’t spare with someone who’s half dead in the living room from a stuffy nose and I refuse to go back to Wilson.”

“Okay, okay,” you grumble playfully, quickly swallowing the medication and chasing it with the water.

The couch dips slightly as Bucky gets up, jogging over to the kitchen. The whistle of the kettle is muffled in your ears, like it’s distant and behind several walls and closed doors. You stretch your jaw, trying to pop away the barrier, but it’s of no use.

You watch silently as Bucky scrambles around the kitchen, a little flustered for his frame, and you can’t help the smile that pushes at your cheeks.

“Top right,” you tell him, pointing to the cabinet over his shoulder.

He sighs, shakes his head, and sure enough, the mugs are in the cabinet on his right. He pulls down two from the shelf. For you, the one with the tiny cartoon dinosaur on the front dressed in an Iron Man suit, and for himself, he grabs the one you made months prior, with the uneven edges and the red paint stain on the side.

Then, he starts in search of the wooden box and you give him a minute of pulling open every drawer he can find until you tell him, “behind the bread bin on the counter.”

"Oh, of course. Makes perfect sense,” Bucky teases and flips through the packets inside.

He purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, clearly in search of something specific. His whole face lights up as he grabs what he’s in search of and quickly rips open the packets and sets them inside the mugs. He pours the hot water and carefully blows on the surface of the mugs, the steam pushing out in front of him as he sighs.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he says as he makes his way back to you, setting the mug on the arm rest of the couch to give you enough leverage to grab the handle. You smile up at him appreciatively as he takes his seat next to you.

Bringing the mug to your lips, you take in a deep breath – or, as much as you able to give the swarm of congestion in your head.

Spiced and warm. Peppery sharp. Lemon and ginger.

“Bucky Barnes, did you use google for me?”

He chuckles nervously as his hand rakes through his hair, pushing it from his eyes only for it to fall back to place again. “It, uh, it said ginger tea is supposed to be good for you when you’re sick, so I thought, uh, it thought it would help.”

You struggle to contain your grin, hiding it behind the mug as you take a sip. You can already feel your sinuses beginning to clear.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thanks, Buck.”

He nods a little sheepishly, fluster burning warm in his cheeks, but he meets your eyes; the perfect wave of blues and greys, a gentle ocean amongst a sweeping current.

***

When you wake with a harsh gasp in your throat, a sharp yank of reality away from your dreams, the piercing sound of screams echoing down the hall, it’s not the first time.

You know the routine well by now, know that Steve will meet you in the hallway by Bucky's door where the screams only seem to get louder with every passing second and he’ll ask you gently to go back to your room, remind you that he’s got this and Bucky will be alright. He always is, Steve tells you, but it doesn’t lessen the heartbreak of hearing the cracks in Bucky’s voice, the sudden whimpers, the shattering silence that follows as he wakes.

The two of you will skirt around things in the morning as you always do. Bucky will stumble out of his room with dark circles under his eyes, a drag in his feet, shoulders slumped as he slides into a chair by the kitchen. He’ll sit silently as you pour him an herbal tea from your box, never something with caffeine because he’s got enough energy in his veins as they come out in tremors in his hand and bouncing in his knee. Sometimes you give him raspberry, sometimes apple caramel, sometimes peach, and he’ll nod without looking at you, pull the mug close to his face and hold the steam to his lips until it goes cold.

Those mornings frighten you because it takes him back to Bucky you knew in the beginning, before he’d learned to smile and laugh again, before he became a permanent fixture in your life, one you were unwilling to live without.

So as your feet carry you down the hall, skirting around the corner and chasing after the screams, you realize Steve won’t be there waiting. He’s out on a mission with Sam in Ukraine for the next few days. There’s no one else on this floor. It’s just you.

You, Bucky, and the monsters in his dreams.

You freeze at the edge of his door, hand gripped tight to the handle, but you can’t move. 

You’re made of marble and stone because even though you and Bucky had come miles since he first came to the tower, you’ve never seen him like this; scared, begging to invisible forces, voice breaking, crying. You haven’t seen him at his lowest and you don’t know if he’ll resent you opening this door, if he’ll be angry with you for breaking that wall of trust, for intruding on something so vulnerable he doesn’t share with anyone but Steve.

But when a scream leaves his lips again, one so broken and distorted it jars itself straight through to your heart like the serrated edge of a blade, you shove your way inside, pushing consequences to the morning.

Bucky lays amongst a mess of sheets, damp with sweat as his hands curl into the fabric, teeth gritted, chest heavy with labored breaths. His eyes are closed shut, painfully so, and you try to ignore the drip of sweat down his exposed chest, how it falls along the lines of his muscles, because he’s thrashing in his sleep like something is holding him down, chocking him, and there’s tears in your eyes as you rush forward.

“Bucky,” you call far too gently. “Bucky, wake up.”

You don’t know what to do. Steve is the one who usually wakes him and you don’t have the kind of strength he does. You don’t know what laying a hand to Bucky’s shoulder will do, if the touch will ground him or shock him to a dream like state, pull him from his nightmares or throw him back to the clutches of the soldier.

But you have to try.

You can’t listen to him beg through bated breaths, “stop, stop please-- don’t! Please, someone help--”

“I’ve got you,” you say a little louder. “You’re okay, Buck. You’re not alone. You’re safe, alright? But you’ve gotta wake up now. Please, Bucky. Wake up.”

You set a hand on his forearm and he jolts up in an instant. You stumble back a few paces in shock, heart beating like thunder in your chest as you hit the sharp edge of his dress to your spine. Hands clutched tight to your chest, afraid you might have to fight him to bring him back, but Bucky remains still. He’s panting, chest heaving as hair falls down into his eyes.

You decide to test the waters.

“Bucky?”

He flinches violently, a sharp intake of breath, though he doesn’t turn to look at you. His hands dig deeper into the sheets in search of a respite he will not find and it nearly breaks your heart in two.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice rough and used. He can’t bear to look at you. “I thought it was under control. I—I told Steve it was okay for him to go. You shouldn’t-- You shouldn’t have to--”

“Do you want some tea?”

The words tumble out faster than you can process them. It feels like the wrong thing to say, especially with that look on his face, the guilt and shame seeping through beautifully soft and kind features, but you know his heart is racing a hundred miles a minute. Judging by the tension in his back, he’s stiff as a board, too.

You step forward as he slowly turns to look at you. There's confusion mixed in with the undeserving shame, but it’s a start at least, you think. A couple cautious more steps closer to the bed and you’re standing right next to him, hovering above him as he bends his legs and wipes his brow of sweat with the edge of the sheet.

“It usually helps me calm down at night,” you offer slowly, as gently as you can manage. “I, uh, I get nightmares, too, sometimes. Not quite as loud as yours but...”

Bucky nods in understanding. He’s heard you pacing in your room in the dead of night when sleep evades him as it often does. He’s seen when you trudge out from your room in the early hours of the morning with the kind of look in your eye that reminds him too much of himself.

“It’ll only take a second,” you say, nodding to yourself as you try to calculate the time it would take to boil the water and ready the mugs. “I’ll be right back.”

You move to take a step back but there’s a tug on your wrist. You pause, glancing down to find Bucky’s hand circling at your arm, holding you steady, though his stare remains glued to the sheets.

“Don’t go.” 

It comes out in a whimper, a low break in his voice, and your heart plummets down to your stomach.

“I’ll come right back. I promise,” you ease him, stepping closer again, though you notice he doesn’t release your hand. It’s not painful, but it’s firm. He’s holding on for dear life.

“Please,” he whispers and this time, as he looks up with you, you’re met with tears in the blue of his eyes. It cracks your resolve in an instant.

“Okay. Will you come with me?”

Bucky swallows thickly, holding your gaze for a moment before he eventually nods. The sheets are thrown from his legs and you realize he sleeps only in his boxers. The realization seems to hit him just as quick.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, “just, um, just let me--”

You step back as he releases your hand and slowly stands at the edge of the bed. He grabs his pajama pants from the floor and quickly step into them with a heated blush on his cheeks. It makes you painfully aware of the mess of an old, ratted t-shirt and shorts you sleep in, though you push it aside quickly because Bucky’s eyes have fallen to the ground and you don’t want him to retreat within himself. Not again.

“Come on.”

You extend your hand for him, waiting patiently as he stares at it for a moment. It’s an intimate gesture, more contact than you’ve had with him, but you know despite his aversion to touch, he craves it unlike anything else. He’s vulnerable right now and you hope he’ll take the anchor as you throw it to him.

When his hand does mold to yours, it fits perfectly, exactly where he’s supposed to be and you can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever let you do this again. You squeeze his hand softly as he finds an even pace at your side and you lead him to the kitchen.

He lets go of your hand to give you enough space to prepare the water, but he’s never far from reach. When you glance back at him, you find a strange mixture of fear and something you can't quite place in his eyes. It isn’t until you catch him surveying the room, the adjoining hallways, the flinches at the slightest settling of the tower, that you realize he’s on guard. It’s like he’s protecting you.

“Take a seat, Buck,” you ask of him gently, nodding to the chair at the kitchen table. “Try and relax for me. Deep breaths, okay?”

He follows your gaze, hesitantly glancing over the area, always on alert, before he turns back to you. There’s a resistance in his movement as he takes his first steps away from you, but he holds your gaze, holds the softness of your smile as long as he can, while he slumps down into the chair. It’s too far away from you, but he manages.

The kettle boils quickly and you slip two bags of tea into the mugs. Hot water in next, you drizzle an ounce of thick amber on top, swirling it around with the heal of a spoon. The smell of earthy apples and sweet nectar.

Honey and chamomile.

When you make your way over to the table to join him, Bucky is slouched down in his seat, dark circles heavy under his eyes, though he forces out a strained smile as you slide in next to him. You drag a chair up as close to his as you can, your shoulders bumping somewhat as you set the mug in front of him.

“Drink,” you tell him. “It will help you fall back asleep.”

“I can’t go back to sleep after that. I never do after... you know,” he mumbles, shaking his head, though he does take in a heavy inhale of the sweet aroma of steam.

“You’re telling me my teas won’t cure all of life’s problems?” you scoff playfully. “Blasphemy.”

It steals a smile from his lips, curving up ever so slightly into his cheeks though you can see his body fighting against it. You set a hand on his forearm, one that comes in comfort by stark contrast of the way he used to flinch out of your touch. With a slight squeeze, you draw his attention back to you, the blue of his eyes overcast into deep navy, lids falling heavy with sleep despite the race of his heart.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” you say slowly. “You don’t have to say a thing. Just let me help you, alright? Drink the tea, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

He nods, a slight ghost of a laugh in his exhale. “Okay.”

You smile triumphantly as you pull your own mug to your hands, warmth spreading into your palms and you take a sip. It stings on your tongue a bit, too hot, but it feels nice as it travels down into your chest, warms you from the inside out.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, the only sounds between you coming from the muffled purr of the furnace and the contented sighs as the tea touches your lips. Bucky’s shoulders start to relax as he his mug nears empty, his body swaying in his seat and you can practically see the exhaustion nestled in his bones.

You swig back the last sip in your own mug and set it on the table, a task you’ll deal with in the morning as you slowly push Bucky’s mug out of his reach.

“Come on, Buck. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He comes easily as you offer your hand, guiding him away from the sanctuary of the kitchen and back to the room that holds his monsters. The grip on your hand tightens with every step and you rub your free hand down his forearm soothingly, trying to pull the tension away. You can feel the anxiety rushing through his veins, the panic reemerging back to the surface as you cross the threshold into his room.

You know he won’t ask. He won’t dare because he can so often get wrapped up in his own mind, the chamber of burden and isolation, of guilt and shame, and he often forgets how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him.

So, you don’t say a word as you lead him slowly to the bed, releasing his hand as he slides back under the covers. His body is rigid as ice and you can feel his eyes on you, trying to memorize your face for when the darkness takes over and he prepares for you to leave.

It surprises him when your hand slips over his forehead, brushes up into his hair, and you lean down to kiss his temple. The gasp that it pulls from him is muffled, impossibly sweet, and you linger there a moment longer before you pull away.

Bucky stays silent though you can see the question burning behind the blue of his eyes.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

There isn’t an ounce of hesitancy as you slowly make your way around to the other side of the bed and pull back the covers. The mattress is firmer on this side in its lack of use as your knee dips onto the surface. Bucky is watching you cautiously, stunned, but his muscles start to relax as you settle in next to him.

“This okay?” you ask, just to be sure.

He nods quickly. “Y-yes.”

“Try to get some sleep, alright? I’ll be right here.”

He doesn't say anything, but there’s relief slipping through the tension in his body, pushing out the stones with the gentle flow of a calming stream. You smile at him as you turn onto your side, one hand gently resting on his shoulder, grounding him to the earth, to you.

You close your eyes and hope that he will feel safe enough to follow.

***

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is muffled by the pillow and you turn to find stars still littering the night sky. You don’t know how much time has passed, how long he’s been lying there in the prolonged silence, churning thoughts racing through his mind, so you turn onto your stomach, prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

“You wanna go to the tea shop in Brooklyn with me tomorrow?”

You narrow your eyes, confused why he’s asking you near – you check the clock by his bedside – three in the morning. His stare is trained up at the ceiling for a moment before he turns to look at you, ocean blue littered with nerves, a new kind of vulnerability you haven’t seen in him before.

“Of course, Buck. Whatever you--”

“As a date, I mean.”

It catches you off guard, wakes you quickly. Tongue tied and throat dry.

Bucky swallows nervously and you can tell that he’s been working himself up to asking you in the hour or so that he’s been lying here awake as you curled up next to him. There are dozens of excuses brewing in the back of his mind, ways to play this off as a joke or anything but what he wants it to be in a way to preserve the friendship between you, but before he can start the waterfall of backtracking, a smile curves up along your lips.

“That sounds really nice.”

He smiles back at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, good.” He nods to himself, settling back into the mattress with the widest grin you’d seen on him in ages. It wrinkles up into his eyes, brightens across his face bright and cheery, sits in startling contrast to the way you’d found him just hours before. You like seeing him this happy. You like being the cause of it even more.

“Will you go to sleep now?” you tease him, nudging at his shoulder enough to pull a laugh from his chest.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. Don’t want you half asleep on our date.” It twists pleasantly in your stomach as you say it, butterflies and goosebumps and you bite back the smile pushing high up into your cheeks.

“Can’t have that,” he replies, chuckling to himself and it doesn’t slip your notice how his smile seems to widen as you say the word, too. Date.

You slide back down onto the mattress, trying to find your comfortable position again when Bucky extends his arm. There’s a short pause as he waits, staring up at the ceiling, and you realize what he’s offering. Without a second thought, like you’re coming home, you scoot your body closer to him, rest your head on his shoulder as his arm curls around your back, holding you securely against him.

The soft thumping of his heart beats gently under your ear, your hand resting against his ribs, tracing lines that leave shivers in their wake. He traces patterns onto your back, his eyes slowly fluttering shut until the movement stops and he falls into the warm embrace of sleep.

You sigh, content in his even breaths, the slow pace of his heart, the muffles snores. Hugging him close, holding him in your arms where he’s always belonged. You fall asleep wrapped in the scent of honey and chamomile.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[applejongho]

cherry on top | choi jongho

genre: fluff, realistic fiction, humor

character: starbucks employee!jongho

description: Jongho has an interesting run-in with a Karen during his shift at Starbucks.

word count: 2k

warnings: mild swearing

author’s note: jongho as a coffee barista was swimming in my mind for quite some time, so here he is. 

masterlist here!

There was something about that coffee stain on Jongho's employee shirt that made it impossible to get rid of. It was likely the mix of the ingredients that had stacked the receipt when it was printed, but Jongho couldn't help but feel she had somehow planned this as he scrubbed harder with bleach.

Jongho wouldn't have guessed the day to turn out as it did, but maybe he should have. Working with the public was always a gamble, but Jongho's optimism blinded him. Most customers were nice enough. Most customers gave a smile when he handed them their overpriced coffee. There weren't too many comments about his red and black hair, and he could shrug off all of them. The compliments were what he remembered.

The day started off normally - with Jongho's coworkers nudging him towards the mound of bagged coffee beans. "I could do it myself, but you just do it quicker, you know?" One of his coworkers had whined, twirling a piece of curly hair around her finger. "It" was picking up the bags of coffee beans to put into the grinder, and Jongho didn't mind it.  As he slung a bag over his shoulder with ease and glanced at her, he could swear her face flushed. Perhaps it was just the sun. The sun hit her face like that when he broke apples in half with his bare hands too. It was strange how the universe liked her like that.

After his bean tasks, Jongho took to the drive-thru of the coffee shop. He was told he had a nice voice, but he doubted he sounded that heavenly through a cheap speaker that hadn't been changed for five years. Nonetheless, Jongho enjoyed doing the drive-thru and taking orders. When there were multiple drive-thru lanes open, he would challenge his coworkers to see who could get through orders the fastest. This caused him and his coworkers to resent vans - vans almost always meant there was a large order - a sure loss, unless Jongho's fingers could learn to dance very quickly on the ordering screen.

Taking orders via the drive thru took up his morning, and then he was released for his lunch break. His coworkers had become accustomed to bringing him apples for the sole purpose of him to break them. He didn't mind, and it allowed him to be more comfortable with his coworkers because he could sometimes be shy. "Is that why part of your hair is red?" A coworker had asked him one day after he had broken multiple apples in a row. Jongho shook his head.

"No. Just red," he shrugged, ignoring his coworker's eyebrow raise. "I just like the color red." He thought he looked good with it.

But not everyone agreed - there were some customers that liked to point it out, like he had never seen himself in a reflection before. "You missed the roots," an older woman had told him at the register and gestured to his hair. Jongho added fifty cents to her order.

But for this day in particular, his hair was the reason for his downfall. For the latter half of the day, Jongho would be at the register. He yearned to be in the bar making drinks because it could become so mindless at points, but he was placed in front of the register before he could say anything. He assumed it was because he was the longest working employee out of the staff today, and Jongho vaguely remembered a newbie was working with him. He guessed the manager didn't want them at the register. The register wasn't much different than the drive thru, but there was something about actually seeing the customer or touching their cash or credit card that made it not enjoyable for Jongho.

About an hour into working at the register, Karen walked in. Jongho saw her and his stomach dropped. She looked exactly like a Karen should look: bobbed blonde hair with caramel highlights that were too dark, opaque and round sunglasses, an obnoxiously pink phone case, and a tacky red American flag shirt that said something about how America was blessed. Jongho knew he shouldn't judge people so quickly, but he had dealt with this breed of women before. He had to brace himself for the worst and the unexpected.

"Hello, ma'am," he said cheerfully when Karen got to the front of the line. Her dark sunglasses obscured her eyes, but she was clearly paying attention to her phone instead of him. She suddenly realized she was in Starbucks and lifted up her glasses. She took one look at Jongho's name tag.

"Hello, John," she said, and Jongho had to bite his tongue to keep from making a noise.

"Jongho," he said.

"John," she continued, and listed off her order, Jongho begrudgingly typing it in as she spoke. It's not that hard of a name, he thought to himself as he kept typing. Why was Karen's order so long? Jongho kept translating her vegan, dairy-free, blood-of-firstborn, extra-expresso venti iced coffee into the system until she stopped talking, and even then she wasn't done.

"So is everyone your age just dying their hair like that?" Karen said without prologue. "I'd never let my kid dye their hair like that. It's so unprofessional."

"Thank you," Jongho said, dodging the question and not wanting to provoke her. He hoped his cheeks weren't also red. "Here's your total. Cash or credit?"

Karen pulled out her purse, but not without clicking her tongue in annoyance. "You all really should lower the prices. It's too damn expensive."

Then make your own, Jongho wanted to reply, but he held his tongue. "I wish I could," he said with a smile. Karen frowned in return, and, without warning, dumped her entire coin bag onto the counter. Jongho yelped and scrambled to keep flying pennies and quarters from rolling off of the counter. In the corner of his eye, a coworker ogled Karen.

"I used the bills to buy my groceries, so I'll pay in coins," Karen yawned while Jongho threw himself onto the floor to make sure no coins had reached there. He got up, plastering on a fake smile. He hadn't had a customer like this in a long time, but if he could just get through her, everything would be okay. He reached for her quarters first and began counting dollars. He knew for a fact that his manager wouldn't have tolerated this kind of behavior from a customer, but Jongho knew he could be too soft at times. Besides, her jangling keys on her wrist glimmered and showed off their sharpness. He swore he saw her teeth glimmer as well.

"Hurry up," Karen said after a few seconds. "Count faster."

Jongho considered shoving pennies into her eyes. "Certainly," he said, and tried to pick up his pace. He could feel her eyes burning on his neck as he shoved the change into the cash register. He pushed her receipt over to her and eagerly began with the customer behind her, glad to be ridden of her.

But his escape was short lived. He heard a whine from the corner of the store and knew it was the Karen immediately. He was currently helping out a different customer, but there was no one else in line behind them. He'd deal with it after the customer if things escalated with Karen.

"Are you sure you made this correctly?" Karen snarled at Jongho's coworker, her nostrils flailing. The coworker looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. "This doesn't taste like how it usually does. Make it again."

Jongho wouldn't have done anything - customers asked for drinks to be remade frequently. But this was Karen, and upon further inspection, this was the new employee that his manager had talked about. He couldn't leave her hanging, it would be rude as an older and more experienced employee. Jongho finished ringing up the final customer and went over to Karen and the other coworker.

"Cherry head," Karen growled, and Jongho only raised his eyebrows. That was a new one.

"I'll make a new one, ma'am, sorry," he said, taking the drink from her. "I'm sure you were fine," he muttered to the worried coworker and was pleased to see her smile.

Iced coffee wasn't difficult, and with the lack of new customers Jongho took the time to make sure the drink was entirely accurate. It's not that she deserved a drink, it's that he wanted her out of the store as soon as possible. He even had the temperature right, and gave it a perfect dairy-free whipped cream swirl at the top before handing it back to her.

Karen ogled the drink for a moment, looking back and forth at the cup and Jongho. Then she threw the drink at him.

The whipped cream top hit Jongho square in the face and he could taste it. Then came the slow and cold trickle of the coffee down his apron and shirt underneath, and at that moment, he was so glad she hadn't ordered anything hot.

"I said I didn't want whipped cream!" Karen bellowed, but Jongho's choir practice had made him desensitized to loud vocals. He wiped the whipped cream from his face and looked at Karen straight in the eyes.

"Get out," he said coldly. "There's a Dunkin across the parking lot. They can have your coins." He paused for a moment, and then his mouth twitched upward. "My name is John, you can write me up if you want. I don't care."

"I will be," Karen growled, red-faced and clutching her purse at her side like Jongho was going to reach out and nab it. he couldn't believe Karen thought that she was the victim here when Jongho had a new fluffy white beard adorning his face.

"John's right," a third coworker said, coming from behind. He could vaguely hear his laugh under his voice. "We don't tolerate harassment on our employees. You're the one that could end up in trouble."

Karen stared daggers at this new employee, and Jongho was surprised she didn't jump over the counter to tackle him. "Good riddance, I knew Starbucks was going downhill anyway." She gave one last snarl at Jongho, who fluffed up his hair at her glance, before walking out of the Starbucks.

The three employees were silent, and then Jongho felt a towel touch his arm. "Oh my God, Jongho, I'm sorry," the third coworker said.

"I don't think I've ever been drenched quite as much as I am now," he said, accepting the towel. He began to dry himself off as best he could, but he knew his face and clothes were going to be sticky for the remainder of the shift.

"I think there's another apron in the back," the new coworker said, and then scurried off to get it before Jongho could say anything.

"I'm just glad it wasn't her that got absolutely wrecked by coffee," the other coworker murmured. "I think she might have cried."

Jongho nodded, still drying himself off. It was a terrible feeling, the coffee all over his skin and clothes, but now that she was gone, he couldn't help but smile. It was comical, how insane the public could be. "I hope John gets hell for what he did," he smiled.

"Absolutely," the coworker agreed, laughing. The new coworker arrived back with the apron, which Jongho gratefully took.

"Give me a minute to clean up," he told the both of them before going to the back to inspect the wreckage on his clothes and face. It could have been better, but it also could have been worse. He licked a part of the whipped cream that was near his lips and grimaced at the flavor. Despite it all, Jongho was amused at the situation. It kept him on his toes. It would be a funny story to share at a party. Jongho wrote a note in his phone to re-dye his red tips when he got home. Then, smiling, he returned to work.

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [3/7]

previously here. malex wip based on the trailer for season 3, some spoilers and my own speculation. I’m failing at the daily serial because keeping to 2K is impossible, but hoping to have it finished by next week.

Warnings: NSFW content, not forrest long friendly

*** NOW **** 

Alex shut off the streaming hot water reluctantly, and shifted back on the new shower bench to lean his head against the tile. 

His fingertips were pruned from the long shower, his attempt at using the scalding water to try to wash away the dirt he felt covered in after being away from Roswell for so long. Pointless endeavour, when he knew the filth was more than skin deep at this point. It was in his bones. It was in his blood, the way the Manes name still opened the worst doors. Alex touched the corners of his smile with his hands, looking for the edge of the mask he wore around Deep Sky and finding only the bristle of his beard growing in, a very late five o’clock shadow.

The steam of the shower was slowly fading, bringing back the visual details of his naked body. His stump was slightly swollen, the marks of wearing his prosthesis for too long, but it was hard to feel safe without it on, doing the work he was doing around even more paranoid men than he was. Three years past his injury, the scars were still ugly to his eyes as he cupped his fingers over the end of his right leg, but time had faded the lines from an angry red to a wizened white. 

Alex hoped that time would do the same to his soul. 

He moved his hand from his stump, over to his thighs to stretch the lingering soreness from his legs. He ignored where his cock laid, half-full of blood from the simple pleasure of a hot shower; the desire to let himself feel good was far from his mind. Instead he focused on returning functionality to his body after the long, cramped ride on that bus. That was the physical challenge, the emotional one would be trickier. 

It helped that he knew Michael was still there, in his house, probably fixing something else that had been neglected during Alex’s time away. Finding something that was broken or damaged, and then making it whole just with his touch, that was what Michael did naturally. Alex was no exception to that.

Every muscle was loose finally, thanks to the improved water pressure beating on the knots of tension until they turned into putty. Beyond the simple improvement of the plumbing, Michael had also relocated the shower taps to the wall next to the bench, so he could sit safely and turn on the water without balancing on one foot in the front of the stall. 

New grab bars lined the bathroom walls as well. Alex had worried about the expense until he recognized the chrome and black rails from the boxes he had bought a while ago, before shuttling them off to the garage. Michael had apparently found the abandoned project and had finished it for him. The longer the trips he made away from Roswell were, the more involved the upgrades Michael made in his absence. He would need to prepare a cover story in case Forrest noticed the changes, a renovated bathroom went far beyond changing out bulbs in a light fixture.

He was getting closer to ending the sham relationship with Forrest, but he wasn’t there quite yet. His first night back in Roswell he had managed to steer Forrest away from his house and more importantly, his bed, but that was only a temporary reprieve. Tomorrow it would all begin again, playing the role of a grieving son looking to ‘understand’ his father, docilely following Forrest’s lead in ‘discovering’ the alien threat, letting the other man comfort him, but this time, that would all happen in front of Michael. 

Michael knocked on the half-open bathroom door to get his attention, before stepping inside carrying a bath towel. “Are you still alive in there?”

“I am, but I want to marry this shower,” and you, he finished silently. Michael looked pleased by the comment as he stood outside the glass doors, waiting patiently as Alex pulled himself up from the bench and carefully hopped toward him. As he drew closer, the proud expression changed to one of open hunger as Michael took in his nakedness, cataloging the changes on his body. Downtime while he had been away from Roswell had often been filled with trips to the gym, exercising to work through his frustration at the slow pace of developments regarding Deep Sky. Weight lifting and core training had kept his hands away from his phone when the desire to check in with Michael took hold.

There was only so many times he could pass off a call to Michael about his mail or paying a bill for his house.

Alex held out his hand for the towel, while Michael stared at him, his gaze almost physical as he lingered over the swells of muscle. He snapped his fingers at Michael to break the hypnosis.

At the sound, Michael blinked, but then avoided his hand to wrap the towel around Alex himself. Warmth from the soft linen enveloped Alex, a sign the towel was fresh from the drier. He closed his eyes under Michael’s safe hold, enjoying the blatant pampering as Michael gently patted Alex’s wet skin dry. “I don’t mind sharing you with the shower, especially if it means you’re not wearing clothes,” he murmured in Alex’s ear, nosing the lock of wet hair away.

Shivering under the ghost of Michael’s lips, Alex felt something start to knit and heal inside him, blanketed by more than just the towel. Love. Feeling more like himself, Alex teased Michael back, “You could have joined me.”

“It was tempting, very tempting, but then who would have made dinner if I had taken you up on that offer?” Michael tucked the towel around Alex, and then offered his arm as a support while Alex hopped toward the pile of folded sweats to wear. 

“I have a lot of appetites, Michael, food is barely in the top five. And I can eat later, after you leave,-” Alex held his clothes in his hand, not moving to get dressed just yet. 

“You can, but you won’t eat. As soon as I walk out that door, I know you’re going to park yourself in front of your computer and spend the rest of the night hacking, just like you’ve done nearly every night since this started.” Michael waited with a raised eyebrow for Alex to deny it. 

Caught by both the frustration that Michael was right and by the ticking clock in his head that counted down the end of this precious time together, Alex conceded. He pulled his sweatshirt down over his head grumpily, “I didn’t spend every night hacking.”

“Just the nights when you weren’t with Forrest Long.” Michael said it quietly, turning away to hang up the wet towel. 

Alex tucked his crutches under his arms, before reaching out to catch Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, it doesn’t mean anything, you know that, right? It’s just…friction.” He studied Michael’s face, worried that perhaps his patience with everything was wearing thin. 

Over the last year, as he moved deeper and deeper into the circle of men that made up Deep Sky, Michael had been his lifeline to his real identity. A voice on the line, late at night, warm and beloved, reminding Alex what was important and keeping him grounded. During the day, his resolve had felt less certain. He had forced himself to echo the words of Jesse Manes to curry favor, ducking his reflection in the mirror when the hateful words started to come easier and easier to him. Then there was the feeling he had, when he had to accept Forrest’s offers to visit him in Los Alamos, the way he had felt weirdly relieved to see a familiar face, even if it was someone he couldn’t trust. 

Hearing Michael’s voice led him back to himself, and then little by little, the updates were less mission-related and more personal. It had led them back to each other. By the second month, Michael had stopped dancing around things, admitting to Alex just how much he missed him and by the third month, Alex was slipping away to meet with him at half-way destinations to seal his words with actions.

It was reminiscent of his early days in the Air Force, finding Michael in out-of-the-way places where no one knew them. Back then, Alex had DADT and military physicals to dodge. Michael had to take care in leaving no marks on Alex’s body, while Alex had had no such restriction. Michael would leave those encounters, mauled with love bites and fucked thoroughly, while Alex stayed as pristine as his neatly pressed uniform. Eleven, twelve years on, the need for discretion had changed, from the military to Forrest Long. 

That was the elephant in the room. Alex was still having sex with Forrest, mostly when he couldn’t avoid it with a trip out of town, like when he accompanied Forrest to Deep Sky owned properties. It was just friction, putting his body in motion to do a job, much like he had when he had deployed abroad. He had lost any amount of shame for what he was doing to the other man after the first time, when he had found a detailed write-up about his own visit to the Long Farm that Forrest had filed and sent to the mysterious leader of Deep Sky.

“I know.” Michael replied, his smile weak but real as Alex brought him closer for a slow, thorough kiss. 

Alex inhaled the scent of rain into his nose as Michael melted in his arms and the kiss deepened between them. This was the opposite of friction, as they slid easily together in the doorway of the bathroom, until Alex’s stomach betrayed him thoroughly and growled. Michael broke away with a laugh, and Alex noted with relief that his earlier fragility had completely vanished from his eyes, as he headed toward the kitchen, “Come on, I made you your favorite for dinner, spicy tomato soup.”

“With strips of cheese toast?”

Michael looked offended at the question. “Of course.”

That was proof that Michael had been listening to him closely during their late night conversations, the way the subject migrated from business to the personal, until Alex had flat out whined over how terrible the food was at one of the Deep Sky outfits. “Forget looking for aliens, they should look for a new chef.”  And then they were off and running about comfort food, with Michael sharing his fondness for canned spaghettios, they tasted fine cold. Sharing his own fond memory from childhood of his mother making soup as a rare show of maternal care. Melted cheese dripped over cut up toast, then dipped in the tomato soup.

The clock was still ticking in his head, counting down the end of this brief interlude of happiness. Alex laid back on his couch with a tray of soup on his lap and tried to soak in every minute. The thrill of sharing a meal together, sitting side by side on his couch with the evening news droning on in the background. It was a type of domesticity that he never thought he had wanted until Michael. His thoughts turned away from the wholesome toward the carnal as he watched Michael pucker his lips together to blow on the steaming bowl. 

The food was delicious, but that was a distracting sight for anyone, let alone someone who knew just what Michael’s mouth was capable of doing. 

Michael flashed a wicked smile when he caught Alex staring, picking up his strip of toast to dip in his soup and then licked it indecently clean. The perfect bow of his mouth around his food, his tongue chasing his lips for every drop of spilled soup had Alex shifting on the couch. The production lasted until Michael hit a hot place in his bowl, squeaking in shock, sending Alex into a peal of laughter at the affronted look on his face.

“Fuck, that’s hot!”

“Yes it was.”

“Asshole, I meant the soup!”

Alex laughed long and hard, his head tipped back against the couch, and after a moment, Michael joined him. Tears came to his eyes, the laughter set off each time they looked at each other. There was a point, where Alex realized he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like that, at least not in the last year outside of talking to Michael on the phone. 

It was worth it. All of it. Infiltrating Deep Sky, spending half of his time around people who would cheerfully murder an alien, even using sex to get information, the price was not too steep to pay if it meant he could protect this moment, preserve it and repeat it forever. To see laugh lines around Michael’s mouth, instead of the press of fear, he would fuck the Devil himself if it meant Michael was safe.

He slowly sobered on the couch, his laughter gone at the thought of losing this. Michael placed their empty dishes in the kitchen and then drew Alex’s foot into his lap to rub. “I can practically see the gears turning now. Relax, okay? Watching the clock doesn’t help.”

“I know,” Alex agreed quietly, pressing his foot into Michael’s grip. “I’m feeling a little guilty here, with all this pampering.” 

Michael dug his thumbs into Alex’s instep, drawing a loud groan of appreciation as he worked on releasing the knots of stress. Too much time in combat boots, the calluses were thick and tough under Michael’s hands but he kept rubbing regardless. 

“If that guilt motivates you into taking better care of yourself-”

“I know, I am trying. But what about you?” Alex gestured toward Michael’s face with his own look of judgment, “are you sleeping enough? Eating enough?”

“I’m also trying. It will be better once this is over. Once you get to meet the head of Deep Sky, and hack him, we’ll both sleep better.”

“If it’s ever over. I’m starting to think the leader of Deep Sky is like the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

Instead of pulling on the threads of pessimism, Michael tugged on Alex’s ankle as he crawled closer to him on the couch. As a subject change, it was a welcome one to Alex. Why dwell on the future, it was better to enjoy the present. Michael’s hands smoothed over the soft fleece of the sweatpants, sending a thrill of excitement through Alex. He slipped down on the seat to allow Michael room. 

“Is it okay to pamper you a little more?” Michael asked, his eyes dark as his fingers slipped inside the waistband of Alex’s sweats. He teased at the taut muscles, stroking his fingers over the soft rasp of hair trailing downward. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“When’s the last time someone’s sucked this big dick of yours?”

There was a dark hint of teasing in Michael’s voice, he was daring Alex to say a name. Forrest’s name. It was the type of playful provocation they could use with each other now, safely, the result of their late night phone calls to each other. When time was valued, what was the point of secrets between them? 

Alex licked his lips absently, giving Michael a thorough head to toe look of consideration, before answering honestly, “It was in Santa Fe. At the Silver Saddle Motel. A very hot cowboy sucked me until I was hard, and then rode my dick all night long.” 

Michael blinked, not expecting that answer, but pinked in pleasure. “Oh…well then, you’ve been deprived because that was months ago.” He pulled down on Alex’s sweats, letting the band of elastic tuck neatly under his balls and sat back to admire the view. Alex shifted under his eyes, his cock straining upward as Michael bent his head down. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s a short guy, all of this probably doesn’t fit in his mouth,” Michael commented, wrapping his palm around Alex’s cock firmly.

“Yeah,” Alex gasped, hitching up into Michael’s grip, “small mouth, it’s hard to even kiss, impossible to fuck-” His voice gave out as Michael licked the bead of pre-cum with tip of his tongue before stretching his mouth wide. There was a way that Michael approached cock-sucking that Alex could never get over. The look of hunger and that deep breath he always took, as if he had to hold himself back to keep from gorging himself on Alex’s cock. 

Alex had been deprived. Very deprived.

Slowly Michael slid his lips down on Alex’s cock, taking him deep into his mouth. His tongue, warm and firm, dragged downward. Alex cried out in pleasure, it felt so good, his hips rocking upward imperceptibly as his iron-strong control was rocked by Michael. He kept his eyes trained on Michael’s mouth, the reddening stretch of his lips wrapped tightly around his cock. Michael looked up, catching his eye and then bobbed his mouth downward.

Reaching downward, Alex placed his hand against Michael’s jaw and traced his thumb around the edge of his mouth. “So good, you take me so well, Michael.”

The praise had Michael blinking in pleasure before he redoubled his efforts in sucking. Alex gasped again, sinking deeper into Michael’s throat until his lips were kissing the sparse hair, down to the root. Fuck. He was ready to come already. Worse than the clock sweeping toward the end of the evening, was his body ready to end it now.

“Close, I’m gonna-” Alex warned, his hands going to Michael’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull Michael off of him, or keep Michael in place to feed him his cock in case he backed away as Alex teetered on the edge of orgasm. His grip clutched uselessly on him, but Michael showed no signs of stopping his efforts. 

Kicking at the couch cushion, he lost the fight to hold back, as he felt his cock hit the back of Michael’s throat. There was a tightening around him, throat muscles working hard to swallow, and then Michael wrapped his hand back around the base of Alex’s cock to stroke him in time with his sucking. His free hand gently squeezed Alex, before rubbing a knuckle along the seam of his balls to his perineum. The outside touch against his prostate was enough to have Alex coming hard down Michael’s throat.

God it was so good. Michael knew every place to touch him. He knew to keep his mouth on Alex as he came, swallowing his release sloppily, until come and saliva leaked from his lips. It was over far too fast, but Michael held on until Alex felt the tears of overstimulation burn in his eyes. Slowly Michael softened his lips, letting Alex’s spent cock slip lazily from his messy mouth and then met Alex’s gaze with a knowing glint.

Michael knew exactly how depraved he looked. 

It was too soon to get hard again, but Alex felt the twinge of it as he stared at Michael. His hands were greedy, cupping Michael’s face between them before wiping up the spill from Michael’s lips with his thumb. Two could play at that game, he thought as he brought it to his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Michael swore softly, “Look at you, tasting yourself.”

“I’d rather taste you,” Alex patted the couch he was laying down on and straightened his disheveled sweatpants. “Take off those jeans and wrap those great thighs of yours around my head and let me suck you.”

“Actually, I’d rather take you to bed.”

Alex glanced at the clock behind Michael. It was close to midnight. He knew based on experience that Forrest would be by in the morning with coffee, before Alex was fully awake. It was a transparent way of trying to catch him off guard, to see if Alex would slip up with news about Michael, or any other alien. After every short trip back to Roswell, the other man had made sure to find an excuse to be in Alex’s house. 

“I know I can’t stay, but I don’t want to leave.”

“I never want you to leave either.” Alex chewed on his lower lip, as Michael waited. Sensing his advantage, he tilted his head seductively, spilling his curls over one eye and then made a transparent pleading face at Alex. Laughing, Alex conceded, “Okay, okay, you can stay for a little while. Help me to bed, and set an alarm.”

*** 

[vivianweasley]

Love, George (George Weasley X Reader)

Prompt: This is for @weasleysflowr​‘s 300 writing challenge! “Can I tell you a secret” and “just shut up and kiss me”.

Summary: You have always loved Michael Corner but now he’s getting married and you are the bridesmaid. As cliche as it sounds, you just wanted someone to save you from this mess. Fake dating.

Pairing: George Weasley X Fem!Reader

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst with Michael, alcohol use, mention of underage drinking

Word count: 2K

A/N: Did I just write another unrequited love bridesmaid story? Yes, but this idea is stuck in my mind for a long time. The inspiration is from the first scene of the movie Love, Rosie! GIF is from the movie too and credit goes to whoever owns it. Anyways, hope you guys would like it:)

Please do NOT repost or translate my work on another site without permission! Thank you! Reblogs and comments are always welcome!

You were sitting at Michael Corner’s wedding and your brain was a foggy mess, but you were next to give a toast. The logical side of you told you to look at your notes one last time, but the emotional side of you just wanted to hide in a hole in the ground and pretend like you never existed.

Michael was your best friend. You’ve known each other since the first year at Hogwarts. And like all cliches, you were the person who has always secretly loved their best friend. 

You thought maybe one day he would finally realize that the person meant for him was right beside him. But now he’s getting married and you, his best friend, became the bridesmaid. 

Why were you the bridesmaid? Didn’t the bride have any friends? But you knew, you could complain and make fun of the bride all you want and in the end, she still has everything you’ve ever wanted.

It was your turn to give a toast now. You stood up and cleared your throat, “I’ve known Michael since the first year at Hogwarts. It feels like it was only yesterday that Michael got stuck on the moving stairs and almost missed the first class. Oh, or when the Weasley twins dumped blue paint on him during fourth year. Can’t believe that he’s getting married today. Merlin, I sound like his mum.”

The guests laughed and the Weasley twins cheered at the mention of their prank. You laughed along and continued, “And I should probably say something nice about Michael too. Michael Corner was the funniest, most interesting, and most amazing person I’ve ever known.”

The guests cheered again in agreement and you waited for the waves of cheering to die out, “I just wanted to say that the bride is really lucky. And I wish you guys all the best with all my heart. Congratulations Michael, and I will always love you...” you looked at his eyes one last time, those ocean eyes, “cause we’re best friends.”

The crowd was clapping and cheering, but you couldn’t hear anything. You just sat there, staring blankly at the crowd. This was the end, was it? Before the wedding began, you fantasized about so many scenarios. Like in a soup opera where you would run up there and object. Or like in a romantic comedy where he finally realized that you were the one he has always loved.

But nothing crazy happened in the reality and to be honest, you were glad.

“Y/N, if you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m always here.” Cho was there with you in the restroom. She knew about your crush on Michael and was always there to support you when you prepared for the wedding.

“No, I’m not going to cry.” You sighed, “But I really do hope that maybe, I could suddenly have a tall and handsome boyfriend, and then I could walk out of the wedding feeling less defeated.”

When you two were leaving the restroom, you bumped into a tall man. You looked up and recognized that it was George Weasley.

You became friends with the Weasley twins right after they dumped blue paint on  Michael. You guys would hangout together sometimes and you joined Dumbledore’s Army with them, so you could tell the twins apart. But after they left Hogwarts, you guys barely contacted each other and would probably only see each other at Hogwarts reunion dinners or some old classmates’ weddings.

“George?”

“I’m sorry Y/N, didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But I believe I heard you said that you need a tall and handsome boyfriend?”

You were embarrassed that he heard your silly talk, but you still managed to reply calmly, “Yea, are you gonna introduce me to someone?”

“That someone is standing right in front of you! See, I’m tall,” he raised his hand to emphasize his height, “and I’m handsome!” He winked at you.

“George, I was only joking...”

“Yea, joking. Someone told me I’m quite good at that.” He grinned at you, “I can pretend to be your tall and handsome boyfriend and make Corner jealous!”

You laughed at his remarks, but the reality slapped you in your face. You lowered your head, feeling defeated again, “But he won’t...”

“Well, at least you could still use some fun now. Consider this as a light-hearted prank! ” He cupped your face and lifted your head.

At this moment, you felt like the playful and happy you came back. You turned back to look at Cho. She nodded at you, reassuring you that this idea was not completely dumb, so you finally held out your hand, “Well then, shall we, darling?”

He chuckled and held your hand, “Let’s go, darling!”

Your plan went well. Not long after you left the restrooms, you and George ran into Michael. He looked surprised seeing you holding hands with George, “Y/N, you two?”

Before you could say anything, George answered the question for you, “Y/N is my girlfriend!”

Michael was looking at you now and you couldn’t quite understand his expression. Putting aside all of your unrealistic daydreams and wishful thinking, he was probably just surprised.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Erm....I was busy preparing for your wedding and I just kinda forgot.” Your left hand was tugging nervously on the hem of your dress now, but you were still impressed that you could lie so smoothly even under this kind of situation.

“Yeah Corner, my girlfriend was so busy preparing for your wedding, she didn’t even have enough time for me! You should really thank her mate,” George added.

Now Michael was looking sorry as he said, “I didn’t know...Thank you, Y/N.”

To you, this “Thank you” sounded like the closure for your unrequited love that lasted for years. “It’s alright,” you replied softly.

“I need to go get a drink. Congratulations mate!” George pulled you away before you started to zone out. 

After returning to your table, George just sat on the empty seat next to you. The owner of this seat, Terry was probably already drinking the night away somewhere. You glanced around. Everyone looked so happy, making you a misfit. 

George noticed you were zoning out again, “I’m guessing that you don’t want to stay here anymore. How about we sneak out right now?”

You nodded. Yes please.

He held your hand. You thought he was going to apparate you into somewhere else, but he just held your hand and ran out of the wedding. Just like a muggle movie.

Surrounding the wedding venue was a grassland and some small hills. You and George finally stopped running at the highest hill and something came over you. The presence of George just made you comfortable doing crazy silly things that you usually didn’t have the courage to do. You took off your high heels, “I always wanted to try this.” And without hesitating, you rolled off the hill.

George was probably shocked by your sudden action. But he wasn’t shocked for long, because you soon felt someone rolling off the hill, too.

You didn’t even have the time to stand up or move away as George just landed on you. You looked at each other and started laughing. You were both in formal clothings, but you were also both covered in dirt and grass. This was probably the first time in weeks that you were laughing wholeheartedly, not like back at the wedding, when you could only call what you were doing a mere action of pulling the corners of your lips upwards.

“Aren’t you full of surprises.” George laughed as he gently pushed away the hair and grass on your face.

You were speechless for a moment. You were lying on the grass and George was still on top of you. You stared into his deep brown eyes with the breathtaking starry night sky as the background, and memories from fourth year started to come back.

At that time, the Weasley twins were very popular. Well, they were always popular, but you only got to know them during your fourth year. That year and fifth year were the only two years that Michael wasn’t really occupying your mind.

They were older, Gryffindor beaters, and legendary pranksters. It was impossible for you to not notice them. Especially George. He kept appearing in front of you, asking you if their new pranks ideas could work. You didn’t know when did this happened exactly, but he did eventually claim a place in your heart.

Maybe you were a little bit drunk. Maybe it was because the stars were mesmerizing tonight, but you confessed, “Actually, I have more surprises for you. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Oh yea? What is it?”

“It was a long time ago and it’s quite funny actually, but I had a crush on you back at school.” You were blushing, but you hoped that he couldn’t see it.

“Let me guess, was it the year of the Triwizard Tournament?”

You sat up as you were shocked and he sat up with you. “How did you know?”

He chuckled, “You probably don’t remember much about this, but do you remember the night of the Yule Ball? You were so drunk, but you couldn’t find your friends?”

The memories you thought were long gone began to resurface. Your friend group went to the Yule Ball together that year and Michael was also part of it. You still remembered you telling yourself that technically you could still say that you went to the dance with Michael.

That night, someone sneaked a bottle of firewhisky into the dance and you ended up getting drunk. Your friends were probably wasted too since when you finally regained a tiny sense of conscious, they all disappeared. You searched the hallways, with your arms leaning against the walls, trying to find some support. You called their names, but no one answered.

You remembered now. The last person you could remember from that night was George Weasley.

The loss of memory was making you anxious. You started to pull your hair nervously when you asked, “Merlin, what did I do that night??”

He shrugged, as if it was no big deal, “Not much. You told me that you fancy me and you kissed me.”

Your brain went blank. You did what??

He continued, ignoring how you were losing it right now, “Earlier tonight, I heard you say that Michael was the funniest, most interesting, and most amazing person you’ve ever met? If I remembered correctly, you told me the exact same thing that night. Do you say that to everyone? I’m hurt. Thought my feelings were reciprocated that time. Turns out to be a lie...”

He was still ranting, but you only managed to hear one thing he said. He thought his feelings were reciprocated? Did that mean at that time, he fancied you too? To be honest, if Fred and George didn’t leave Hogwarts that early, maybe the person that you loved for years wouldn’t be Michael anymore. Suddenly, you felt like you just wasted all of these years and all of the heartbreaks.

“So...do you still have feelings for me now?” You felt stupid immediately after your words left your mouth. That was years ago and you were asking about it now?

“Why did you think I wanted to be your fake boyfriend today?”

It was sudden and you still wasn’t sure what you were thinking, but you just kissed him, smashing your lips together.

He was shocked for sure, but soon a smirk appeared on his lips, “What’s with you and all these sudden kisses, Y/L/N?” He then pulled you in and kissed you back. This time properly and with more passion, as if you were both trying to make up for all those lost years.

“So did I actually become your ‘tall and handsome boyfriend’?”

“Maybe, if you could just shut up and kiss me.”

[jamespotterthefirst]

Along the Seashore

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2K Warning: Language Summary: A moment between the two of them in a Miami beach, before they kissed and everything changed forever.   Series: Open Heart from Ethan’s POV

Author’s Note: Sorry that the Miami weekend had to be split into parts. It actually gave me the freedom to write without worrying about the length. 

The glittering turquoise waters of the lagoon combined with the gentle breeze sweeping through his hair made it increasingly difficult to remain in a sullen mood after the Declan Nash debacle only minutes prior. It was even more of a challenge to sulk when Lilac strolled by his side along the white beach, looking so beautiful under the Miami sun that his heart tugged with unwelcome yearning. He stole another glance at her without her notice, watching how tendrils of her wavy hair swirled in the breeze. That and the sun kissed patches along her nose and cheekbones made it damn near impossible for Ethan to look away. By the admiration she attracted from others, Ethan was far from the only one to notice. 

They had made it several meters down the shore when she finally broke their silence. 

“You look hot, Dr. Ramsey.” 

He almost froze midstep. 

“In that sweater,” she clarified. 

Mercifully, he was spared from any type of stammered response when someone whisked him away for conversation. The relief was short-lived when that someone was yet another starstruck colleague, eager to chat his ear off. 

By the time he got away twenty minutes later, the young doctor was nowhere to be found. It wasn't until he scanned his surroundings that he found her, being pulled into an outdoor dance floor of some sort at the foot of a nearby hotel. As Ethan approached, he could see the beefy arm around her, belonging to an overly enthusiastic frat boy.  

“Baila conmigo, mami.” 

“I can't right now, I have work—” 

“Then how about later tonight, hermosa?”

“How about never.”

The gruff, murderous words had escaped Ethan before he could stop them. 

The cheerful frat boy only laughed, raising his palms in defeat. Probably best, for his sake, because Ethan itched to punch him in his squared jaw. 

Lilac, meanwhile, looked mortified as Ethan steered her away.

“Sorry,” she started breathlessly once they had made their way back to the shore. “I know you said this trip was strictly business, but he was so insistent. I wasn’t slacking off or anything—”

Ethan raised a hand to stop her, careful to keep his expression neutral. “Relax, Rookie,” he assured her. “I wasn’t worried about that. I was mostly thinking about you.”

Their eyes met, the true meaning of the words becoming more tangible by the second. Neither the roar of the crashing waves nor the thumping music of the revelry he had pulled her from were enough to mask the tense silence between them. 

“You looked uncomfortable,” he blurted out, his voice an octave higher than it should be. The tiny haze was effectively broken with the words. 

Perhaps she was uncomfortable then, with him, as he gazed at her with barely controlled longing. He clenched his jaw with the effort, certain now more than ever that she could see just how much he wanted her, and had been wanting her for weeks. 

Ethan cleared his throat. “I only meant that even though this is a work trip, you can still enjoy yourself. Particularly when the whole point of being here became moot half an hour ago.” His mind recalled Nash’s triumphant face and Ethan’s fist clenched as a response. 

Lilac offered him a sympathetic smile, placing a warm hand on his forearm and scalding him more than the blazing sun above their heads ever could. It took every ounce of strength Ethan had to avoid glancing at it.

“We will figure something out. The weekend is only starting and every slimy Big Pharma exec has his price.” 

Ethan knew she was correct about the last part and his desperation to save Naveen made him willing to pay whatever that price might be. Regardless, he couldn’t help but smile at her unwavering optimism, particularly when her hand swept his bicep in comforting strokes. The motion was so comforting that Ethan was tempted to lay down his pride and every wall he meticulously built to bring her closer to him. 

With a reinvigorated spark in her green eyes and a smile to match, she said, “What you need, Dr. Ramsey, is a good swim.” 

She nodded toward the crystalline waters glittering like a gem. The taunting smirk she failed to conceal, left him thinking she was determined to get him shirtless. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part. With an embarrassing leap of his pulse, Ethan realized he would willingly do it if she commanded it. 

“Fine,” he acquiesced, earning him an astonished expression. The way her rosy lips parted in surprise then melted into a satisfied smile made her far more irresistible than she had any right to look. That reaction alone was worth agreeing to something he would normally never even consider. 

“Okay. Confession time,” she said with a sharp intake of breath. “I'm not that great of a swimmer.”

Ethan smirked, enjoying the endearing blush on her cheeks. “Then why did you suggest it, Rookie?” 

“Because I didn't think you would agree?” 

He laughed and though she tried to throw him a sharp glare, the corners of her mouth quirked. 

“I'll be fine. I just won't go in that deep.”

Before he could assure her they didn't have to go in at all, she pulled her t-shirt over her head. A furious blush crept up from his neck all the way to the roots of his hair as Ethan hastily averted his eyes. He had not been quick enough, however, because he still caught sight of the smooth expanse of her bare stomach, the delicate muscles pulling taut as she removed her clothing. His eyes also managed to take in the top half of the strappy, neon orange bikini she wore. 

Never in his life did he imagine such an obnoxious color could be so…attractive. 

When at last he forced himself to meet her eyes, she looked back at him expectantly, looking as though she was about to lose the battle against an amused smirk. 

“Are you going in with your cable-knit sweater, Dr. Ramsey?” 

Ethan cut her a humorless glare before he removed the aforementioned sweater and all layers until only his swimming trunks remained. Unlike him, she did not avert her eyes. Instead, Lilac's gaze ascended from his abs to his chest and arms, tracing a path so stirring, it felt as though she was caressing him with strokes of her fingertips. 

Her eyes met his, her expression frustratingly stoic. “We need sunscreen.”

Thankfully, it was the type that she sprayed on. Ethan would have lost all restraint if her hands had rubbed sunscreen over his muscles. When at last they were in the cool water, bodies swaying in the waves, he was able to  slightly relax. 

“You were right,” he informed her, peering down at her. The water reached her neck while barely made it past his chest. 

“I usually am, but about what precisely?” 

“I do feel better.”

He suspected that had little to do with the lull of the ocean or the calming breeze and more with her presence by his side. She gifted him with a smile so radiant, he felt his body gravitate towards hers.

Ethan looked away, searching for change of subject.

“So are you the only person from Southern California who doesn't swim?”

Lilac gave him an unimpressed look. It inspired a chuckle from Ethan. 

“Do you think everyone in SoCal spends their days at the beach, loves In-N-Out, and says 'like' every other word?” 

“Yes.”

Her nose wrinkled in defeat. “Well, you get two out of three.”

“If you start using 'like' excessively, I'll never speak to you again.”

It was her turn to laugh. “You're a terrible liar, Dr. Ramsey,” she proclaimed. “You couldn't go a day without my pain in the ass tendencies annoying the life out of you.”

“Hrm. You're absolutely right, Rookie. I would miss the five shots I have to throw back at the end of the day to repress your antics.”

Her responding laughter was so captivating, all he could do was watch her with a satisfied grin of his own. Lilac opened her mouth and Ethan had no doubt she had a witty retort at the ready. However, she was brashly interrupted by a swelling wave crashing unceremoniously over her head. 

Ethan, being so tall, had easily sidestepped the water. Lilac, significantly shorter, had not been so lucky. 

“Rookie, are you okay?” 

Lilac only sputtered in response, blinking rapidly against the water dripping down her face. Her brown hair, previously immaculate and flowing in the breeze, now lay plastered against her face. Even completely shocked and sopping wet, she still managed to look entirely too adorable. 

Before Ethan could stop it, an unbridled bout of laughter escaped past his throat. Once it was out, ringing around them and earning them quizzical looks from other people, it was impossible to stop. As he laughed—truly, genuinely laughed—a spike of lighthearted warmth shot through him and his stomach muscles began to strain. Ethan could not remember the last time he had laughed so much or so freely. Perhaps not since he was a boy. 

“Are you done?” she asked, completely unamused. 

The question only made his laughter peak even more. It was soon disrupted by an impressive slosh of water against his face and chest, not from a wave but from the vengeful young doctor before him. Completely sobered up, Ethan blinked. 

It was Lilac's turn to laugh, unabashed. 

“Doesn't feel so—”

Her words cut and gave way to a small shriek as Ethan recovered and palmed a small wave of water her way, hitting her square in the face. Lilac retaliated at lightning speed and sent a torrent towards him. 

“I hope you realize what you’ve done, Rookie.” He propelled splash after splash of water with relentless speed. “You started a war.”

“I can take you,” she laughed, shielding her face from the wall of water coming her way. 

Ethan discovered she was correct, proving to be a worthy adversary. It was admirable that someone so much shorter than him could send bursts of water straight for his face. They laughed in unison, the sound teetering on the border of pure giddiness. As the minutes ticked by, their efforts reduced significantly, mostly out of exhaustion.

“Truce?” she breathed out. 

“Not a chance, Rookie,” he returned, not ceasing his movements. 

Lilac laughed, covering her face to no avail. She attempted a cautionary step back, as if distance would deter his attack, but she seemed to stumble, losing her balance. At once, Ethan stopped his movements, diving forward to catch her in his arms before she sank under the water. 

Body pressed close against his, she wrapped her arms around his neck, the movement so natural as though it was second nature. His own arms locked securely around her waist, lifting her slightly off her feet and bringing their bodies even closer together. At this proximity, Ethan was certain she could feel the untamed beating of his heart against his chest. Then again, she could probably see his agony written on his face with how closely she studied him. 

Neither moved to break apart, all traces of previous humor gone. 

“Dr. Ramsey,” she breathed. 

His breath hitched at the low, caress of a whisper. How he wished she would call him Ethan. The mere thought of his name on her lips tugged something loose in his chest. 

The longer they stood like that, in each other’s arms, the harder it became to let her go. Could he let her go? Common sense suggested he should abandon the fantasy of her lips against his, vivid in his mind for weeks now. He should let go of Lilac Allende and keep as much distance as a mentor should have. He should let go… 

And yet… 

“I give up,” he said so quietly that his voice almost got lost in the waves. 

Lilac smiled at that, much to his confusion. “Smart man,” she teased. “I told you I could take you on.”

Ethan released her, her body slowly sliding down his. She was talking about their small water fight, which Ethan had almost forgotten about. 

“Right,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. It was nothing compared to the chaotic uproar in his chest. “We should go back to the hotel. There’s a reception we should start getting for.”

“A reception?” 

“Did I not tell you? It’s a complete waste of time, but we might as well enjoy free drinks on Big Pharma’s dime.” 

They walked back to their hotel in a silence that felt too sacred to break. His mind replayed the memory of Lilac in his arms, her body fitting so perfectly against his, her green eyes studying his face so intently, her lush lips so close to his. 

He could have kissed her. 

Would she have kissed him back?

“Thank you,” Ethan said after a few minutes of peaceful quiet. It was a desperate attempt to stop his mind from veering into dangerous territory. 

Lilac looked at him, confused. 

“For earlier with Nash,” he explained. “But also, thank you for right now.”

“Glad to be of service,” she returned with a mock salute that made him laugh despite his better judgement. The again, judgement had been thrown out the window the minute he decided to bring her to Miami. 

________

Author’s Note: THANK YOU if you read this. The reason I wanted to include this into the Miami weekend was that I’ve been imagining a little scene like this for a while. I’ve been wanting to write it out since before I wrote Lovely and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. Thank you for putting up with my shenanigans. 

The next part is the kiss for sure. I can’t wait to write that :) I was closed to naming it after the actual chapter (Risk and Reward), but I decided to name it after an ABBA song. LMAO!

Thank You @aestheticartwriting​ for your help with this! 

PS: What do you guys think of the new style for the cover moodboard? I wanted to try something new!

_______

Tags: @openheart12 | @ethandaddyramsey | @noboundariesplease | @silverlitskies |  @flyawayboo | @paulfwesley | @hatescapsicum | @myusualnerdyself | @thatysn | @choicesyouplayandmore | @chasingrobbie | @trappedinfandoms | @togetherwearerapture | @nooruleman | @axwalker | @parkerattano | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker | @kaavyaethanramsey | @edith-eggs1 | @choices-lurker | @jens-diamondchoices | @tefigranger | @ethanrcmsey | @coffeebeandragon | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey | @aestheticartwriting | @binny1985 | @mvalentine | @sanchita012 | @drethanramslay | @ramseysno1rookie | @takeharryandgo | @aworldoffandoms | @desmaranj  | @oofchoices | @ethxnrxmsey | @octobereighth | @kopenheart12 | @lilyvalentine​ | @honeyandsunfl0wers​ | @virtualrain202 | @enmchoices​ | @tyrilstouch​ | @rookie-ramsey​ | @humanpokemon​ | @apphia12​ | @kiara-36​ | @eramsey28​ | @whippedforethanramsey​ | @custaroonie​ | @helloblueeyedcat​ | @dr-ramseys-rookie​ | 

@dulceghernandez​ |  @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |  @angela8756

[givelove-always]

I Love Him Not, I Love Him

A/N: Hi! This is my extremely late entry for @bucky-smiles​’ 2K Bollywood Writing Challenge (I’m so sorry for the delay aahhh!)! My prompt was one of my fave songs, Subhanallah from Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani, so that’s what this fic is loosely based on! Also a big thank you to @parkerpetey​ for taking the time to edit this and leave hilarious comments throughout the Google doc, ilysm for that. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: The three times you didn’t accept that you were crushing on Peter, and the one time you did.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 7.3k words

Warnings: None, just tooth-rotting fluff and reader being frustrating :)

Something everyone talked about, yet nobody really talked about, was how being the new student in the school, especially given that it was your senior year, was ridiculously tough.

You had recently moved from Toronto to Queens, and you absolutely despised it. You’d spent three extremely long years at your old school creating a name for yourself, be it through your strong academic scores or your commitment to numerous extracurriculars. You weren’t exactly popular, but were definitely spoken of quite highly if you were brought up in conversation, regardless of whether it was teachers talking or your fellow students. You were on the perfect path to becoming valedictorian of your class.

… Until you were uprooted and brought here. Sure, your dad really pulled all the strings he could to help you secure a spot at Midtown, especially given that it was senior year - it’s hard enough as is to secure a spot in freshman year, what with it being insanely competitive and for genius students and all, and while your grades were stellar, it would’ve still been close to impossible securing a spot - and you really appreciated it, but that didn’t mean that you still didn’t miss your school and your friends back in Toronto.

It felt like everyone was talking about you - who was the new girl? how did she manage to get a spot three years after everyone else? was she genuinely smart, or was there some other way she got in? - but at the same time, it felt like you were invisible. People wanted to know more about the circumstances surrounding you than know more about you as a person.

With every day that you went to school and came back home after unsuccessful attempts at restarting your social life and making friends, your morale was deflating. As much as you tried to push it aside, the pang in your chest was becoming more and more undeniable when you constantly saw people surrounded by their friends, laughing and chatting, while you sat to the side all by yourself.

Even then, it was all bearable. Just one year here, and then you could go make friends in university, where life would practically be a clean slate - a fresh start for everyone. Who knows, maybe you could even go back to Canada to a university where some of your old high school friends would be attending. You kept telling yourself that everything would work itself out, and if it had to be after a year of loneliness, then so be it.

The only thing that still felt terrible were the daily walks to and from school all alone. Back in Toronto, you and your best friend would always text each other in the morning to try and coordinate the time that you’d leave so that you could walk together, chatting each other’s ears off the entire way there. If you had time in the morning, you’d often even stop by the Tim Hortons on the way and get yourselves a little breakfast.

Here in Queens, there were tons of cute little cafés and little convenience stores and such on your way to school, and while you would still often stop by to pick up a quick snack or drink (or even just to say a quick hello to Mr. Delmar, the kind man who owned the little sandwich shop around the corner, and pet his adorable little cat), it never was the same as going with a friend. That constant loneliness started to change though when one day, you left home and arrived at Mr. Delmar’s shop earlier than usual.

one

It had been a long night with very minimal sleep. You were up working on a Physics assignment until almost five in the morning and you knew that if you slept then, you wouldn’t wake up in time for your morning classes. The extremely prominent bags under your eyes stood as proof of your exhaustion and you had no energy to make yourself breakfast, hence your early arrival at Delmar’s.

You sat at a little table by the window observing the street outside. Most people look at the way others are dressed outside as an indication of the weather. You, on the other hand, liked to think of it as more of a personification of the weather. If the chilly November weather were to be a person, they would definitely be one of those speedy walkers roaming the streets in some fuzzy boots and a trench coat.

As you sipped on your hot chocolate and tried to assign a more rounded personality to the November weather for no reason other than trying to wake yourself up, the sound of the bells chiming as someone entered the store caught your attention.

Peter Parker.

He was that really smart kid in your Physics class - the one subject you were struggling in. You knew him from that one time you guys were paired up for a quick chemistry lab, but you didn’t know him know him. You remembered vividly and appreciated how nice he was the whole time - it was difficult to find that over the last few months. Either that, or you just somehow managed to keep getting paired up with the wrong people.

You realized you were staring at him when you saw him facing and waving in your direction.

That was unusual, nobody ever really seemed to acknowledge you.

You turned to see if there was someone behind you he might have been trying to talk to, but very quickly realized that you were seated in the corner when your eyes were met with nothing but the plain white wall. ‘Stupid move,’ you told yourself. ‘How do you just forget that you’re sitting next to a wall?’

Grimacing a little, you turned back to face him and waved at him. You gave him a small smile, which he very politely returned before he went up to place his order.

‘Great, you can’t even greet a person normally. What is wrong with you Y/n? This is why people aren’t trying to befriend you right now, if-’

“Hey, do you mind if I sit down here?” a slightly timid voice interrupted. Your eyes locked with Peter’s as your head shot up.

“Oh! Um, yeah- I mean, no! I mean, no, I don’t mind, go ahead!” you stuttered, feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks.

Peter let out the softest giggle you have ever heard as he sat down, and if you didn’t have such sharp hearing, you were sure you would have missed it.

“How are you? How are things going?” he asked as he set his sandwich onto the table.

“Oh, well, they’re going,” you smiled and shrugged. “This point in the semester’s always a little crazy, but it’s not the worst. How are you doing?”

“Yeah, it does get hectic around this time,” Peter sympathized, scrunching his nose slightly in an effort to show mutual distaste over the stress. “I’m not too bad, just really tired from working on that physics assignment. How’d you find that?”

“Oh my gosh, don’t ask,” you groaned, rolling your head before laying it smack against the table. “I literally cannot physics, it took me forever to complete it, and I’m still not confident about a solid chunk of it.”

Peter let out a laugh at your reaction, the sound falling like music onto your ears. You discreetly peeked up from your position on the table to look at his undoubtedly glowing face, and the image you were met with was nothing short of beautiful. His eyes were scrunched up and his perfect teeth were on full display, cheeks turning redder by the second. The sunlight falling on his brown curls gave them a softer hue and made them look even softer than you’d already imagined them to be. Nobody had ever looked this angelic.

It was a sight you wouldn’t mind getting used to.

‘Wait, what? Why did you just think that? Y/n you barely even know the guy, stop being creepy!’

You pulled yourself out of the trance and slowly sat back up, giggling lightly to avoid making it obvious that you had just been staring - that would be awkward to explain.

“I’m sure you did just fine,” Peter chuckled. “And if anything, physics isn’t my worst subject, so um, if you want, I’d be more than happy to help.”

“That’s very sweet, thank you Peter, I appreciate that more than you realize,” you smiled, picking up your backpack. “I hate to cut this conversation short, but we need to start heading to school soon if we want to get to class on time.”

“It doesn’t have to be cut short!” Peter said abruptly standing up, catching you off-guard a little. “I-I mean, we could walk together if you’d like? No pressure though, it’s totally cool if you don’t-”

“Of course, I’d love that,” you cut him off with a smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Let’s head out?”

“Yeah, just hold on one quick second,” he said as he quickly rushed over to the front of the shop.

Eyebrows furrowed, you followed him, only for your expression to instantly morph into one of awe as you were met with Peter petting Murph, Mr. Delmar’s cat, before he jogged back to where you were standing, a goofy smile adorning his face. “I’m ready now.”

Saying a quick goodbye to Mr. Delmar, the two of you made your way out. You shivered a little as the icy wind hit you. Peter picked up on the way you tried to discreetly rub your hands together, your outfit not doing nearly enough to cope with the sudden sharpness of the atmosphere, but stayed quiet, not knowing if it was appropriate to say something or not.

“So you’re a cat person, eh?”

“I’d say so, yeah. I’m just as much of a dog person too, though. Murph trumps all other animals though - I’ve been seeing him since Mr. Delmar got him, and he’s so adorable,” Peter gushed. “What about you, a dog person or a cat person?”

“Oh, a hundred percent a dog person, though I would make an exception for Murph, he is pretty cute,” you chuckled. “My best friend back in Canada has the sweetest little puppy named Maple and I practically lived at her house for the sole purpose of playing with him. Her uncle would drop off his two poodles occasionally too when he was travelling, and there was no way to get me out of her house when all three puppies came together.”

“Maple? That’s the most Canadian thing I’ve ever heard, I love that!” Peter physically had to stop for a minute because he was bent over letting out what could only be described as a ‘hearty laugh’.

If it were anyone else, you would most certainly be offended - what was so funny about having a pet with a stereotypical Canadian name? - but Peter exuded an aura of kindness and innocence, and despite only having spoken to him for such a short period of time, you knew his intentions were nothing but pure. Also, you had to admit, it was a little comedic how stereotypical the name was.

“Anyway, speaking of Canada,” he spoke through light chuckles once he’d calmed down a little and you both continued walking, “I don’t mean to be intrusive, and you definitely don’t have to answer if you’d rather not, but um, how come you transferred here senior year? Was it hard to get in? How did that work?”

“No no don’t worry, you’re not being intrusive at all, I don’t mind! Basically…” you started your not-so-entertaining story of how you ended up at Midtown, and no matter how many times you stopped yourself to apologize for how “boring” you were being, Peter assured you that you were anything but.

The long walk to school couldn’t have been long enough, because you were at your locker way too quick for your liking. And judging by the way Peter stayed with you as you grabbed your stuff and offered to walk you to class, he felt the same way.

You found yourself beginning to set your alarm for just a little while earlier than usual that day onwards, and morning walks together became more common as the month went on. Sure, you adored your sleep, but having a potential chance to run into Peter and walk to school with him again? It was worth it.

Despite having only briefly known him, there was a sense of comfort that you felt in his presence. He made you feel like you could share anything with him. Everytime he smiled, forget full-fledged laughed, you felt like maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay for you.

To top it all off, it didn’t hurt that he was more than easy on the eyes. Those gorgeous eyes and that cute button-nose, not to mention his beautiful brown curls? You wouldn’t mind signing up for that one bit.

‘Y/n, stop. No. He’s just your friend. He’s just being nice, and you’re just happy you have a friend. You do not see him in that way - there is no chance of anything along those lines happening. You just haven’t had much interaction with people and now you’re playing up a friendship because you have nothing better to do. You do not like him.’

You reminded yourself that every time you caught yourself looking at him for even a moment more than what would be acceptable when you conversed. Peter was a great guy, but you guys were just friends, and you intended on keeping your feelings about him that way.

Besides, the reason you were down to lose some sleep wasn’t just being able to walk into school with Peter. You always had a problem with getting to school just in time to catch the bell, and this gave you an excuse to be more timely.

That’s all it was. A friendship and a way to be more punctual. Not anything more than that.

***** two

“Peter,” you clutched your stomach, loud laughter escaping you, “I’m literally going to pee myself!”

“Y/n, stop entertaining him or he won’t stop making those terrible jokes,” Ned groaned.

Peter had introduced you to his best friends Ned and MJ about three days into your friendship, once you’d gotten the remainder of your paperwork after your transfer completed and could finally sit with the rest of your classmates for lunch, and you’d all instantly clicked.

Here you were, two months later. Colourful lights shining all around you, the sound of squeals and laughter from a multitude of people constantly surrounding you, and a game to play every few steps you took - not to mention the numerous prizes waiting to be won.

Ned has suggested that the four of you go down to the arcade nearby to destress after the exhaustion of your end-of-semester exams, and you all had instantly agreed.

As much fun as you were having playing the different games and winning all those tickets with the people who had grown to be your closest friends, what was absolutely making your day was the way in which Peter would just not stop making hilarious puns and jokes.

“You’re just jealous you’re not as cool or as hot as me,” Peter playfully scoffed and made exaggerated hair-flip movements, grabbing your hand as he dragged a giggling you to the next game. “Come on Y/n, they’ll never know what it’s like to be iconic.”

“Woah Peter, what’s gotten into you today?”

“I’m just happy. I’m a happy boy. A happy boy who’s happy about being at this arcade with his wonderful friends because it’s a happy environment,” he glanced at you over his shoulder as he put in the tokens to play basketball.

You chuckled as you reached out to playfully pull his cheeks. “Well, happy boy, let’s win this thing and win it together. In case you didn’t know, my basketball skills are somewhat impeccable.”

“Y/n, you literally can’t walk five steps without tripping, it’s pretty hard to imagine you being any good at a sport that involves a lot of running,” he sassed.

“Ah, well that right there is the thing - I’m incapable of walking. When it comes to running, I’m a whole other ball game. Basketball game, to be more specific,” you spoke slowly, nodding your head wisely to emphasize your wisdom.

Peter let out a wheeze neither of you had expected, and it sent you both into a fit of laughter. When Ned and MJ made their way over to you a few seconds later, all they saw was the two of you clutching your stomachs, faces red and laughter escaping your throats as though you’d just rewatched another one of those ridiculous ‘5-Minute Crafts’ life hacks.

In the midst of the hysteria, as Peter went to slap his knee, he accidentally slammed the Start button on the game. The ever-so-jolly-yet-ominous-sounding countdown of the machine finally pulling you guys out of your bubble.

“Oh my gosh Peter stand up, it’s starting!” you exclaimed through giggles, smacking his arm repeatedly with the back of your hand to get his attention.

“Oof okay okay, let’s do this thing!” Peter rubbed his palms and cracked his neck, getting in a serious stance and grabbing the first basketball that came through the machine before tossing it straight into the hoop.

“My turn, my turn!” You shoved him with your hip playfully to make room for yourself and get a better angle to shoot.

Ned and MJ, who had been standing close behind and observing this all go down, just looked at each other, heads cocked to the side. Claps and cheers when the other one scored and purposeful bumps into each other every single time you switched, given you guys’ speed and surprising accuracy, were all they could see and hear.

“The two idiots… they really don’t see it, do they?” MJ questioned, looking between the both of you, genuinely puzzled.

Ned groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Dude, I swear I can and will cry right now if they don’t stop playing this ‘you’re just my best friend’ game, I’m so tired of it.”

“Are we gonna say anything to them to make them ‘fess up though?”

“Nah, I kinda wanna watch it play out, as much as it exasperates me,” Ned shrugged.

“Alright Petey boy, you wanna take this jackpot shot or do you want me to?” you looked over at him and asked. “No pressure buddy, but it is an extra five hundred tickets.”

“All yours, m’lady,” he curtly bowed, drawing a laugh from you.

You took your stance, legs slightly spread apart and knees bent just a little, preparing for the big shoot. You grabbed the final basketball, dribbled it on the ground twice, and tossed it, aiming straight for the hoop.

“She shoots,” Peter commentated, watching the ball leave your hands, “and… she scores!”

You let out a squeal and jumped straight into Peter’s arms, giving him the biggest hug you could possibly render. Peter caught you and spun you around, cheering and laughing all the while as the machine spewed out your tickets.

“Okay kids,” MJ called out, pulling you both out of your little moment of euphoria. “Chill for a second and pick up your tickets because I will gladly take them if you don’t want them.”

You chuckled her comment and separated from Peter before quickly walking up to grab the tickets. “Hey, Peter and I worked hard for these, back off,” you playfully pouted, hearing Peter chuckle from beside you.

“Okay okay,” Ned laughed. “MJ and I are done with our tokens, are you guys ready to call it a day and get the prizes too or..?”

“I’m ready to go, Y/n?” Peter asked.

“Yup, I’m done too, let’s go.”

You all made your way over to the corner of the arcade where you could total up your tickets and redeem them for prizes. Despite your constant refusal, Peter not only let you take the entirety of the tickets you both won from the basketball game instead of splitting them, but also gave you all the tickets he’d earned that day so that when combined with yours, you’d be able to get the adorable person-sized teddy bear you were planning on saving up for.

Ned decided to splurge on a number of small prizes, like the classic ginormous plastic sunglasses and little notepads, while MJ got herself a Rubik’s cube and a sticker that said “Caution: Falling Rocks”. Nobody knows why she picked that one in particular - she’d simply shrugged when Peter had asked her about it.

You felt bad that Peter didn’t end up getting anything, but he insisted he was totally cool with it. Something about “not having any more space for obscure things to stuff in my cupboards anyway.”

“Guys, I’m hungry,” you said, bringing the attention to you while you all headed out of the noisy arcade. “Let’s go grab a bite somewhere?”

“Ooh yes, I know this place that’s only like five minutes from here - Ned and I went there like last week. It’s-”

Thud.

Peter never really got to finish that sentence. He was walking backwards, trying to make eye contact with the three of you while relaying his expertise on the restaurants in the area, but the man-child had tripped over his own two feet and landed flat on the ground.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” you all rushed over to him.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he assured you guys as he grabbed Ned’s hand and pulled himself up, dusting off his jeans.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you right then. “Hey Pete, what was that you said earlier about me not being able to walk five steps without tripping?”

“Hey, cut me some slack, okay. MJ’s sticker said ‘falling rocks’ and I was just testing the validity of that statement. Now, with experiential evidence, I can confirm that it is, in fact, false.”

You and Ned burst out laughing at what was probably Peter’s only good joke all afternoon. MJ rolled her eyes, but even she couldn’t stop the smile that took over her face.

You all started to head towards the restaurant Peter suggested, Ned leading the way.

“Hey Y/n?” Peter leaned over.

“Yes?”

“Did you lose an electron? Because you’re positively glowing.”

“Oy smarty-pants, make your own puns, don’t steal them from your t-shirt,” you chuckled, shaking your head. You increased your speed and walked up ahead to where Ned was walking to join him and, hopefully, prevent Peter from the bright red that overtook your features from that one little out-of-nowhere compliment.

You and Ned were joking around about the events of the day and how much fun everything was, and as much as you enjoyed Ned’s company, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander a little.

Why did Peter have such an effect on you? How was he able to make you feel so giddy - all he did was give you one punny compliment and you were blushing? How come this never happens with anybody else?

‘It’s because sometimes you just click with some people more than you do with others. Yeah, that’s what this is. That’s all it is. You just click with him slightly more than you do with the others, and so his compliment is just a little bit more meaningful in that sense,’ you rationalized.

That’s definitely all it was. A strong friendship. Not a crush - definitely not a crush.

***** three

It was the end of senior year, and you were finally in Europe for your long-awaited senior trip that the Midtown teachers had organized for your graduating class.

You’d managed to fall sick on the second day of the trip, but despite the absolute nightmare that all the nausea and headaches had been, it had luckily turned out to only be a 24-hour bug, and you’d been up and running, ready to explore the place by the next morning.

Ned and Peter shared a room while you and MJ shared another, and while the four of you would occasionally hang out in each other’s rooms when you weren’t already out and about, Peter had insisted on practically staying in your room when you were sick so he could take care of you.

You’d pushed them all out of the room to go out and have fun, or even just go sit in the other room so they wouldn’t accidentally contract whatever it was you had.

Peter, though, just would not listen - he kept taking MJ’s keycard and coming in to check up on you, making sure you were hydrated and had everything you needed. You’d woken up the morning after to a number of texts from Peter, scattered at different times throughout the night, telling you that he hoped you were feeling better and reminding you that you could call him if you needed anything, no matter how late or early it was.

You’d made it known to him the next time you saw him how much you appreciated him doing that, but also how you wished he’d have slept without worrying about you so much.

He’d only smiled in response.

Once you’d gotten better - which luckily was by the next afternoon - the four of you would spend time in one hotel room all evening. Watching movies together, having popcorn fights, or just talking, laughing and reminiscing about the year that had flown right by you.

During the day, you would all go out and explore whatever city you were in, making sure to cover all the general tourist attractions and getting tons and tons of pictures with and of each other. MJ had become your unspoken designated photographer, capturing breathtaking candids of you all whenever she got the chance.

Mr. Harrington had mandated that anybody who went out to explore or do something that wasn’t on the itinerary report back to the hotel by sunset so he could keep track of everyone, so you would always make it a point to be in your rooms by then.

Most people stayed out anyway, but not the four of you - you didn’t want to worry the poor man. He worked hard all year too, and he was kind enough to supervise this trip - the least you could all do was ensure that you weren’t burdening him with any added stress.

Occasionally, you would end up getting back to the hotel earlier than others in your group. Sometimes, MJ would want to wander by herself, and Ned would try to approach and converse with Betty, who he found really cute.

Times like that, you and Peter would be the only ones in your respective rooms. The very first time that happened, you both very quickly realized that if you were in that situation, boredom would usually follow very soon.

So the next time onwards, even if none of the others were there, you and Peter would just hang out together in one of your rooms. It didn’t really matter what you were doing - just being in each other’s presence made things fun.

It was guaranteed, though, that obscure things would always happen when it was just the two of you left unsupervised. One time, Ned walked into his and Peter’s shared room only to find you and Peter in the midst of a very soulful rendition of A Whole New World from Aladdin - complete with exaggerated dance moves and hairbrush-microphones. Another time, MJ returned from her walk to a nearby park to you and Peter indulged in a heated discussion about whether pop tarts should be considered a sandwich or ravioli.

The four of you would often stay up until odd hours talking about anything and everything. The later it got, the deeper your topics of conversation would get. They would go from sharing nostalgic memories from your childhoods to passionate conversations about how many pets one could get before they’d be considered too many.

One of those days, when you had a one hundred percent free day because the event on your itinerary got cancelled, MJ and Peter decided they wanted to go visit a museum. Ned brought up that he wanted to go shopping around the city instead, and since you were planning the same, the two of you went out together.

You and Ned decided to hop onto one of those red double-decker buses, because if you’re a tourist in London and don’t get on one of those buses even once, are you really a tourist in London? Since neither of you had anything specific you wanted to shop for or any specific place in mind, you decided to take a random bus and get off wherever you felt would be worth it.

After about fifteen minutes of looking around at the hustling streets, you finally passed through an area that seemed to be filled with a variety of stores, making it the perfect place for some obscure shopping.

You both walked around, entering random stores whenever something in the display caught your eyes and buying random articles of clothing. At one point, you found a really cool thrift store and decided to style each other - the results being surprisingly more wonderful than either of you had expected. You both did an impromptu ramp walk for each other, filling the trial rooms with the sounds of laughter and giggles.

As the evening started to set in and the gorgeous colours started to take over the blue sky, you decided that you should start heading back to the hotel soon. It wasn’t too far from where you were though, considering the fact that a quick fifteen-minute ride would get you back, so you two did have time to stop by one or two more stores quickly if you wanted to.

As you strolled around, looking at the displays to see if there was something you might like, a pretty off-white floral sundress caught your attention. “Ned, can we go in here? I want to try this dress on!” you said as you tapped him excitedly on his shoulder.

He agreed, and as soon as you found the dress and tried it on, you absolutely fell in love with it. It was just the right length for your preference, and fit your body just right. In fact, it would even go perfectly with the adorable cross-body bag you’d picked up earlier in the day. You didn’t have to think twice before heading to the cash register to buy it and officially make it yours.

“Today burned a hole in my pockets, but it was so much fun Y/n, thanks for coming with me,” Ned said as you both got seated on the bus.

“Hey, of course! I had so much fun too! It was so refreshing to, thank you for letting me try on eight thousand different things,” you grinned.

The two of you continued conversing and joking around as the bus slowed down at a stop to let passengers on and off.

“Man, as great as museums are, nothing beats the joy one gets from mindlessly shopping - those two definitely missed out on some hilarious jokes and the best fashion show of the century,” you chuckled, making a reference to your antics back at the thrift store.

Ned laughed, shaking his head.

You relaxed in your seats, just letting the feeling of the wind flowing through your hair encompass you. The slight coolness of the evening breeze was euphoric yet also grounding in a sense, and you wanted to let it consume you for as long as possible.

“Y/n, can I ask you a question?” Ned softly broke the silence.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“You like him, don’t you?” he smirked.

You turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Like who?”

“Come on, don’t act so oblivious,” Ned laughed. “Peter - you like him, right?”

“Uh, yeah, he’s one of my best friends, so I definitely do like him?” You were genuinely confused at this point.

“No Y/n, I mean like like. Like as in more than a friend,” he clarified.

You froze for a split second and the heat rushed quickly to your face for reasons unknown to you. Almost too quickly, you responded, “What? No! Why would you think that?”

Ned rubbed his face, groaning. “Y/n, why are you both so ridiculously oblivious?” He had no clue how both you and Peter, two people so hopelessly crushing on each other, couldn’t see it.

“Wait, what do you mean?” you questioned.

Ned couldn’t stop the knowing smirk that overtook his features at the quizzical look on your face. He wanted to see two of his best friends happy together, but he needed you both to figure out your feelings for each other because it would be unfair of him and MJ to try and get you both together before that happened.

In this moment though, the utter cluelessness in your eyes was absolutely comedic to him.

“Oh, would you look at that, it’s our stop!” he quickly picked up his bags and walked off the bus, leaving a very perplexed you to follow him.

You pestered him to explain what he meant by that the entire way up to your respective rooms, but he wouldn’t do anything but grin. Your split-second panic and silence, combined with the redness of your cheeks as soon as he’d asked you about Peter was confirmation enough for him. He’d lit the spark, the questioning, inside of you, and that was all he felt was appropriate for now. Now, you needed to let it grow into a full flame and come to terms with your feelings.

“Bye Y/n! I’ll see you in a little bit!” he waved at you as he quickly slipped behind his door.

You groaned, stomping back to your room. You tossed your bags to the side and flopped right onto the bed.

‘Why was Ned asking me that? What did he mean by saying Peter and I are ‘oblivious??’ And why did I panic? Is there a chance that I- No, don’t finish that thought. Y/n, Peter’s just your best friend - feelings involved make things messy. You know what though? You don’t have to worry about that, it’s fine, because you don’t have feelings for him anyway. It’s all good. You’re just best friends, it’s nothing more than that, for sure.’

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, and rationalizing whatever supposed “feelings” you had for Peter until you heard MJ swipe her keycard. In walked both Peter and MJ, and you watched as his eyes lit up as soon as he saw you.

You felt your lips curve upwards into a smile, and before you could even realize that your body was moving, you had both engulfed each other in a massive hug.

That was normal though, right? You would hug MJ right after that too - you always hugged your friends. That didn’t mean anything.

Ned was probably just fooling around. Yeah, that’s probably what it was. One of his extended pranks. That explanation made sense.

Either way, you know what your feelings for Peter are: platonic. Absolutely, positively not anything other than that.

***** one

The day you’d been dreading was finally here: the end of your senior trip.

You were in your hotel room, zipping up your suitcase and making sure you had packed all of your belongings.

“I guess this is it, huh?” you squeaked out.

Hotel rooms had become your home for the last almost two months. They were where you and three of the closest people in your life right now spent so much time together, laughing, crying, just enjoying each other’s presence. Now, you were being made to say goodbye to that, and it was too soon for your liking.

“It is, yeah,” MJ gave you a small smile. “Don’t be upset about it though, we’ll all still be together and go out all the time once we’re back.”

“I know, I just…” you sighed. “I just liked this whole ‘no-other-responsibilities-to-tend-to’ version of going out. Time really does fly when you’re having fun.”

MJ placed the last of her clothes in her suitcase and zipped it up. “Well, at least it was fun while it lasted, right?”

You nodded. It was fun while it lasted. Was it insanely tiring walking around every single day because there was always so much to do? One hundred percent. Was your sleep schedule messed up from staying up late hanging out with your friends and waking up early to go grab breakfast and get ready for the day? More than ever before. Would you trade the experience for anything else in the world? Absolutely not.

You did one final sweep of the room to make sure you’d grabbed everything you’d brought in. “Ready to go?” you asked as you placed your suitcase upright on the ground.

“Yup, let’s head downstairs before the bus leaves,” MJ chuckled, shaking her head. “I am so ready to sleep in my own bed again.”

You laughed and grabbed your keycards. MJ placed the remote back on the TV stand and wheeled her luggage out the door and you followed suit, pulling the door shut behind you. Once you double-checked that the door had been locked properly, the two of you headed down to the lobby, where you were supposed to meet the rest of your classmates.

Dropping the keycards off at the front desk, you made your way over to where you could see most of your cohort already gathered.

“Oh good, you’re both here,” Mr. Harrington checked your names off his list. “The only ones left now are Flash and Brad. They’d better come down soon, wouldn’t want to- ah! There they are!” he marched over to where the two boys were.

“Wow, I don’t think I have ever seen him look that relieved. Is it just me or did he get taller?” you heard a voice approaching you.

Peter.

There he was, walking towards you, wearing that blue checkered shirt that looked oh-so-good on him. Something about him today hit you differently. You couldn’t put a finger on what exactly it was, but it was safe to say that you felt your heart skip a beat at how amazing he looked.

“As much as I hate to say it, I agree with you,” MJ joked. “Crazy what lifting some weight off your shoulders can do for you.”

“Crazy how quickly this whole trip is already over,” Ned spoke. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go home yet.”

“Oh hush, just last night you were on the phone telling Betty that you couldn’t wait to take her to the movies once we’re all back in Queens,” Peter quipped, effectively making Ned blush and all of you laugh.

The aura of the lobby was very mixed. On one hand, the atmosphere felt lively as people chatted with their friends about all the fun times they had over the last few weeks, about the constant highs they all felt. On the other hand, there was a certain longing in most people’s eyes, a willingness to hold on to this feeling for just a little longer.

It was a very bittersweet vibe, and very understandably so.

“Alright guys, um- hey, can I get your attention for just a minute please?” Mr. Harrington squeaked. He raised his arms up to try and grab everyone’s attention, and to his own surprise, it worked.

“So, basically, I just wanted to say thank you to every single one of you for attending this trip, and I hope that it was a great experience for you all. Our bus should be here shortly, but before we go, I was hoping to get one quick picture with the entire group, if that’s okay?” After confirming that nobody had an issue with it, he handed his camera over to one of the staff members from the reception desk, who quickly snapped a wonderful picture of you all.

He thanked her, and then went outside to check for the bus.

“Looks like there’s still some more time before we leave,” you stated, peeking out through the glass windows and noticing the absence of a bus.

“Judging by the way Mr. Harrington’s seeming frustrated, I’d say you’re probably right,” Peter chuckled. “Hey, let’s get some pictures of our own in the meantime, I still have some film left on my camera!”

You, Ned and MJ agreed, and Peter pulled out his camera from his carry-bag. You all took turns posing with each other, starting off with simple smiles, but progressively getting goofier and sillier until you’ve hit the point where you were just standing in the middle of the lobby recreating iconic memes, sending you all into fits of laughter.

“Okay, okay, enough of this,” Peter giggles, still coming down from moments ago when he was guffawing at your attempt to recreate that one young Cardi B picture. “Let’s get some group shots now.”

MJ quickly asked Yasmin, another one of your classmates, if she’d be okay with getting a few shots of them and explained to her how to work the camera.

You went to grab a sip of water and stood off to the side, letting the three have their moment. They’d been there for each other for four years, and while you were all close now, you’d only come into the picture recently. You wanted to let the squad - the original squad - get some pictures too, you’d been in enough with them already, it was okay.

Ned said something which you couldn’t hear, but it drew out undoubtedly heartfelt laughs from the other two. Eyes scrunched and faces radiating with nothing but joy, Yasmin saw this as a perfect moment to capture, and you saw her take what you were sure would have turned out to be an amazing candid.

Yasmin went to hand the camera back to MJ, but Peter quickly stopped her.

“Hold on one second please, would it be okay if you got just one last picture? With the whole group?”

She nodded, stepping back.

“Y/n! Why are you off to the side?” Peter rushed over to you, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Come on, we can’t take a full group photo without you in it!”

In that very moment, as Peter grabbed your hand and gently pulled you to where the rest of the group was standing, something in your mind clicked. You laughed as Peter abruptly stopped and you bumped into him, hearing the click of the camera go off. None of it seemed to matter though. All you could see was Peter smiling back down at you, the crinkles by his eyes more defined than ever, but also surprisingly more beautiful than ever.

You could sense the three people around you continuing to throw up more poses quickly, Yasmin capturing them, but the entire while, your eyes wouldn’t leave Peter’s grinning face, your mind slowly stopped registering anything other than the feeling of Peter’s arms around your shoulders. The pure warmth he radiated pulled you in further, and everything around you except his perfect smile blurred.

One thing became very clear in that moment of complete encapsulation though, despite it being a completely foreign feeling to you, as the same words played in your head, over and over.

‘Holy crap, I think I’m in love with my best friend.’

If only you knew, those were the exact same words racing through Peter’s mind.

[aadmelioraa]

Falling (or, Aldhelm + Efficiency Kink)

Aethelflaed x Aldhelm, 2k, rated M (read on ao3) 

written for @volvaaslaug @skatingthinandice and the rest of this tiny fandom <3 

Lady Aethelflaed is a capable leader. In fact, she is an excellent leader. And if Aldhelm is honest with himself, it’s becoming a bit of a problem for him.

He’s alone with the Lady of Mercia, not an infrequent occurrence of late. She’s finishing the necessary business of the day, and the way she handles the most insignificant chore with diligence fascinates him as much now as it did when he first began to notice. He’s come to understand that her attentiveness and care are only surpassed by her cleverness. 

She's just…good at this.

He had maintained high hopes for Aethelred for so long, but Aethelflaed has more natural authority in her little finger than her husband does in his entire body. Years of grooming and guidance have done little to improve the Lord of Mercia’s temper in the end.  

Aldhelm is almost ashamed to recall his first impression of Aethelflaed. He had thought her a naive (though lovely) girl. But he has come to realize she is stronger and more intelligent than he’d given her credit, which of course cast her husband’s increasingly poor choices into starker contrast. He cannot ignore that her skills and disposition are infinitely better suited to ruling than Aethelred’s.

On reflection, it had been foolish of him to think Alfred’s daughter would be anything less than competent. But the more he reflects, the more he realizes it is not just her capable hands and mind. It’s that Aethelflaed genuinely enjoys her role as well. She seems to derive pleasure from every task accomplished, no matter how inconsequential. She’s a brilliant negotiator, whether speaking with the ealdormen about a matter of state or Aelfwynn about what time she was expected to be in bed. The satisfied smile she allows herself after a small victory is enchanting.

It was not so long ago that Aldhelm had considered disregarding Aethelred’s wishes equivalent to treason. He had thought Mercia’s best hopes were bound up in the man, young but burgeoning with potential. Now, Aldhelm’s definition of treason is somewhat more flexible. In fact, he is increasingly sure that his loyalty no longer lies with the Lord of Mercia. To be loyal to Mercia is to be loyal to Aethelflaed. 

He had not planned on Aethelflaed endearing herself to him in this way. And he had certainly not planned on falling in love with her. 

The realization happens gradually, over a matter of years. But when he finds himself at the point of no return, he is as surprised as if it had happened overnight. Aethelflaed could command him to the ends of the earth, and he would obey without a second thought.

Of course, she would not. She understands his value to her and to Mercia and therefore keeps him close—first, as a liability to be assessed, eventually as a friend to be trusted. Despite his ill-advised confession several months ago, Aethelflaed does not seem to think less of him. If in fact she does, she will not show it. 

She is simply too practical for that. 

And her efficiency is unparalleled. 

In a single afternoon, she will complete a list of duties Aethelred had left unaddressed for weeks on end. Her records are meticulous, her attention to detail exquisite. Her desk is filled with neat stacks of parchment covered in her clean, precise handwriting. 

Watching her take charge of Mercian affairs with a careful eye and steady hand, it is impossible to ignore that his feelings have evolved beyond intrigue. 

Aldhelm is undeniably smitten. 

“Did you have something to add, Aldhelm?”

Startled from his reverie, he realizes he’s staring. Aethelflaed looks back at him with concern. Her eyebrows are raised, causing a few lines to appear on her forehead, and he cannot help but love the softness in her expression.

“Apologies, my Lady. I had meant to inquire after the delegation to Tamworth.”

“We’re to send twenty men—unless you think a larger party necessary.”

“No, I believe not.”

Twenty is the perfect number, of course. 

Aethelflaed narrows her eyes, leaning back in her seat to have a better look at him.

“You seem to have something else on your mind, Aldhelm.”

He would have to work harder to conceal his feelings if he was to comport himself appropriately. A challenge that was growing in difficulty by the day. 

“It’s late. Shall we discuss the city fortification project or leave that until tomorrow?”

She huffs a laugh.

“Aldhelm, I have just told you that is finished. Have you been listening at all?”

He curses himself for his wandering thoughts. “Are you well?”

He is not. He is failing. Her competence is interfering with his own. 

“I am merely distracted, Lady. My apologies.”

Her gaze remains fixed on him as she sets down her pen, picking up the parchment she’d been writing on and blowing gently to dry the ink. 

He clenches his jaw reflexively, and she cocks her head—her amusement compounding, he can only assume. He shifts his gaze to the tapers on her desk, which had nearly burned out.  

“Distracted indeed. How odd. What could possibly be more pressing than the matters before us?”

Aethelflaed is teasing him now, he is sure of it. 

She rises to her feet, sweeping her eyes up and down his body with an expression of curious detachment. It’s maddening.

“I had something on my mind, Lady. A conversation with your husband earlier.”

The mention of Aethelred does not appear to disarm her.

“My husband solicits too much of your time these days,” she sighs. “But he is not here now, and so I request your full attention. I have one other proposal I would like your opinion on.”

Aldhelm knows that he ought to end their conversation, walk away, but he cannot.

“I would be happy to advise you, Lady, of course.”

Aethelflaed is advancing towards him now, hands clasped earnestly before her. Her fingers are slightly stained with ink.

“I believe we have both been under too much stress lately, Aldhelm. I have a plan that may provide relief.”

“I’m sure it’s an excellent plan,” Aldhelm replies, voice slightly hoarse. He clears his throat as subtly as he can.

“I believe it is,” she says nonchalantly, and without breaking eye contact slips her fingers into the belt at his waist, pulling him towards her gently.

He could not have protested then even if his mouth had not gone completely dry.

“I think you will find it mutually rewarding.”

Aldhelm fights a smile of disbelief (was this a dream?) and glances towards the door.

“Lady, we may be discovered.”

The corners of her mouth twitch and she places a hand on his chest, no doubt able to feel his heart beating wildly within. 

“You know as well as I do, Aldhelm, that the household is far more loyal to me than to my husband.”

She is looking up at him with lips slightly parted—soft, inviting—and he tentatively rests his hands at her waist.

The last time they’d been in this physical proximity he’d been dying (or so he thought) and she had been unable or unwilling to reciprocate his affection.

Whatever had changed between then and now, he does not care to question it in the moment. 

Still, he finds himself making another objection. 

“You’re married, my lady.”

What a supremely stupid thing to say. 

Her mouth quirks into a smile.

“I am aware, Aldhelm. That doesn’t stop my husband from pursuing pleasure, and it won’t stop me.”

Aldhelm has no defenses left, no arguments, no thoughts in his head other than how much he desires her. 

He gives in and cups her jaw, kissing her.

She tastes sweet and warm like summer rain. It’s intoxicating. 

He’s not sure if he’s still breathing, or if he even cares. He tightens his hold on her waist, and she cards her fingers through his hair. 

He would probably sell his soul to remain in this moment forever. Dark thoughts like this were never far from his mind when she was near.

“You’ve no idea the effect you have on me, my lady,” he murmurs.

He can feel her smiling as she kisses him back.

“I should think it’s fairly obvious at this point that I do.”

She’s pressed against him now, melting any self-control he had left. His baser instincts take over.

They’re stumbling into the next room, and she’s steering him towards the bed. 

Apprehension and desire course through him at once. Never had he imagined that this wildest dream of his could be a reality.

Aethelflaed is undressing him, then directing him to sit as she slips out of her own garments. The slight golden warmth of her skin fades to creamy white where she exposes the most intimate parts of herself. 

She pushes him onto his back and straddles him, her slick warmth pressed against his cock. Their eyes meet as she shifts, and—most incredible of all—he can see his own exhilaration reflected in her expression. 

She leans forward, her lips brushing against his ear as she murmurs, “What do you think of my plan so far, Aldhelm?”

It’s almost cruel. He’s wound so tight already he might have snapped there. 

He can’t answer with words, nor does he need to. Their kisses deepen, and she bites her lip to contain a moan as he brushes a finger against her opening. He slips inside of her and his breath hitches—she’s so warm and wet and perfect.

She’s building rhythm now, hips forward, grinding against him. She sweeps her braids behind her with a shrug of her shoulders, exposing the fullness of her breasts.

He locates the bundle of nerves beneath her thatch of hair, synchronizing the movement of his hand with the movement of her hips. She digs her nails into his chest briefly and keens in pleasure, arching her back. He draws circles, tighter and tighter. Coming with a shudder she cries out again, her face flushed with triumph. Then with a gesture, she commands and he obeys, switching places so that he’s on top. 

Her legs encircle him. Aldhelm slides a hand from the tender spot behind her knee down her thigh to her ass. She’s laying back, eyes shut, breathing in gentle gasps as she matches the rocking of his hips. 

By the time he comes, she’s moaning louder than before. His forehead is pressed against her and he can feel the sweat that beads her brow. Her walls quiver against him as he finishes, and he’s sure he’s just returned the favor again even as he’s satiated. 

He lands next to her and catches his breath. It’s a moment before he gathers the courage to look at her, but when he does she’s grinning. The light in her eyes would make him blush if he were capable of such a thing.

In his wickedness, he cannot help but think she’d never fucked her husband like that. 

Aethelflaed turns on her side, breathing deeply as she holds his gaze. He splays a hand over the curve of her exposed hip, holding it there for a moment, then moves it gently up to her waist. 

“We made quite good work of that, Lord.”

She hasn’t called him that before. She’s watching to see how he reacts. 

A laugh escapes him. He can’t help it. 

Aethelflaed closes her eyes, still smiling.

“You’re a strange man, Aldhelm. But I have grown fond of you.”

He’s brushing the hair from her shoulders, rolling a silky strand between his fingers. He does not know how long their tryst will last, or if it will ever be repeated. He will do everything in his power to remember every detail.

There’s a freckle below her left breast. He runs his thumb gently along the contour. Her skin is prickling—the room has grown cold—and he pulls a blanket over them.

Aethelflaed rolls her head back to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes. She radiates contentment. His own limbs are heavy with it too. He pulls her close to him, their noses bump. Incredibly, she does not tell him to leave.

“Did you have a second phase of your plan you’d like to enact this evening, Lady, or shall we reconvene tomorrow?”

It’s Aethelflaed’s turn to laugh. 

Laying near her in this state is restorative, thrilling. He’s bold enough to kiss her again, and the taste is sweeter than before. 

“I believe we may reconvene tomorrow,” she murmurs and rests her head on his chest. “For now, let us rest.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

He will linger in this perfect moment as long as he’s permitted. 

[sugarfreecapsicle]

study buddy

bucky barnes x reader

Prompts: college!au (1.5k constellation writing challenge by @sunmoonandbucky); fake dating!au & unplanned bed sharing trope (star’s multi-fandom follower celebration by @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan )

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, bit of pining, lots of awkward interaction, fluff!!!!

Wordcount: 2k-ish

A/N: oh my god, y’all, I can’t believe two of my favorites have challenges going on at the same time. I’m so honored to call them both friends - both are phenomenal writers in their own right and I am always floored by their respective work. I love the both of your oh so dearly and am so happy you’ve reached such important milestones! You deserve every happiness, and I hope this fic can bring you just a little of that.

Gif Credit (x)

Assigned seating did not end in grade school. The nightmare of desk dictatorship held strong in Fury’s classroom - a man of simple rules and unquestioned respect for his time. Your research into your professors via many forums and sites like RateMyProfessor did not alert you to the nightmare of obeying his law to the letter.

“If I were sorry about my decision, I’d apologize, but I’ve always been an honest man. You chose your seat, you chose your partner, and you chose to break up. That’s a personal problem to solve on personal time. Not mine. See you next class.”

Your conversation on the phone with Wanda and Maria definitely didn’t help lift your mood. Wanda, empathetic and full of irrational resolutions like falsifying a restraining order. Maria, ever practical and smug with her I-told-you-so attitude.

“I don’t know what else you expected from Fury of all people,” Maria chuckled before biting into an apple slice. “Even if he thinks Brock is an asshole, he won’t make an exception without something dire on the line.”

“Maybe you can just switch classes? I’m pretty sure there’s an opening in-” “Wanda, I love you, but I can’t switch classes two weeks from finals.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, squeeze your eyes shut in the afternoon sun. “I’ll just...I’ll just handle this as gracefully as I can.”

“Godspeed,” Maria deadpans before dropping the call.

“Y’know, I didn’t want to have to resort to this,” Wanda’s trepidation fueled your oncoming tension migraine, “but maybe it’s time to call in your favor with Bucky.”

Your heart drops somewhere on the pigeon-shit sidewalk.

“Wanda....I think you might be right.”

The saying goes that once you’ve hit rock bottom there’s nowhere to go but upward. If calling in a favor to your freshman year crush turned campus heartbreaker didn’t qualify, you didn’t want to find out where bedrock truly could be.

You shouldn’t be surprised to find a technology major in the library swamped with work on a Tuesday, but when that student is James Buchannan Barnes, it’s worthy of flipping the world ass over teakettle. Dashing as ever, stormy eyes, chestnut hair combed just so. Your backpack thuds on the floor beneath the co-op table, and his eyes find you.

“Hey, stranger,” he murmurs with an impossibly charming smile that lights his entire face. “Where have you been since August?”

Fighting a smile around Bucky is futile, so you let a grin appear. “Unfortunately dating Brock and sitting next to him in Fury’s class.”

His smile pulls into a tight wince as you take your seat across from him and retrieve your laptop from your bag.

“I don’t envy you.” Bucky waves and nods briefly at another student passing by behind you, and you turn to notice it’s a shapely redhead you recall from last semester’s art history class. “He won’t budge without legal documentation at best.”

Your fingers twist and curl together in nonsensical patterns in your lap. “Well, I was hoping to get Brock off my case, actually.”

Bucky doesn’t respond more than raised eyebrows and startled blinking. 

“Would...could you be my fake boyfriend long enough to convince Brock we aren’t getting back together?” It comes out all rushed and nervous, syllables running together like a skittering mouse across the kitchen floor. Your heart hammers against your chest, determined to break free of your body every second Bucky stalls his reply. You can’t read him - he’s still leaned back in dumbfounded silence. 

At long last he leans in, hands steeple between the two of you, calculating gleam in his eye. “If you’ll help me figure out how to pass this English Lit final, I’ll actually date you.” 

You both laugh quietly, minding the nearby staff eyeing your space at the table. Pink tinges your cheeks dangerously beyond mere flattery. 

“Let’s just agree to fake dating for now, and we’ll see if you can still stand to share space with me after a few weeks.”

“Deal.” Bucky extends his hand, you grasp it and shake to your agreement. Your fingers reluctantly move to let go, but Bucky holds firm and pulls the back of your hand to his smirking lips. “Whatever you need, darlin’.”

Days later you’re still tingling from his public affection in the library. Could you have been imagining the color shift in his eyes when he peered over your hand or was it purely fantasy? Lack of caffeine, mental fixation from stress - more likely than any truth to how deeply in character he seemed to be already.

Bucky escorts you to your classes with his fingers threading yours, a hand at the small of your back, an arm flung around your shoulders. He’s in your ear, whispering jokes and delicious plans for the rest of your time together, kissing your forehead or your cheek when you reach the door. Keeping your arrangement from Wanda and Maria could only be explained by the stress of impending finals, and you’d managed to avoid inevitable party and holiday invitations. If nothing else, this pretending made the idea of being near Brock again less intimidating.

Fury Friday arrived sooner than you’d felt it should, and as set in precedent, Bucky strolls next to you with his hand in yours, beaming and chatting about how he’d managed to bring his scores up enough in Statistics to earn a pass on his final and thereby free up his weekend. Dread skirted in your lungs, a distant siren’s call to your sense of reason as the reality of sitting next to Brock for two hours pressed upon you. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or are you gonna keep me guessing?”

He’s too good at this, and Bucky has to know it. “Sorry, I...am not looking forward to this.”

“I can’t think of anyone that looks forward to a Fury class to be fair,” he laughs breathily and puts a soothing hand to your waist. A kiss lingers on your forehead, and Bucky’s spicy cologne takes over your senses in a tight embrace. “Especially with Rumlow as your seatmate.”

His whispered acknowledgment makes your whole body shiver, and he responds with a few brushes over your arms and back to stir away the obvious chilled gust of wind that’s painted your cheeks pink again.

“Knock ‘em dead, killer,” he teases with a single knuckle against your chin. Bucky’s nose brushes just barely against yours, and then he’s dashing down the hallway with a wave over his shoulder. It dawns on you as you take your seat - your neighbor pleasantly absent - that Bucky could be sacrificing too much for a fake relationship, for your sake. Brock could be all bark and no bite, but a small part of you felt he could be a breath away from snapping. Others are milling about the room, so you pull your phone out and send Bucky a text. The little heart next to his name stings somewhere deep in your chest.

You’re not missing classes just to walk me to and from, right?

Your laptop is open and ready to go, humming to life while you bend beneath the elongated desks to make sure you could plug into an outlet if need be. The buzz of a reply sends you hurtling into the composite tabletop, a loud thud followed by tittering giggles around the filling room.

Brock is glaring down at you and your phone screen, mouth in a thin line, eyebrows knitted together. You don’t say a word to him and try to keep his prying eyes from your screen.

Not missing, exactly, but cutting it close. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.

“Didn’t take you long to hop on someone else’s dick, did it?”

His voice churns in your stomach, but you don’t acknowledge him. Had this been any other class but Fury’s you could put in earbuds and block him out. Brock’s eyes are on you, or at least the cold sweat chilling the back of your neck makes you think as much, and he’s seething, boring holes into your form. For two hours. For an entire Fury lecture.

Your shoe catches one of the rear legs of his chair, but you can’t bother to turn around and apologize - not like the seat budged under the star athlete. Bucky grins as you exit through the wide double doors, moves to wrap an arm around you, and you pull him by his jacket to your lips. You’re lost in his cologne, the feel if his mouth on yours, his body heat against the biting December cold. There’s a hum, something of a moan quiet enough to feel and dream of hearing - and you can’t be sure if it came from you or Bucky. With a dizzied wobble, you’re separated and Bucky’s eyes are still closed, arms cocooning you against his form.

“Hey,” he chuckles, voice deep and husky, the grin tugging at the right corner of his mouth.

“Hi,” you’re just as breathy and more than a little wanting. “Ready for the weekend?”

______________________________________

Friday night passes without a mention of the kiss.

The entirety of Saturday passes, and no mention of the kiss.

And it’s all you can think about. Forget studying for finals, forget meal prepping for the guaranteed necessity of pre-made lunches and dinners. That kiss.

You’d caught him off guard, but he didn’t hesitate to respond hungrily. Bucky tasted of honeyed tea and cinnamon chewing gum, carried the warmth of summer sun beneath his jacket. You hadn’t considered prior to the rash decision to just fucking kiss him that your senses would swim in his aftershave, his sheer proximity, the comfort of him. For you, Bucky had never been so tangible.  

Truthfully, Bucky had never been tangible for anyone - notorious campus-wide for gracefully bowing out of invitations for dates, one night stands even. People of course talked, spread rumors that he had to be dating a professor in secret, that he had a long distance relationship with a supermodel overseas. 

Until that kiss two days ago.

Bucky arranged for time to cram for his English Lit final with you tonight in his apartment, more for the convenience of avoiding scorned women at every corner of your dorm than anything else. He did have more space, privacy and faster internet than the supplied campus Wi-Fi. 

Is it appropriate to bring wine to a study session or is that strictly for dinner parties? Maybe some appetizers? Seven o’clock on a Sunday night typically meant binging as many football games as anyone could consume, especially in a college town. 

You’re buzzed up to this apartment, cream puffs in hand, and freeze when Steve opens the door to a living room full of people in various coordination of navy and ivory. The tall blonde ushers you in and sweeps your dessert out of your hands before you can locate your study buddy.

“Buck’s in his room,” Steve offers with some mischief. “Says he needs to pass this final, so he’s passing on the game night.”

It’s easy enough to figure out which room with a shut door is Bucky’s when Sam walks out of the bathroom and immediately checks the score on his phone (the space around the smaller television is too busy to see). You knock, probably a little too lightly at first, but the second set of taps nearly clock Bucky’s throat.

He’s beaming, cheeks flushed, smile wide - like a smitten kid. His electric touch pulls you into his bedroom already scattered with his scrawlings and textbooks. The door barely provides enough sound protection from the party for you to feel comfortable at attempting to concentrate.

“I really thought Steve had an away game this weekend, but I hadn’t thought about having a bye week for finals -” Bucky stops, feet strategically between loose paper and dog-eared texts. And god, he’s looking at you like that again and you can’t breathe. 

Suddenly you understand the gravity of your feelings, and your mouth goes dry.

This isn’t fake for you. Not anymore.

“Really, I’m glad you still wanted to help me out.” Bucky’s sincere, permanently grinning as he’s rearranging his chaotic floorspace to make room for you. You swallow hard as you eye the sliver of skin between his sweater and his lounge pants, the well-loved hoodie pooling around his middle as he bends from his hips. When he’s upright and inviting you to settle in, you decide that professionalism has to outweigh your own personal crisis - think like Fury.

Hours later, the two of your are in a shambles - Bucky insisted you change into a pair of his sweats and a tee shirt in the event of an all nighter, you’d made a run for fast food, and your eyes can hardly stay open long enough to fact-check Bucky’s recitation. 

“I think maybe we should call it a night,” he yawns, interrupting his monologue. You nod mutely and move to get up when Bucky catches your arm. “Uh, I mean, you could...you could stay.”

You shouldn’t, though, for reasons Bucky doesn’t know - but he has an excellent argument: you’re in no shape to get yourself home and with the party still going strong outside his bedroom there’s no way he can drive you home. 

Bucky helps you get to your feet and smooths his hands over your shoulders. “Scout honor, no funny business. They’ll all crash on top of each other in the living room and Steve’s room. You’d at least have a little more space in here. I’ll take the floor -” 

“Absolutely not, Bucky Barnes.” Your tone even surprises you; the Fury switch quickly dissipates. “I mean, I can’t in good conscience let you do that, it’s your room. We can...we can just share, if you don’t mind -”

“Not at all.” Maybe it’s your drowsiness but he seems eager. “Just washed the sheets anyway, and the blanket’s something Mom and Gran quilted for me as a kid.”

Soft cotton and jersey envelop your aching muscles, and a betraying moan of contentment escapes you when Bucky curls into bed next to you. He’s warm, a furnace beneath the covers, haven from the biting cold. 

His stubble, still unshaven from Friday, borders on scruff and tickles your forehead. Hands ease over your back, tentative, hesitant. You can’t deny him and certainly can’t deny yourself this moment. 

“Darlin’?”

He’s whisper soft, cotton candy words prickling against your skin. You hum and his hands still against your shirt.

“Wasn’t kidding about actually dating you, y’know. If you want to take up the offer-”

Your fingers are on his lips, you crane your body to get a better look at his beautiful, tired face. 

“Ask me again in the morning, Buck. After coffee. So I know this isn’t delirium.”

He sighs and presses a tired smile into your forehead. “Whatever you need, darlin’.”

[tetralea]

Two interns

Pairing: Tom Holland/ Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: pure smut, oral sex, fingering, semi-public sex, mentions of period, I am a sucker for Tom Holland lately

Summary: Okay, so this is a small something, inspired by these smut prompts. Tom and the reader are interns at the same firm and she is having a hard day. Tom figures how to help. Pure smut.

‘Tom.’ You pleaded weakly, already being putty in his arms. Fuck you just wanted this need to go away, and he was the perfect solution for it even if it was risky.

‘It’s okay, love, I got you.’ Tom pressed his lips against yours, deepening the kiss, making you melt in his hands. ‘I need you to be very quiet.’

A/N: Hey guys! It has been a long, long time since I wrote something, but here it is. After almost a year of horrible mental health and therapy I am feeling amazing again, and I had the time and inspiration to write something again. This is my first ever fic with Tom Holland, but certainly not the last one. 

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723640

It was more than hot in the office however no one seemed to notice it except from you. It felt you could peel your skin off and it would be still too much for you.

However the heating was just fine and well, the reason of your heated state were the two intense dark brown eyes staring at you from across your table. It was hard to breathe. It was hard not to stare back and start flirting, and it was definitely hard to focus on your work like this. You were particularly drowning in need and want and the way Tom have looked at you didn’t help.

The two of you were interns at a new start-up and you were loving it. The job and the team was awesome. You started a few weeks after him, so you had the pleasure of him showing you the main points of the job and guiding you around in the first few weeks. Sure, you had your mentor, but somehow hearing anything from Tom was way more fascinating and you enjoyed his company a lot. He was cute and smart and you liked him.

The four of you have made a team, Tom, your mentor, you and your boss who was also very young, still had the more experience and expertise. The four of you had your own little island of desks at the office. Two tables next to each other and the others on the opposite side, facing towards you. It made the communication easier and faster. You sat next to your mentor, at the direct opposite of you your boss, so you haven’t seen much of her because of the huge monitors between you, yet you saw Tom pretty clearly who sat next to her.

You licked you lips and undid a button on your shirt dress to help yourself breathe, but it did nothing. There were two tiny inconveniences in the situation. The first one was your upcoming period. The little bitch obviously noticed your lack of pregnancy this month too, so it made you horny 24/7, wanting to have all the sex you could get to solve the problem, even if getting pregnant wasn’t your intentions at all. None the less it made you want Tom even more, your skin was crawling with need and the pressure in your stomach was almost unbearable. The second small thing was your relationship with Tom. It started pretty fast and was still undefined, but it involved a huge amount of sex for sure. You were crazy for him after the first week and after your first time together you were ruined for forever. He was good and you loved every second of it.

With a shaky sigh you stood from your seat and walked out to the corridor. You needed fresh air. The staircase was used in only extreme cases like fire or if the elevators were broken, so it was relatively cold there and it just seemed the ideal hiding spot until you could gather yourself a little.

You leant to the cold concrete wall pressing your back and palms to it, hoping it would cool you down a little. As your head rested on the hard surface, and your eyes were closed maybe it got a little bit better. Maybe your heart wasn’t pounding anymore and the painful pressure in your belly seemed to be at ease a little too. The long exhale leaving your lips helped too, alongside with the cool air. It seemed like you just found your place when the door got opened, and you practically jumped in surprise, your heart beating hard and fast again.

‘Hey. You alright?’ Tom asked while his eyes scanned you over in worry. ‘You left a while ago and I thought something was up, but you weren’t at the corridor so…’ His voice was unsure, and those pretty eyes were staring at you while he spoke. Something was up Tom could see and it just made him worry even more. Sure, he did flirt with you and sent you a few less discreet texts, about his plans for the night, but it was nothing new. Yet desperation and frustration were written all over your features and the closer he got to you the worse it seemed.

‘Please, don’t come closer.’ Mentally you cursed yourself for sounding so weak and breathy already, but you couldn’t help it. He shouldn’t have been here, he should have had stayed at the office, you needed every ounce of energy you had to stop yourself from pulling him into you.

‘What’s wrong, darling?’ Your plea did nothing and now Tom was standing right in front of you, his soft, warm hands sliding onto your cheeks. God, your skin was hot, and if he looked at you, he could see you shaking a little. Your lips were parted and breathing slowly was clearly a challenge now. Your cheeks were flushed, and your skin was burning. How could he not see it before? The way you looked at him, eyes clouded with lust and want and need for him. He sucked in a breath as realisation hit him.

‘Please, stop. We can’t do that here.’ Your body was incredibly tense, trying not to move, hands strictly pressed against the wall, but your eyes were begging for him.

‘But I really want to help you, love. Look at you, you are shaking.’ He pointed out as his hands slid onto your hips, keeping you in place, because he was worried your legs might give in in any second. His words were like oil to the fire. You wanted him to help to make this uneasy feeling go but getting caught was still a risk. You needed this job and so did he, so this could wait. The second your lips parted to tell him no, he stepped closer pressing his firm body against yours. A quiet whimper betrayed you and he was quick to keep you quiet, pressing his lips to yours. His kiss was intoxicating, soft and it felt like a cool balm on your burning body. Your desperate moan got muffled on Tom’s lips and your hands gripped his cotton shirt not caring if you will crumble the nice fabric.

‘Tom.’ You pleaded weakly, already being putty in his arms. Fuck you just wanted this need to go away, and he was the perfect solution for it even if it was risky.

‘It’s okay, love, I got you.’ Tom pressed his lips against yours, deepening the kiss, making you melt in his hands. ‘I need you to be very quiet.’ He warned before his hand slipped under your dress and pulled your panties to the side. ‘Look at you, I barely touched you and you are already soaking wet.’ He purred into your neck, sucking pretty red marks onto the delicate skin. They would be gone in minutes, but now he wanted you just as much. You were so wet for him and it nearly drove him crazy. His long fingers worked small, slow circles on your clit before they slid into you, making your eyes roll back and bit your own lips, trying to keep quiet.

You had no idea when your dress got unbuttoned so much that now your heaving breasts were pressed to Tom’s chest. ‘So pretty, love.’ He breathed out, peppering kisses onto your lace covered breasts. With one solid movement he pulled your bralette to the side, now your tits and rock hard nipples on full display for him. He sucked one into his hot mouth and you were done for. All of your muscles got tense for a second before your orgasm washed over your body, leaving you a shaking, hot mess in Tom’s arms. In a second his lips were pressed firmly against yours to muffle the sounds of your pleasure the best he could as your hands slid into his locks pulling him impossibly close. You needed him, not his hands or lips but the man himself.

‘I’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.’ You whispered as your hands worked on his belt, pulling his pretty, hard cock free. Tom only smirked as he hitched your leg up on his waist pushing his tip in.

‘Thank god you are on the pill.’ He moaned as he pushed all the way into you. God, he felt good, filling you up all the way, stretching your pretty cunt, just the way you needed him.

It immediately got better, the pressure in your stomach, the hardship with breathing, and now you were desperately clinging onto him, trying not to make any sound as he was fucking you hard and fast. His pretty curls were tickling you as he buried his face into your neck. It was hard not to make any sound when you were this fucking tight and wet around him from your previous orgasm, and you were already close to the second one. He could tell, by the sound of your mewls and the way you pulled on his hair and gripped his shirt desperately. ‘Come for me, darlin’.’ He whispered into your ear and it was all what took from you. Your lips turned into a silent scream as your over sensitive pussy pulsed around his cock, his thrusts prolonging your pleasure until he could hold his own.

‘Sweetheart, darlin’ I’m…’ Tom warned you as he pulled out and you just had enough time to sink onto your knees wrapping your pretty lips around his throbbing cock and sucking. God, even this would have been enough for him at any day to come, but he was already close and it was so damn hard not to moan your name while his body was shaking from the force of his pleasure as he come down on your throat. With one last involuntary thrust of his hips he emptied all his load into your mouth which you were eager to swallow.

When it was over the two of your could have been a sight, you were sitting on the ground with your breasts pulled from your bra, dress slightly dishevelled, the hem is gathered around your hips and Tom was standing above you, leaning to the wall to gain some leverage, his shirt unbuttoned a bit more than it would be appropriate and it was pulled out of his jeans, doing nothing to cover his still hard cock.

‘Better?’ Tom spoke first a victorious grin on his face as he looked down to you almost laughing.

‘Yeah, yeah, I am better.’ You giggled closing your eyes with a huge smile. Finally, being able to breath and think.

You were dressed again in less then a minute, and run your hand through Tom’s soft curls, helping him looking less… well, freshly fucked. You stood in front of him with a soft smile and flushed cheeks, ready to head back to the office, already thinking about a cover story.

‘Wait.’ Tom whispered and pulled you back to his body, holding you close, kissing your lips softly. ‘Let me do this right, at my place, tonight. Be good at work today, and I promise I’ll take you home and bend you over every piece of furniture I have.’ His voice made shivers running down on your spine. It was an offer you couldn’t say no to. You simply nodded, looking at those pretty brown eyes and you already couldn’t wait your shift to be over.  

- - -

A/N: So this is my first story in this fandom, also for a long time, so your comments and thoughts are highly appreciated!

Tagging a few people who might be interested, if not, sorry, let me know! :) 

@ruinerofcheese​, @tomhollandspideys​, @angryschnauzer​

[breathinginthevapor]

“At least think of me while you’re gone”

Summary: your relationship with Tom is a secret, and you hate it. At a party, your feelings are finally confronted.

A/N: This is a very, very, very late (im so sorry taylor!) entry for @plushparkers 2k writing challenge, so a big congrats to her on reaching on that amazing milestone! I hope you guys will give it a read and tell me what you think afterwards!

Word count: 5600+

T/W: alcohol and swearing

My masterlist

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

When does your plane arrive?❤️ (heart emoji)

You hit send, putting your phone down on the sink. You pick up the mascara instead, painting your eyelashes black before the “Ping!”-sound from your phone startles you and causes you to draw a dark line just below your eyebrow.

“Fucking shit,” you curse, searching through your cabinet with frantic movements for a cotton pad and makeup remover.

While you try to remove your mistake, you look at your phone.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Around 5. Don’t have to pick me up, though.

Throwing the cotton pad in the bin, you quickly type an answer.

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

You know I want to. Missed you😘 (kissing emoji)

You smile at the thought that you’ll see him today, and that these last months spent longing will finally be over. In just a couple of hours, you will be able to smell him, talk to him, touch him. And yeah, maybe he won’t kiss you at the airport, but he definitely will later, when it’s just the two of you.

Another “Ping” lets you know you’ve gotten a new message, and you try to keep your cool by applying some lipstick, but your whole body is buzzing, eager to see his answer.

Soon, your lips are coated in a beautiful red shade, perfectly kissable in your own, humble opinion. Tom loves having your lips mark him, his jaw often covered in lipstick marks after you’ve been hanging out, and the fact that the popping colour draws attention to your lips doesn’t hurt, either.

You want him to hug you in the airport while he’s yearning to kiss you, yearning to see if you taste like that cherry lip balm he likes, and maybe you won’t when he finally gets you alone, but by then it won’t matter.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

There’ll be a crowd, and I’ll be too tired to do anything but sleep anyway.

You don’t understand. Does that mean he doesn’t want you to come? Or that he thinks you’ll get uncomfortable surrounded by his screaming fans?

Because you can deal with the fans, you’ve done so before, but if it’s because he doesn’t want you there, you won’t know what to do.

Before you can answer, though, another text shows on the screen.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

I’ll just see you at the party🕺🎆 (dancing man and fireworks emoji)

The welcome home party might already be tomorrow, but you still feel stupid. Here you’ve been, ecstatic for his return for weeks while he doesn’t even want you to be there in the airport. Besides, who knows how much you’ll even see of him tomorrow, everyone’s there to see him, after all.  

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

👍 (thumbs up emoji)

And yeah, maybe your answer is passive aggressive, but right now, you really don’t care. Not when you’ve spent days debating what to wear for picking him up and figured out exactly what amount of make-up you should go for to ensure you looking great but not over the top.

And now, he doesn’t even want to see you.

You find the makeup remover once more, this time removing all traces of the makeup you’ve just applied. You slide the cotton pad all over your face with harsh movements, and while it might not be the best way to clean your skin, it helps relieve some of the anger.

Both your skin and your eyes are red when you’re finished, but you don’t look at yourself in the mirror long enough to see the tears sliding down.

Instead, you go back to bed, crawl under the covers and cry to a sad teen movie you loved when you were younger.

The worst part is, you find that you still love the movie just as much as back then, all too similar to the way your love for Tom has done nothing but increase since you first discovered it in your teen years.

   Tom’s parents’ house is filled up with people, but as Tom’s best friend through most of your life, you know the bigger part of them.

You spend a couple minutes talking to his aunt about her hip problems, but then you figure you want something to drink and excuse yourself.

There’s a lot to choose from, delicious sodas and expensive-looking bottles of champagne and wine, but you pick up a canned beer instead. You figure you need some alcohol as soon as possible. That way, you hope you’ll have the courage to face him when you have to.

You definitely can’t keep avoiding him, because even though the house isn’t small, it isn’t exactly a mansion, either.

You sip the beer, taking a few steps towards the wall to let Tom’s young cousins access the drink’s table.

Then, your eyes meet his, and you feel slightly dizzy as it seems almost unreal to finally see him in real life and not through a screen.

Still, you’re angry and hurt, and there’s a knot in your stomach. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this, the last you were angry at him. And maybe it’s petty, but you just hate the fact that you always plan everything around him, while he, when it comes down to it, doesn’t even want to see you after spending four months apart.

“Hey,” he greets you with a smile while still making his way to you, squeezing in between people and excusing himself.

“Hey,” you repeat, but your voice is cold as you take another sip of your beer. There’s a flicker of worry breaking through his confident, happy exterior, but it disappears quickly.

When he’s finally standing close enough to you, he engulfs you in a tight hug, and although you’ve dreamt about this reunion, this first hug in months, it doesn’t even feel that nice. Your body is tense, and your attempt to reciprocate his hug is half-hearted, so he finally lets you go and looks inquiring at you, still with a grip on your elbows.

“We cool?”

You swallow a lump, trying to put on a fake smile. You hope he doesn’t see through it, because although he used to be able to read your face as if it was a stop sign or a stupid brochure for a new pizzeria, it’s been a long time since you last saw each other.

“Sure.”

“Why are you acting weird then?” he asks, and you know he’s split between knowing you’re lying and the fact that it probably won’t help his situation to call you out on it.

You shake his hands off you to gulp down some beer.

“I’m not.”

He crooks his head, scrunching his eyes and looking down at his hands that hang loosely down his sides after returning from you. They start fiddling with the red polo he’s wearing, and you let your gaze wander slowly up his body, not missing how strong his biceps look or the broadness of his shoulder, before you get to his face to find him already watching you.

“You are.”

This time, you don’t argue. Why even bother?

A silence settles between you, so different to the happy chatter filling up the room, and you don’t know how to act. You don’t think you’ve ever experienced anything so awkward with Tom, he’s always been the one you could talk to for an endless number of hours, the one you could be quiet with, the one person in the world you were most comfortable around.

“Nice party,” you say when the silence becomes too much for you, but you hate yourself for being the first one to bow down. It seems that you always are.  

He shrugs, “You know my mum. Always inviting people we don’t even talk with often.”

Perhaps it just runs in the family, you wonder; making people feel like they’re more important than they are.

“They’ve missed you,” you just tell him, knowing that it’s true. He tends to have that impact on people, squeezing himself into their hearts in a matter of five minutes. And once you’ve met him, it’s impossible to forget him.

“They?” he softly asks, and you know he wants you to elaborate.

When you don’t, he asks again, this time phrased so you have no chance to get out of answering, “What about you? Haven’t you missed me?”

You look away, your gaze landing on Harrison who’s laughing with Tom’s grandma.

“Don’t know why you would ask something so stupid,“ you mutter.

He steps closer, and you can feel his presence all over your body. His breath hits your face, and you can smell both beer and the homemade chips his dad is famous for.

“Wanna hear you say it.”

You look at him again, and like countless of times before, you are hit by his beauty. You don’t think there’s a single person in this world as handsome as him, but you might be biased.

Being in love with the same guy for years tends to do that to someone.

“Missed you so much it hurt,” you admit, and you watch his face soften. He’s so close that you could just lean forward and kiss him.

Needless to say, it takes everything in you not to.

Luckily, he steps back, and the enchantment is broken.

“I should probably talk to the other guests. Don’t want them to feel left out, do we?”

You force yourself to laugh, “Of course not.”

But everything in you is begging and hoping that he just takes your hand and leads you away from everyone.

You want him to say that he’s missed you too, that he’s been thinking of you constantly, but you know he hasn’t. Or, maybe he’s felt a pinch of pain occasionally, but then he’s moved on and forgotten about it. Unlike you, who has spent so many nights crying, wishing that he was laying right beside you. And you know that it’s not his fault, that your circumstances are different because he’s out there, doing what he loves most while you are drowning in boring schoolwork and waiting impatiently for his return.

He steps closer, and you think he’s going to kiss you, in front of all those people, and your heart starts beating terribly fast, but then he turns his head and whispers in your ear, “Will I see you later?”

You know what he means: Another quickie in the dark, no one finding out there’s any more than friendship between you. Because that’s how he wants your relationship to be, a secret, even from his own family.

It feels like a stake to the heart, and honestly, you don’t feel like he deserves an answer. Instead, you opt for a small smile that could mean anything and then you down your beer, leaving him there and walking over to your other curly haired friend, but not before handing him the empty can.

If he’s so determined to be the perfect host, he might as well clean up a bit.  

“Hey Haz,” you mumble, throwing your arms around Harrison’s torso from behind.

He looks back at you and smiles widely, and contrary to what one might think, you aren’t completely oblivious to how good looking he is.

You wonder if you should have thought of getting some less pretty friends to make yourself shine a bit more in comparison, but you don’t think you’d be able to find someone who could make you laugh as much as Tom and Harrison can, not even if you searched the whole planet.

You just have to live with the unfairness of their unarguable attractiveness.

“Hey Y/N. Tired?” he asks softly.

You yawn, realizing that you actually are and confirming his question. He chuckles, and you press your cheek against his shoulder, closing your eyes for a second.

“I like this sweater. Really soft.”

“Hi nan,” you then greet Tom’s grandmother who has always insisted that you treat her the same way her grandkids would.

Measured in how much time you’ve spent with her and the rest of the family, you might as well be.

“Hello, darling,” she says, sending you a sweet smile. “I have to serve the cake now, but come catch up with me later, won’t you?”

“Of course, nan,” you promise her, watching her leave and then letting go of Harrison.

“Everything alright?” he asks after turning around to face you.

You shrug, “I guess.”

He rolls his eyes, pointing his finger at you in a reprimanding manner, “Tell me what’s wrong or you know what will happen.”

You can’t help but smile, but then you play along and squeeze your eyes shut and crossing your arms, “I’m not scared of you.”

“You’re not? Then you won’t mind if I TICKLE YOU?”

Harrisons hands reach for you, but you run away, squealing, before he can catch you.

“You’ll never catch me,” you mock him, running up the stairs and into Tom’s bedroom before realizing the inevitable: that you’re trapped.

“NOOOOO,” you scream as he pushes you onto the bed and starts tickling you, hands gripping your sides.

“Let me go, please, Haz,” you beg in-between laughs.

“You know what you need to say, Y/N,” he grins, and you shake your head.

“Never.”

However, it doesn’t take long before you surrender, throwing your hands up and rolling your eyes.

“Alright, alright, you are the hottest, coolest, cleverest, funniest person in the world, Harrison Osterfield.”

He immediately lets you go, plopping down on the bed beside you.

“Finally. My arms were getting tired,” he sighs contently.

You grunt, “Should spend a bit more time in the gym, then.”

“Oh, shut up, Y/N.”

He hits you playfully, and you both laugh, looking up to the ceiling and catching your breaths.

When you’ve stopped panting, you speak up, “Would you be ashamed of me if we were dating?”

“How can you even ask me that? You’re the dopest person ever,” he reassures you, turning his head to the side to look at you.

You laugh, “I can believe you still say dope.”

“What can I say, I’m just a dope person, too, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes at his stupidity, before a pang of sadness rushes through you. For a second, you wonder why, but then you remember why you’re feeling down and repeat your question for Harrison.

“No, but honestly, would you be ashamed of me?”

His blue eyes watch you intensely like it’s very important to him that you understand what he says, “Never.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He laces your little fingers together, the ‘pinky promise’ an old ritual of yours.

“But why are you asking?” he inquires softly.

“I just- I’m just so damn tired of being his secret, you know?”

He gives you an empathic smile, letting you continue instead of answering your rhetoric question.

“I’m not even sure he likes me like as more than a friend anymore.”

You don’t mention a name, but you both know who you’re talking about. Although neither of your families know, it was clear to both of you from the start that Harrison would figure it out no matter what, and that you might as well tell him yourself.

“That bad, huh?”

You sigh, “Yeah. Not even exaggerating, I’m really not sure.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, that sucks.”

“Sure does,” you agree, laughing involuntarily at the tragic situation, and Harrison soon joins you.

Then, he says softly, “If you aren’t happy, Y/N, you should let him go. You deserve better.”

“I know,” you whisper, “But I don’t think I can.”

He takes your hand, squeezing it and interlacing your hands, and no words are needed. You know he feels bad for you, and you both know there’s nothing he can do to ease your trouble.

“I wish it was you instead. We’d make such a great couple,” you tell him, trying to lift the mood.

He nods, grinning, “Legendary.”

“Shame we don’t like each other like that, really. Our kids would be so beautiful.”

“Maybe that’s why. Would be unfair to their peers when they’d be so much uglier.”

You shake your head, smiling at the thought.

Then, on a more serious note, “Thanks for being here, Haz.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

He squeezes your hand once more and then helps you get up.

“If it makes you feel any better, he looked terribly jealous when you hugged me,” Harrison tells you, and though it shouldn’t, you catch yourself being happy with it. At least he’s not totally indifferent.

You return to the party, Harrisons hand laying comfortingly on the swell of your back the whole time, until it’s to go home. He presses a kiss to your cheek and tells you to hit him up soon, and you thank him for being such a good friend. He truly deserves the world.

You wish you could go with him, but still, you stay, having been tricked into helping with the cleaning by Tom’s mother, and really, you’d be happy to if it didn’t involve seeing Tom.

It’s hard to even remember what made you mad when you’re near him, and if that wasn’t enough, you’re afraid that you’ll say something you’ll regret later.

Because while this might be tearing you to pieces, you know it’d be much, much worse if you lost him completely.

Although you are deep in thought, you probably shouldn’t be as startled as you are when he speaks, considering you are cleaning the same room as him.

“I got a bit cold out by the grill, so I went to see if I had a sweater in my room, and I didn’t mean to, but I heard you and Harrison,” he softly tells you, eyes scanning your face for a reaction. You try not to give him one, pursing your lips tightly together and remaining silent.

He sighs, running a hand through the curly locks of his hair.

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” you mutter, looking away.

You wish this conversation wasn’t happening. You don’t even dare to imagine the outcome.

“That you feel like I’m keeping you a secret.”

You scrunch your eyes, looking at him again, “What did you think I felt, Tom? Honestly? You haven’t even told your mom, and we both know you tell your mom everything. I feel like I’m nothing to you.”

Your words are harsh at the beginning, anger in your body, but it quickly deflates and leaves you sad instead, making your last words soft and fragile.

And Tom looks taken back by your statement, stuttering when he replies, “I- I- I guess I just thought we were on the same page. That you didn’t care whether people knew about us or not.”

You roll your eyes, “If you truly believed that, you don’t know me like I thought you did.”

You let go of your hold on the black rubbish bag you’re throwing empty cups into as you wait for his answer.

“I guess you’re right,” he admits with a whisper, “I guess I did know.”

You nod, throat tight.

“Yeah,” you just say.

You stand there, looking at each other in silence, and you don’t even try to hide your tears. If there was anyone but him watching, you probably would have tried, but this is Tom, your best friend, the person that has broken your heart but also someone with hands you wouldn’t hesitate to put your life into.

He takes a small step closer to you, looking at you with desperation.

“I wish we could tell everyone, Y/N, I really do. But you know how my agency feels about my image and my availability,” he pauses, swallowing down a lump in his throat before he continues, “But if my next movie just gets big enough, it will be different, Y/N, I promise. Then they can’t refuse.”

You shake your head, your vision to blurred to see anything, but your mind is surprisingly clear. You don’t believe his words, and really, you just wish he would tell the truth, because to you, it seems that this mess has gotten so bad because of lack of honesty, and you’re done with it.

You’re done with being anxious all the time, not knowing if he’s uncertain about his feelings for you, even doubting whether you’re the only one he goes home to. You’re done with feeling inadequate and unlovable and stupid, waiting around for someone who doesn’t want to come home.

“Far from home was one of the best-selling movies ever, but apparently, that still wasn’t big enough. So, what’ll it be, Tom?”

“Are you asking me to choose between you and my career?”

You shake your head violently, not understanding how he could accuse you for doing such a thing, but then you nod, realising that maybe you are. And surprisingly, you don’t feel selfish doing so.

“Not between me and your career, Tom, but yes, I am asking you to choose between me and the stupid rules of your agency.”

Now, he looks angry, brow scrunched and tight jawline, “My agency and their stupid rules,” he starts, emphasizing the last three words mockingly, “is what gets me jobs, Y/N! They are the reason I can live my dream, don’t you understand?”

You step closer to him, not believing he would dare to treat you like a stubborn child. “Of course, I understand, Tom! I’ve done nothing but understand ever since we started this damn relationship, but I’m fucking sick and tired of it!”

Your loudness seems to surprise Tom, who takes a few steps back from your anger, almost tripping over your discarded rubbish bag.

“Please don’t do this, Y/N. Don’t make me choose,” he begs, and there’s a part of you that wants to give in, but the bigger part of you knows that nothing will change if you do, and that you’ll just stay miserable.

“I’ve known you for most of my life, Tom, and I’ve been in love with you for years, but I can’t do this, not if you’re not in it like I am. I can’t keep giving you my everything when I only receive 30% in return.”

Then, he says those words that you know will haunt you forever, “I’m- I’m- I’m so sorry, Y/N, but I just can’t. Please understand, I just can’t.”

You nod, but you don’t, you don’t understand. He won’t even meet you halfway.

You look at each other, and you watch how he clearly fights to keep himself together, and you can’t stay mad at him when he looks so broken. You’re always putting him first.

“Will you- will you promise me one thing, though?” you ask, voice hoarse and broken.

He nods, eyes wet and lips pressed tight together.

When you speak, there’s a salty taste on your tongue, and it feels like goodbye, “I know there’s so many incredible things out there, and I promise I don’t expect anything else from you anymore, but at least- at least think of me while you’re gone, won’t you?”

A sob escapes his lips when he nods, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you gather your belongings in silence, walking into the hallway, Tom only a few steps behind you.

Your hand has just reached the doorknob when you realize that no matter how hurt you are, you can’t just leave him like this. So, you turn around, throw your things to the floor and hug him, relishing in the smell of his cologne and the soft material of his shirt against your cheek.

His chest is shaking with sobs, and his lips feel chapped when he kisses your forehead like he’s done so many times when you were nervous or sad, even before your friendship turned into something more.

There’s a wet spot on his shirt when you pull away, and you smile through your tears, watching him through your blurred vision.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him, but you don’t know if you’re lying.

You pick up your things, and he looks like he wants to stop you from leaving, but he just nods and says goodbye with a broken whisper, “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

Then, you close the door behind you, your body a mess while nostalgia, sadness, despair and love fights for dominance in your body.

If you weren’t so busy being heartbroken, you might have wondered if it was worth losing your best friend in return for some months in paradise, spent kissing and making love under the covers. And you would quickly have come to the solution that it wasn’t, that if you could, you would go back and undo all this mess and settle for being his best friend.

Luckily, you don’t think any of these thoughts, not yet. That sorrow is for another day.

   “Ping!”

The screen of your phone lights up along with the sound, telling you you’ve got a message. You figure it’s Jake, asking which chocolate you want or if you need more tampons. You smile at the thought, finding it funny how Jake’s biggest fear seems to be that you don’t run out of sweets and sanitary items when you’re on that time of the month. You wonder if he’s scared you’ll turn into some weird monster, but it’s probably just him being sweet.

However, the text isn’t from Jake.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Hey. I’m home for a couple weeks and I really want to see you

You can’t believe he still has that stupid name on your phone.

You delete all the emojis and text and write his full name without any emojis to follow, but your index finger lingers over the save button. Then, you go back without changing anything.

It feels wrong to do so, like deleting a period of your life that should, at worst, be packed away in a box in your closet and not completely thrown out.

On the other hand, though, the box seems to have jumped out of the closet and into your living room instead, making its presence known where it isn’t appreciated.

Still, there’s a small part of you, the part that was Tom’s friend and nothing else, wants to meet him and see how he’s doing. 

To: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Hi Tom

You don’t want else to say, or write, so you just hit send and put the phone down again, your breath quicker and a spark of panic rising in your body. Even after all this time, he still gives you all the motions.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Please don’t be like this

Be like what, Tom, you wonder, but you just text him the name of a coffee shop and ask him to meet you there in a few hours. If anything needs to be said between you, it should be in person and not through text.

From: The Worst Spiderman Ever 🤮🕷❤️ (barf, spider and heart emoji)

Thank you, Y/N. Really❤️ (heart emoji)

You really hope you’ve made the right decision.

   “Y/N, I’ve been a fool, no, worse than that, I’ve been a big, stupid idiot, but I need you.”

His grip on your hands are tight, and you gently try to get him to let you go, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“We’ll do it properly this time, tell everyone, and we’ll go on the red carpet together and-“

“Tom,” you interrupt him softly, and you just want him to stop talking. This will get embarrassing for both of you if he keeps going, and you don’t want that.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t let you save him.

“And I’ll be home a lot more, Y/N, I promise. We can travel together, to Paris or Seoul or Rio, and I won’t care who’s watching-“

This time, your voice is a bit louder, hoping it’ll get through to him. “Tom, please, stop,” you plead. Still, it seems like he doesn’t hear you.  

He leans closer to you and looks you right in the eye, “I love you, Y/N. More than anything, and I don’t know why it’s taking me so long to realize, but I do, and I’m terribly sor- Why are you crying?“

You haven’t even noticed your tears before he comments them, but then you carefully, as if he’s made of glass, untangle your hands from each other.

“I’m with someone, Tom,” you tell him, and it feels like a knife to your heart when his face slowly falters as he realizes what you mean.

“I- what- who? When?”

“You don’t know him, Tom. He’s from school.” There’s a flash of relief on his face when he finds out it isn’t someone he knows, maybe even one of his friends, but then the hurt returns.

“When, YN?”

You swallow a lump, looking down at your coffee.

“Almost a year ago,” you tell him, knowing that he won’t understand. That he’ll think that you got over in the span of a minute and moved on, but it isn’t true.

So, before he can say anything, you explain, “He was in one of my classes and had asked me out before, and when you left, I just needed to spend time with someone who didn’t know you, someone who wouldn’t ask or talk about you.”

Most of your friends were friends with Tom, too, or at least they knew him, but you needed to be someone who didn’t.

“I told him from the start that my heart was broken, but he was so patient and waited until I was sure I was ready. He really helped me a lot, Tom.”

Tom nods, and you know he understands. Everyone has different ways of coping, and for all you know, he could have slept with half of the world in this past year. You know he probably did with a couple, and the thought doesn’t make you sick like it used to do.

You’re just sad that he probably didn’t have anyone taking care of him like Jake had taken care of you.

“Does he make you happy, Y/N?”

“I-“ you start, but it’s hard to get the words past your lips when you know that they’ll hurt him.

For a long time, you wanted him to hurt, to know your pain and know that he had lost one of the best things in his life, but now, after doing a lot of growing up, you wish you could find a way not to hurt him. Maybe if you lied, but he’ll probably always be able to see through you.

Knowing you have no other choice, you answer him honestly, “Yeah. He does. He really does.”

He gulps, looking away for a moment. You follow his gaze, watch the busy streets of London packed with stylish locals and less stylish tourists, and you wonder if it still feels like home to him. If home becomes a fleeting place when the whole world is at your disposal. You wonder if you’ll ever know, but you don’t think you will.

And as for yourself, you might never get to travel the world like you used to dream of doing, but you’ve realized it doesn’t matter. You have so much else, so many wonderful people in your life, so much love around you. 

“Do you love him?”

You look at his face and know that he wants you to say no, that he wants this to be like a movie where everything works out in the end, and the guy gets the girl, and everyone lives happily ever after.

But this isn’t one of his beloved movies. This is real life.

“Yeah.”

A tear slips out of his eyes, and you notice they are beginning to turn red. You don’t know if your next words will make him feel better or worse, probably the latter, but you still say them.

“Not the same way I loved you, though. Don’t think anything can really compare to that. But I really do love him.”

It’s clear he tries to contain it, but still, a broken sob leaves him, and every fibre of your body yearns to soothe him, to protect him, but you can’t, just like he couldn’t protect you.

“Do you remember that last day? You told me to think of you when I was gone. How could you think I’d do anything but?”

“Tom, please.”

“I think about you every single day, Y/N, knowing that I made the wrong decision.”

He grips your hands again, this time so tight it turns his knuckles white with desperation.

However, you both know it’s not only your hands you’re talking about when you beg, “Let me go, Tom, you’re hurting me.”

His grip on your hand disappears immediately, his face painted with both sadness and guilt, and you don’t know who’s to blame for the fact that both of you have lost your best friend.

And you wonder if the two of you can work it out, if you can get at least an inkling of your old friendship back, but to be honest, you don’t have the courage to try.

Instead, you leave him there, in a coffee shop in London you used to love. And you know you will never have the strength to go back, not to the coffee shop and not to Tom, both places too haunted by bad memories now.

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

5 16 26 43 for fic comment asks

Anon friend, I’m assuming this ask is for Tiva fics since that’s all I ever post about, lol, but please feel free to send me another ask if you were looking for recs for my other fandoms. :)

5. A fic you’ve read more than five times

Hoping for Happiness by jaelke421 (on fanfiction.net). (TW/CW: there are non-graphic descriptions of torture and sexual assault in this fic, please be aware!) This was the first Tiva fic I ever read, and it’s still my go-to... it’s an absolute BEAST of a fic, the finished story clocking in at more than 250,000 words, ahaha. It’s set post-Somalia at a point where Ziva has a lot of recovering to do, and it does a GREAT job of the slow burn and friends-to-lovers tropes. This fic is like sipping on hot, milky tea in the winter when you’re cosied up under a blanket and lost in daydreams--that is to say, it’s kind and comforting and sweet and familiar in all the right ways. It takes a difficult subject (Ziva’s captivity/torture/I won’t go into more detail but I’m sure you can imagine) and addresses it a little at a time, fixing the absolute disservice that the show did to Ziva by brushing past her trauma. Personally, this is a fic that helped ME heal from trauma of my own, and that... well, it’s a pretty incredible thing for a fic to do! 265k words, complete.

16. An Alternate Universe fic

I’ll confess that this isn’t something I read much of these days... maybe because there isn’t a TON of it in the NCIS/Tiva fandom. But recently, I’ve really been enjoying this cute little high school AU by @tivaholic4. (Link is to the first chapter on tumblr, not sure if it’s posted all in one place on AO3 somewhere or if it’s just posted as individual chapters here?) It’s everything I love in a good AU... it’s lighthearted, it’s creative, it’s an easy read, and it ties in the characters’ canon backstories and relationships in inventive ways. It’s fun to see young versions of all the characters we love so much, and it’s really cute to see them struggle with smaller, less devastating problems... and re: one Ziva David, it’s lovely to imagine her getting to be a kid again. It’s still a WIP and I’m looking forward to seeing how it plays out. Not sure of the word count, incomplete but being actively worked on.

26. A family-focused fic

to be with you was @benditlikepress‘s answer to the Tali’s Birthday Challenge last month, and it’s just about the most adorable thing you’ll ever read. It’s short and sweet so it’s a quick read, but it’ll leave you smiling for the next 75 years. We get everything we DESERVED to see on screen--domestic Tiva, Tali being her parents’ child through and through, AND A CAT. It’s soft in the BEST way (and those who know me know how much I adore soft fics!) and I’ve read it multiple times. (And no one can stop me from reading it multiple times more in the future, lol) Set aside your next twenty minute break to read this and soothe your heart in these difficult days! (I fully realize I recommended a Jess fic in response to my last rec ask, but honestly, me forgoing an opportunity to yell about the beauty of Jess’s fics? it’s less likely than you’d think!) 2k words, complete.

43. A fic that brings you to tears just thinking about it

Cairo by @indestinatus. First of all, you should know that everything Sofia writes is an instant bestseller and she has rightfully gotten a lot of attention for her novel-length WIP, but in my opinion, Cairo is the loveliest thing she’s ever written. As the title suggests, it’s about Tony and Tali tracking Ziva down in Egypt after her supposed death. Now, there are a lot of Cairo fics out there (and don’t get me wrong, there are so many good ones!) but this one just pushes all the right buttons for me, and it’s my favorite! It’s bittersweet in the strongest way, and it will leave you with both heartache and hope for the future. We as Tiva fans were ROBBED of so much shit, but most especially getting to see Tony, Ziva, and Tali be a real family together. This fic touches on that frustration--it’s impossible to finish reading it without borrowing the urge to rail against an unfair world from the characters victimized by that--but it also addresses it... with severely limited time to be together, our babies don’t take each other for granted as they hole up in a hotel in the Egyptian capital. This is truly a moving fic and it made me cry through the whole thing... which, honestly, is a very high recommendation from me! 5k words, complete.

fic comment ask meme

thanks for the ask, anon! <3 I always love a good opportunity to gush about the works of my supremely talented friends!