#(I watched the finale and he was in it so I guess that counts??)

[vunblr]

City Lights and Mountain Hearts

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Slight Angst. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Stuck in the city for Valentine’s week, Bucky grapples with old wounds, self-doubt, and the urge to escape. Luckily, even if he doesn’t know how to express it, he is not alone.

Word Count: 10.5k.

note: Part of the Roots and Branches AU

The soft pling of an incoming email pulled her attention away from the cheesy vampire novel she had been working on, pausing her fingers on the keyboard. She furrowed her brows at the notification in the corner of her screen, precisely at the subject line.

URGENT: In-Person Attendance Required – Feb 12–16

Her company rarely required in-person meetings, much less for an entire week. But as her eyes scanned the neatly written email, her heart sank. They were hosting a conference within the city, an important one, and all key personnel were expected to attend and be involved. No exceptions.

“Great,” she muttered, rubbing her temple. Of all the weeks.

She didn’t mind her job -she actually liked it most days- but this? This was just bad timing. Her first Valentine’s Day with Bucky, and instead of spending it in their little town, she’d be stuck in a place she hadn’t missed, surrounded by endless traffic, overpriced coffee, and the constant hum of people who never stopped moving.

She exhaled sharply, leaning back in her chair. Bucky. He wouldn’t say it outright, but she knew how he felt about the city. He barely ever talked about his time there, and when he did, it was with the same tight-lipped, wary expression he wore when someone brought up his past.

He was not going to be thrilled about this.

She had to tell him. The sooner, the better. Then they could figure out what to do, whether they’d spend the week apart or… maybe he could come. By the time the sun had dipped behind the trees, she had made up her mind. She couldn’t change the situation, but she could soften the news.

So, she set the table with two mugs of hot chocolate and cut a generous slice of apple pie for him. Lately, she had been making dinner later and later, caught up in work, but tonight, she wanted to be ready when he walked through the door.

The familiar sound of the lock clicking open made her stomach flip, slightly tightening her fingers around her mug. Bucky stepped inside, shaking off the chill as he pushed the door shut behind him. He slipped his jacket off, draping it over the back of a chair, and then he made his way toward the kitchen, drawn in by the scent of cinnamon and warm apples. He stopped in the doorway, tired blue eyes flicking between the waiting mugs and the careful way she was watching him. He knew that look.

Something was up.

But before he could ask, she gave him a small, hopeful smile and gestured toward the table. “I made pie.”

----

He sat there, munching the pie with his gaze glued to the plate. She knew he was turning it over in his head, weighing every part of the situation the way he always did.

He swallowed, took a sip of hot chocolate, then let out a slow sigh.

"Guess I'll have to go too."

Her brows lifted slightly. "Bucky, you’re not obligated. It’s totally okay if you-"

"I'll drive us there." His tone left no room for argument. "You’re not spendin’ Valentine’s Day alone. I know you’ve been preparin’ somethin’ for that day, even when I told you I didn’t really mind those kinda celebrations."

She watched as he swirled the chocolate with his spoon, his eyes still cast downward like admitting that cost him something.

"Well, um… yeah," she murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. "That was when I thought we'd be here, and-"

"Sweetheart." His voice was softer now, and when he finally looked at her, there was something in his gaze, something that made her heart ache a little. "It’s okay. We’ll go together."

-----

The next morning when she woke up, Bucky was gone.

That was unusual. Saturdays and Sundays were slow mornings, mornings where he lingered in bed longer than he needed to, where she could coax him into staying even when he grumbled about getting up. But today, the space beside her was cold, like he hadn’t been there in hours.

She found the note on the dinner table.

Had some business to take care of. Be back later.

No explanation. No details. Typical.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, but let it go. If Bucky needed space, she’d give it to him. Instead, she made herself breakfast, turned on her laptop, and got to work. The sooner she got ahead of things, the more time they’d have in the city. And she wanted them to have time, time to make it feel like something other than just another obligation.

-----

Bucky was in his spot in the woods, where the air was sharp and clean, where the only sounds were the wind through the trees and his own breathing. Where he didn’t have to think.

February wasn’t the best time for chopping wood, but he didn’t care. He just needed to move, to burn through the thing curling tight in his chest.

It had been over fifteen years since he set foot in the city. He had left with a full cast on his arm and never looked back. He should have gone back, just once, just long enough to get the damn thing removed properly. Instead, he’d let the local doctor handle it and told himself it wasn’t worth the trip. Told himself it didn’t mean anything.

Maybe it had. Maybe it had meant more than he let himself admit.

The axe came down with brutal precision, and the wood split instantly. He barely registered it, his mind still circling the same damn thoughts.

The city. He didn’t belong there.

Too many people, too much noise, too many eyes. He already could feel the way the stares would burn into him, the way his skin would crawl under all that attention. He could handle a few looks here in town, the occasional glance from curious folks, the gossip… but the city? That was different. In the city, people watched.

And the worst part? He knew what they’d see.

Some guy who didn’t fit. A man too rough around the edges, too quiet, too scarred.

The axe came down again, unrelenting.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, exhaling hard. What the fuck was he even supposed to wear there? He barely had anything that would blend in. Just one pair of decent jeans and a couple of henleys that might keep him from looking like an uneducated stud.

Might.

-----

He returned just before lunch, the sharp bite of cold still clinging to his skin, the muscles of his arm aching like a bitch but in a way that felt more comforting than exhausting. Chopping wood had helped -somewhat- but not enough to shake the weight pressing down on him.

Then, he stepped into the house, and the scent hit his nose.

Tenderloin. Creamed potatoes.

His favorite.

His stomach grumbled in approval, and when he rounded the corner into the kitchen, he found her setting the last plate on the table. She glanced up at him with a smile, like she hadn’t just completely read his mind.

“You’re back just in time,” she said, brushing her hands off on a dish towel. “Figured you’d be hungry.”

Bucky huffed, shrugging off his jacket. She knows. Of course, she knew. She always knew.

By the time he sat down, the first bite was enough to make his shoulders loosen. He didn’t say anything, just focused on his plate, on the warmth of the food, on how damn good it tasted.

By the time he finished his third helping, he finally leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “Darlin’, you’re gonna have to roll me out of here if you keep makin’ stuff like this.”

She huffed a laugh, stacking a couple of plates. “You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is your fault,” he muttered, lazily twirling his fork. “Cookin’ like this.” He shook his head, tone half-admiring, half-accusatory. “Unfair.”

She chuckled, wiping down the counter before glancing over at him. He looked content, a rare sight when something was eating him. That alone made her move closer, stepping into his personal space.

Bucky barely had time to react before her arms wrapped around him, pressing a warm hug against his side. His chest tensed -not because he didn’t want it, never because he didn’t want it- but because it caught him off guard.

She pulled back slightly, flickering her eyes down, and before he could ask, she reached up and wiped the corner of his mouth with her thumb.

“There was-” she paused, tilting her head. “Potato.”

Bucky stiffened.

His hand came up to his mouth a second too late, rubbing over the spot as a slow warmth crept up his neck.

She just grinned. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

He scowled, with the kind of embarrassment that made him shift in his chair and grumble under his breath.

“Not flustered.”

“Uh-huh.”

She kissed his cheek quickly, then stepped away before he could protest further.

Bucky exhaled, rubbing his jaw before dropping his hand with a quiet hmph. He didn’t argue, because what was the point? She was already moving on, making casual conversation as she tidied up.

Then-

“We should probably grab a few things for the trip,” she said lightly, not looking at him as she rinsed a plate. “I was thinking we could head into town tomorrow, and pick out a couple of things.”

Bucky hummed in response, but the food in his stomach suddenly felt heavier.

------

They sat at the kitchen table with a notepad between them, as they jotted down things they’d need for the trip. The list was simple: snacks, water, some groceries.

“I’ll make something for the road,” she said, tapping the pen against the paper. “Something easy to eat while driving. I’ll grab the ingredients tomorrow.”

He nodded, with arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. “I’ll check the truck. Make sure the tires, oil, and water are good.”

She hummed, writing that down, but then-

“Toilet paper.”

She paused, blinking at him. “What?”

“For the glove compartment,” Bucky said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her lips twitched. “Why?”

His ears went pink. “What d’you mean why? When you gotta go, you gotta go. Even if it’s the middle of the road.”

She pressed her lips together, trying really hard not to laugh. “I mean, fair point.”

Bucky grumbled something under his breath as she added it to the list, the color still lingering on his cheeks. But then she glanced up, chewing on the end of the pen.

“You’ll need to grab some clothes from your cabin.”

That was when the shift happened.

His body didn’t move, but something in his expression tightened, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features.

She noticed immediately.

“Hey,” she said gently. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced.

She reached across the table, touching his arm, waiting until he finally looked at her. “One step at a time, alright?”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Yeah,” he muttered, finally. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice.”

She squeezed his arm before letting go, keeping her voice light. “Actually, while we’re on the subject… do you have enough clothes to bring along?”

He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean… I got stuff. But…” He hesitated. “I probably need some new things.”

She nodded slowly, reading between the lines.

He dreaded shopping. Trying things on, getting questioned by clerks, feeling pressured to buy things he didn’t even like.

“I can go,” she offered. “Pick some things up for you.”

Bucky glanced at her, skeptical. “And if I don’t like ‘em?”

“We return them first thing Monday morning.”

He exhaled, considering. “I don’t want anything fancy.”

“You? Fancy?” She smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He rolled his eyes, and his shoulders eased the tension, just a little.

“…Something blue or black for the top,” he muttered after a pause.

She grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

She could sense the weight still pressing down on him, so she steered the conversation into safer waters. “For the food, I was thinking… have you ever tried empanadas?”

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly. “Yeah, actually. Back in the army. One of the guys- his ma would bring ‘em when she visited. He’d share sometimes.”

Her eyes lit up. “Did you like them?”

He nodded, and a hint of a smile softened his features. “Yeah. They were good.”

“Well,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “I was thinking of making a meaty filling. Figured you’d like that.”

His lips twitched, an approving glint in his eyes. “Sounds great.”

She glanced at the clock, noting the time. “Alright, let’s head into town before the shops close. Almost no one opens on Sundays around here.”

Bucky let out a mock groan, pressing a hand to his stomach. “You sure you can get me outta this chair? Ate too much. You’re gonna make me gain weight at this rate.”

She laughed, standing up and stretching. “You’ll look very sexy. And I’ll have more of you to grab.”

That got him. His cheeks flushed a faint red as he ducked his head, suddenly finding the notepad very interesting.

“C’mon, big guy. Let’s go before the town shuts down on us.”

-----

Monday morning, they departed early.

He had insisted on driving, and she let him. Her meeting wasn’t until the afternoon, which meant they had time to get to the Airbnb, settle in, and for her to change before she had to leave. She had suggested a hotel -something nice, something easy- but he had shut down that idea pretty fast.

“Not stayin’ in a damn hotel,” he had muttered.

She knew why. It wasn’t just about avoiding people, it was about having a place that felt less like the city, a place that wasn’t sterile and unfamiliar, a place where he wouldn’t feel watched. An Airbnb was as close to a home as they were going to get in a place that felt otherwise hostile to him.

The trip itself was fine, though Bucky was quieter than ever. She didn’t push, didn’t try to fill the silence, just read her book, occasionally serving him coffee. She figured he needed to settle into his own thoughts and get used to the idea that they were going back to a place he had spent over more than a decade avoiding.

Eventually, she heard it, the low, unmistakable growl of his stomach.

She grinned, closing her book. “Alright, honey. Pull over.”

Bucky grunted. “M’fine.”

“Uh-huh.” She arched a brow. “Pull over. I’ll drive while you eat.”

He gave her a look but didn’t argue, pulling off in the curve. They switched places, and as soon as he grabbed the first empanada, she heard it, the almost joyful sound he made as he took the first bite.

She had eaten earlier, thank God, because somehow, Bucky managed to put away eight in one sitting. And an apple.

As he chewed, thoroughly pleased, she eyed him. “Bucky, are you sure you’re not pregnant?”

He paused mid-bite, squinting at her. “What?”

She grinned. “I mean, the way you’re inhaling those? You’re either growing a small human or preparing for winter hibernation.”

He swallowed, scowling. “They’re good.”

She chuckled, focusing back on the road. “Glad you like ‘em.”

She drove in silence, letting him be.

Bucky had eaten enough to put himself into a food coma, but that wasn’t the only reason he’d drifted off. She knew last night had been restless for him if he had even slept at all. He hadn’t said anything, but she’d felt it in the way he held her a little too long before bed, the way his breathing never fully evened out, the way he had been up before her.

So, when she glanced over and saw him slumped against the window, arms crossed, head tilted slightly, she wasn’t surprised. His chest rose and fell evenly, a few stray crumbs still clinging to his shirt.

She smiled a little and let him sleep.

For a couple of hours, she focused on the road, as the monotone hum of the tires and the quiet murmur of the radio filled the space. But as they got closer to the city, everything changed. The road widened, traffic thickened, and the sky was swallowed by looming buildings.

A sudden blaring horn cut through the quiet.

Bucky jolted awake immediately, sucking in a sharp breath as his hand twitched toward something. His seatbelt, the door, his hip. She wasn’t sure if he was reaching for a weapon or just bracing himself, but for a split second, his eyes were wild, darting around before finally landing on her.

She winced. “Sorry. City drivers.”

He exhaled hard, rubbing a hand down his face. “Should’ve woken me up. I could’ve driven.”

“And be cranky and starving while stuck in traffic?” She shot him a look before glancing back at the GPS. “Yeah, no thanks.”

He muttered something under his breath, but the fight had already left him. Instead, he turned his head toward the window, taking in the skyline, the crowded sidewalks, and the flashing signs. His fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh.

A few more turns, and she finally pulled up in front of their Airbnb. A modest little apartment, nothing flashy, but in a quieter area just ten minutes from where she needed to be.

She shifted into the parking lot and sighed, stretching her fingers. “Alright. Home sweet home.”

Bucky didn’t move at first, just stared up at the building like it might lunge at him.

Then, with a slow exhale, he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for their bags.

-----

They didn’t need a key.

Instead, there was a digital lock with a number combination, which she entered easily after checking the confirmation email. The mechanism beeped, the door clicked open, and Bucky’s stomach twisted.

He didn’t like it.

A code? No actual lock? Who else had access to this thing? The owner, obviously. Maybe the cleaning crew. What if the code hadn’t been changed recently? How hard could it be to override it, to force the door open if someone really wanted to? What if-

Then he felt it.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, her body pressing into his back. A second later, a soft kiss against the space between his shoulder blades.

Bucky exhaled. Slowly.

“I’ll go change and then I’ll leave,” she murmured against his shirt. “Why don’t you take a shower and get comfortable? Or go for a walk if you want.”

He didn’t answer right away, just rested his hand over hers where it rested on his stomach, giving it a small squeeze. Not much, but enough to let her know he’d heard her.

She squeezed back before stepping away, leaving him standing in the doorway as she disappeared inside.

He took another slow breath, glancing at the lock one last time before finally stepping inside after her.

-----

The apartment was… fine.

Smaller than her place back home, but clean, modern. The furniture was sleek, everything in shades of beige and gray, the kind of aesthetic that looked nice in photos but didn’t feel like anyone lived there. Too polished. Too impersonal.

But it was quiet.

That was something, at least.

Bucky paced through the space, scanning everything the way he always did when he entered somewhere new. Windows locked. No weird creaks on the floor. The bathroom door was solid, good enough for some peace. The bedroom was decent -bigger than he expected- but the bedspread was stiff, too neat, too unfamiliar. The walls were bare, and the city noise outside was muffled but ever-present, like a dull hum beneath his skin.

He sighed, rubbing his face. It wasn’t home. But for the next few days, it had to be. He wandered back into the kitchen, running a hand over the smooth counters. It was nice, but something about it felt… unused. Like no one had ever actually cooked in here before.

Well. That was about to change.

Without really thinking about it, he decided he’d make dinner.

They had packed some groceries in a box in the truck’s back, just to be safe, in case they couldn’t find a store right away. He sorted through it, pulling out what he needed.

Dinosaur pasta.

She had laughed at him when he tossed it into the cart back home, but he didn’t care. It was easy and reliable. And this time, he’d give it a twist. She had taught him how to make pink sauce a while ago, and he’d actually paid attention. Figured he’d surprise her with it.

Or so he thought.

The hour of her return came and went.

Bucky stirred the sauce one last time, glancing at the clock. Then the door. No messages.

He exhaled, shaking his head. She’s busy. It’s fine.

But another half hour passed. Then another. The food sat untouched, already cold. His chest tightened. Not with anger, not really, but with something else. Something he didn’t want to name.

Eventually, he gave up. He microwaved himself a portion, eating in silence before rinsing his plate and heading for the bedroom.

He didn’t bother turning on the big lights, just flipped on the TV, letting it play something -anything- to fill the space. He lay back against the pillows, one arm behind his head, eyes on the screen but not really watching.

Then, finally, the sound of the front door opening.

Soft footsteps. A rustling of bags.

A pause.

“…Bucky?”

He didn’t answer right away, just listened. A quiet exhale. Then-

“My phone died,” she said, her voice carried down the hall. “I couldn’t message you. I- I’m so sorry.”

Bucky blinked up at the ceiling, with his lips pressed into a thin line.

For a second, he debated saying it’s fine. But it wasn’t, not really. He wasn’t mad, not exactly, but something swirled in his chest, something that made him feel stupid for waiting, for hoping for something as simple as dinner together.

So instead, he just said, “There’s food in the kitchen.”

A beat of silence. Then soft footsteps, getting closer.

She peeked into the room, eyes full of guilt. “You made dinner?”

Bucky shrugged. “Figured you’d be hungry.”

“You’re so thoughtful, darling,” she murmured, stepping closer. “I’m really sorry. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

He hummed, noncommittal, eyes flicking back to the TV. He wasn’t trying to be cold, but something in him was still knotted up, and he didn’t know how to untangle it just yet.

She didn’t push.

Instead, she peeled off the blazer she had been wearing all day, then unbuttoned her blouse, sighing in relief as she swapped it out for something infinitely more comfortable: one of his old henleys.

She had stolen it from his cabin months ago, claiming it as hers without argument, and at this point, he had just accepted it.

Bucky caught the familiar fabric from the corner of his eye, and for some reason, that tiny thing made his chest ache a little less.

She gave him one last look, a small, tired smile before disappearing into the kitchen to heat up the food.

-----

The hum of the microwave filled the kitchen, casting a soft glow over the countertops as she leaned against them, rubbing her tired eyes. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now, as the scent of the warmed-up pasta made her stomach grumble.

She pulled the plate out, grabbed a fork, and settled at the small dining table. The first bite was perfect, creamy, and rich, with just the right balance of tomato and cream. Even after sitting for hours, it was still good. She smiled to herself. Of course, it was.

She heard a faint noise behind her, and she glanced up to see Bucky lingering in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her eat. He wasn’t brooding, not exactly, but there was something unreadable in his expression, something cautious like he was still holding onto whatever had crawled into his chest earlier.

She chewed slowly, then set her fork down. “You gonna stand there all night, or you wanna come sit?”

Bucky huffed through his nose but pushed off the doorframe, walking toward her with slow, measured steps. He didn’t sit, though. Just leaned against the counter, hands braced on either side of him.

She took another bite, then met his gaze. “It’s really good.”

He hummed like he wasn’t sure whether to believe her.

She frowned, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Then, without thinking too hard about it, she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

Bucky stilled.

She squeezed gently, running slow circles over the back of his hand with her thumb. “I hate that you waited for me and I wasn’t here.”

He let out a slow exhale, shifting his shoulders. “S’not your fault.”

“I know,” she murmured. “But I still hate it.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes flicked away like he wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling pressing against his ribs.

Then, finally, he squeezed her hand back. She smiled, tugging lightly until he sighed and gave in, pulling out the chair beside her and sitting down.

She took another bite, then set her fork down again. “You know I love this, right?”

He blinked at her. “What?”

She gestured to the plate. “You. Making dinner. Thinking about me. I know you don’t think it’s a big deal, but it is to me.”

Bucky swallowed, flexing his fingers around hers. “Yeah?”

She smiled, bringing his hand to her lips and pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles. “Yeah.”

He let out a slow breath for the first time that night, as something in his chest finally let go.

------

The next morning, they went out to walk around and make the most of their time before she had to head to her second meeting. The city was already alive with movement, people rushing to work, street vendors setting up, the noise of conversations and car horns blending into the background noise.

They grabbed something to eat at a small café, sitting by the window, watching the world go by. Bucky was quieter than usual, but she didn’t push. He had agreed to come with her and had stepped into a place he hated for her, and that was already more than enough.

After breakfast, they strolled down a quieter street, hand in hand. She had been enjoying herself -taking in the sights, pointing out things she thought were interesting- when she finally noticed it.

Bucky was stiff.

His jaw was tight, and his free hand curled into a loose fist by his side. But what really gave him away was the way his eyes moved, scanning their surroundings, tracking every person that passed by.

She squeezed his hand gently. “What’s wrong?”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Nothin’.”

She arched a brow. “Bucky.”

His shoulders shifted, and after a pause, he sighed. “…I feel observed.”

Her heart clenched a little. She knew what this was, his self-consciousness creeping in, his social anxiety pressing against his ribs, telling him he didn’t belong here, seeing threats where there were none.

She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. “I don’t perceive it.”

He made a quiet, disbelieving sound, but before he could argue, she smirked. “Although, I do think there’s a bunch of women looking at you.”

That startled him. He blinked down at her. “What?”

“You’re too handsome,” she simply said, like it was a fact.

Bucky groaned, shaking his head. “‘Guess only you see that, darlin’.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Bucky, I’m gonna say this once, because I really don’t want you all cocky later, but… you are a gorgeous man.”

His brows pulled together, like the very idea confused him. Before he could brush it off, she pressed on.

“I know you don’t see yourself like that. Not anymore. But you are,” she said firmly, squeezing his hand. “So believe me when I tell you that probably six out of ten women we’ve passed would say yes if you asked them out.”

Bucky’s ears tinged pink, and his lips parted slightly before he clamped his mouth shut, looking away. He shifted his weight, clearing his throat like that would somehow push the embarrassment down.

“…That’s not a real statistic,” he muttered.

------

He sat on a park bench, stretching his legs out as she wandered over to a street vendor. She was buying caramelized peanuts, chatting with the old man behind the cart, moving her hands as she gestured about something.

He let his gaze stray through the park.

A pair of guys in army uniforms caught his attention as they strolled past, laughing easily, and moving with confident steps. One of them playfully nodded toward a group of girls sitting on a nearby bench, earning a few shy smiles in return.

Bucky’s chest stiffened.

Once upon a time, he had been one of those guys.

A menace on his days off, all easy charm and reckless energy making the most of whatever time he had before duty called again. He had forgotten, sometimes, what that version of himself looked like.

But then-

The unending campaigns. The things he had to do. The things he couldn’t take back.

His mind yanked him somewhere else, somewhere darker.

The storage house. The explosion. The searing heat of fire before everything went black, then worse, the crushing weight, the sickening snap of bone, the panic clawing up his throat as he realized he was trapped.

Dying buried alive.

Rainwater trickled through the cracks, dampening the dust, and turning it into mud.

His breathing fastened and his gaze dropped to the pavement, curling his fingers into his palms. The world around him dimmed, his body here but his mind there, stuck between then and now.

Then-

A touch. Soft. Soothing.

His head jerked up, with an unfocused gaze.

She crouched beside him, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder, with a concerned expression.

And when his eyes met hers, she sucked in a small, worried breath, because she had never seen that look in his eyes before.

Vacant. Haunted.

Lost.

-----

She didn’t let go of his hand the entire walk back.

Bucky didn’t protest, but he didn’t say much either. His grip was solid, but his steps were stiff, and his jaw was locked so tight she could see the muscle twitching. He kept his eyes forward, scanning the sidewalk, shoulders squared like he was bracing for something, though she wasn’t sure what.

She kept her voice soft. “Almost there.”

He hummed, barely acknowledging it.

She didn’t push.

The city noise surrounded them. The honking of cars, the chatter of people passing by, the echo of hurried footsteps against the pavement, but she barely noticed. Her focus was on him, on the way he was still somewhere else, even as they turned the last corner and the building came into view.

When they reached the door, she entered the code with one hand, still holding onto him with the other. The lock clicked. She pushed the door open, stepping inside first before turning to look at him.

Bucky exhaled slowly like he was only now allowing himself to breathe.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on.”

He didn’t move at first, flicking his eyes past her like he wasn’t sure he wanted to cross the threshold. But then, slowly, he stepped inside.

She shut the door behind him.

“Wanna lie down?” she asked softly.

Bucky didn’t answer right away, but then he nodded, just once.

She guided him toward the bedroom, with her hand still loosely curled around his. The moment they reached the bed, she lay down first, settling against the pillows. He hesitated for only a second before following, shifting until he found the place he always found soothing, his head resting in the valley of her breasts, arms wrapped firmly around her waist.

She exhaled, letting her fingers trace slow, lazy circles across his back.

He said nothing, but she felt it, the way his body, little by little, started to relax against her. The tension in his shoulders softened, his breathing evened out, and his grip on her went from holding on to simply holding.

The minutes passed on, and the only sound in the room was the soft tick of the clock.

“You’re gonna be late,” he grumbled, muffled against her body.

She hummed, drifting her fingers up into his hair, massaging his scalp in slow, soothing strokes. “Don’t care.”

Bucky huffed.

“They haven’t even deposited my travel allowance yet,” she added. “They can wait a few more minutes.”

He sighed against her, and she felt it, the subtle way he melted just a little more, sinking into the warmth of her touch, the safety of her body against his.

“Tell you what,” she murmured, still tracing slow circles over his scalp. “Since you’re so tense, I’ll give you a nice massage when I get back. What do you think?”

Bucky nuzzled against her chest, exhaling a breath that was just shy of a sigh. “I’d be real fucked up if I said no to that.”

She smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Perfect.”

Her hands never stopped moving, going down to rub at the knots in his shoulders, then ghosting along the base of his neck.

After a moment, she shifted slightly beneath him. “Will you be okay alone in here?”

He nodded against her.

It wasn’t a complete lie.

He would be fine. The walls weren’t closing in, the noise from outside was manageable, and he had a place to retreat to, away from the chaos of the city. Technically, he’d be fine.

But deep down, he knew what was coming.

She would leave. The apartment would get too quiet. His thoughts -the ones he had been trying to push down since the park- would creep back in, crawling up his throat, and pressing against his ribs.

And that dark, familiar pull would be there, whispering its old, ugly promises.

It was one of his last dirty secrets.

One he was ashamed to reveal to her.

He had gotten better -so much better- but the temptation never really went away. Sometimes it was just a flicker, something he could ignore. Other times…

Like now.

His fingers twitched against her waist, resisting the urge to reach for his phone, to make the order before she even left. Just one bottle. Just to take the edge off.

“I won’t be gone long,” she reassured him.

Bucky swallowed. Nodded again.

“I know,” he murmured, hoping she couldn’t hear the lie beneath his words.

-----

The second the door shut behind her, the apartment felt different.

Empty.

He stayed in bed for a moment, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. The warmth her body had left behind was fading, replaced by the cool feeling of being alone.

He took a slow breath. Let it out.

Then he sat up, rubbed a hand down his face, and reached for his phone.

It wasn’t even a debate, not really. The thought had been there since the park, lurking in the back of his mind, and now, without her here to distract him, it clawed its way forward.

Just a bottle. Just a drink. Just to settle things.

His fingers moved before he could talk himself out of it. A few taps, an automatic confirmation. Done.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but the knock on the door came quicker than expected. He stood slowly, crossing the room, hesitating just for a second before pulling the door open.

The delivery guy barely looked at him, just handed over the bag, muttering a quick have a good one before turning away.

Bucky shut the door and stared down at the weight in his hands.

For a long moment, he didn’t move.

Then, he walked into the kitchen and set the bottle down on the counter. He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before turning away. His muscles ached from how tense he’d been all morning

He’d take a shower first.

But the water didn’t wash away his thoughts.

His mind was on a battlefield, mud, blood, fire, and screams. The weight of debris pinning him down. The searing pain in his left arm, so sharp it had felt like his body was being torn in half.

And then… the hospital.

The look on the officer’s face when he was told, flatly, clinically, that he was expendable. That his sacrifice had been expected. Calculated. That they would move forward without him.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against the shower tiles. He had fought for his country. Given everything. And when he needed them most, they had tossed him aside like a broken weapon.

Then she walked away.

He tousled his hair, exhaling sharply as the memory crawled forward, uninvited.

She had grown distant. At first, it was subtle: longer pauses between messages, a clipped voice when she finally answered his calls. Then came the excuses. How busy she was. How complicated things werefor her. How she needed time.

Eventually, she stopped answering at all.

Her friend had been the one to deliver the final blow. “It was difficult for her,” she had said, carefully avoiding his eyes. “She’s not in a place to handle… your situation. She’s struggling too, you know.”

His situation.

His problems.

His disability.

He turned off the water, with a rough movement. He grabbed a towel, rubbing it over his face before wrapping it around his waist.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, his mind was still in shambles, raw and restless, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Then his eyes landed on the counter.

The bottle was still there, untouched. Waiting.

Bucky cursed under his breath.

His fingers twitched, and before he could think too hard about it, he grabbed the bottle and poured himself a glass. He stared at his distorted reflection on the smooth, amber-colored surface for a while.

But he didn’t drink.

Instead, he turned away, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. He needed boxers. Maybe if he did something -even something as simple as getting dressed- it would take the edge off.

He shuffled through his suitcase, pushing aside neatly folded shirts, a couple of henleys, and his new corduroy pants. No boxers. He frowned.

Then he remembered, she had packed them in hers.

With a sigh, he crouched next to her bag, unzipping it and rummaging inside. His fingers brushed against some fabric, then something firmer, a box.

Cardboard. Smooth.

Curious, he lifted it out.

It was a large, homemade chocolate box from Winnifred’s, the local baker back home. He recognized it instantly.

He swallowed hard, looking down at the box in his hands, tightening his grip around it while he walked to the living room.

She had planned this, before the trip. She had thought of him, of making this first Valentine’s together special, even when she knew he wasn’t the kind of guy who cared for fancy celebrations.

And he knew -of course he knew- she had probably planned something else, something back home. Maybe dinner at his cabin, decorated secretly while he worked, something small but theirs alone. But the trip had messed everything up, throwing them into this place that didn’t feel right, didn’t feel like home.

Still, she had brought a little piece of it with her, for him.

Bucky exhaled shakily, blinking hard. His gaze flicked toward the counter, to the glass of whiskey waiting for him, and the bottle looming beside it.

For a moment, he just stared.

Then he walked over, grabbed the glass, and dumped it in the sink. The sharp splash of liquid against metal filled the silence, followed by the pour as he emptied the rest of the bottle down the drain.

He didn’t watch it disappear. Just threw the empty bottle in the trash, turned, and sat heavily on the couch. Then, he opened the chocolate box with careful fingers, staring at the neat rows inside, hovering his index over them for a moment before he grabbed one.

This would do.

He took a bite, letting the rich sweetness melt on his tongue.

Yeah.

This would do.

-----

The first thing she saw when she stepped through the door that afternoon, was Bucky sprawled on the couch, snoring softly.

Her surprise chocolate box rested almost empty over his stomach, and his fingers -coated with a brownish glint- dangled near the floor. His towel had loosened slightly, barely hanging onto his waist, exposing just enough skin to make her stare longer than necessary.

She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling.

She almost took a picture.

Almost.

But then, she remembered.

The way he had been before she left, lost in his own mind, dealing with something he didn’t want to express. It wouldn’t be strange if he had some kind of oral anxiety attack, needing something -anything- to keep himself calm.

So instead, she tiptoed, lifting the nearly empty chocolate box from his stomach and setting it aside. Then, she grabbed a blanket, draped it carefully over him, and turned down the lights.

With a small sigh, she slipped into the bedroom and pulled out his old henley. Clearly, they weren’t going out for the day.

She then moved into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves as she started pulling out ingredients for dinner. She wasn’t in a rush, just moving through things, deciding what to make while Bucky got his rest.

It didn’t take long before she felt it.

The familiar warmth of strong arms wrapping around her waist. A heavy, solid weight pressed against her back. The slow, hot breath against her ear.

“Isn’t it the massage lady,” Bucky murmured, sleepily.

Before she could respond, he pressed a lazy kiss to the side of her neck. Then another. Slow, unhurried, tasting her, feeling her warmth beneath his lips.

She shivered, tilting her head just slightly, giving him more access. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

He hummed against her skin, tightening his grip on her waist. “Woke up.” Another kiss, just below her jaw. “Found somethin’ better to do.”

She exhaled a soft laugh, resting a hand over his. “That so?”

“Mm.” His lips dragged lower, pressing against the curve of her shoulder. “Still gotta cash in that massage.”

Her smile widened. “Oh, do you?”

“Mhmm.” He nuzzled against her skin, voice dropping to a rasp. “Feelin’ all sorts of tension, sweetheart.”

She smirked, reaching back to run her fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. “Well, we did say we’d make the most of our time here…”

Bucky hummed his approval, as his hands started to wander, and his breath blew warm and slow against her pulse.

Dinner could wait.

She turned in his arms, her body still glued to his. Her hands slid up slowly, threading her fingers behind his neck, playing lazily with the hairs at his nape.

“Well, mister,” she murmured, tilting her head. “You’re already in your birthday suit… where exactly are you aching?” she asked, playfully pressing herself flush against him, against the unmistakable evidence of his interest, thick and hard against her stomach.

Bucky let out a low, rumbling sound, tightening his hands around her waist. “You really gotta ask?”

She grinned, dragging her nails lightly over the back of his neck. “Mmm… just making sure. Wouldn’t wanna miss a spot.”

His grip flexed, pulling her even closer, grinding his erection against her. “Sweetheart,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep and heat, “if you keep talkin’ like that, I’m afraid we’ll skip the massage.”

“Oh?” she hummed, trailing her fingers up the back of his neck, scratching lightly over his scalp. “And here I was, all ready to… work on you.”

She let her one hand slide between them, dipping lower, palming his cock through the towel.

Bucky inhaled sharply, and his whole body tensed as her grip tightened just slightly, teasing, testing. His head tipped forward, resting his forehead against hers.

“Darlin’,” he warned, with a strained voice

She smiled, leaning in just enough for her lips to brush his. “What?” she murmured, giving another slow, deliberate squeeze.

Bucky groaned, a deep, needy sound. “You’re real close to losin’ that henley.”

She grinned, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That a threat or a promise?”

“Both,” he growled, then kissed her like he meant it.

His lips crashed against hers, slow at first, but that control didn’t last long. Not with the way her fingers kept working him through the towel, sending heat curling low in his stomach, making his knees damn near weak.

He groaned again into her mouth, slipping one hand down to grab a handful of her thigh, pulling her flush against him. The pressure of her palm massaging his cock, the way her body molded to his, it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Fuck,” he muttered against her lips, with ragged breaths.

She smirked, dragging her nails lightly down his back. “You’re so tense, baby,�� she teased, voice dripping with false innocence.

He huffed a laugh, slipping his hands slipping beneath the henley, warm, coarsed palms gliding over the bare skin of her thighs, up to her ass. He gave a firm squeeze, pulling her against his aching cock. “Yeah? Pretty sure you’re the one causin’ the tension.”

She gasped softly, and he took advantage of the sound, catching her lips again, and swallowing every little noise she made as he pressed her back against the counter.

Her fingers hooked into the knot of his towel, tugging, loosening it, but before she could pull it away completely, he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

“Oh, no,” he rasped, dragging his lips down her neck. “You first, sweetheart.”

Without another word, he slipped his fingers under the hem of her nightie and started sliding it up, as his mouth trailed lower, his breath hot against her skin.

“B-but the idea was to make you feel good,” she pouted, though there wasn’t much conviction behind it.

He chuckled, deep and lazy, vibrating against her skin. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart,” he murmured, dragging his lips up to her ear. “This is gonna make me feel real good.”

His fingers skimmed over her bare thighs, slipping higher, slowly and deliberately. Then he tugged the nightie over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without a second thought. He leaned back just enough to take her in, pupils blown wide with hunger.

“Look at you,” he murmured, tracing a hand down her side, rough fingers ghosting over soft skin. “So damn beautiful.”

Her lips parted, her body already melting into his touch, but he wasn’t done yet.

Bucky bent slightly, gripping the backs of her thighs and effortlessly lifting her onto the counter. His hands slid up, spreading her knees apart as he stepped between them. He barely gave her a chance to breathe before his lips were on hers again, his hands gripping her thighs, keeping her close, keeping her his.

She shifted against him, pressing closer, brushing her bare skin against his, and fuck, he could lose himself in this.

In her.

After the kind of morning he had, after the things clawing at the edges of his mind, he knew he had been short with her. He hadn’t meant to be, she was one of the few good things he had since everything went to hell, and the last thing he wanted was to push her away.

And yet, she had still come to him. Still had covered him with a blanket, made sure he was comfortable and had started making dinner instead of being upset that he had shut down on her.

He didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve her.

Bucky exhaled against her lips, dragging his hands up her sides before dipping lower, catching the band of her panties between his fingers. “These,” he murmured, snapping the waistband lightly, “are in my way.”

She let out a breathless little laugh, lifting her hips just enough to help him. He wasted no time, sliding them down her legs, letting the fabric hit the floor before running his hands back up her thighs, spreading her open for him.

His mouth traced along her jaw, nipping at the skin just below her ear before whispering, “You really are too damn good to me, sweetheart.”

She sighed, tilting her head to let him continue his path down her neck. “Maybe,” she teased. “Or maybe you just deserve it.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he dropped to his knees.

His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her in place. He could lose himself here.

He would.

He didn’t wait for permission.

He pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate, feeling the way she shivered beneath his touch. He wanted to take his time, to savor, to make up for earlier, not just for himself. She deserved that.

One of his hands slid up, fingers spreading over her tummy, pressing gently as if to hold her steady. The other trailed lower, teasing along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, watching with satisfaction as her breath hitched.

Then, finally, finally, he leaned in.

He flicked his tongue against her, just barely, a featherlight touch that made her jolt. He smirked, gripping her hips to keep her still, then did it again, a little firmer this time. “Fuck,” he muttered against her, voice rough with want. “You always taste so good.”

She whimpered, as her fingers found their way into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. That sent a shiver straight to his cock, and made him need to hear more of those sweet little sounds from her lips.

He licked a slow, teasing stripe up her slit, circling her clit with the tip of his tongue before pulling away just enough to blow cool air against her. The way she whined, the way her hips bucked up into his mouth, fuck, she was perfect.

He groaned, gripping her thighs as he dived back in, pressing his tongue against her pussy, stroking her just right, slipping lower to taste all of her before dragging back up to flick again her swollen, aching clit.

Her thighs clenched around his head, and he loved it. He wanted it.

He slipped a finger inside her, groaning at how warm and wet she was, at how she clenched around him, so tight and perfect. He curled it just right, adding a second, pumping them slowly, in time with the strokes of his tongue.

“Bucky-” she gasped, tightening her grip on his hair, legs trembling slightly.

That only spurred him on.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured against her, voice thick with hunger. “Let me have it.” He pleaded, suckling at her clit with intent. He didn’t stop, not until she was moaning his name, arching against him, coming undone beneath his mouth, just the way he wanted.

Her thighs instinctively closed again around his head, rolling her hips, searching, chasing his mouth as she neared that blissful edge.

Her grip on his hair was tight, almost desperate, and fuck, he loved it. Loved the way she came undone for him, loved how she let go with him.

“Bucky! oh God-”

His name tumbled from her lips, breathless, wrecked, and that was all it took. Her thighs trembled, her back arched as the pleasure crashed over her, her walls clenching his fingers tightly as she came apart.

He didn’t stop. Not yet. He worked her through it, lapping up every little aftershock, basking in the way her body pulsed, how she shuddered against him.

Only when she whimpered, overstimulated, did he finally ease up, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss against her inner thigh.

He looked up at her, pupils blown wide. “Think that did more for me than it did for you,” he rasped, smirking as he ran his hands over her still-trembling thighs.

She blinked down at him, dazed, as she tried to catch her breath.

Then, with a lazy, satisfied smile, she tugged at his hair. “Get up here,” she murmured. “You’re not done yet.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, with dark intent.

Before she could even catch her breath, his lips crashed against hers, hungry, desperate, gripping her waist almost brutishly as he pulled her off the counter. She barely had time to register the shift before he spun her around, bending her against the cool surface.

A gasp left her lips as she splayed her hands against the counter for balance.

He groaned at the sight in front of him, before running his hands down her back, over the curve of her ass, squeezing once before nudging her legs apart with his knee.

“Look at you,” he rasped, pressing his chest to her back, letting her feel every inch of him, hard and aching against her. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

He kissed the back of her neck, trailing his lips down to her shoulder as one hand slid between her legs, fingers slipping through the mess he had made.

Still soaked for him.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, as he stroked her, feeling her jolt beneath his touch.

She whimpered, shifting back against him, pressing into his fingers, wordlessly pleading for more.

Bucky smirked against her skin. “You want me inside, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes,” she gasped, pushing back against him again.

That was all he needed.

He gripped her hip with one hand, guiding himself with the other, teasing her, just barely pressing in. Then, with a low growl, he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside her in one deep, slow thrust.

A broken moan escaped her lips, fingers gripping the counter as he stretched her, filled her, claimed her.

Bucky clenched his jaw, trying real hard to keep it together, to give her a second to adjust, but fuck, she was so warm, so tight, squeezing him just right-

Then she pushed her hips back against him, wordlessly demanding more.

And who the hell was he to deny her?

Bucky growled, and set a brutal pace, determined to make her feel every inch of his cock.

He didn’t speak.

He just took.

His hands were bruising on her hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks, using the leverage to pull her onto his cock with deep, brutal thrusts. There was no teasing, no slow buildup, just raw, desperate need, pouring out of him with every snap of his hips.

Each stroke drove her forward, and her fingers slipped against the counter as she struggled to hold herself up. The force of his movements knocked the breath from her lungs, and made her whimper and moan, leaving her body pliant beneath his.

He was relentless.

He stretched her wide, filled her with every rough thrust, dragging against that sensitive spot inside her that made her keen. Her walls clenched down around him, and he responded with a ragged, guttural groan, tightening his fingers, as his pace grew even more frenzied.

He wasn’t holding back.

The obscene slap of skin against skin filled the kitchen, mixing with her gasps, and her breathless cries. He drove into her, each movement fueled by something dark and desperate, something he couldn’t put into words.

Because right now, he wasn’t thinking about anything except how good she felt around him, how perfectly she took him, how much he needed this, needed her.

Her legs trembled, and her body arched against him, as every hard thrust sent the pleasure curling up her spine. She was close, her breaths turning into sharp, broken moans, her body tightening around him. The delicious pressure and wet heat threatened to undo him, but he gritted his teeth, determined to make this last.

He didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

His rhythm turned rougher, harder, as he chased the only thing that made sense, the feeling of her falling apart beneath him. One hand snaked between her sweat-slicked thighs to rub tight, hard circles over her throbbing clit.

When she came, she practically sobbed in pleasure, throwing her head back in a silent scream. Her walls clenched around him like a silken fist, massaging his throbbing cock and pushing him dangerously close to the edge. But he wasn’t done.

Not yet.

With a growl, he kept going, wrapping one arm around her waist to hold her up as he kept fucking into her, hard and deep, determined to wring every last bit of pleasure from her wrecked body, until all she could do was take it.

The countertop creaked beneath the force of his thrusts, and her body jerked with every sharp snap of his hips like a ragdoll. She was overstimulated, so sensitive, but she took it, let him use her, let him chase his own pleasure the way he needed to.

His fingers dug into her skin again, and his pace turned erratic, desperate, sweat slicking his chest as he buried himself inside her again and again. His breath was ragged, and his jaw clenched so tight it ached, while his head swam in her intoxicating warmth, the one thing that calmed him, that kept him from spiraling.

His grip bruised as he slammed into her one last time, burying his cock deep as his body seized. His breath caught, a strangled groan escaped his throat as he spilled inside her, grinding his hips against her rear, making sure every last drop was pumped deep inside her waiting body. For a long moment, neither of them moved, and only the sound in the space was their ragged breathing.

Then, finally, Bucky exhaled, loosening his grip just enough to press his forehead to the back of her neck.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t know what to say.

So instead, he just held her -his anchor, his salvation- until his heart stopped racing and the weight pressing down on his chest finally, finally lifted.

She stood there, trying to catch her breath, with her body still trembling as Bucky held her close, his chest rising and falling against her back. He was still nestled between her legs, slick walls cradling his spent, twitching cock.

She rested her forehead against her folded arms, as a shaky laugh escaped her lips. “Well, Buck… that was… something else,” she breathed out, trying to catch her breath.

Bucky huffed a quiet, almost satisfied sound. He hadn't meant to be so rough, so desperate, but something about what happened, about the way she let him have her, the way she took everything he gave, made it impossible to hold back.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?” he finally murmured.

She smiled against her arm. “No. Far from it,” she whispered, turning her head just enough to catch his eyes, with a teasing glint. “I suspected it, but didn’t know you had that in you.”

His lips brushed the back of her neck, a quiet apology hidden in his touch. He wanted to say something, to tell her how much she meant to him, how much he needed her, but the words tangled heavily in his throat.

As Bucky carefully pulled out of her, a sharp gasp left her lips. His hands stayed on her hips, but his gaze dropped immediately to where they were still connected, to the way his cum slowly trickled down her inner thigh, glistening against her skin.

Something primal and possessive bloomed in his chest.

Before he could think twice about it, he reached down, swiping his thumb through the mess, gathering every drop before pushing it back inside her with slow, deliberate pressure.

She gasped, jolting, gripping hard at the counter. “Bucky-”

“Shhh,” he shushed, sliding his free hand up her spine, as his lips brushed the nape of her neck. “Can’t let it go to waste, sweetheart.”

Her breath came out in a shudder, and her legs shook as he pushed his thumb deeper, as if claiming her all over again.

Satisfied, he finally withdrew, fingers glistening as he traced lazy circles over her overstimulated pussy, smirking when she whimpered at the touch.

He was about to tease her -about how sensitive she was, how good she looked wrecked for him, slapping her softly- when her breathless voice cut through the haze.

“I take it as you liked the chocolates,” she teased, turning around in his arms and pressing a slow kiss to his sternum. “this was a very pleasant way of saying thanks”

His hands slid back down to her hips, gripping firmly, fingers pressing into the flesh he had spent the last half an hour worshipping. He hummed, satisfied, tilting his head as he looked down at her. “You wanted me to like ‘em, didn’t you?”

She sighed, pressing her face briefly against his chest, before pulling back just enough to cradle his face with one hand. “I’m glad you did,” she whispered.

He exhaled, leaning into her touch.

“And I’m sorry that we’re stuck here until Friday.”

His throat worked as he swallowed, flicking his gaze away for half a second before settling back on her.

“S’not your fault,” he muttered.

She pressed another kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Still.” As she spoke, her fingers trailed up his arm, slow and deliberate, mapping the rough ridges and scarred skin that told stories of pain and survival.

Bucky tensed beneath her touch.

It was instinctive, something ingrained so deep in him he didn’t even think about it. His scars weren’t something he liked being noticed, much less touched. But she had never treated them like something to be ashamed of, never recoiled or hesitated.

And now, instead of pulling away, she leaned in, brushing her lips over the marred skin of his shoulder before playfully nipping at it.

His breath halted.

She grinned against his skin. “You know… I still owe you that massage,” she murmured, pressing her fingers into the firm muscle of his bicep, kneading it gently.

He exhaled sharply, not in discomfort, but in something else. Something warmer. She had a way of disarming him, stripping away the self-consciousness he didn’t even realize he was holding onto.

His lips twitched, as his hands found their place on her hips again. “You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

She hummed, dragging her lips along his shoulder, hands working their way up to his neck. “Nope.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. His tension was gone, replaced by something softer. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing her hip. “Guess I’m all yours.”

She took his hand, guiding him toward the bedroom.

As they walked, Bucky’s free hand reached for the nearly empty chocolate box on the table, smiling to himself.

She raised a brow. “Still hungry?”

His little smile deepened, something dark, wicked flickering behind his eyes as he squeezed her fingers in his.

“Somethin’ like that,” he murmured, winking an eye.

She swallowed, as heat prickled at the base of her spine, suddenly very aware that whatever he had planned… she’d be the one melting like chocolate before the night was over.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[suguslve]

‧˚꒰🍷꒱༘‧— DO I LOOK LIKE HER? part ii

synopsis: in which you, the new human transfer in Devildom realize bit by bit that you are only seen as a replacement for Lilith.

part i. part iii.

♰ pairings. obey me brothers x fem! Reader

♰ genre. angst

♰ word count. 2.2k

♰ a/n. haha...hey...i know its been so long since i posted part 1 but you can't blame me! i've been swamped with school and lost the motivation to write, so this is my apology pls accept it </3 enjoy reading and don't forget to lmk your thoughts! (p.s. im so sorry that lucifer's part was so short ehe)

Over time, you began to notice the small things, the subtle gestures that hinted at something you couldn’t quite grasp. The brothers were kind to you, undeniably so. They treated you with warmth and affection, and you had grown close to each of them, bonding in ways that made you feel at home in the Devildom. But there was something... slightly off about it all, something you couldn’t shake.

You had formed a close relationship with Mammon, finding it easier to bond and connect with him in comparison to his other brothers. It wasn't just that he was loud or impulsive, or that he often dragged you into crazy schemes—there was something in his eyes when he looked at you, something softer, more genuine. With him, you felt less like a replacement and more like a person—your person, but boy were you mistaken.

One random evening, Mammon had barged into your room, grinning like he always did, but in his hand was a bouquet of flowers. They were lilies. The kind with soft white petals and delicate purple hues that seemed to shimmer in the light. 

“Here ya go. I just! found them on my way back home…” He handed them over to you, a soft blush painting his features. “They’re special….I guess.” 

You gave him a soft smile before standing on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Mammon. They're lovely."

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little awkward. “Well, uh... Lilith used to love these, thought you’d like ‘em too.”

At that, your smile faltered, and your gaze lingered on the flowers. Lilith, huh? You question if the gift was really meant for you or if they were meant for her. You shook your head slightly and met his eyes again, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Thanks. But, um... I’m really tired, so if you don’t mind, could you leave?"

He looked taken aback but nodded quickly. "Oh, yeah, of course. Rest well, Y/N." You closed the door softly and immediately walked to the trash bin, you grabbed the flowers and tossed them inside. You hated lilies.

But the lilies were just the beginning.

Lucifer followed soon after.

He knocked on your bedroom door one evening, holding a small, ornate music box, intricate carvings polished to perfection. “This is for you.” he stated before opening it, a beautiful melody filling not only the room but the whole house as well. You stood there, in awe, yet something about it made your chest tighten.

“This belonged to Lilith,” he said, his voice soft. “She was enamored with it, bringing it everywhere we went and playing with it. I thought you might like it as much as she did.”

“Thank you.” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your hand shook before taking the box. Lucifer nodded, his gaze lingering on the music box for a moment longer. He then bid you goodnight, walking back towards his room, you noticed the faintest trace of a sigh escape him, as though the act of handing over that music box had taken something from him. As soon as he left, you placed it on a high shelf, far out of sight.

Leviathan’s room was dim—the only source of light coming from his monitor. It was another one of your late night anime watching sessions and you had both stayed up all night binge-watching a newly released anime. You sat beside him, wrapped in a blanket he had tossed your way earlier, your eyes heavy with exhaustion but you were just too invested to stop.

“Okay, okay, this is finally the last episode.” Levi said, barely containing his excitement. “This is gonna be so good.” You chuckled at his enthusiasm, adjusting your position on the couch. “Alright then, hit play already!”

As the opening credits rolled, Levi shot you a glance before grinning. “You know… the main character kinda reminds me of you.” You raised a brow. “Oh? How so?”

Levi gestured toward the screen. “Just look at them! Their whole vibe—the way they act, the way they talk, even some of their features!—it’s just so you.” Curious, you turned your attention fully to the character in question. They had a quiet strength to them, a soft but determined presence. And yet, as the scene unfolded, your stomach twisted.

Because the character didn’t remind you of yourself. They reminded you of her.

The resemblance to Lilith was undeniable—the same gentle eyes, the same way they carried themselves, the way they spoke, even the way they looked all felt eerily familiar. Your heart sank as you realized what Levi was seeing.

He wasn’t seeing you.

You swallowed, forcing a small laugh. “You think so?” Levi nodded enthusiastically, completely unaware of the weight behind his words. “Yeah! It’s uncanny. Maybe that’s why I felt comfortable around you so quickly—it’s like I already knew you.”

Tears were threatening to fall from your eyes. So that was it. Even here, in a world separate from reality, you were still standing in someone else’s shadow.

Next came Satan. 

It was a quiet afternoon, and you had wandered far from the House of Lamentation, seeking peace and quiet. Seated on a bench, you immersed yourself in a random book from the library, enjoying the peace.

A soft ‘meow’ pulled you from your reading. Glancing up, you spotted a small black kitten approaching, its green eyes warm and curious. Setting your book aside, you cooed at the tiny creature, extending a hand to beckon it closer.

You picked it up softly, making contact with its soft fur. The cat looked at you curiously before meowing once more. Your heart softened at it, and you placed it on your lap, petting it slowly. The cat’s eyes became more and more droopy, and soon after it fell asleep.

Smiling, you reached for your D.D.D. to capture the moment—only to pause at the sound of a quiet chuckle behind you.

Turning quickly, you found Satan watching you, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“You’re good with cats.” Satan remarked, stepping closer before seating himself beside you. His voice was smooth, but there was something softer in it than usual—something almost fond.

You relaxed slightly, offering a small smile as you glanced down at the sleeping kitten in your lap. “I think this little one just likes me.” you said, running a gentle hand over its fur.

He watched the kitten with adoration, petting it softly as well. “You’re quite similar to Lilith.” he murmured and you froze at the mention of her name. “Animals were drawn to her, especially cats. She had this… certain gentleness about her.”

Your fingers stilled, the weight of his words settling over you like a familiar shadow. Here it was again. Another moment, another memory that wasn’t really yours. When will it end?

You were out shopping with Asmodeus, hopping from store to store. Your feet ached unbearably, but despite the discomfort, you found yourself enjoying the moment. He was going on and on about the latest fashion trends and gossip, and you smiled as you listened, entertained by his enthusiasm.

His rambling came to an abrupt stop when his eyes landed on a fragrance shop. With a delighted squeal, he grabbed your hand and eagerly pulled you inside.

The shop was filled with soft, ambient lighting and shelves lined with elegant glass bottles, each containing a different scent. The air was thick with floral, citrus, and musky undertones, blending together into something almost intoxicating.

Asmodeus let go of your hand and immediately darted from display to display, picking up bottles and spritzing them onto tester strips. Meanwhile, you wandered through the shop at your own pace, picking up bottles and sampling various scents, searching for a new one that suited you.

You had just found a light, floral fragrance that you liked when Asmodeus turned to you and gasped dramatically. “Oh! That one!” he exclaimed, holding up the sleek glass bottle. His eyes shimmering with excitement as he spritzed some onto his wrist. “You’ve got good taste Y/N! You know, Lilith also loved this scent! She used to wear it all the time—it was practically made for her.”

Your face fell at the mention of her name once more. God, why does everything have to be about her?

“You should buy it!” he insisted. “I just know it’ll smell amazing on you—just like it did on her.”

You hesitated, staring down at the delicate bottle. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have.

“Go on.” he urged, smiling brightly. “It’ll be perfect on you.” Just like how it was perfect for Lilith.

Then it was Beelzebub. 

You were sitting in the living room, scrolling mindlessly on your D.D.D. Your attention was then interrupted when you heard the main entrance open and close. Beelzebub walked towards you, a smile evident on his soft features, he was holding what looked like a basket of pastries, the sweet aroma filling the air.

“Hey Y/N! I was over at this new pastry shop earlier and look what I got!” He said excitedly, you smiled up at him before he picked one out of the bunch and handed it over to you. It was a strawberry flavored bread, your favorite. You took it from him, about to thank him before he beat you to it. 

“That was Lilith’s favorite!” he said, his voice tinged with a rare gentleness. “I thought you’d like to try it.” You stared at the pastry on your hand, your appetite vanishing. 

“Oh…Thanks, Beel.” you murmured, disappointment evident in your voice. He smiled up at you before heading to his room, surely to eat the rest of the pastries, while you sat there, staring at the bread before placing it in the fridge and walking back to your room.

The bread sat untouched on the refrigerator for days until they went bad, and you threw them away.

You sat hunched over your desk, your room dimly lit by the soft glow of your lamp. The assignment in front of you was due tomorrow, but the words on the page blurred together, your exhausted mind struggling to focus.

This had become your routine—staying up late, drowning yourself in schoolwork, anything to keep your thoughts from spiraling. The dark circles under your eyes had deepened over the past few weeks, proof of just how little rest you were getting.

But it wasn’t just the assignments keeping you up. It was them. 

A soft knock on your door pulled you from your thoughts. Before you could respond, it creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside.

Belphegor.

He rubbed his eyes, looking just as sleepy as ever, but there was something different in his expression—something more aware, more concerned. He didn’t say anything at first, just took in the sight of you, the exhaustion weighing heavy on your frame.

“…You’re not sleeping.” His voice was quiet, but certain. It wasn’t a question. You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I’ve got a lot to do.” Belphegor didn’t respond right away. Instead, he walked closer, something bundled in his arms. When he reached your side, he held it out to you. A thick, worn blanket.

You blinked at it, hesitant. “What’s this?” He didn’t meet your eyes as he spoke. “It was Lilith’s.”

Oh.

“She always used it when she couldn’t sleep.” he continued, voice softer now. “Said it made her feel safe.”

Your throat tightened as you stared at the fabric in his hands. Still, you reached out, your fingers brushing against the fabric. It was soft, familiar in a way it shouldn’t have been.

“Thanks.” you murmured, forcing a smile. Belphegor nodded, watching you for a moment longer before turning away. “Get some sleep.” he muttered before slipping out of the room.

You held the blanket close, staring down at it, your chest heavy with something you couldn’t name. You were being given another piece of her.

It wasn’t just the gifts that hurt—it was the way they looked at you. Like they were searching for pieces of her in you, hoping to fill the void she’d left behind. Each gift came with the same unspoken message: You’re not Lilith, but we wish you were.

That same night, as you stared at the collection of gifts scattered around your room, you finally broke. The memory of Lilith lingered like a ghost in the House of Lamentation, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape her shadow. And with every gift, every gesture, it became clearer—you were never truly seen. Not for who you were. Not for who you wanted to be. You were a ghost in someone else’s place, a cruel imitation of the sister they lost. Every kindness they offered wasn’t meant for you, no matter how much you laughed, cried, or screamed, it wouldn’t matter. They never cared for you. They cared for the pieces of her they saw in you.

You were her, in all the ways that counted. And you wondered if they would ever realize—if they would ever mourn you, the way they mourned her. Or if you were never meant to be anything more than Lilith’s shadow.

all rights reserved to © suguslve.

[deathofacupid]

please give me some nanami fluff, im deeply wounded by his angst. ohhh preferably requited love but theyre both awkward coworkers?

a/n: yayayaya first jjk request !! i wanted to get this out yesterday when i saw it but i got distracted... multiple times... but yes yes here you go :D (angst that is being referred to)

nanami is not good at these things. which is why he's been awkwardly lingering by your desk, trying to put together an appropriate proposal for lunch.

every now and then, your eyes will flicker up from your work, and you'll give him a shy smile, one he'll awkwardly return.

"nanami," you ask, soft. "is everything alright?" there's a hidden question of 'why've you been hanging around like a freak?'.

"yes. of course. why wouldn't it be?" it's paired with a forced grin, something you can't help but wince at.

"well, it's just... y'know, you've been..." you trail off, unsurely gesturing at him.

"oh. right. i was just," a pause, "pondering."

"pondering?" you echo, tugging at the hem of your skirt.

"it's come to my attention that, uh, you have your lunch break in the next," a glance at the clock, "two minutes. as do i."

you follow his gaze to the time. "hm. yeah, i guess."

"would you like to join me? there's this wonderful bakery that i know of."

the other thing that he's not good at; small talk. which is how he's ended up sitting silently at a table with you.

he fiddles with his napkin, and you play with the your straw wrapper. finally, unable to bear the quiet, you force some words out. "this is a, uh, great smoothie, by the way. good recommendation," you say, giving him a lopsided smile.

nanami nods. that's it. so, you're tapped out. that was your conversation-starter. now, what? he nodded. nodded. no expression, aside from lips pressed together. why would he ask you out - even just as coworkers - if he only wanted to, well, not talk.

he seems to realize this, too, only a bit late. it's odd to respond now, right? after minutes have passed? is he over-thinking this?

nanami clears his throat, "yes. yes, that's one of my favorites. i also quite like the blueberry. we can try that next time."

"next time?" you ask, watching as his face flushes. woah. the nanami kento, master of the stoic... blushing?

"sorry. if you'd like."

now it's your turn to blush, "i would. like, i mean. i would like that. if you would like that."

"i would like that," he smiles.

"good. i would, too." you don't mean to have said that one sentence ten different times in ten different ways, but he makes you nervous.

"good."

"good."

five years later, married with a ring on your finger, and a baby along the way - one that both you and nanami are equally excited for - he still claims that as your first date. you argue that it doesn't count, but he says it does, because it was the first time the two of you ever went out alone... hence the term, 'going out'.

and, at the end of the day, you really couldn't care less. because, as awkward as it can be with nanami, you're with him. you're his.

[in-hos-wife]

Never too busy for you

In-ho x reader

Summery: a week before the games as in-ho is jam packed with work to make sure this goes smoothly he’s overworking himself so much that he doesn’t realize it’s taking a toll on his fiancée, so when he’s working and making phone calls he he doesn’t realize it started to storming leaving you in your shared bedroom to deal with the anxiety of the storm alone

Word count: 634

Tw: ooc maybe, anxiety and panicking,

You're sitting there in the room you share with your fiancé in-ho, who because of the games would be spending as much time with you that he can because he’ll be away from you for a week. Not that you couldn’t be there he just didn’t want you to see all the bloodshed and your ok with that because he makes it up to you before and after he gets home. But now he was dealing with a old winner trying to come back, you didn’t know much you just know that he had his hands full always in his office and it saddened you because he was stressed out but also for a selfish reason you wanted your fiancé you wanted to watch movies and hold him. Right now you wanted him more then ever as the loud crashes and the bright lights from outside as the storm picks up causing your heart to race and you start tearing up, you don’t want to turn on the tv in case it’s to loud and interpreted what in-ho is doing next door. You can hear in-go bickering with his guards on the phone he hate yelling but that winner isn’t stopping this is his third phone call in two hours first his guard then the salesman now the guard again. In-ho’s mad he hasn’t even realized he’s yelling. He just want to keep you safe but the closer Gi-hun gets the closer he could get to finding out about you and him, he’ll live with the fact that he can be found but with you he’d burn the world if someone tried to harm you, him and his guard finally get off the phone and get onto his computer in-ho is so focused on work he hasn’t realized the storm. You sitting in bed while the storm gets louder and louder more tears fall you feel like the rooms closing in on you and your heads spinning you pick up your phone unlock it and go to your contacts you can hear him so your guessing he say his computer you find the contact “fiancé💍” and you press call. In-ho is working on his computer when he hears his phone ring he rolls his eyes thinking it’s the salesman till he looks down and see your name he didn’t want to make it cute so in case someone got ahold of his phone and someone sees you won’t be known as someone he loves, he answered and hears you soft sniffle like your crying then it hits him he’s been so focused on work that he hadn’t realized it had been storming and now he feel like an idiot. In-ho got up from his chair immediately grabbing his phone and going next door to your shared bedroom. Once he sees you and it breaks his hurt. He immediately holds you in his arms and you sit there you start calming down laying in his arms made you feel safe ���I’m sorry if this ever happened again smack me” he said smiling as you softly giggle as he laying there he said a text to his workers that he’s not to be bothered then powers off his phone and lays with you “I was worried I interrupted you…you’ve been so busy I don’t want to get in the way” before you could finish in-ho speaks up playing with your hair “nonsense I’d make way for you so you could never get in the way and I’m never to busy for you next time please don’t just sit here come get me sooner” you smile and lay into his chest “I love you in-ho” he plays with your hair “I love you too now rest” and with that you closed your eyes safe in his arms

[gold-onthe-inside]

blind date

who? spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader summary: you finally give into your godmother's insistence on going on a date with her colleague, if only to get her off your back, and find yourself having to break the heart of someone who could have been the love of your life. content warnings: not a happy ending (i warned you, you don't get to yell at me), reader is blake's goddaughter and a therapist. word count: 2.1k

You let out a slow breath before entering the restaurant, smoothing down your dress, still second-guessing your outfit - a purple dress matched with a dark velvet jacket and a black purse with a gold chain belt - as if you hadn’t spent your day looking up what women in their 30s wore on first dates. Not like it matters, you told yourself. You’d get through the date, politely tell the guy that he was great but you weren’t interested, and hopefully be home by 10pm. You turn your gaze to the maitre’d, telling him the table was under Reid’s name.

You had told yourself on the way that you couldn’t hold it against him if he was late — you still remember the coffee meetings your own godmother never turned up to — but it turned out he was earlier than you. Where you showed up to everything ten minutes in advance, he showed up twenty-five minutes.

You saw him first, looking into the silver ware and flattening down his hair and adjusting his tie, clearly nervous, looking up when he heard you thank the maitre’d. Spencer almost stumbled over himself as he stood up to pull your chair out for you and you feel an overwhelming urge to reassure him. “H-Hi,” he said, matching your awkward smile. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking the seat and watching him take his, his hand splayed against his chest to keep his tie back. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”

His laugh is nervous, God help him, and he corrects the displaced silverware so they align perfectly before he looked at you again. “I, uh, I get that a lot.”

“Go on a lot of blind dates then?” you asked, sipping the water within reach, and you can see panic flash across his face.

“No! I mean, I’ve-I’ve been on dates before. Just um—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I meant I get the-the height thing, quite a bit. Not that there’s been a lot—”

“Breathe, Spencer,” you feel compelled to say as his face flushes. You’d meant to tease, not give the man a heart attack.

“Sorry,” he murmured, trying to get a grip on himself. God, how did Derek do this? “Um… Blake, sorry, Alex, told me that you’re a therapist,” he said, focusing on something concrete.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, not sure how much information you wanted to tell him. Though, to be fair, he was a federal agent. He could have it found out anyway. “I work at a clinic in Georgetown,” you said, folding your hands in front of you and overthinking whether you should be crossing your legs or not. This was usually the point where the guy would ask if you could read his mind, or attempt to educate you on how mental health was a sham and everyone just needs to get some exercise, and that would be your cue to fake an emergency exit. Maybe you’d get home in time to watch some decent TV.

“Is it hard?” he asked, taking a sip of water before he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. It was endearing, and surprising.

“It can be,” you answered, leaning in slightly. “Some days you get really, really good sessions, you know? And other days it’s…”

“Hell?” he offered and you let out a small huff.

“Try having a seven year old drawing on furniture with chalk,” you told him, watching him wince.

“I, uh… have a confession,” he said, leaning even closer, his voice a dramatic whisper. “I did that as a kid.”

"Understimulated in class, huh?" you asked, smiling at him a little more.

“A lot,” he admitted. “I learned to read very young, and… well, then everyone wanted me to read, and it wasn’t as fun anymore, you know?”

“Mm,” you say in agreement, but before you continue, the waiter comes, and you both order a glass of wine, and appetizers to split. “So, you must be dealing with a lot worse than pre-pubescent vandalism, right?” you asked, pulling apart the fried mozzarella balls with delicate precision, and you watch him think for a moment.

“I’m just trying to decide if the last case we worked would be preferable to handling a toddler, and I honestly think I’d prefer the serial killer,” he said thoughtfully and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you.

"Yeah, no, I don't blame you," you replied, sipping your wine.

“What about you?” he asked between bites. “Did you know you wanted to be a psychologist from day one?”

"Uh... No, I actually thought I would go into linguistics, like Alex, but somewhere around my first year into undergrad, I realised that psychology was my calling," you said.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and leaning his elbow on the table. You liked the way he gave you his full attention; his eyes hadn’t strayed from you since you’d gotten there.

“Uh, we used to have to do these case studies and we’d do these role plays where everyone had a presenting concern to work with, and I used to get this… high whenever I’d figured the client out. Like that moment where everything just… clicks into place. And I got addicted to it,” you said, your words and love for your job captivating.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his smile widening. “I’m sure Alex’s told you that I have an… impressive memory. The cases we work on-the ones they don’t put in our files on purpose-I remember every single piece of information. It’s like the details don’t leave me. So when we finally catch the unsubs, the-the serial killers…” His voice lowers, leaning further over the table to you and he’s so close, you can almost smell his cologne. “That’s when it clicks.”

You stared at him for a beat, like everything else in the world had gone still, his soft hazel eyes looking affectionately into yours, and then the waiter comes over and the bubble between you two pops, springing apart like two teenagers being walked in on. You can see the flush come over his skin, just as the waiter places his plates in front of him, and focus on ordering your dinner, Spencer agreeing to whatever you ordered.

“So,” you started as the waiter left, and you could see the hint of a smile cross his lips. “Spencer, what do you do for fun?”

He hums a little, thinking. “I read, obviously, and I play poker, although I think half the team suspects I’m counting cards.” He leans forward. “Don't tell them, but I am.”

“You can count cards?” you asked, looking at him in disbelief.

He tilts his head to the side, and he looks like some kind of adorable dog, and your cheeks flush a little darker. “Is it that surprising?” Spencer asks. “I mean, if you know the math, it’s-“ He seems to stumble a little, like he’s worried he’ll bore you with the explanation.

“Keep going,” you prompt him, interested.

“I mean, it’s not foolproof,” he starts, the words flowing quickly from him. “You can’t really predict probability with any certainty. It’s just… really good guessing.” He smiles proudly. “I’m actually banned from a few casinos in Vegas.”

You sipped your wine, shaking your head. "You've gotta teach me how, cause I swear, Alex beats me every time."

“You play poker?” Spencer asked, and you nodded, taking another sip of wine. “Of course, you do,” he added, smiling. “You’re perfect,” he blurted, then started, his face flushing a deep colour.

You could fall in love with this man if you let yourself, and it’s a scary thought. Alex hadn’t been kidding when she said that Spencer was perfect for you. Then why was there this horrible pit in your stomach, like an anvil hovering over you?

The rest of the dinner went perfectly, Spencer pulling out your chair for you as you both prepared to leave. The air was crisp, just a little chilly — spring wasn’t quite ready to fully come out of hiding yet. There was a certain energy between you both; a sense of hope you had long forgotten, and as he walked you to your car, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking up and meeting his eyes.

You'd felt this way before... four years ago when you met the man you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with, and suddenly, the idea of going through that again... It scared the living daylights out of you. "This was really nice," you managed, looking at him.

“It was,” he agreed, his hands shoving into his pockets. “I’d like to see you again.” He said it casually, but his eyes betrayed him, like he was afraid you were going to refuse.

You swallowed, reminding yourself to take a breath. "Spencer, you're... really great. I mean, seriously, any girl would be lucky to go out with you," you said slowly. "But if I'm honest... I only came out tonight to get Alex off my back."

You can see the way it crushes him; the light in his eyes dimming. His shoulders drop and his head lowers, and you feel a wave of guilt overcome you, but your feet stay rooted to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but you know his words are meant more for his own failings than for you - you can see it in his body language, how he’s withdrawing into himself. What you expect is for him to walk away; instead, he looks back up at you, and you feel your heart break as your eyes meet his pained ones.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," you said softly. "I should never have..." You took a sharp breath. "I like you, Spencer. A lot, probably more than I'm ready for. But I just got out of a long-term relationship. I'm not ready to jump into another one, especially with someone who... who deserves a lot more."

“I-I don’t mind taking things slow,” he said, his voice soft as his eyes searched your face, and you knew he was telling you the truth. But he doesn’t deserve to be some kind of… emotional training wheels for you, as you work through a bad breakup. He deserves more than you’ve got to offer.

"Of course you don't," you said, with a tinge of fondness. "You're perfect."

"I think I'm far from perfect," he says, with a self-deprecating grin. "But I'd be happy to be, um... whatever it is you're ready for."

You don't want to say it, but he's really, really, really hard to say 'No' to, and the fact he was so genuine in wanting to be around you made your heart clench. You wanted to say 'yes' so desperately.

Maybe you should say 'yes'. Just to see what happens.

"It's a bad idea," you said reluctantly, your resolve crumbling.

"But it might be just what you need," Spencer said, and he's right - you hate it but you can feel the way he's pulling you in. The way those hazel eyes hold you; the way you just want to spend more time with him.

A mistake, you think to yourself, just as his hand slides down, his fingers slotting with yours. A glorious mistake.

"I don't want to do that to you," you murmured, even though all you wanted to do was kiss him and take him home and ruin him.

"Please," he murmured, stepping just a little closer, as if you had any resolve left at this point. "I'm a big boy. I can make that decision for myself."

The way he stepped so close to you made your skin tingle, and something deep within you tightened, and you were sure that Spencer could see it in your eyes. Your free hand lifted, sliding along his cheek. "I can't," you said, thumb gliding against his cheekbone. "I'm sorry."

Spencer stepped back, and you watch the way his face falls, your hand falling away to your side, but he nods, and the part of you that wasn't ready for this, was happy you'd made that decision. That he would stay safe and away from you - but then he leaned down, and before you can process what it was, he presses a warm kiss to your cheek. "I had a really nice time, tonight," Spencer murmured, and you can hear the sound of his footsteps leave before you can get your mouth to work again.

"Me too," you murmured into the air, sinking against your car, wondering if you'd just made the biggest mistake of your life, letting him slip through your fingers.

[cherrycheolkat]

• random slutty thoughts - seungcheol •

seungcheol’s resting bitch face annoys you - in fact, it’s so bothersome it distracts you during meetings - it makes you wonder if he ever smiles

you start glancing at him whenever there’s a chance, even in the hallway like a weirdo

but nothing - he’s like a constantly annoyed statue

worse you almost start to appreciate his face, which is just a new irritation, especially when he starts invading your normal thoughts

you can be enjoying your evening, having a nice dinner, and suddenly you’re wondering if choi seungcheol is having a nice dinner too, is he maybe out laughing with friends, or is he sitting in a sterile white room eating protein bars and listening to classical music like some serial killer - it’s obnoxious the way he’s taken up residence in your brain

this was not what you had in mind, when you idly wondered why he never smiled

it’s when you’re at a conference that you happen to notice something like a grin form on his stupid, handsome face

but it was a split second, so you were sure that didn’t count

you were surprised though when he sat next to you at the bar after the group dinner - you glanced to see him perusing the drinks menu, you also noticed he had rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt - you didn’t exactly hate seeing his muscular forearms

you decided it was best to focus on your drink though and to avoid any extra details about seungcheol

but no, no, no because he had to speak

“so what are you drinking anyway?”

you looked over, “me?”

he nodded, “i don’t know anyone else”

you glanced around, realizing you didn’t either

“oh um, some version of a paloma” - you wondered if you could be more basic - a margarita, that was possible more basic

he nodded looking back at the menu, there was a surprising awkward pause until the bartender came back for seungcheol’s order - you were surprised when he ordered the paloma too

it was quiet again until he got his drink and seemed to slightly choke on his first sip, “oof what is this? it’s like soap,” he whined

you watched him looking amazingly animated over the bad taste he had just encountered

“do you not drink often or something?”

“yes, i do, but this is foul,” he whispered

you laughed, “then order something you know you like, you know beer or whatever,” you were just guessing

he shifted uncomfortably, “i drink other things too,” he sounded petulant

you grinned, “oh yeah, i just watched that fun little experiment,” you nodded, “it seemed to go very well”

you watched him blush, “i can drink this, no problem”

you nodded, “umhm, i bet”

he looked supremely annoyed, “yeah, okay, i choke this down, and then i get to pick the next drink”

you couldn’t help but laugh, “okay and what we go back and forth trying to gross one another out?”

he nodded, “i bet you can’t get past one real drink”

you purse your lips and offer your hand, “fine, you’re on - loser has to grade papers for the winner for a week”

he suddenly looked very interested, “only if it’s the intro classes where every response is a garbled nightmare”

you nod in agreement, certain you can win this, “terms accepted”

you shake hands on this devil’s bargain

and you wake up the next day, having no idea who won or lost - in fact the only thing you know is that your lying in bed, fully clothed, and seungcheol is wrapped around you like you’re his personal body pillow

you elbow him roughly, which only makes him press closer

you groan and try to pull free, but he is really holding on - you finally manage to work yourself free, breathing hard from the effort, only to have him pull you back to him

you wanted to scream until you felt the kiss just under your ear and the soft laugh from him, “why are you always fighting me?”

his husky voice caught you off guard, but you quickly snap back, “how am i fighting you?”

he sighed, “you refuse to let anyone in the department get remotely close to you, and every time i invite you to something, you blow me off”

you roll your eyes, “because i don’t like the department’s holiday party?”

he nuzzled closer, “yeah, and every other thing, like game night, which is actually fun”

you were quiet for a moment - you could feel his fingers tracing little designs against your skin

“i do always hope you might show up to be my charades partner because jeff is truly awful,” his breath was so warm against your skin

“jeff is kind of an idiot, though, maybe manage your expectations,” you murmur

he hums in response, his hand wandering lower to your naked thigh

you can’t help yourself, “does jeff like cuddling after a bad night of charades too?”

he laughed to himself, “you’re hopeless”

he leaned up then, you thought he was going to leave or go to the bathroom, but instead he leans over you, gently caging you with his arms, “besides, jeff isn’t really my type” he whispers playfully

“umhm, so what is your type prof. choi?”

his expression is much softer than you think you can handle - he’s looking you over with his tender gaze

all things you’ve cataloged away about him swirl through your mind, like how gorgeous his eyelashes are, how pretty his skin is, how soft his lips look - and he’s so close, his slightly spicy cologne is really nice, you wonder why you had hated it before

it’s when his lips make contact that you hear you own soft moan, which seems to spur him on

you feel his hand on your thigh again, pushing up your skirt, you pull his hair and lick into him just as you feel his fingers brush the crotch of your panties

he’s almost too delicate when he fingers you, but you still feel an orgasm wash over you

you feel him lean up and watch as he unbuttons his shirt, without thinking you reach out and drag your nails lightly down his chest and abs, leaving slender pink lines

you glance up to see his smile, “cute, kitten”

you nod, “want to fuck your cute kitten?”

he nods slowly, licking his lips and unbuttoning his pants

you’re surprised to see his cock spring free, already half hard and only getting bigger

you lie back, opening your thighs wider - he watches you pull off your top and bra, he works his cock and groans softly when he sees you squeeze your own nipples

“play with me daddy” you coo, reaching down to push down your underwear and finger yourself sloppily

he nods, “yeah, kitten, get your pussy nice and wet for me”

you giggle when he pushes your hand away and picks up your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so your ass doesn’t even touch the bed

and when he plunges inside, you arch off the bed, feeling the intense way he’s stretching you

“perfect, kitten, taking me all the way the first time” he says sounding breathless himself

you’re panting and reaching for him, grabbing anything to help ground yourself

but then you feel him start moving, slowly at first and then he’s snapping his hips, you know your moaning from the intensity of it

you press lightly against his chest, “‘m so close,” you whimper

he groans, “i know kitten, i can feel you getting tighter,” he thrusts into you roughly, “you’re gonna come for me?”

you nod, breathless and grasping for the edge of the mattress, you’re moaning and whining, his cock is so good, you’re certain he’s fucking into your cervix at this point

you yelp and feel him pull out quickly, “oh kitten, fuck you really are perfect,” he whispers as you squirt for him, your juices gushing freely, your thighs shaking, he gives a soft smack to your pussy causing another spurt of cum, he smirks

and then he slides back in, his moan is so lewd - he only lasts a few more thrusts before he’s coming too

you find yourself lying on his chest, his cock still inside you - you aren’t sure what to do other than enjoy his warmth

at least the conference is over and you have a late flight, otherwise, you might be in a rush for him to pull out

[sturniolohohoho]

In Frame, In Fame, In Fate Part 1 - Roller Rink

summary: nick, a complete stranger, walks up to you out of nowhere, pretending you're his friend to escape crazy fans. You become friends and you end up hanging out with the triplets at a roller rink, where you meet matt sturniolo... <3

c/w: Flirting, hand-holding, cursing, teasing, falling

requested by @mattsslvtzx

dividers by @anitalenia here

proofread by @lailasnight (tyssmmm!! <3)

word count: 1579

Nick stood in the chip aisle, holding a sour cream and onion pringles can, awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact with the group of giggling teenagers who had been following him around the mall and grocery store, despite having already taken pictures with him. 

He wanted desperately to go home, but bringing a group of crazy fans straight to his address was the worst course of action. 

Suddenly, he spots you in the next aisle over. You had wavy midlength blue hair, a bunch of piercings, and rollerblades slung over your shoulder. Exactly the kind of girl Nick would love to be friends with anyway. He decides to just go for it, really wanting to escape the fans and head back home.

“Hey girl, I haven’t seen you in forever! How are you??” you look up, startled at first. He sends you a pleading look, eyes darting over at the ogling fans not too far away. You immediately catch on, smirking. 

“Oh my god hey…” “Nick,” he whispers. “Hey Nick, it's been so long!”

Nick lets out a relieved breath, shifting his weight as he steps closer to you, playing into the act. “Yeah, seriously! What’s it been, like… a year?”

You raise a brow, amused at his lack of commitment to the lie. “More like two,” you correct smoothly, tilting your head. “How’s your mom doing?”

Nick blinks, caught off guard. “Uh—great! Yeah, she’s, uh, doing really well.” He scratches the back of his neck, eyes flickering to the group of fans still watching from the end of the aisle. “Actually, I was just about to grab something for dinner. You wanna walk with me?”

You glance over at the fans and then back at Nick, your smirk widening. “Sure thing, old buddy. Let’s catch up.”

Looping your arm through his like you’ve done it a thousand times before, you tug him down the aisle, grabbing a random bag of chips off the shelf as you go. “So,” you say loudly, for the fans to hear. “Are we still on for that thing this weekend?”

Nick stares at you blankly for a second before quickly nodding. “Oh, totally. Wouldn’t miss it.”

You grin. “Great. You still vegan?”

Nick makes a face. “Never was.”

“Well, you are now.” You toss a bag of plant-based nuggets into his cart, and he snorts, finally relaxing a little.

The two of you continue strolling through the store, casually tossing items into his cart and making up ridiculous stories about your “long-lost friendship.” You can feel the fans watching, whispering amongst themselves, but they don’t approach, eventually seeming to leave.

As you reach the checkout, Nick leans in and mutters, “You’re a lifesaver.”

You shrug. “I know.”

Nick laughs, then tilts his head. “You should come hang sometime. My brothers would think you’re hilarious.”

You smirk. “I do make a great first impression.”

Nick snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you sometime soon,” he says. “Yeah, see you soon!”

And that was not the last time you'd hang out with him.

The second you step into the roller rink, you know exactly how this night was going to go. Nick had texted you a couple days after you met him, asking if you wanted to hang somewhere– you suggested the roller rink.

Nick drags behind the group, already making it clear he has no intention of actually skating. Chris is eyeing the rental counter like he's debating whether or not to commit to the chaos. And Matt? Matt is standing there with his arms crossed, trying way too hard to look confident.

“Are you sure you know how to skate?” you ask, smirking as you sling your rollerblades over your shoulder.

“Sure I do,” he says looking confident. “I used to roller blade when I was a kid.”

Nick laughed, “Yeah, that’s why you were watching tutorials in the car?”

Chris loses it. “Dude, no way.”

Matt glares. “I was refreshing my skills.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Well, let’s see what you’ve got, pro.” You drop onto one of the benches, lacing up your skates with practiced ease. “Unless you’re scared?”

You give him a wink, skating out onto the rink with practiced ease, picking up speed slowly as you roll around the rink. Matt and Chris tie up their shoes, joining you on the rink, unsteadily. 

Nick sits right on the edge pulling his camera out “Just to be clear, I’m not skating, just here for the entertainment and content."

“Hey you don’t mind if I film, right.” You look back at Nick, “Yeah, no problem.”

Chris skates over to you, surprisingly smoothly. Matt tries skating out onto the rink after him, immediately wobbling. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh as he moves unsteadily. 

“You good?” “Yeah,” he says quickly, trying to regain his balance. He takes a step forward. The second his weight shifts, his ankle gives out, and he flails wildly before catching himself on the back of the bench.

Nick cackles in the back, filming with his phone “HAHA! This was so worth coming for!”

Chris skates past, grinning. “You looked so confident five minutes ago, what happened?”

Matt glares at both of them before looking back at you. “Maybe I just need a—” he hesitates for half a second, then smirks, “—better teacher.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? You need me to hold your hand, Matt?”

Matt shrugs, playing it cool. “If you insist.”

Nick chokes on a laugh. Chris skates past again and mutters, “Smooth.”

You shake your head but extend a hand anyway. “Alright, Matthew. Let’s see if you can stay on your feet.”

Matt takes your hand, and the second you pull him forward, he stumbles—right into you. His hands grip your arms, steadying himself, and when he looks up, there’s just the tiniest hint of pink on his face.

He blushes, letting go and standing himself up unsteadily. “Okay, just watch what I do,” you say, showing him how to push off each roller skate. He tries copying you, but stumbles again, as you steady him by grabbing his hand.

You don’t let go, slowly guiding him forward until you are both moving at a slow and steady pace. 

Matt stays quiet as you guide him, his grip on your hand firm. He’s trying so hard to act like he’s totally got this under control, but every time his balance wobbles, his fingers tighten around yours just a little.

Chris skates past, grinning. “Aww, look at you two. Adorable.”

Matt glares. “Shut up.”

Nick, still planted safely on the sidelines, smirks. “Nah, I’m enjoying this too much.”

“There you go,” you say, grinning. “Baby steps.”

Matt glares half-heartedly. “Don’t patronize me.”

Nick, watching from the sidelines, taking pictures. “I hope you know I’m never letting you live this down.”

Matt lets go of your hand, a little more confident. “Okay I think I’ve got this.” Just as he says the words, his legs slide out from under him and his arms flailing around, bringing you down with him.

There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before you both go down, limbs tangled, skidding across the rink floor in a mess of laughter and groans.

Chris howls with laughter. Nick finally puts his phone down, covering his mouth to muffle his snickering.

Matt groans, sprawled half on top of you. “Sorry… are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m good,” you say giggling. “I hate this stupid sport,” he mutters.

He got up, face completely red. “Ugh can we go get Mcdonalds or something? I’m done with this.”

Chris skates to the edge of the rink, getting ready to pack up. “Okay, let's go,” says Nick following Chris out of the rink.

You and Matt are left in the rink, slowly making your way to the edge. 

“Um, thanks for trying to teach me by the way.” You give him a sweet smile. “No problem”

As you step off the rink, Matt’s grip on your hand lingers, just a second too long. His fingers brush against yours before he finally lets go, almost reluctantly.

“You sure you weren’t holding my hand for other reasons?” you tease, tilting your head with a smirk.

Matt huffs a quiet laugh, looking away for a moment before glancing back at you. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Your smirk widens. “Oh, I would.”

He exhales, shaking his head with a small smile. “I swear I’m not usually this bad at skating.”

You grin. “I don’t know, you seemed pretty natural at falling.”

He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. So that’s what I’m gonna be remembered for.”

You nudge his arm. “Could be worse.”

Matt watches you for a beat, like he’s debating saying something else, but instead, he just smirks. “Guess I’ll have to give you something better to remember me by next time.”

Your brows lift. “What?”

His smirk twitches, almost sheepish now. “Next time. Y’know. If you’re up for it.”

You pretend to consider it, then grin. “Only if you promise to stop falling on me next time.”

Matt laughs, nudging your shoulder. “No promises.”

And as you both head toward the rental counter, you get the feeling you wouldn’t want him to.

“HURRY UP, LOVEBIRDS!” Chris yells from the other room, making exaggerated kissing noises.

Matt rolls his eyes, his face a little red, and calls back, “SHUT UP, CHRIS, YOU’RE AN IDIOT.”

a/n: well well welll thats the end of part 1!!! the fake instagram post took me WAY too long so i hope this does well.

also thank you @mattsslvtzx for this amazing request i would've never though of the idea

[itsnesss]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

OO1. OO2. OO3.

summary | after the intense moments between you and minho, you try to keep your emotions under control but are pulled back into a complicated situation when Kitty shows you a video involving stella. as you struggle to manage your feelings, you're forced to confront the complexities of your relationship with minho while dealing with new tensions that arise

warnings | emotional angst, jealousy, misunderstandings, deceptive behavior

word count | 3.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The days since that conversation with Min Ho passed slowly. You forced yourself to maintain an indifferent façade, as if what had happened between you two was nothing more than a mere slip-up. But it wasn't. Every time you saw him, whether in the group of friends or in class, you felt a tightness in your chest. You ignored it, tried not to look at him, but you knew he felt it. Min Ho wasn’t stupid.

It was hard to move on, you knew he was there, but now more than ever, you felt the need to distance yourself. Somehow, you had broken something that you didn’t even fully understand, and you didn’t want to fall back into the temptation of thinking that things could be different. Not when you had already lost him.

One day, as you sat in the living room with Kitty, she wouldn’t stop looking at you, as if waiting for you to say something. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, she approached.

" I know you too well," she said in a low but firm voice. " What's going on with Min Ho?"

You sighed. You didn’t know how to explain it. Kitty always noticed. Always.

" Nothing, Kitty," you lied, unable to look her in the eyes.

But she didn’t seem convinced. She paused, then pulled out her phone and placed it in front of you. On the screen was a video that looked familiar. The title read: Esther from Ohio sings on Sr. Moon's program.

You stared at it, confused.

" What is this?" you asked, not wanting to see what you already suspected.

" What you think it is," Kitty said, taking a sip of her drink. " It's a video of Stella. And I know the page where things were leaked... probably belongs to her too."

Your heart stopped for a second, and a wave of disbelief washed over you.

" Stella?"

Kitty looked at you with a smile that wasn’t exactly one of joy.

" The page where they posted the gossip about Min Ho's dad. I’ve been investigating, and something smells fishy. And that video…" she asked, furrowing her brow. " It looks like her, singing on that show."

You watched the video, unable to avoid it. The woman on the screen was Stella, though you would have never guessed it. Her tone of voice, her presence, everything matched what you knew about her, except her appearance. In the background, a sense of distrust began to cloud your thoughts.

" I don't know what this means," you whispered, barely believable, " but I don’t like it."

Kitty leaned back on the couch, crossing her arms.

" Why don't you tell Min Ho? He needs to know what's going on."

You stayed silent, biting your lip. Did you really want to get involved in something like this? After everything you had told him… But at the same time, something told you that you couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.

That same day, you went to the city. Maybe, somehow, something in all of this would give you clarity. You walked the streets, between the bright lights of the buildings, until you reached a store where, among other things, you could buy some clothes you needed. But before you entered the store, something caught your attention.

There she was.

Stella, coming out of an internet café, her phone in her hands. Her hair blew in the wind, but there was something about her expression that unsettled you. You stood still for a few seconds, watching her from a distance, before making a decision.

You knew you needed to talk to Min Ho. But should you show him what Kitty had shown you? Should you tell him what you had seen, what you suspected? Maybe he would deny it. Maybe, in his mind, it would make everything more complicated. But the worst part was that you didn’t know whether to trust her, or if Stella was really behind all of this.

You decided to return to the school, with the weight of uncertainty on your shoulders, and an hour later, you went to find him.

His gaze, although still warm, seemed to have a new hardness to it. He looked at you in silence, as if waiting for you to speak first.

" What's going on?" he asked, a slight irritation in his voice.

With trembling hands, you took out your phone and showed him the video of Stella, the same one Kitty had shown you. Min Ho stared at it intently, without showing any emotion.

" What's this?" he asked, his voice cold.

" This... is Stella," you said, trying to stay calm.

Min Ho sighed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

" I can't believe you're showing me this, seriously?"

" How can you not believe it?" you responded, feeling frustrated. " Why would I be lying to you? This is important!"

" Do you really want to talk about this?" he said, his voice harsh. " After everything that happened between us, everything you said? Now you’re bringing me this, telling me Stella is a liar... what, so I’ll come back to you?"

His words hit you hard, and although you knew you couldn’t do anything to make him understand your position, you couldn’t help but feel like your heart was breaking a little more.

" It’s not that, Min Ho. I just want you to know the truth. I’m not trying to separate you from her. I just want to take care of you."

Min Ho looked at you intently, his face now completely serious. There was a heavy silence between you both, as his eyes searched yours. Something you couldn’t find.

" I can’t believe it," he said finally, disappointment evident in his voice. " You told me that what happened between us didn’t mean anything, that you didn’t want to keep going... and now you bring me lies about Stella just because you don’t want to let me go."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, his face tense.

" This is too much. It’s not fair."

And, without saying another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing from your view, leaving you there, empty and with a sense of defeat in your stomach.

You felt empty, as if everything you had tried to build with Min Ho had crumbled in an instant. After everything that happened, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Maybe you shouldn’t have shown him the video. Maybe, just maybe, you should have waited for more evidence before speaking. But the damage was already done.

Min Ho ignored you completely for days. He didn’t answer your messages, and every time you crossed paths in the hallways, his gaze immediately averted. That indifference, that coldness… it hurt more than you imagined.

Kitty looked at you with pity, knowing what you had done and how you were feeling. One afternoon, as you sat together in the dorm room, Kitty sighed, the air heavy with guilt.

" I’m sorry," she said, biting her lip. " Seriously, I’m sorry. This is all my fault."

You shook your head, surprised by her apology.

" It’s not your fault, Kitty," you quickly responded, without looking at her. " I was the one who decided to follow that video, my suspicions. If only I had waited… Maybe I wouldn’t have ruined everything. Maybe… maybe Min Ho would still trust me."

Kitty watched you for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.

" It’s just that… I know how hard it is for you to see all of this with him."

You couldn’t look at her, you couldn’t face what you had caused. You wished you could turn back time, tell Min Ho that you were wrong, that it wasn’t that serious. But, for some reason, something inside you told you that you couldn’t go back.

The next day at school, as you walked down the hallways, an odd sense of nervousness ran through you. Something made you stop in your tracks. There he was: Min Ho, standing in one of the Kiss hallways, dressed in a perfectly fitted pink suit, holding a bouquet of roses, standing in front of a decorated wall as if waiting for someone.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. Every detail seemed straight out of a romantic movie, and the mere sight of him there, with a serious but hopeful expression, made your stomach twist. Everything in you wanted to approach him, but you stayed still, watching from a distance.

In that moment, Stella appeared beside you, walking quickly past your shoulder. You couldn’t help but notice her, how she walked with a confident and assured smile. When she reached Min Ho, he looked up, and with pure determination, he extended the bouquet of roses to her.

"Stella, do you want to go to the dance with me?" he asked, and the way his voice sounded so sincere made you twist inside.

You felt a wave of jealousy invade you, but what hurt the most was how easy it seemed for him to be so open, so honest. You hated yourself for telling him that you couldn't be anything more after the kiss in the cabin, for pulling away from him so quickly, without giving him the chance to explore what you both truly wanted.

With a sigh, you turned away, unable to watch any longer. You walked with your head down, the weight of confusion and insecurity heavy on your shoulders.

That night, in the dorm, Kitty looked at you with a concerned expression.

"Are you really not going to the dance?" she asked softly.

You shook your head without hesitation.

"No, I don't want to go. I don't have a date, and I don't want to see Min Ho being happy with Stella. I couldn’t handle it. I don't want him to see me suffering from my own embarrassment."

Kitty looked at you silently, then sighed.

You knew that Stella wasn’t all bad. Kitty told you that she only went to the cyber café to talk to her ex-colleagues from Ohio. She didn't have bad intentions, really.

You shrugged, the pain in your chest almost unbearable.

"It doesn’t matter. I don’t get it, Kitty. I can't handle it. I feel stupid for all of this. Maybe it’s best to just step away from everything and let him be happy with someone else. After all, that's what I asked for from the start."

Kitty didn’t say anything more, but you could see the concern in her gaze. She knew how you felt. She knew it was harder for you than you could express.

Finally, you lay down in bed, turning your back on everything you had experienced with Min Ho, trying to forget it, even though you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The decisions had already been made, and all that was left was to watch everything fall apart in front of you.

...

Min Ho no longer showed up to the meetings with Q, Dae, Yuri, Kitty, and you. No one knew exactly why, but everyone noticed. At first, you thought maybe it was your fault. You had seen Stella's behavior, and Min Ho's distance seemed related to everything that had happened, but maybe you had misinterpreted it.

One afternoon, while you were all in Q and Dae's dorm, the topic inevitably came up: Min Ho.

"Have you noticed how strange he's been lately?" Dae asked, crossing his arms.

Q nodded.

"Yeah, I’ve noticed too. And not just that... it’s like he's avoiding us, like he doesn’t want to be around us."

Dae furrowed his brow.

"I don’t think it’s about us. Something’s going on. Sorry, but it does seem a little strange."

Just as they were finishing their conversation about him, the door opened suddenly, and there was Min Ho, with Stella by his side. They walked in together, without making much noise, but what caught everyone’s attention was that Stella didn’t take off her shoes upon entering, which, in local culture, was considered a very inappropriate gesture. Min Ho, on the other hand, didn’t say a word, something he normally would have commented on, as he was meticulous about such details. And that was what surprised you the most.

Q looked at Dae, then at Kitty and you, with a knowing look.

"See? Definitely something’s going on. Stella didn’t take off her shoes, and he ignores her collagen water, just like one of Q’s energy drinks. This isn’t right."

Dae furrowed his brow and nudged Kitty.

"I don’t want to make things worse, but... her skin looks like Edward Cullen’s, but not in a sexy way, you know? It’s... weird. Really weird."

"Do you think it’s because of the suspicions about her?" Kitty asked, lowering her gaze to the phone she had left on the table.

Q sighed.

"I don’t know, but what I do know is that something’s happening. Stella isn’t right. I don’t want to judge her without proof, but something doesn’t add up."

Kitty nodded, a little worried.

"I know. But I was wrong before. Maybe I’m just seeing it from the wrong perspective."

You decided to ignore it all until the day of the singing competition. Things didn’t make sense, but you needed to focus on what was right in front of you. On the day of the competition, Dae called you and Kitty and, without hesitation, delivered the news.

"Stella’s going to compete in the contest, and Min Ho is going to support her," he said, with a serious tone.

Kitty couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.

"That’s impossible. How can that be? There’s no way he’s helping her."

Dae nodded, but his expression was grave.

"Mr. Moon introduced her as his great story of resilience. She... she’s involved in something bigger than we thought."

Kitty fell silent for a moment, processing the information.

"That... explains a lot about Min Ho’s behavior," she murmured, her face tense. "But why didn’t he tell us?"

What hurt the most was that, once again, Min Ho had chosen not to trust you, not even when the most important thing was for both of you to face the truth together.

You felt a renewed determination. You couldn’t just sit still. You had to do something. You needed to know the truth. So, while Kitty and Dae were preparing for the concert, you decided to go find Min Ho.

You headed to the stage where they were rehearsing, and once there, you found him alone, distancing himself from the crowd. You walked towards him without thinking, your heart in your throat.

"Min Ho," you called, with a mix of doubt and bravery. "I need to know what's going on. What's going on with Stella? Does she have you trapped or is that not true?"

Min Ho looked up, and in his eyes, there was a deep sadness. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the situation were crushing him.

"You're right," he replied with a sigh. "Stella is a psychopath. I don’t know how she found out my brother got his dancer pregnant, and now she’s threatening to tell the press unless she wins this contest."

Your heart raced, and you quickly stepped closer to him.

"We have to do something," you said, desperate. "We can’t let this go on. We have to stop her."

Min Ho nodded, but before you could say anything more, he slowly approached you and looked you in the eyes.

"I’m sorry... I’m so sorry," he said, his voice breaking, almost as if the pain he felt in his chest was as real as yours. "I should’ve never pushed you away, I should’ve never made you feel like I didn’t trust you. I don’t know what happened, I just... I got carried away. I failed you."

His words hit you in the heart, and for a moment, you felt completely vulnerable. You had been so focused on your suspicions, on what Stella represented in the equation, that you had forgotten the most important thing: Min Ho was also going through all of this in his own way. And, no matter how much you hated him for pulling away, you also knew that the situation wasn’t that simple. The world you both moved in was complicated, and decisions weren’t always easy.

You slowly moved closer, trying to find a way to comfort him, to let him know that it wasn’t all lost, that there was still time to set things right.

"Min Ho..." you said softly, taking his face in your hands. "I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pushed you away, but I didn’t want to ruin what you had with Stella, well, before I found out she was a bitch."

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were absorbing every word you said.

"I know I messed up, and I feel horrible for not believing you when you needed me most. But when I found out what Stella was doing, everything changed. I realized how blind I was, how easy it was for her to manipulate me. What hurts the most is that you were there, trying to warn me, and I ignored you."

You couldn’t help but feel that his regret was genuine.

Without saying anything more, he hugged you, and in an instant, his lips found yours, in a kiss filled with everything that hadn’t been said before. A mix of regret, desire, and love that overflowed between the two of you.

You pulled away, feeling your heart pounding.

"We need to fix all of this first," you said, knowing that what mattered now was stopping Stella and putting things right before it was too late.

And as you prepared for what was to come, you realized that maybe things between you and Min Ho weren’t lost after all.

tags | @msromanreigns2023 @imagineme2you @yuwaimo @cassiewritessalot @lavnderluv

[catdiarie]

☥  ˖ִ ࣪ 🦇 memory wave.　⠀s. rogers & b. barnes . . .

( ♱ ) … the winter soldier is coming back to himself. what now? (tw for emetophobia, panic attacks, and general mental instability)

777 。。masterlist

“Maybe if I’d fucked you more and loved you less I could have left this battlefield wearing just bruises and teeth, but I’m sure that even the cavalry knows that there’s a crack in my heart and it’s been leaking your name ever since we stopped fighting this fight. What I’m trying to say is: you win. It’s all yours. I’m tired and I tried. I’m tired and I love you. I’m tired and I didn’t mean to.”

— Azra T.

—

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky says lowly. His head is tilted down, away from Steve’s intense eyes, dark hair likely a tangled mess around his head. He hasn’t moved from the bed yet. Hasn’t looked up or shifted or switched positions. It doesn’t feel right to do so—the bed’s too soft and unfamiliar. He twists his fingers in the stretched hair tie around his wrist again, the elastic pulling further.

“I know,” Steve responds. “And I tried to argue it, but Tony won’t budge. You stay here with someone or not at all. And I thought if I couldn’t convince him of that, I could at least let you have this.”

This: a bedroom across the hall from Steve’s, with Steve as his babysitter/guard. The whole floor is Steve’s, his presence bleeding through the walls.

“You were always too stubborn for your own damn good,” Bucky mutters. His voice rasps in his throat, aching and rough from disuse. “Guess you finally met your match, huh?”

“I guess,” Steve responds. Bucky can almost feel Steve’s apprehension; he’s waiting for something Bucky doesn’t know how to give. His hair tie snaps, the elastic caught in the twisted fabric.

The silence drags, thick and heavy. Bucky can feel nothing but the weight of Steve’s stare and the bitter cold of the room. His skin itches uncomfortably, but the feeling doesn’t leave as he drags his nails over his forearm. It’s deeper than his skin, settled too far beneath the surface for outside touches to have any effect.

Steve is still staring—waiting, watching. Bucky’s skin starts to crawl.

“I’ll bring some food,” Steve says abruptly. Bucky swallows down an instinctual urge he can’t put a name to.

Steve turns sharply, and Bucky raises his head just enough to see Steve past the curtain of his hair. Steve pauses before he opens the door, hand on the handle. He shakes his head and tugs it open.

Steve is gone, and Bucky still can’t breathe.

An hour later when he returns, Bucky has moved to sitting on the floor across the room from the bed. Dusty footprints streak the floor between the two spaces. Bucky hears Steve sigh—something tired and sad.

“I brought soup, a sandwich, carrots, apples, chips, and chocolate,” Steve murmurs. He sets the tray beside Bucky on the floor and lowers himself down beside it.

For a long, heavy moment, Bucky waits. His fingers twitch against his knees—drawn to his chest; always protect the heart—but Steve doesn’t move.

“Aren’t you going to—” Bucky breaks off, swallowing nervously. He’s not sure what to say now. Anything he does say will probably prompt one of those mournful noises Steve lets out whenever he hears about Bucky and—and HYDRA.

“The food is yours, Buck,” Steve murmurs patiently. It’s streaked through with tinges of sadness he either can’t hide well or doesn’t try to hide. “You can eat it. Not poisoned, not altered in any way. Unless you count adding salt.”

It’s a weak attempt at humor—reaching out with clawed hands in hopes of grasping something strong enough to pull yourself up from the edge with. But it falls flat, and Bucky doesn’t smile. He doesn’t think Steve does either.

But Bucky does as Steve says, and pulls the tray closer to eat. The sandwich first—simple turkey and cheese, something Bucky devours within seconds. He sets aside half the chocolate bar and the chips (something in his head rings Steve Steve Steve) and begins gulping down hot mouthfuls of chicken and noodles.

When Bucky finishes all the food that he hadn’t set aside, he’s still a little hungry, but the gnawing ache is gone. He pushes the tray back towards Steve.

“For you,” he mutters roughly.

This, if nothing else, is familiar. Memories have been coming back in fragmented stops and starts, but Bucky remembers saving the best of his meals (when he got them free or away from home) for Steve. ‘Best’ sometimes meant sweets (relentlessly rare and always immediately devoured) and things like blueberries, which Steve loved, or meats and butters, because they got less of those when Steve needed them most. Thin, sickly Steve who Bucky gave the best of nearly everything to.

There’s a brief, hesitant silence before Steve says, “I’m not hungry.” His voice cracks slightly.

Too much thunders through Bucky’s head and he stumbles to his feet and lurches unsteadily out of the room and down the hall. He collapses at the foot of the toilet, heaving back up everything he just ate until his stomach is empty.

Sometime during the ordeal Steve knelt behind him, clumsily clutching Bucky’s hair in his hands, pulling it back. He’s not really touching Bucky’s skin, but Bucky can feel the burning heat of Steve with how close they are. He yanks away from it—away from the soft glide of Steve’s skin and the heat burned along his nape from the nearness of the touch.

He sees Steve’s lips purse before his vision flickers—again, not the first time—everything rapidly going from blurry to clear and back again. He doesn’t process the sweat stinging along his skin until Steve presses a cool, damp towel into his hands. Unsteadily, Bucky wipes at his mouth and his temples, hands wracked with tremors.

“Bucky.”

Bucky groans and tilts his head back against the wall. He’s nearly panting—breaths escaping too fast, tongue lolling like a dog’s. His eyes latch onto a crack in the wall paint, near where it meets the ceiling.

“Bucky.”

“Steve,” Bucky groans. “Steve, Steve, I can’t—”

“Shh, shh,” Steve shushes him. His worried face wobbles in Bucky’s sight. He always draws his eyebrows together, putting a crease between them. “Just breathe. You need to breathe, Buck.”

Bucky groans again, long and low. His skin feels tacky with sweat. Breathing is a hitching, broken affair. Time passes syrupy-slow, everything aching as Bucky regains his breath.

“That’s it, keep doing that,” Steve murmurs as Bucky draws in breaths slowly.

When he feels well enough to (read: like he won’t throw up again), Bucky hangs his head, hiding his face from Steve. He squeezes his eyes shut to ward off the pain of an impending headache. They always come in moments like this—his mind is a porcelain jar, and sharp memories from before crack the surface until light shines onto the inside, dust flying through the air.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky grates out, “about the food.”

“We have more,” Steve responds. Bucky winces at the softness of his tone. He’s just thrown up what Steve gave him and Steve should be angry. But since Bucky got here Steve hasn’t been responding to anything like Bucky anticipates he will. He responds like Steve and somehow that’s more terrifying than the familiarity of anger.

Bucky picks at a stray string along the seam of his pants. Steve is saying something; Bucky’s not listening. He tugs the string harder and a little hole opens up.

“Bucky,” Steve stresses.

“What?”

Steve gapes like a fish and Bucky is just able to see the expression through his hair.

“You just threw up and nearly had a panic attack and you’re fucking—” Steve groans and tugs at his hair. Bucky laughs. It’s broken and gutted and far from happy.

“You didn’t have to bring me here,” Bucky says. “You chose to do that. No one made you. And now—” Bucky gestures at himself “—you get to deal with the mess that comes with it.”

“You’re not a mess,” Steve says firmly. “You’re hurt and that’s not the same.”

Bucky shrugs and drags himself to his feet. He wobbles unsteadily for a moment before brushing past Steve and out of the bathroom, careful to not let their arms touch. A headache has started now. Pressure between his eyebrows, his temples, at the curve of his neck.

The hall lights are blinding. Bucky staggers into his room and slams the door shut in Steve’s face.

Throughout the entire night, Bucky doesn’t sleep. His body trembles with bone-deep cold and his mind paces like a restless wolf.

Steve never comes to the door.

—

The days melt into gusty winds and pounding rains. There’s nothing between him and the slams of thunder across the sky, nothing between insanity and the clutches of humanity curling at the edges of his mind. Nothing but a weak, easily shatterable barrier.

Bucky spends his days curled in a thin blanket on the floor. He stares at the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Empty spaces of nothing but dust.

He hears Steve in the apartment. Steve leaves plates of food outside his door. Sometimes Bucky eats it. Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he throws up.

His room is warm. He always pulls a blanket tight around his body, especially across his shoulders and back. It feels like protection—a poor imitation of armor.

It storms that afternoon. Steve is home—Bucky heard him come in earlier. Bucky’s window doesn’t open, something about Tony believing him dumb enough to jump rather than face the Avengers/Steve, but he can see the dark clouds and pouring rain gathering over the city.

Bucky shudders violently as new memory slips into his head, jagged around the edges.

Before the war, Steve hated this weather. It always meant stuffy noses and, in the colder months, the possibilities of sickness heavy in his lungs. Bucky grew to hate it too, because he hated everything that hurt Steve.

Now that means he hates himself.

There’s a knock on Bucky’s door and he turns his unseeing gaze towards the white painted wood.

From behind the door, Steve says, “Uhm, this is—it’s dinner? Lunch? I don’t really know, sorry. If you’re hungry later, let me know and I can make something. Or—you can. Doesn’t have to be me. Anyways, I think it’ll be easier on your stomach, it’s supposed to be good for that.”

Bucky waits until he hears Steve’s footsteps disappear to crack open his door. It creaks wildly and Steve can surely hear it, but by now he knows it’s better to leave Bucky be. Easier for both of them.

He tugs the plate in—bowl of soup, slice of sourdough bread (a delicacy always too expensive for them during the war) with butter, cup of steaming tea.

He’s angry. He wants to hate it—dump the soup and tea down the toilet and throw the bread to the birds. Scream to Steve that everything is different and he’s different and that Steve needs to let go already. Steve doesn’t cook—that’s Bucky’s job. Nothing is right or the same and Bucky is angry.

Instead of any of that, he curls up in the corner of the room and hates himself as he downs spoonfuls of creamy leek soup.

It goes down easy, and his stomach settles.

He doesn’t throw it up.

—

Bucky takes a bath. Not for a while. Not in those first few tentative weeks at the start. But when he decides to take one, single-mindedly focused on this to stave off the twisting pains in his gut and chest, he realizes he doesn’t know how to work Steve’s fancy tub.

He asks Steve, in the end.

(Human connection is exhausting. Bucky rarely talks to Steve—takes it upon himself to stay away for the benefit of both of them—but when he approaches him about a food he’d like Steve to make more or something he hated, he comes back to his room with a pounding heart and layers of exhaustion.

All that matters is trying, Bucky used to tell Steve after another rejection from a nice-looking dame. Now he’s not so sure.)

Steve jumps on the bath idea like an overeager puppy. He has Bucky sit on the closed toilet lid while the water runs, so he can show everything he’s adding to the tub. Bucky just wanted hot water.

“This is bath oatmeal,” Steve murmurs as he pours it in. “And these are some bath salts.”

Bucky stays resolutely silent as Steve explains what each thing does. Steve looks so different, and Bucky still can’t get over it. He looks like he fits in his skin. Somewhere along the line, when Bucky wasn’t there, Steve shifted to fit the muscles and the height and the new weight. It’s disconcerting.

Somehow, though, he’s still Steve. Still doesn’t know when to stop fighting or stop running his mouth. Still hates rules and authority. Still doesn’t know how to be anything but true to his beliefs.

Sometimes Bucky thinks he hates Steve. Other times he thinks he really just hates himself.

Steve declares the bath ready with a grin. Bucky’s eyes trail after him as he walks out of the bathroom. The door closes and Bucky is alone again. Somehow, despite his purposeful self-seclusion, being left alone stings.

Bucky undresses slowly, pulling off his numerous layers with care for his aching shoulders. (A pain that, recently, is ever-present.) He ties his hair up with a rubber band from a jar on the counter, something Steve said about doing for relaxation before washing. When he sinks down into the hot, sweet-smelling water, it feels like coming home. Like when Bucky first walked onto Steve’s floor after Steve had unlocked the door. The brief, hesitant moment where he could pretend. Pretend that it was 1945 and they’d just won the war and were coming home to their small, shared apartment. Pretend that they’d eat supper together on the couch and curl up together in bed high on excitement and trading kisses—

Bucky jerks up with a violent gasp, clutching at the edges of the tub as water sloshes wildly onto the floor. A gasping half-sob is wrenched from his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut to ward off the tears as his chest heaves.

“Bucky? Bucky, are you alright?” Steve calls worriedly from somewhere deeper in the apartment. Bucky trembles, lips moving but unable to formulate a response. He opens his eyes, able to see only the bath’s faucet and the ripples splashing against the tub’s porcelain. Steve’s footsteps, rushed and panicked, move closer until he’s just outside the door. “Bucky, I’m gonna come in, okay?”

A piece of hair slips loose from his bun and hangs down, catching on his eyelashes. Another heaving breath catches in his chest and he coughs, eyes blurring with tears. The door creaks open and Bucky lifts his head enough to see Steve, still dressed in his ridiculous white shirt and jeans. Concern paints every crease on his face and Bucky tries to take another breath.

It breaks into a sob instead.

And then he’s crying, loud and heavy and ugly, and Steve is kneeling beside the tub and cursing it as he tries to pull Bucky close.

The bath is still hot. The air still smells like vanilla bath salt. The year is 2014 and the last time someone held him like this was the night before Bucky got shipped off to war, Steve’s rail-thin frame curled around his as if to shield him from the world, just for a little.

“I remember,” Bucky forces out, choking on the words. “I remember.”

Steve shushes him and holds him close, Bucky’s head tucked underneath his chin, skin dripping water across Steve’s shirt. They rock side to side, just a little, Steve humming under his breath. Bucky feels like a baby—raw and new and crying. Goosebumps have broken out all across his body at the contact, despite the heated water he’s still partially submerged in.

They sit there for a long time, until Bucky can breathe again, but not so long that the water has gone cool. When Steve finally pulls back, he gazes at Bucky softly, like there’s something to protect behind Bucky’s broken eyes and cracked soul.

“Let me get you a towel,” Steve says.

He brings one, white and fluffy, to the edge of the tub so Bucky can dry his face before it gets hung up on a hook. Steve goes to leave and Bucky, desperate and shaky, shoots a hand out to grab his wrist.

“Don’t—don’t leave,” Bucky stutters. His throat feels ripped raw. “Please.”

Steve smiles, and Bucky feels like he just crashed into the ocean.

That’s what Steve is, Bucky realizes. An ocean. Big and loud, doing whatever he wants whenever he wants with no care of the consequences while also being home to so many, a protector of those inside from the natural horrors of the human race.

Steve sits in the bathroom while Bucky washes his body, he lathers shampoo and conditioner in Bucky’s hair as a gentle massage when he asks. Steve pops the tub’s drain and bundles Bucky in the towel, helping him exit the tub and stand on newborn-doe legs.

Bucky sits, passive and quiet, on the edge of his bed, while Steve picks him out pants and a soft shirt to wear. He sits stock-still, scared to even breathe, as Steve runs a brush through his hair.

Everything is intimate and hushed—even his room feels small, lamp glowing golden on the nightstand.

Bucky closes his eyes and dreams that it’s 1945 and he and Steve are still young and in love.

—

It’s still raining outside and gusts of wind are Bucky’s new lullaby. He’s sleeping in his bed now. Fully clothed and with shoes on, because needing to run can occur any time, but in his bed nonetheless.

Sometimes he thinks about Steve. Or—seeing Steve, rather. About leaving his room for more than brief stints, enough to have a conversation or at least tell Steve good morning.

After his confusing, muddled bath from a week ago, Bucky isn’t sure if he can. He couldn’t leave his room for three days after that, confined to it with exhaustion and frustrated tears.

Mostly he thinks about Before. Flashes of memories, however brief, of him and Steve. Bucky learning to cook because Steve was always sick. Teaching Steve to ride a bike in their twenties because he never learned young. Ducking down for a private, chaste kiss from Steve before Bucky had to leave for work. Watching Steve draw and marveling at his luck to have him there.

Watching Steve get frustrated and scream and cry because Bucky was going out with another girl and of course Steve understood the want to be normal but Steve was halfway to dead anyways and Bucky was the only one who ever wanted him and couldn’t Bucky be okay with just him?

When Bucky falls asleep well into the night, he has violent nightmares about Steve. Steve dying, Steve dead—from asthma, pneumonia, his heart giving up. Nightmares of Steve and Bucky making love while Steve whispers into Bucky’s ear every terrible thing he’s ever done and why Steve can never love him.

But Steve brings him breakfast at 8 am on the dot the next morning and smiles softly when Bucky says good morning, so Bucky buries the dreams deep in his subconscious.

Bucky can hear the living room TV playing. Steve likes to do this—prop his feet up at the end of the day and relax watching a movie. Bucky usually falls asleep to it, letting the domestic background sounds relax him. Tonight, though, he has a plan.

His bedroom door creaks as he edges it open. He hears the TV pause.

“Bucky?” Steve calls out. “You need something?”

Bucky pads down the hallway and tries to remember to breathe. When he emerges into the living room, he’s greeted with the sight of Steve half-turned to look at him, arm across the back of the couch.

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Uhm. Can I watch? With you?”

Steve grins. Bucky’s heart pounds.

“Of course. There’s plenty of room.”

So Bucky sits at the opposite end of the couch to Steve with a blanket thrown over his lap. He tries to focus on the movie, really. But he ends up asleep halfway through, head tilted against the armrest.

It becomes a regular thing, the movies. Most of the time, Bucky is too exhausted to make it far through. Steve never seems to mind, always pleased just to have Bucky next to him.

—

They’re eating dinner at the kitchen island. Crispy, boneless chicken and carrots and sourdough and little cups of miso soup. It’s getting colder outside, fall melting into winter.

When they’ve finished eating and Steve is done washing their dishes, drying his hands on a checkered tea towel, Bucky asks before he can lose his nerve.

“Can I have a hug?” He nearly blurts it out. Steve pauses before dropping the towel on the counter. He rounds the island and smiles at Bucky—always smiling, like he’s happy just to look.

“Of course.”

His arms go around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky leans into it, pressing their chests together with his arms around Steve’s middle and his head tucked beneath Steve’s chin. He lets out a shuddering sigh and trembles as he tries to relax in Steve’s hold. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and Bucky will die if Steve pulls away.

“I’ve got you,” Steve murmurs. His hand, big and hot, comes up to cradle the back of Bucky’s head. “I’ve got you.”

Bucky cried. He isn’t sure when it started or ended, only that when he stands before his mirror he has tear tracks streaked on his cheeks.

—

Bucky takes a lot of baths. Hot ones, where his always-cold feet and hands sting beneath the water. The steam turns his face pink and curls the hairs at his temples. Sometimes he lets Steve wash his hair. Steve’s hands are gentle—he’s always careful to keep the soap and water off Bucky’s face. His hands feel safe.

One night, Bucky almost falls asleep in the bath underneath Steve’s hands. The next night, Bucky falls asleep on Steve’s chest on the couch.

It feels like the ice is melting.

—

It’s snowing outside—light and fluffy flakes that will never stick to New York’s hot pavement. The heat is running in their apartment, and Bucky still bundles up in thick sweaters. Steve, sometimes, goes shirtless. He claims the apartment to be “the perfect temperature for it” even as Bucky argues that it’s not even seventy degrees. It’s nice, though, as much as Bucky grumbles about it. Sometimes, on really good days. Bucky will pull off his top layers and snuggle up with Steve, shivers wracking his body as he gets used to the feeling of someone else’s skin pressed against his.

“Steve?” Bucky asks on one such night. The heat is blasting and it’s perfectly warm. Bucky is tucked up against Steve’s chest, both of them shirtless, Steve laid back against the armrest of the couch.

“Hm?” Steve’s eyes are closed and Bucky thinks he might be half-asleep. His hand starts stroking slowly up and down Bucky’s spine.

Bucky pauses, his lips parted. He swallows thickly and settles back down against Steve’s chest. Steve runs hot and Bucky cold—exact flips of their younger selves. Bucky likes to imagine they’re meant to be. Broken, shattered; Bucky a shell of his past self and Steve fuller than he’s ever been, yet they still fit together like they did as kids and teenagers and new adults.

“I forgot,” Bucky lies softly. Steve hums in understanding and everything is good.

—

The nightmares come back. Violent, twisting beasts that lurk along the edges of Bucky’s mind. A lot of them are flashes, things he can’t make out—

The bright lights of Coney Island. The smell of eggs and soft background chatter. Creaking floorboards. Rustling sheets, Steve’s soft laugh.

—and usually, they start out innocent. Bucky’s worst nightmares begin with his favorite memories.

Steve is drawing. He’s sitting at their small, lopsided desk underneath the window. He’s shirtless—just woke up. The early morning light streaming in halos around him, highlighting his wiry frame. Sloping light and shadows create soft and sharp edges—the gentle fall of his shoulders, the jut of his elbows—and Bucky thinks this must be how Steve experiences the entire world.

“You’re staring,” Steve accuses. He doesn’t even turn around. Bucky grins and props himself up on his bent arm, elbow sinking into the mattress of their creaky bed.

“Got a real nice view to stare at,” he replies. Steve groans and turns in the wooden chair. His fair skin is flushed from the top of his chest to the tips of his ears, putting his scattered freckles on display. As casually as he can manage, Bucky stretches out to put his own skin on display—completely naked, the thin sheets tangled around his hips—all lean muscle and long lines. Steve rolls his eyes at the display.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky goads. “Come back to bed. I miss you—you’re so far away.”

“Them dames know you talk like that?” Steve says, fumbling for an excuse.

“Don’t care about them right now.” Bucky tilts his head and smiles. “Come on, just one kiss?”

“It’s never just one,” Steve mutters, but he pushes his chair back and pads across the floor to the bed. He climbs onto it and Bucky pulls him down with an arm around his waist.

“Mm. Maybe stop lookin’ the way you do then,” Bucky returns. He presses their lips together, taking the opportunity of Steve’s lips parting to dip his tongue into Steve’s mouth.

Everything melts around him, becoming a flurry of sound and movement. When everything is clear again, Steve’s on his back in front of Bucky, completely naked with skin flushed and damp. Bucky leans down to kiss him again, letting his lips hit the edge of Steve’s mouth.

Steve takes them both in hand and Bucky exhales shakily against Steve’s cheek. He kisses Steve’s cheekbone, the hinge of his jaw, the spot below his ear.

“I hate you,” Steve whispers, lips brushing against the shell of Bucky’s ear. Bucky tenses, but doesn’t move. “You think I could ever love you? You’re fucking disgusting.” Steve spits the words out. Bucky tries to pull away but Steve holds him tight.

“Their blood is one your hands,” Steve hisses. “Every last one. Everyone you killed, everything you did—it can never be forgiven. You are a monster. You deserve nothing—”

Bucky jerks awake panting and gasping. His body is covered in a sheen layer of cold sweat. His hands tremble and slip as he yanks at the sheets tangled around him, desperately trying to get them off. A desperate pull has them ripping along a seam and Bucky nearly falling off the bed in his panic.

He’s down the hall before he realizes it. His chest heaves and his vision blurs as he knocks on Steve’s door—probably too hard, too loud.

Steve opens it, eyes wide and hair ruffled with an obvious urgency to his movements. He stops dead when he processes Bucky—breaths wheezing in his chest, legs trembling as they barely hold his weight—standing before him. Bucky stumbles forward until he collapses against Steve, whose arms come up to wrap tightly around his waist and shoulders.

“Shh, shh,” Steve whispers as Bucky’s breaths hitch and stutter. “You’re okay, you’re safe, it was just a dream.”

Bucky shudders. “You—it was you and you said…said that you hated me—”

“Oh, Buck,” Steve says, his voice cracking.

Steve moves them into his room and onto his bed. Bucky curls again his chest, shaking like a wet cat. He tucks his head beneath Steve’s chin and tries not to flinch when Steve’s hand starts stroking his back.

“Shh. I’ve got you.” Steve presses a gentle, barely-there kiss to Bucky’s temple. “Whatever I said in your dreams—it wasn’t real or true. Okay, Buck? None of it. I could never, ever hate you.”

Bucky grasps the front of Steve’s shirt in his shaky fingers. “You said I was a monster.”

“Never,” Steve swears instantly. “Bucky, you’re more human than anyone else I’ve ever met. Everything that happened—it was against your will. None of it was Bucky.”

Bucky sniffles as a few tears trail their way lazily down his face. “I don’t know if I’m worthy of you,” Bucky whispers.

“That’s not your decision to make,” Steve replies firmly. Bucky swallows past the lump in his throat and closes his eyes, trying to get through the frothing waves of emotion washing through him. Steve’s hand runs up and down his back, heavy and soothing, with enough pressure to keep Bucky in his body.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Bucky admits. His voice cracks horribly.

“Bucky…”

“No,” Bucky insists. “I am. Okay? I remember…I remember Brooklyn. Before the war. I remember you.”

Steve presses a lingering kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. The room is silent for a long, long time. There is nothing but the gentle winds outside and the rushes of their breaths in the air.

It’s a long time before Bucky realizes Steve is crying.

“I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry,” Bucky fumbles. “I can—”

Bucky starts to pull away, but Steve holds him tight in place.

“Don’t go,” Steve murmurs, his voice rough from crying. “It’s not your fault. I just didn’t think you remembered any of that stuff.”

“Oh,” Bucky says uncomfortably. “I remember a lot, I think. Mostly all the time I spent looking at you. Especially in those dance halls—I always wanted to teach you how. Guess I blew my chance, huh?”

It’s more than that. The real confession lies heavy beneath the surface, buried by a twisted past of seventy years they spent apart. More than a lost chance, it’s a cry of the ache of forgetting.

“I’d love to dance with you,” Steve replies softly. “You always shined. Were always the best dancer on the floor. Knew all the girls were infatuated with you; I certainly was.”

Bucky lets out a rush of breath in a gentle exhale that ruffles the collar of Steve’s shirt. “I didn’t—don’t—know if you still felt that way. Peggy…she made me think that you’d finally ‘became normal’ in the way I never could. Spent so many damn nights out with girls and I always came back home to you. Never could let go, even when you hated me because you thought you were just a way for me to get what I wanted when I couldn��t have a dame.”

“I love you,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s hair. “I have for a very long time.”

He pulls back and tilts Bucky’s chin up, resting their foreheads together. Their noses brush, and Bucky feels the wet glide of tears.

“I love you,” Bucky repeats, words barely more than a whisper of breath. He tucks his head back beneath Steve’s chin. He hears Steve laugh softly and his hand comes up to wind through Bucky’s hair at his nape.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers again, just to make sure this is real.

“I love you,” Steve murmurs back as he pulls Bucky closer.

[librarianandguardian]

The Balconies - Viktor x Fem!Reader

Music : Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Tears for Fears

Pairing : S1 Viktor x Assistant Fem!Reader

Word count : 2.1K

Warnings : Mentions of Anxiety and Self Worth doubts, Shy Fluff

A.N : Helloooo It's meee. Am I popping up to then disappear again for a whole other year ? Yeeeeezzz probably. Needed to help my brain work through a break-up and work problems so I went to Viktor for comfort. It worked really well ! This is quite reflective and full of thoughts. I hope I did not make mistakes with portraying Viktor's disability. Do tell if you see anything, I'm keen on learning :)

A French version is up on my Wattpad account right here.

This party was as expected : extravagant and noisy. You cursed yourself to have agreed to the boys’ proposition. Jayce had been more insistent than Viktor, who wasn't too enthusiastic either, your Hex Tech assistant status forced you to be here tonight. Bollocks. You only stuck to the shadows. Because in the end, you hadn't done much besides stand by them, and be on the front row for their speech. No one minded you and they were right : who cares about the assistant of the two geniuses of the decade? The men themselves were here. The loud chatter of the room, the dense sea of people, the many invasive perfumes of the upper class, the boys out in the wild somewhere… The darker the night got, the more you felt out of place. You ended next to the buffet, mouth always full, champagne glasses after glasses, then topping it off with fruit juice. Overwhelmed, you fled to the first balcony available.

Would you rather be at the lab, tidying notes and books they had thrown everywhere to prepare for the speech? Absolutely. Considering how long it would be. But also because the low humming of their machines soothed you. Their cold coffee mugs told you they had a breakthrough. The couch still smelled like Jayce's expensive cologne and Viktor's shampoo (when he finally rested). The Moonshine piercing through the window, lighting the empty place up, made you happy. This lab was your second chance. New friends came into your life ; the boys and Sky, their other assistant. She was extremely sweet compared to the brutal science world. You guys became each other's complaints desk and laugh station. Even though you were the one who needed pity, being Jayce's direct assistant, housekeeper and community manager, you always listened to her trials with Viktor. The resilience of the young man from the Undercity fascinated you. The places he got to in so little time… You remembered your time at the Academy, his name like a whisper in the hallways. He was a mystery to be solved back in the days.

You sighed. This party congratulated your partners for their hard work, their passion. But it was also protocol. None of them rejoiced in being here. All these manners and fake smiles. Not the ideal place for scientists. At least that's what you guessed from Viktor's face all night long. He thought he hid them well, but your keen eye caught it. Unlike Jayce masking his uneasiness with class, thanks to his birth rank and natural charisma. How you would've slapped this "perfect" child. Friendly slaps, that is.

With tired eyes, you took the time to look at this Wonderful city, where your lives unfolded. During this sweet starry night, the streets of Piltover were dressed in blue and golden hues. The colors of new technology, of progress. Her people strolled, celebrating this growth with tiny markets, exhibitions and small street art shows. All this light hid the sea, you could guess with the moon shining on its horizon. The veins of the city were loud with joy, but not enough for you to hear, only feel. Everyone was happy tonight. Then a small nervous laugh escaped your mouth. With all this, you realised something : the task of maintaining the public image of your two devils was yours. For good.

Shit.

You were gonna have to watch out for their potential public bad behavior. If any problem related to that occurred, you’d have to cover it. They would have to be more often shown in public with a clean look. No more dishevelled science boys.

Your head spinned with all this. Or was the champagne at fault ? No, you knew why you quivered. Your breath got quicker. What were you doing ? Close to entering a thought spiral, the door of the balcony being shut and a sigh saved you from it. Startled, you turn around. Half hunched on his cane and visibly irritated, Viktor walked painfully. He was muttering unfamiliar profanities. You giggled, capturing his attention. At the sight of your smile, he eased and joined you. A small hysteria took you both out of breath, only to stop a few dozen seconds later. The scientist had to sit on one of the benches next to the railing, shaken. His knee having slightly twitched, you came closer in case he needed anything. He sat with ease and wiped some tears off.

« ‘Tis all very ridiculous. Truly. »      he sighed with a thick accent.

Your head tilted. He was right of course, but something had to have happened to him. For Viktor to isolate away from Jayce, much was needed. The man wasn’t shy, more socially averse when it didn’t concern work. He hit the ground with his cane to calm down.

« A young daughter of some rich investor has been courting me for more than an hour now, through thick spider-like lashes- Ugh. »

With a reassuring smile, you patted his hands. The poor dear was NOT into marriage and love stories.

« It’ll soon be your new life. To the both of you, dear.

-Mmm, New Hell on Earth you mean. »

You giggled once more. The corners of your eyes wrinkled as they closed, one of your hands hiding your mouth, your nose scrunching. Viktor took in every bit of your false mockery with a grin. Saying you made life easier was down playing the truth. Mediator, Janitor, Nanny when he started to neglect himself. You had been a hurricane of salvation in their bachelor lab; making sure things were in their place, easy to find with their thought process and for the place to be clean after every project. You crossed none of the boundaries established, giving them air until a signature was needed, or an investor answered. Your soft smile, your caustic humor and laughs soothed the hardest day. Empty coffee mug? Never. No meal for 2 days straight? 'You are unbelievable! Eat if you want fuel for your damn brain to properly think.' 

Sometimes your sadness and loneliness caught up to you. Your face closed when you came in, nearly incapable of speaking. You stayed in a corner, eyes glossy with tears, looking out a window. Or you vanished to the bathroom for a while. They were unsure of what to do, but tried. Viktor went with jokes; it worked pretty often. Jayce regularly served you your favorite hot beverage. But when it was too much, Sky came to the rescue. Team dynamics were important; you guys had a good one.

The young man would be lying if he denied loving every evening spent together, alone. A comfortable silence, you watching him, being curious. Or working until you fell asleep headfirst on the table, under a small dim light. Only to abruptly wake up and push him to go home or at least get on the couch. He rarely declined.

When you calmed down, you cleared your throat.

« I'm happy that you find my situation most amusing, darling. »

You winced at his eyebrow raised in false vexation. Arms behind your back, you nonchalantly looked around. Your feet brought you back to the railing.

« I wouldn't dare.

-Oh, I think you would. I know your antics now. »

With this, he got back up and joined you. Your arms on the railing, he took it as an opportunity to lean against your shoulder, hovering his leg in the air. You relaxed against him and breathed. Your stares marveled at the chaos in the streets, ghosts of smiles haunting your mouths at the comfort of each other's presence. The party behind you almost forgotten. You used to live on the outskirts of Piltover, just in front of the bridges that led to the Undercity. You saw the dirt, the grim, the violence. Viktor lived within it, making you both hate high society, fakers and sweet talk. You would have given everything to wander down there with the crowd, watching life buzz. Viktor would have loved to sit on the docks facing his home, ranting with you and sweets.

His head turned towards you. Your eyes glistened, far away on the horizon, your breath hitched, your jaw clenched. Smoke could have come out of your ears. The train had departed the station. What could he do? One day, you had discussed fears surrounding the project, your place in the team. You loved science but stayed an artist at heart. Your studies had been followed on the opposite side of the Academy; in the grand luminous Art Classes, the Workshops of Piltover. He had heard of rumors back in his days : a young rebellious woman, bullied by insidious comrades, but who finally rose to the rank of assistant to the Dean of the Workshops. The only common room you shared was the library. There, you only acknowledged each other with quick nods. When he got up the ladder too, you’d cross paths more often. Talked too. Then you disappeared. For months. He'd often mention the incident to Sky. She'd stay evasive on the matter. All of a sudden, you appeared. Just when Heimerdinger went looking for an additional assistant for the Hextech Project. Theories blossomed in his head. At every given opportunity, he’d study you. To no avail. The satisfaction of actually getting to know you overshadowed his need for answers. Yes, mentioning this wouldn’t help. If you had not confided in him, there had to be a valid reason.

« Miss ? »

Viktor was scared you would break into a million pieces in front of him. Small tears were streaming down your cheeks. He had to call you softly for a solid minute. When his voice pierced your mental fog, your eyes widened at his. You flinched at his intensity. But he brought you back. One of his hands grabbed your left forearm, to keep you anchored.

« Long tiring days are ahead of us. Things will become more complex. Jayce and I are aware of that. And… I believe you too. It's poisoning your mind. »

You briefly looked at his hand. Since he helped you come back to reality, your five senses were calm. Your mind focused on his voice. You met his sweet honey eyes again. He seemed to carefully pounder his next words. Should he talk about it all? The fright, the exhaustion, the hesitation, everything seemed conflicted in you. Soothing was wiser.

« I- I trust you. You proved us you are a pillar of our project. Your kindness and skills might not be poured into the science itself, but science alone cannot hold this dream together. There also is the hope we pour in it. All of us. »

You silently bursted into tears, unmoving.

« I do not know what happened in the past, what they told you. But you are competent. More than a lot of us. Your worries are justified, but they will be erased. I promise you. Otherwise, I'll hunt them down with my cane, partner. »

You snorted. His hand patted your arm, proud of his motivation speech. He began to understand something. This was the way Sky comforted you, how you did it for her too. He had always thought it hard to do, but everything came from his heart. His truth, his feelings. Determination took over his gaze. With a few minutes of silence, you were able to put your mind together, the scientist next to you, joking around, leaning on the railing like a bachelor. At peace, you inspected the lit-up streets again. 

« Thank you Viktor. »

He nodded, scratching his neck.

« How you would feel if we… ran away from this horrendous noisy place? »

You stared, flabbergasted. Nervous, he shrugged.

« Jayce has the crowd’s attention. I wish to flee this aristocrat and you quite obviously don't want to be here. Let’s change, get some food and sit elsewhere. In a calmer, more familiar place. »

You considered it, still shocked. One of the co-founders of Hextech fleeing the launch party? That would be bad. Especially with an assistant. However, the crowd was dense and captivated. And the young man's knee seemed to hurt him; his knuckles were white around his cane. Well. You had a plan. 

« Let's get out of here, partner.» You said, grabbing his arm.

Maybe life would not be too hard. Your team could survive it all. Those thoughts were left to linger in the dark. The balcony you had invested at the party did have a beautiful view. But it could never compare to the laboratory’s one. Sitting next to Viktor. Bundled up in warm clothes, with hot beverages and snacks, under the moon and stars.

[hellaverse-critical-confessions]

I don’t really understand why Lucifer is treated like this sad tragic figure when it’s his fault all of humanity is evil and he gets to cry in his rich castle full of servants while his weaker human subjects are victims of genocide and abused daily

Neglectful ruler and neglectful father. The guy's all around pretty useless. /lh

[sparring-spirals]

There is a universe in which i was caught up properly on CR whenever what the fuck went down and Imogen verbally and definitively declared that- after everything leading up to this and the back and forth and indecision- that she'd be willing to take down her mom if need be. and i would have been deeply insufferable and writing 20+ separate meta posts and liveblog yelling posts and shitposts. This is not that universe so instead we will put this post here where i can have wildly uninformed (aka 20 eps behind) Emotions about it until someday i actually catch up.

(I know. i accidentally wrote potentially wildly off base/deeply out of date meta again. what can i say. i like shaking the concept of An Imogen (even if it is Outdated Imogen) in a jar. sorry.)

Because i was watching long enough, I think, to see Imogen in the throes of the hope for something better, to understand that Imogen was viewing her mom was a figure and an idea and an answer, that would make things easier. Her mom was- gone, so early. And so her mom, in her mind, was not a person she was an idea, and there was so much hinged on that! Dogged determination and anger at her father and a deep seated dislike of the powers in her hands and head even as they gave her a guilty rush. There were promises there that maybe no one else had made, but Imogen believed. Things built up. Expectations made. Lore crafted, even unconsciously, around someone who was, yes, important to Imogen, but more importantly: Missing. Gone. A blank slate to be filled in. A promise of an answer guide to open questions.

And then she meets her mom, and Liliana Temult goes from a figure to a person- with all the bells and whistles and rough edges. She meets her mom and her mom turns her away. Tells her to run. Tells her she should go. Tells her to leave.

And Imogen doesn't. In the same way she kept visiting libraries, keps asking, kept pushing for answers when it was just about her magic and her headaches and the voices. Imogen always, always wants to know. She keeps digging, she keeps trying, she reaches out, over and over and keeps trying to touch this figure in mist until she's real under her hands, and. Evidence piles up- of deeds gone wrong, blood on her hands, a figure standing next to Otohan (her friends bodies scattered, lifeless, around Otohan). She keeps reaching out, keeps trying, and is rebuffed, over and over. Things get worse and the skies get redder and magic goes dead and she's still- unsure, because what if there's a better reason, what if there's a better way, there has to be a reason, why. There has to be, right- maybe if- maybe. Maybe-

Its just like- a person as an idea. As a symbol. As a promise. One you build yourself up around and towards. One you talk about, not talk to.

And then the fog clears, and they are a human.

(And she's your mom, and she's not what you imagined. She's done you wrong. She's done your loved ones wrong. She's hurt you. She's hurt others. She's going to keep hurting you. She is going to keep hurting everyone. She is too far gone to reason with. She is not listening to you. She is flawed. She is. dangerous. She looks so much like you. You look just like her. You are so similar. You have always known you were similar. You always hoped. You.

Are not her. You are not hers. She is not yours. She is not who you thought she was. She was always someone else. So are you.)

Imogen walks through the bases pretending to be her mother. Liliana is a known face- a powerful one, a figure people fear. A well known silhouette. Imogen slips into the shadows of it, sometimes, when it serves her, but we know- she knows- its all an act. All a lie.

Liliana, after all, is alive, and well, making choices that she believes in and fighting for things with a dogged determination maybe only matched by her daughter.

Imogen knows this. I think. There's a part of her that maybe wishes that wasn't the case.

"There is no loyalty with this blood." And after all- only living people bleed.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~

[r0semultiverse]

Adventure Time: Fionna and Cake finale spoilers without context

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Ngl struggling to feel bad for Brandon ending up the kill count in M3GAN.

[krysmcscience]

Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)