#(sure; it would be really cool to see someone that hasn't been around in well over a year or two

[rosetintedgunman]

OOC

[biblio-smia]

shy shy shy

a little insecure tasm peter parker x reader, early stages of relationship

masterlist | requests are open!

buy me a ko-fi!

nerdy peter lovers rise

They were just glasses.

On, off. On, off. A clear reflection of Peter in the bathroom mirror, a few circles of color where his head and body would be.

Peter examines himself with the lenses on, pulls out a piece of his sweater that had gotten caught inside his plaid pajama pants. His hands run up through the damp hair that falls flat against his forehead in an attempt to give it a little volume but it's no use without his usual styling products. Peter slaps his palms on his cheeks, shakes his head and sends micro-drops of water sailing. He bounces in place, attempting to shake out the jitters his body has had trouble containing all day.

Peter pushes his contact lens case aside, gives himself one last glance over. He contemplates for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. Peter sighs as he pulls the lenses off again, cradling them in his hands and blowing air through his lips.

Metal frames, thick lenses.

Couldn't have that spider fixed his vision while he was at it?

Okay, Peter's vision wasn't that bad. Maybe he could survive without the frames Peter felt altered his appearance so drastically (or at least, reflected more accurately the type of person Peter was in his spare time). Peter with Contacts was cool and confident - scaled back from the confidence he had while he was in his suit, but not as pathetic as he was back in high school. Peter with Glasses? Yeah, that guy looked deserving of wedgies.

He reaches for his phone to check the time (and make sure he hasn't left you alone for too long), but can't make out what the white numbers say through his cracked screen.

Okay, maybe it is pretty bad.

Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.

Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.

Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.

It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.

"You wear glasses?"

Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.

"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.

You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.

You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.

Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.

"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.

"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.

You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.

"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.

"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.

"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."

"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.

"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.

"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.

You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.

You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.

But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.

Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.

You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.

"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.

Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.

"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.

"Tell me about it."

"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.

"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."

Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.

"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.

"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.

"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.

Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."

"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.

Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.

"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."

"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.

"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."

"I didn't know you were into that."

Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.

"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.

"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?

Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.

"Nuh-uh," you say, pulling Peter's hand back down. "Keep them on."

[stevieschrodinger]

Baker Steve/Rock Star Eddie wrong number AU

Part One

Part Two

PART THREE

"It's like a TV show, but on YouTube."

"Right," Steve answers, half listening to Dustin's explanation, "so it, like what, has an air time, or whatever?"

"Yeah, like a series."

"And it's just, what, famous people playing dipshits and dickheads?"

"Steeeeeeeeeeeevvvvveeeeeeeeeeee why are you like this?"

"Dunno," Steve shrugs, trying to read a recipe online. Unfortunately that's resulted in his having to scroll past someones entire fucking life story and he's ready to give up and try and work out the dumb Oreo cake recipe himself, "just lucky, I guess."

Dustin drops his head on the kitchen counter like Steve is the greatest difficulty he's ever going to face.

"So why do you need to be here to watch this?"

"Because we all want to watch it together, the guests are Corroded Coffin, they all like, play, the whole band, it's so cool-"

"Corroded Coffin? Playing your nerd game?" Steve's interest leaks through before he can stop it, "I mean, like, I think I've heard of them?" The last thing he needs is the kids finding out he's been kind of friends kind of flirting kind of maybe wants to date the actual Eddie Munson.

Dustin looks at him skeptically, "yeah...so you-"

"You can all watch it here, it's fine...I'll make cookies."

Dustin's completely distracted by his own success, instantly whipping out his phone to inform the other kids. Steve's pretty sure their group chat is called 'No Steve's allowed' but he hasn't actually found out for sure yet.

Steve does bake cookies. All the kids are gathered around his smart TV, absolutely demolishing them while they wait for this thing to start. It's like, an actual channel, with intros and graphics and stuff, a logo that reads 'Final Roll.'

And there's Eddie and the band, sitting around a table with two dudes who must run the channel. They all have the bits of paper and dice and little figures that Steve's used to seeing when the kids commandeer his dining room table.

There's preemptive ramble, and Steve leans forward a little every time Eddie's in shot. He's relieved all the kids are all sitting in front of him and all glued to the TV, so he can ogle in peace. They do introductions, and then everyone introduces their characters.

"May I introduce Sir Steven, the half elf paladin," behind Eddie Gareth rolls his eyes so hard his whole fucking body moves. Steve can see him and Geoff mouthing something to each other. Steve can only assume it's because Eddie has named his character, presumably, after him, "he has a sworn oath to always protect those weaker than himself."

Steve's heart fucking melts.

Steve's phone is buzzing. He's prepared. He knows Eddie's back in the country, they've been talking for months. Steve's kind of done waiting, and he's ready to press his advantage. He's had this set up for a little while, just waiting for the right moment. He presses play, and then answers the phone.

"Hey Stevie how-...are you listening to Corroded Coffin?"

"Yeah, yeah," Steve turns it down, bomb dropped, trap sprung, advantage played, "the kids absolutely love them, they're trying to get me into them even though they're not exactly my thing."

"Right, ah, right, what do you, uhm, think?"

"Yeah. Still not my thing-"

"Oh."

"But I really like it when the lead guy sings."

"...yeah?"

"Yeah, not the like, shouty growly singing, I can't understand a fucking thing he's saying-" Eddie chuckles, "but like, the parts where he properly sings. I think he has a beautiful voice."

"I ah, well, I mean, I bet the, uhm, shouty bits are hard work, you know. I expect that takes a lot of, you know, practice. Hell on the throat. I imagine, I would guess anyway, I don't actually, like know-"

"No no, yeah, well, maybe he should just sing more then, save those vocal chords, or whatever. I'd like that a lot."

"Yeah?" Steve can practically hear Eddie blushing down the phone. Eddie's so cute when he goes shy.

"Yeah." There's a long beat of silence before Steve goes in for the kill, "the kids are trying to get me to go see them. They're in the states now, apparently. Will be playing a gig in Indie."

"Yeah they are- I mean, I assume they are, most bands, uhm, yeah-" And Steve is hardly holding it together, Eddie is such a bad liar, and he's trying so hard not to lie at all. Steve doesn't know how he;s keeping his tone normal and not letting the whole ass cat out of the bag.

"And the kids are absolutely itching to go, you know? But tickets man, they're all doing every chore they can find to get some extra cash, but tickets are pricey, and for eight of us? Because I'll need someone else to help me chaperone and, you know..."

"I. I might...know a guy. Maybe. Like, because of the band I might...know someone who can get you tickets."

"Seriously? Eddie that would be incredible, the kids will absolutely loose their shit."

"Yeah, ah, is your work email cool?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course of course, man, the kids are going to love you for like, forever."

And maybe I will too, Steve just about manages to keep the words inside.

@steves-yellow-cardigin @melodymeddler @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao

@superduckmilkshake @she-collects-smut @paintsplatteredandimperfect @resident-gay-bitch

[bluehwale]

unconventional first encounters with ateez

part one // part two

pairing. ateez x reader (specifically fem! reader for seonghwa's & jongho's)

genre. fluff, humor, this is a headcanon with a teensy bit of thriller and fantasy (and maybe sci-fi)

warning(s). a creepy man stalking u (san's part), swearing, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of murder without actual murder, a crazy toxic ex (jongho's part), mingi had a one night stand, mentions of nudity without actual nudity, this is not proofread, seonghwa’s scenes are inspired by the kdrama “youth of may”

word count. 8.7k (sorry in advance)

note. i’ve created a monster… the 3k words headcanon suddenly snowballed into almost 9k oops i think i had too much fun writing this,, anyways please tell me ur favorites! mine would be seonghwa’s, wooyoung’s, and yunho’s bc it may or may not be inspired by a true story,,, (if u notice me reusing a trope in this hc,,,,, no u don’t)

masterlist

kim hongjoong

you're in a skateboard park

"why did you follow me here?"mingi slurps on his juicebox as he steps on the nose of his skateboard, "you don't even skate."

you turn to look at him and cheekily grin

"is it wrong to want to spend time with my bestfriend?"

mingi raises a brow

okay fine

he's right

you don't skate and you basically see mingi everyday at campus so you're actually kind of sick of him (don't tell him that)

so you're not really here for him

"just go do your thing," you make shooing gestures at the boy with pink hair as you turn to plop down on the side walk

"i'll sit here and watch."

:-D

sit and watch one of the most attractive guys you've ever seen skateboard

kim hongjoong

and there he is

laughing with his friends and doing little skateboard tricks that you can't name

everytime you look at him you hear sk8ter boi by avril lavigne playing as the background music

it's not a crush btw you just think he's super cool

you're falling in love with him

mingi blinks twice at you and proceeds to follow your line of sight

"oh c'mon."

"what??" you huff, trying to avoid his judgemental glare, "i just think he's cute, okay???"

"yeah but i thought whatever phase you had over him would be over by now."

well u thought wrong !!!!! >:-D

"instead of ogling over him, you should try skating."

mingi throws away his empty juicebox in a nearby trash can and drops his board before gently kicking it in your direction

the board hits your feet

"you're trying to kill me?" you deadpan before kicking the board back to his direction

"oh come on!" mingi flails his arms around as he whines "it'll be fun!!!!!"

"fun for you," you snort while trying to look over his gigantic ass that's currently blocking your view, "i'll probably end up with a broken arm."

mingi suddenly grabs onto your hands and pull you up

"nonsense! i'm right here-" he adjusts you on his skateboard and makes sure both your feet are planted firmly on it, "- i won't let anything happen to you :-D"

the thing is

you love your best friend

but you absolutely cannot trust him in situations like this

you were about to hop off his board and make a run for it

but mingi starts rolling you forward gently

"dUDE!" you yelp, immediately holding tight on his arms that are still gripping you as you both move around the park

"bro calm down, we're going at like 5 kilometers per hour"

and you both kinda go at it for awhile

and oh

oHHH!

wait a minute

this is actually pretty fun !!!!!! :-D

mingi laughs at your excited grin

"see! i told you it's fun!!!!"

okay yeah he's right about this one

"now you try on your own !!!!!"

sometimes mingi forgets that not everyone can do what he does

he releases his hold on you and gives you a push

your eyes widen

your best friend hollers when the board starts going faster

"MINGI I DON'T KNOW HOW TO STOP THIS THING"

"WAIT Y/N WATCH OUT! THERE'S A--"

you shriek as you hurdle to the ground and the skateboard kinda just tumbles behind you

"a pothole that hasn't been fixed," mingi winces before slowly walking over towards you

but someone beats him to it

"hey are you okay? that was a pretty rough fall"

you look up to see a boy with half of his short hair dyed blonde and the other half black, his wide eyes pooling with concern

cue sk8ter boi by avril lavigne

if he's here........ that means he must've seen you embarrassingly fall flat on your face and basically eat the ground

okay, your dramatic ass actually didn't even fall face first to the ground but,,

you somehow ended up with having your palms and knees on the ground

and the kim hongjoong is right in front of you

..........you had to resist the urge to curl up and die

"i-i'm fine-- ouch," you hiss as you move to push off the ground

exposing your now bloody knees and scratched up palms

apparently you're not fine

"oh no," hongjoong frowns, gently cradling one of your bleeding hands in both of his and you kinda have to muffle back your scream because oMG

he lets go of your hand and kinda digs around in his pants' pocket to pull out what looks like an antiseptic spray thing and a

and a box of pink disney princesses band aids

you didn't know skater boys can be this cute?????? HE'S SO CUTE???????

"i got just the right things to fix you up!" he exclaims and looks over at you for permission, "is it okay if i do it for you?"

you can only nod

meanwhile, mingi's just kinda standing awkwardly on the sidelines while watching the boy disinfect your wounds with the spray

and he sees that hongjoong immediately strikes you into a conversation in an attempt to distract you from the pain once he sees you flinching

and he's just inwardly going wooooo yeah !!!!!! go gET IT Y/N!!!!!!

hongjoong was starting to open the box of bandaids when he notices that you're staring a hole into his busy hands

"don't judge me for these, i just picked up the first ones i see," he says, thinking that you're probably staring at the bandaids because you're thinking of how weird it is for an emo-looking guy like him to have pink bandaids, "i think they're pretty cool anyways."

"yeah, they are cool," you scoot closer to him, "i was just hoping you have either tiana or rapunzel. they're my favorite princesses."

well

hongjoong thinks that's wildly endearing somehow

if he ends up not having two of the princesses in his remaining band-aid pack, he's definitely running to the nearest drugstore to get a new one

just for you :-D

he chuckles and digs around the box to hopefully see a bandaid with a princess dressed in green or another one dressed in purple

as he finishes placing the band-aids on your injuries, he stood up and offers a hand to pull you up

"i'm hongjoong."

yeah you know

you return his name with your own and he softly smiles when repeating your name under his breath

"y/n, try not to get hurt when i see you next time."

park seonghwa

"let's get married."

you almost spurt out the complimentary water you were drinking

what in the arrranged marriage bullshit????

you finally agreed to go on one of many blind dates your mother has arranged to hopefully marry you off in hopes of merging your family company with another powerful company

to which your personal chef, wooyoung, proposed a plan (that had yeosang, your personal assistant, immediately going on his knees to beg you not to do)

wooyoung calls it operation zombie bride

which roughly translates to 'make yourself an undesirable wife'

but you didn't even get the chance to get your acting game going because this park seonghwa of park enterprises is already asking for your hand in marriage

right after you took a seat across him and managed to take ONE sip of the glass of water prepared on your table

"have you lost your mind??" you sputter while trying to swallow down the bits of water you're currently choking on, "you don't even know me!"

seonghwa raises a brow and opens his mouth, ready to retort back to your challenging remark when a waitress come up to your table

"may i start you both with a drink?"

"yes please," you try to force your hiccups to a stop so you can deadpan at the admittedly handsome man in front of you, "i'll have a bottle of beer."

the waitress visibly tries to stifle her surprise because it's currently 11 am and it's unheard of for people like you in a fancy restaurant like this to order the alcoholic drink

but yeah it's none of her business so she just took both of your orders and leaves :-D

"i guess you like to drink."

it's no question that you both obviously know of each other

having both been raised in similar worlds to be the perfect heir to be handed the family company

but you'll show him just how much he doesn't know you

you can somehow hear wooyoung's evil cackles from here

"yes," you widen your eyes and hope that you look unhinged enough, "i can't live without it. whenever i feel sober, my hands tremble like crazy."

wooyoung would be so proud that you've perfectly recited the first part of the script he wrote

"i see." an intrigued brow raises at your direction as seonghwa calmly leans back into his chair with a-

HOLD ON WHY IS HE SMIRKING??????????

things are not supposed to go this way

he's supposed to be at least slightly irked by your behavior at this point

the amused smirk still plays on his lips and you were about to openly berate him for being a weird idiot before the waitress comes back with your drinks

at the sight of the bottle of beer and a tall glass set beside it on your table, you think of backing out

you absolutely HATE beer

but you don't want to marry a guy you just met!!!!!

so you sucked it up and gulped down the glass of beer after the waitress poured the alcohol in it to the brim

ggaAAH this shit tastes like piss

you slam the now empty glass on the table before letting out a loud aHHH~ as you smack your lips obnoxiously

and you feel the side of your lip twitch upwards when you see his surprised face

(ﾉ>ω<)ﾉ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆ wooyoung's plan is wooooorking~!

"may i have a sip?"

record scratch. the earth stops rotating. pause.

"it's just, you make it look so delicious," seonghwa nods at the bottle before pushing down the cuffs of his grey suit and you swear you see his mirthful eyes twinkle when they meet your own gobsmacked ones

without waiting for an answer, he grabs the remaining beer in the bottle and lets the drink tip into his mouth as he knocks his head back to avoid touching his lips to the bottle

you kinda wish they did- AYYYOO?? U DID NOT THINK THAT NO U DIDN'T YOU DON'T FIND THIS MAN ATTRACTIVE AT ALL--

seonghwa lets out a rasped guttural sigh before he hums out, "now this is some nice beer." as he twirls the bottle in hands to look at its label before returning it back beside your glass

you do not find this man drinking alcohol attractive. you repeat, you do not find this man drinking alcohol attractive.

he sends another smirk your way

time to resort to the second half of the script

you rest your elbows on the table and lean closer to the man in front of you as your eyes narrow, "i've been told that i'm picky when it comes to who i date."

you wait for him to start spewing out random nonsense about some bullshit or the "nice guys always finish last" rant but he surprisingly stays silent and motions a hand for you to elaborate

"i don't want a man that expects me to cook or clean," you tilt your head back and give him a smirk of your own, "i'm not the type to stay home and cook for my husband. my career is more important."

he stays silent, and you can't help but feel a tad bit disappointed that maybe he's just like any other man-

"i like it."

ngl you almost went apeshit after hearing that

"my ideal type is an ambitious woman."

maybe your heart went pitter patter hearing that but no!!! you're not getting married!!!!

"i'll never want to have kids!" you grasp at straws, blindingly saying anything that will hopefully give him the ick because mhm yeah he definitely looks like a guy who want kids of his own yeah you got this

but he shrugs it off with a wave of his hand, "that's up to the woman, of course. i won't force you to do anything."

you're fucked.

"you're not as picky as i thought," seonghwa hums as another smirk, this time teasing, curls up on his face

you kinda want to smack it off

he matches your stance as he too, leans closer to you, and he tucks a stray hair behind your ear

"i guess we're pretty compatible, future wife."

jeong yunho

tonight is THE night

your finals are finally over and honestly you don't know if you did a good job at it

but that's for future yn to think about

because present yn is gonna go party it up tonight!!!!

yuh B-)

a new club just opened nearby and it looks pretty cool so you and your friends decided to go there

you have on your cutest outfit with your hair and makeup done

and you're sO excited !! >:-D

"y/n."

"hm?" you turn to face wooyoung, one of your best friends, who currently has his arms crossed and a serious look on his face

cue your cheeky grin and your not so innocent batting eyes

before every outings that involves drinking, wooyoung always gives you the talk because... well,,

one time, none of your friends couldn't find you anywhere in the club because you ended up in a nearby seafood restaurant with your whole face inside one of the aquariums (you don't know how you ended up there and yes it was gross and yes wooyoung had to pay for all the damages)

but the thing is, even though wooyoung threatens reminds you every single time before you drink to not get too crazy, it happens anyway

you don't know why he even bother

(he's handcuffed himself to you once and the night ended with both of his hands cuffed together while you were nowhere to be found)

so yeah aha

"you know the drill," wooyoung deadpans, "it's extra crowded tonight so i want you to be within my sight at all times."

that should be easy

you give him a mock salute, "got it, dad!"

you do feel bad for your friends who have to take care of you whenever you're drunk so you're gonna limit yourself to only 3 shots tonight

yeah you can do that !!! :-D

.........

turns out,,, you can't limit your insatiable drinking habits

you lost count over how many glasses you've had and oh my god wooyoung's gonna be so pissed!!!!

you don't even know where he is

you're just lazing around in between the swarm of bodies on the dance floor

you've gotten to the point where the high to dance waded off and now you just want to sit down and relax

and that's exactly what you were gonna do

until you accidentally stumbled out of the club

"woah!"

everything seems to fall into slow motion

next thing you know, you're engulfed into a pair of arms, your face crashing against a warm pair of tiddies chest that cushions your landing after you drunkenly fling yourself out of the club's exit

a pair of large and warm hands cup around your waist to steady you

your dazed eyes look up to see a man with sleepy doe eyes that blinks in surprise and soft chocolate hair that's slightly tousled

he looks adorable (this is you speaking)

and hot (this is your drunken alter ego speaking)

and you're pretty sure you're gaping like a fish

mom i want him

you wrap your previously flailing arms around his waist, unconsciously pulling him closer as you happily croon

"yooou look like myh future boyfriend!"

the handsome man in your embrace lets out a deep chuckle as amusement crosses his face before concern pools in his eyes once he belatedly realizes the state that you're in

if you weren't so drunk right now, you'd probably swoon over how respectful his hand placements are; his hands lift to linger above your waist as he tries to keep you steady-- not touching you but also making sure he'd be able to catch you in case you topple off him

the bare minimum but it's still cute ok

"hi," he softly greets and you have to bend your neck all the way up because tHIS MAN IS TALL just so you can continue staring at his face in awe

"you're sooo tall !!oof-" you drunkenly stumble more into him as you loudly remark on his height, gaining attention to the both of you

he protectively pulls you in just a little bit closer to him, eyes taking in the amount of iffy strangers that have their eyes lingering on you for too long

"do you know where your friends are?" he softly hums, gently brushing away the sweaty strands of hair that stuck to your face so he can look at you properly

yunho knows he can't leave you alone, not with how your eyes are drooping and your speech slurring even though he desperately wants to catch up on more sleep after he did a little snack run to the convenience store

and it's currently 4 hours before he has to wake up for his morning class :-(

he knows he'll regret not getting enough sleep for his class but,,,

he'll regret it even more if he just leave you all alone

"they're all inside!" you giggle while your finger points to the entrance of the club

a bout of chilly wind suddenly breezes past you and you shiver because oH NO you left your purse and coat in the lockers!!!!!-

a warm jacket that smells of vanilla and steamed milk suddenly sits atop your shoulders

"are you cold?" the boy in front of you frowns as he adjusts his grey jacket over your body, "you should call your friends and ask them to come get you."

you didn't even notice when he gently pried your arms off him so he can shrug off the jacket he's wearing to give to you

hE'S SO-

the boy yelps when a shoe is suddenly hurled in his direction and nearly whacks him in the face, "what the fu-"

"hEY !!!!!!!"

you both turn at the sound of the high pitched shriek to see a tiny boy with red hair and smoke coming out of his ears while holding a purse and two coats with one of his socked feet missing a shoe

"gET YOUR HANDS OFF THEM!" wooyoung dashes at you both with an inhuman speed and launches himself to grab you by the wrist and tuck you behind him

"sorry man," the kind stranger lifts both of his arms into the air to show that he means no harm, "i was trying to help them find their way back to their friends."

wooyoung's like oh when he turns back to see you nod in confirmation and his hostility diminishes in an instant

"oh thanks man :-D i guess you're cool :-D what's your name :-D ?"

"it's yunho."

"well, i'm y/n!! and this is my best friend oomph- wooyoung!!!!!!"

and wooyoung's like c'mon y/n we have to get you back to the dorms and you're like waIT A MINUTE I HAVE TO RETURN THIS JACKET-

"no it's okay you can keep it," yunho assures you with a shy smile

"you look better in it anyway."

he's so- ahaue@$#@3ahgru

"take out your phone." you hiccup and yunho shoots you a confused look but obeys anyway

"listen carefully," you cutely hiccup again with your hands on your waist and yunho has to stifle a laugh at your endearing antics, "i'm gonna recite my number for you."

at that, yunho's eyes comically widen and he fumbles to quickly pull up the phone app

"i'm listening!!!"

kang yeosang

when you ordered for an android that will help you around your apartment, you did not expect this

"delivery for y/n?"

you excitedly peer at the tall box that was wheeled in by the delivery man after thanking him

only faltering once you notice something odd

the label on the box reads KYS-1117

hmmmmmmm

you're sure that you made an order for PSH-1024, an android that's promised to be a clean freak and will keep your housing as neat as possible

pshhhh there's no way a highly renowned tech company that sells expensive androids could make a simple mistake like that right? :-D

yeah ! :-D

so you grab your exacto knife and get to the best part of receiving packages -- unboxing !!!!!

you excitedly dive into ripping the box apart, mindlessly flinging away the handbook that was neatly attached to it because how hard can it be to activate an android?

a very handsome android, it turns out

you peer through the glass window of the white pod that houses a blonde boy laying so peacefully you almost didn't want to wake him up

you fumble around and managed to press a button that lifts the lid of the pod, emanating trendils of mist to reveal a clearer vision of the boy with golden blonde hair, eyes closed as if in a deep sleep

"woah," you murmur, bringing your head closer to take a better look at the android. you somehow expected a normal looking one instead of an android who looks like he just won a beauty peagant but hey,,, you're not complaining :3

you crawl across your living room, grabbing the handbook you set aside and immediately flip open to the first page

how to turn on your android: a guide

aha! here we go

you reach out to poke around the android's neck to press on the disguised button to power him up, ignoring the flame scorching your cheeks at the thinning distance between you and his face

his eyelashes flutter as his eyes slowly open and falls on you as you back away from his personal space

you just kinda stay on your knees (not in that way!!!) in front of his pod, because well..... you don't know what to say to him.....

he's slowly blinking, seemingly fighting sleep, as he trains his gaze on you

this is awkward........ (〃￣ω￣〃ゞ

the silence stretches for another minute before the blonde beauty finally speaks

"There must be something wrong with my eyes."

"huh??" you panic, quickly turning back to the handbook in your hands and flipping the pages frantically. "what's wrong?? does it hurt??? maybe there's something about that in here--"

"... Because I can't take them off you."

:-D ....

you're ... gobsmacked

"uHHH ahhahahHHahHa, nice joke?????"

you really don't know what to say

he smiles, effectively blinding you because, holy shit, this man is too good looking to be an android cleaner wtf, and he gracefully steps out of his pod and crouches down in front of you to tuck your hair behind your ear WHAT IS HAPPENING

"What's your name, doll?"

d-d-doll ????

"uh,,,, it's y/n"

"It's nice to meet you, Y/n. I'm KYS-1117, you can call me Yeosang."

he flashes another charming smile and oop yeah that's all it takes

if you weren't kneeling on the floor, you'd probably pass out

but wait a minute,,,, did he say-

"huh,,,, they did get the order wrong," you mumble to yourself

you don't notice yeosang's face contorting in confusion

"Am I not to your liking?"

your eyes snap back to his warm brown eyes that flashes a hint of hurt before disappearing all too quick

oh no

you managed to hurt an android's feelings (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)

"no no !!!! there's nothing wrong on your part !!" you vigorously shake both of your hands in front of you. "it's just,, i think they sent me.... uh, the wrong ..... android."

"Oh."

yeah...... oh

"Would you like me to contact our customer service? You'll be guaranteed to receive your correct order and compensation, of course."

yeosang lowers his head to face the floor while his voice falls flat; a stark contrast to the charismatic lilt he greeted with you previously

you don't need a degree in psychology to tell that he's visibly upset at the fact that you're gonna return him

it makes you feel worse because no !! this isn't your fault

and you can't ignore the fact that he looks absolutely human right now

okay, you do have to give props to the tech company who, despite messing up your order, did a good job at making their androids realistic

maybe a bit too good because,,, you're getting swayed by him rn

which is weird because aren't androids supposed to NOT have emotions?????

you sigh to yourself

"can you clean?"

the blonde snaps his head to look at you. "I'm sorry?"

woop here it goes

"i'm not returning you," you shrug. "i bet that's gonna take another 2 months to process and i don't see why i should do that when i have you."

you can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to process what you just said

you give him a small smile that you hope is comforting and that it somehow tells him that he's not going back to (you presume) a lab that's probably a hellhole

he perks up at your words, his body rocking back and forth as he excitedly informs you, "I'm not specifically programmed to be a cleaner android, but I can learn! I'm known to be a fast learner!"

"okay,,,,, that's settled then!" you happily reply

this is great, a win-win solution! maybe you should also ask yeosang to get compensation for the mistake they made without returning him

in that way,, you won't have to wait for ages to get another android and you get money !!!!!!

phew

"if you don't mind me asking, what are you specifically programmed to do?"

"Oh! I'm a boyfriend android!"

what did he SAY (o_O) !

bonus

... "yeosang,, why do you talk like that?"

"Ah. Is the way I talk not to your liking?"

you shake your head frantically, "no!! no!!!! it's nothing like that! just that you kinda talk like you use proper capitalization and punctuation all the time aha"

yeosang blinks

"Am I not supposed to?"

"no!!! it's perfectly fine,, i was just hoping you could be more relaxed around me :-D"

relax. yeosang tilts his head at that word

"I am. Relaxed."

you stare at him

his ramrod straight back against your couch, feet planted perfectly side by side on your floor and his hands placed politely on his lap

meanwhile, your figure sprawls messily on the spot next to him

"yeah,,,, okay"

choi san

you felt it once you stepped foot outside the 24 hours supermarket

that feeling of someone watching you

you try to quench it down, thinking that it's just paranoia creeping on you because it's almost 3 am and eerily dark outside

but then you hear it

footsteps.

not too loud, as if the person does not want to be heard, and you realize that their footfalls match yours

they're keeping up with your pace

you feel your heart rapidly race as you curse yourself for leaving your phone because it's charging back home

is it a good idea to run?

you discreetly turn your head to the side, seeing a man way bigger than you with his hood up in your peripheral vision

and his dark gaze straight on you

shit

you attempt your best at nonchalantly flicking your head back forward, hoping that he doesn't realize that you know that he's following you

the streets and sidewalk both remain empty, rows of closed shops greeting you instead of any taxis or people that could help you

you're completely on your own

you inwardly sigh, making a detour to head towards the main street because there's no way in hell you're leading this creep straight back to where you live and if you can be in a busier street, that would be much better

after walking for what felt like hours, you notice the unmistaken colorful lights that shine red, orange, and green from a convenience store's banner

omg

!!! a convenience store !!!!!!

you quickly pick up your pace, not caring over how the man behind you also start to fasten their steps, and you immediately swing open the glass door once your fingers grasp at the handle

your eyes fall to the cashier, a teenager, probably, who looks like he's not older than 18, and at the brink of dozing off into a deep sleep

tears prick your eyes as you feel the panic finally start to overwhelm you because you don't think this kid can do anything besides being scared with you if you drag him into this

but you kinda have no choice

as you step further inside the convenience store, ready to approach him, you notice a mop of messy raven hair near the cold drinks aisle

you feel the presence of the creepy man looming behind you, ready to step into the convenience store as well

you gulp, shivers running down your spine at the thought of being in a close proximity with the stalker

hell no

the cashier's way too close to the entrance

you need to move somewhere further away

you make a beeline for the raven haired boy at the back of the store grabbing two small sized cartons of milk, tightly lacing your arms around his side, your groceries in a bag swishing wildly against him as he looks at you in surprise

"hi, babe!" you loudly greet the stranger, making sure the man who just rang the bell atop the convenience store door as he enters heard you

you shoot wide eyed glances that hopefully screams 'help!' at your temporary pretend boyfriend

who happens to be very handsome btw

"i'm sorry i took so long, you must've been waiting for me," you continue, eyes roaming around the store and quickly spotting the man in front of the aisle you're both in, quietly listening on to your conversation. "the grocery store was so far away! i shouldn't have insisted on going out alone."

the boy you're latching onto must've gotten the memo (at speed record too!) as he quickly wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and he lets out a chuckle

"it's okay, baby. let me just pay for these, yeah? mingi and wooyoung are waiting for us in the car outside."

he purposefully raises his voice at the last sentence, making sure that the creep he noticed won't stop staring at you would understand that it'll be a 3 against 1 if he tries anything

gently tugging you by your waist to the other side of the store, away from the man's prying eyes, the boy takes you in with concern furrowing his brows

"are you okay?" he softly whispers, grasping the two cartons of milk in one hand as his other move from your waist to settle comfortingly on your shoulder to soothe you

"yeah," comes your shaky reply, eyes still glancing warily towards the front of the store. "just need to get him off me."

"do you want me to drive you home?" he asks, face quickly grimacing at his insensitivity and he scrambles to replace his offer. "ah, that probably sounds scary. do you want me to call you a cab instead?"

you thank the universe for gracing you with the kindness of this stranger

"sure, that sounds good."

you both finally arrive to the cashier after circling the store, waking up the cashier who begins to lazily ring up the boy's items

his arm wraps around your waist again once he notices the man lingering too close to the both of you and he quickly grabs his paid items after muttering a small 'thank you' before dashing out the door with you by his side

you look behind you, freezing when you see the man with his eyes still on you beyond the glass doors

"the passenger seat's empty, you can sit here first while waiting for your cab, if you want," the raven haired boy offers, opening the passenger seat door of the car parked right outside the store

you enter the car, letting the boy shut the door beside you as you settle down and try to calm your racing heart

"hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii !!!!!!-- uhmm, who are you?"

you turn to the backseat to see a redhead with a nosy expression, his limbs tangled with a blonde boy's own limbs who also sports the same expression, although his looks more confused than nosy

"some creep was following them on their way home," said the raven haired boy, already settling down on his own seat and shutting the door as you look over to the driver's side

"what?" an angry yell sounds from behind, the blonde seemingly trying to untangle himself from the redhead as he desperately tries to claw the car window. "that fucker!"

"mingi!" reprimands his friend in the driver's seat, his head shaking at his friend's antics and he looks at you with an apologetic look. "sorry about him, they both had a little too much to drink. i'm san, by the way"

"san," you repeat his name, and told him yours. "thank you for helping me back there."

"of course," san gives you a dimpled smile, pulling out a pack of mint chewing gum out of the plastic bag and offering it to you. "i heard chewing gum helps when you're nervous."

you must've been too focused on the man near you while he was paying that you didn't notice him grabbing it

and you know that you're not supposed to accept candy from a stranger but you kinda need it ok

"oh, thank you so much," you shyly thank him as you grab the pack. "you didn't have to."

"yeah, but i wanted to," he says, giving you another smile before grabbing the two cartons of milk and tossing them to his friends

"oUUUCH!!!!!! san you hit my head!!" the redhead wails, grabbing his head with both hands in dramaticized agony after the boxed milk bounces off his head while the blonde angrily yells that he does not want milk!!!!!!!

"a bunch of kids, both of you," san tiredly sighs and you almost giggle at his funny expression that resembles an exhausted dad dealing with his two rowdy toddlers

"drink the milk! you need to neutralize!"

"I DON'T WANT TO!!!!!!!"

"MINGI SHUT UP YOU'RE MAKING MY HEAD HURT EVEN MORE"

what a cute friend group

you ended up asking san to drive you home because somehow, you feel like you can trust him

(he drove you home safely with his two drunken friends singing 2000s hits all the way home and you both exchanged numbers)

song mingi

the biggest regret of your life is moving in to a shared apartment that was listed on craiglist

yeah.... you don't know what you were thinking

your roommate is literally a descendant from hell

and not in the cool sexy demon way

but in the 'i've made it my job to make your life a living hell' kinda way

besides the fact that:

a) she never cleans up after herself (whether it be dishes, laundry, or anything, really) and,

b) she acts like you're the bane of her existence,,,

it feels like she has a guy over every night

and honestly, you have no qualms about her getting dicked down because good for her

but the walls are PAPER THIN

you really wonder how she never got a noise complaint over how loud she is

and you have to applaud her for her stamina because they would go for hoouuurs and you'd end up watching the sun rise without getting a wink of sleep everytime

it's gotten to the point where your friends are concerned because you'd show up to class or hangouts with eyebags and a murderous look on your face

your sleep schedule is so messed up

you'd do all your assignments during the night with your headphones in, go to classes during the day, then pass out right after your classes end

all of your friends are kinda on edge around you because they're scared you're gonna Snap™ one day lmao

anyways, you were just chilling one night with your headphones in (which you immediately put on after hearing the unmistakable high pitched noises coming from your roommate's room), waiting for it to be 8 am so you can go to your morning class

when your laptop suddenly lost connection to your wifi

and you hate working on your google docs offline !!!! >:-(

so you forced yourself to get up and go to the living room to see what's going on with your wifi router

only to find a butt naked man hovering over it

eeEEK

"what the fuck!!!" you scream, grabbing the nearest thing to you (a throw pillow on the couch) and launching it on the stranger who's very much naked in your living room

"what--" the man cries out, looking back to see you with your eyes closed just as the pillow bounces off his head. "who the fuck are you??"

you wish you kept your eyes open just to let him see your eyeroll but you quickly scratch that thought because you really don't want to see a stranger's dick at 7 in the morning

your nostrils flare at the nerve of whoever this guy is at your apartment

"excuse me??? who the fuck are you?"

turns out, his name is mingi, and you came to know of it after he got appropriately dressed, turned on and off your wifi router, and sat down across you to enjoy his breakfast that you made

you also came to learn that he's the one who made your roommate sound like a literal pornstar last night

"so, uhh.." the blonde awkwardly starts, gripping his cutlery as he pathetically tries to strike up a conversation while you're busy wolfing down your breakfast. "you cook often?"

the simple question turns into a long conversation that you surprisingly find yourself enjoying

not only is he super cute,,,, but he's also so fun to tease

you move to clear away both of your plates and mingi looks up to you in awe, "that was the best breakfast i've ever had."

you smile, "sure, and that will be $53."

"huh?"

your raise a brow, "you think i'm giving you free breakfast?"

you laugh when you see him scramble to pull out his phone and ask you for your venmo

"dude, i was just kidding," you reassure him, "but please give me a heads up if you're coming over to fuck my roommate again. i couldn't get a wink of sleep last night."

mingi turns a bright shade of red

jung wooyoung

you can't believe it

never in your life would you think you'd be a witness to MURDER

you were just calmly walking back home after meeting up with your friends when you spot a guy with both of his arms pointed to the sky

you had a "little bit" of soju during your monthly bbq hangouts with your friends, so your tipsy self took some time to openly judge and even snort at the stupid looking stranger

that is until, a golden bow materialises into his hold

what in the hunger games lmao

.... you scratch your eyes, hoping to clear your vision

his right hand reaches into the air again, seemingly pulling out two golden arrows with their tips dipped in crimson out of nowhere

wtf did someone lace your soju

and then he nocks them, one above the other, and draws the string back

is he about to shoot someone??????

he releases the arrows in the direction of two people conversing with each other in a playground's swing set not too far away from you and-- holy sHIT HE'S SHOOTING TWO PEOPLE AT ONCE

you hear the wind rip as the arrows zips through the air before embedding deep into the unsuspecting targets' chests

it took point three seconds for you to realize what the suspicscious man did

and that's when you scream

very loudly

but wait a minute

......... there's nothing

there's no blood, no dead bodies dropping to the floor, and the arrows that struck their chests somehow vanished into thin air

in fact, the two people he shot looks happier now

that's weird

but you continue to scream anyway

the boy whips his head to see you; a little tipsy and screaming your head off, and when your eyes lock with one another, his eyes go impossibly wider

he swiftly dashes off into your direction after carelessly throwing his bow into the air and wait,,,, did the bow just dissappear??? it was right there--

a hand suddenly clamps over your mouth

"stop screaming."

.................

you proceed to scream even louder

the boy lets out an annoyed grunt, somehow dragging you into an alley with his hand still clamped over your mouth and the other gripping the back of your head tightly

"look i need you to calm down, okay?" he lets out a huff, nervous hands running through his red hair -- a detail you just noticed with the moonlight shining on him

you finally stop screaming and he immedieately sighs in relief, loosening his grip on you

you take a good look at him

he's beautiful

"thank you," the boy nonchalantly replies, too distracted with looking out the alley to make sure no one saw you struggling against a body of air into an alley. "just to be clear, i didn't kill them okay? they're perfectly fine"

but you're not even listening to him

"you can read my mind?!"

"yes i can but that's not the point," the redhead squints. "i need you to understand that i didn't kill them and that you're not supposed to be able to see me"

you swallow

this guy might be cute but,,,,, you definitely wouldn't risk it because he's weird weird

"umm okay, mr. i'm-not-a-murderer,, what else would you be doing with a bow and arrow besides killing someone??? running your cupid errands or something haha????"

he knocks his head to the side, taking quick steps to near you that has you pinned against the wall as his eyes rake over you in scrutiny

"who sent you?"

pffft LMAOOO ｡ﾟ(TヮT)

"what are you on???" you breathe, having to take in a large gulp of air after literally laughing your ass off because of how ridicilous he sounds

there's an offended tick to the boy's brow, his stare drilling at you

you wipe tears from your eyes, "you're saying you're the cupid? or eros? or uh,,, whatever his name is"

the boy rolls his eyes, placing his hands in the pockets of his pants as he moves to lean against the brick wall beside you. "yeah,, cupid or eros works. but i prefer wooyoung."

your jaw slackens. this guy can't be serious

"okay, wooyoung. how do i know you're not lying?"

the same golden bow you saw earlier materializes in front of you out of nowhere, its grip in a firm grasp within wooyoung's hand

huh,,,, seems pretty legit

mhm okay you're sold, you guess you can tick off meeting someone supernatural off your bucketlist!

wooyoung chuckles, he must've read your mind again, and he turns to look at you at his side, mouth still gaping in awe at his glowing bow

"glad you finally believe i'm real," he smugly grins, flinging his bow to the side where it magically vanishes in mid-air

"although, you're really not supposed to be able to see me. you're the first mortal to ever do so."

you see curiosity lighting up his eyes but you also see something else

relief

"you're the first mortal to ever do so."

he probably has uh godly friends up there but,, you can't imagine how lonely it must feel to walk on earth without anyone acknowledging you,,,, as if you don't exist

everyone should have someone around!!! D-:

"let's be friends!"

"what?" his eyes fall back to its usual indifferent gaze, this time, with a tinge of nervousness. "i don't even know your name, how are we supposed to be friends??"

"hush, i know you know my name from the beginning. you probably read it off my mind," (you're right), "now come on! you have to show me some more of your katniss everdeen side!!"

"katnip what??" he yelps in disbelief, figure remaining still despite the incessant tugs on his wrist by your attempt of pulling him out of the alley

"and i don't need friends!"

he was about to go off more about how people would think you're batshit crazy because they won't be able to see him and- oop his back is off the wall now, yeap he's moving out the alley with you successfully pulling him

"yes you do!" you turn to look at him and made a stop once you both are out of the alley, a grin makes it way on your face. "i can't believe it!!!! i'm cupid's first friend!!!"

a faint smile almost places itself on wooyoung's face because hey, being friends with you doesn't seem too bad

but he tramples it down with all his might, rolling his eyes and letting out a huff instead

"just follow me and keep your mouth shut."

guess he's stuck with you then

(he's a little bit happy about that. just a little.)

choi jongho

you knew you should've trusted your gut feeling on not going to the frat party

“but ynnnnnnnn,” one of your best friends, yuna, whines, “it’s been forever since you partied with us!!! just this one time please please !!!!!”

and you being the easily moved person you are reluctantly agreed after some more convincing

“don’t worry babe,” ryujin, another one of your best friends, reassures you while applying lip gloss in her vanity, “i’ll personally kick your ex’s ass if he tries anything on you.”

right, your ex

he’s the prime reason why you would not step foot in any more college parties because trust yourself when you say that he will be in every available party

but you know what

you’re kinda siCK of that !!!

so even though your ex is borderline crazy and threatens you to get back together even if you don’t want to

you’re gonna go to the party :-D

with your five besties protecting you

<333

“let’s go!!!” chaeryeong whoops with her head out the opened car window as yeji, the designated driver of the night, parks the car in front of the already blaring frat house

“now girls,” lia starts, “make sure your phones are always on okay?? and make sure at least one of us knows where you are—”

she’s interrupted by the door slamming open and oh yup there they go—

ryujin, chaeryeong, and yuna are already sprinting across the lawn to get to the house

you all exchange looks as lia lets out a sigh

it’s gonna be a long night

turns out, it’s gonna be an even longer night

specifically just for you

you were just in the kitchen trying to pour some vodka into your red solo cup when you lock eyes with him

your ex, stood in front of the opened fridge

woops what, vodka?? yeah i don’t need that because i’m getting outta here bye

“y/n, wait.”

you briskly walk to the living room slash dance floor with your eyes desperately trying to find your fiery friend who promised to kick the ass of the man currently following you as he tries to call after you

to no avail

you’re kIND of panicking now!!!!!

just then, a figurative lightbulb flickers above your head when your eyes land on a guy with dark brown hair with a cup of his own perched on a corner alone

you’re hoping this works

you practically sprint to him and he looks like his heart is about to pop off his chest at the sight of someone barrelling towards him at full speed

“i’m so sorry but i have a crazy ex who’s following me literally right now so can you please be my boyfriend for like 5 seconds?”

the words jumbled out of you in a haste— too quick for jongho to catch anything else besides ‘crazy ex’ and ‘be my boyfriend’ but he knows from your panicked eyes that you’re asking for help

and of course he will

jongho’s eyes scan around the living room, finally seeing the guy who he can tell is your ex by the determined steps he’s taking towards you along with his eyes set on you

ok yeah jongho agrees with you

because damn this guy does look like he’s crazy

he figures there’s nothing to lose

“yeah, sure.”

jongho expects you to probably just linger near him in hopes of your ex leaving or maybe he’d have to play the role of the protective “boyfriend” by landing a punch on your ex if he tries to pick on a fight

what he didn’t expect was your lips meeting his own

if jongho is an android, the wires in his head would've short circuit 

your arms move to wrap at the back of his neck and you slightly tip toe so you can reach him better

he almost faltered on the kiss because he finds that so cute 

only after you initiated the touch does he place his hands on your waist to pull you even closer as he surprisingly deepens the kiss into a sweet kiss

his soft lips slowly guide you into a slower tempo, smoothly taking charge by moving a hand to softly grasp your cheek while the other rubs comforting circles on your exposed waist 

YOU’RE TRYING SO HARD NOT TO BLUSH

“what the fuck– get off my girl man!”

you’re forcefully separated from the boy with a breathless gasp as your ex pins him against the wall

despite your ex shouting obscenities at him with a hand wrapped on the collar of his shirt, the brunette doesn’t look scared at all

in fact, he kinda looks bored

his eyes lazily rake over your ex and he indignantly smirks before letting out a deep chuckle that silences the boy in front of him

“how pathetic.”

his big shoulders effortlessly knocks your ex to the side as he shoots a glare at him

this time, he’s the one standing in front of your ex with his intimidatingly large figure towering over him

“if you ever touch her or even fucking try to look at her, i’ll make sure to let everyone in this house know to beat the shit out of you whenever we see you.”

that’s when realization seeps into your ex and his body immediately froze

“oh shit, jongho, i-i’m sorry man,” your ex stammers, silently cursing himself for blindly messing with one of the frat members in their own party, “i didn’t know that she’s yours.”

“she’s not a thing you can own,” jongho rolls his eyes, roughly pushing your ex off the wall and harshly slapping his hand on his back to force him towards the door’s direction, “now get out of here.”

as your ex scrambles out the door, you turn to face jongho with your head slightly muddled by the fact that 

a) you kissed a frat boy

b) he’s hot

c) oh and have you mentioned that he’s hot?

“you good?”

you scramble out of your thoughts to see him looking over you carefully, “yeah…. thank you for that.”

a gummy smile lights up his face and you’re kinda confused because this guy does not resemble the intimidation he showed earlier at all, “no problem.” 

ok go off duality king

“wanna get out of here?”

this is the first time you met a frat boy who’s not really interested in the party he’s in

but you like that :-D

you smile, “sounds good.”

[shurisneakers]

saturn

summary: close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for. (OR) you die. bucky tries to bring you back.

warnings: angst. death. body horror (being revived from death and the processes that follow). sickness. war or something. swearing. there is also fluf here and there

a/n: im drunk as fuck <3 i haven't really looked at this since December. the title is taken from saturn by sleeping at last because i couldn't think of anything better. enjoy <3333333333333

He occasionally catches a glimpse of his face in the lake.

His skin is worn from months of sun damage, splotchy and incorrectly healed. His beard has grown well past the point of respectability, with strands of grey he didn’t realise could sprout from him. Eyes sunken and half-lidded always.

Bucky waits everyday for the reaper to pull him underwater. Every day is another spent on dry, barren land.

_____________

It was closing in on a year and a half. Time moves like aged honey when you're punished, slow and grasping.

He steps off the bed and into the resolute silence of the cabin. There was a hole by his bedroom door after a regrettable night of alcohol. Mead. Something that had his head spinning and bile stuck to the walls of his throat, and of which he doesn't even remember the name of the next morning.

It's all fleeting, anyway. Names, labels, lives.

He cooks himself breakfast on an old pan.  The room is bone-cold, and the floorboards creak when he drags the decades old chair from the dining room to the porch.

Paint peels under his feet, and his toe curls. A dull, faded orchestra of evergreens as far as he can see. He's had a target on his back since he was a kid, always under the gaze of something beyond his understanding. Always making sure he doesn't take a step out of line, or let too much life into his heart.

It's been a while since he's felt that. Like it had finally decided he learnt his lesson, that he wouldn't dare to take a new breath without considering if he deserved it. And so he doesn't wonder if there are irises staring back at him with the same lifelessness with which he watches them, day after day, hour after hour.

The outside cools his blood to a standstill, and he is almost entirely certain he is alone. The vast expanse of an empty sky, bearing no clouds, no birds. Some days, he almost thinks he can feel you when the winds move.

He thinks he's past the point of insane.

__________

His friends are kinder than he is. To a fault, almost. God knows he hasn't given them a reason to be.

After a couple of months of shifting to the middle of nowhere, there are fifteen fucking knocks to the door.

Bucky flings it open, ready to chew someone’s head off. Raging, still in the ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants and socks with holes in them that you swore you would burn. He is armed with a battalion of curses and threats, only for words to die a quick death at the tip of his tongue.

“Hey.”

Bucky's muscles tense to the point where they might crack, but he forces his arm to lower. 

“Been a while,” Sam says, arms crossed over his chest.

He doesn't know how he's hunted him down, given the nature of his disappearance, but Sam was nothing if not determined in his humanity.

With nowhere else to turn, Bucky silently pushes the door open.

________

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Bucky glances around the house. There are cobwebs hanging from each corner he sees. Bulbs coated with dust. Fine china starting to fade with unuse, and utensils slowly beginning to gather rust.

He doesn’t reply. He’s offered him water, but Sam declines.

“You get cell coverage out here?”

“Don’t make a lotta calls,” Bucky’s vocal chords sound like they’re lined with gravel.

“We noticed.” Sam leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Talked to Dr. Canmore?"

"Yep." Not since the psychiatrist was forced to clear him after Bucky showed no signs of violence, or returning back to him. To him, that concluded the purpose of their relationship.

"And?"

"There's nothing to say, Sam," he rebukes, gruff. "'M fine."

Sam looks like wants to raise an eyebrow, but the patience he's grown over the years from dealing with those worse than the mess setting in front of him disallows him. "Get enough food?"

Bucky flashes him a thumbs-up, and feels the onset of a migraine.

"Sunlight? Water?"

"'M not a fuckin' plan--" he begins harshly, but clears his throat. "You?"

"Doin' alright." Sam shrugs. "Been training a buncha new recruits, getting in touch with new ones. Superheroes are poppin' up all over the place. Got a girl saying she can control squirrels."

Bucky nods absent-mindedly, picking at the hem of his shirt. He thinks you would have found that amusing, considering that you thought Scott Lang's schtick was a bit on-the-nose too.

“Do you want to?”

Bucky sharply shifts back into focus. “What?”

“Help out,” Sam clarifies. “Recruit, train.”

Bucky’s jaw inadvertently tightens. “No,” he says sharply.

"Could be good for you."

""M done with that life." 

Sam's eyes reflect a reality that's different, but he still relents, "Okay. Whatever works for you."

Bucky can’t say he retired, exactly. He’d unceremoniously quit and had gone AWOL, but it had never been on paper. SHIELD was gracious enough to accept in whatever form they had, sending him funds every month as an unofficial pension.

“You should drop by sometime. Compound's all re-done."

Bucky shifts in his seat like the chair is too small for him. “‘M not exactly a joy to be around.”

“You’re actin’ like that’s somethin’ new,” he riffs, mouth curling into a smile. “Still.”

Sam's a good man who often lets his instincts lead the way, and if he's insisting on Bucky to return then something must be worth listening to. But his only company's been the thoughts in his head for a while now, and they're no good. What's impure about him surely wraps its tendrils around the world around him, poisoning them.

It's difficult, impossible, even to shake the suspicion growing on him, crawling up his back.

“Alright, well–” Sam pushes himself off the couch “-- just give us a call if there’s anything you need help with.”

Bucky may not have as many words as he used to, but he hasn’t forgotten his manners. He walks Sam to the front, where his truck lay parked, all polished from the last time he saw it.

"You got everything you need?” Sam asks again, and something inside him ignites a spark.

“Yes.”

Sam nods, hand on the hood of the truck, giving him a final look up and down. The few seconds of a leeway fans the spark into a red-hot anger, one that has Bucky's muscles painfully tight.

"Right. See you aro-"

"Why'd you come here?" Bucky interrupts. "To check if I'm losin’ it again? SHIELD couldn't get Dr. Canmore on the line so they send their next bet to tranquilise me?

Sam's eyebrows raise this time, and Bucky thinks he's finally managed to piss off the last person who cares if he's dead or alive, but everything in him is too hot, too scathing to bother.

He wants someone to get it, what it's like to claw at concrete walls with raw fingertips and broken nails. He wants someone to see what it's like, living like they've been injected over and over with needles.

"I know it’s hard, man," Sam replies, gentle like cool water on a burn.

Bucky's hands freeze, because he realises very quickly he wanted someone to hurt.

"Just thought you could use knowin' you had someone there," he continues. "Got flowers too, but I wasn't sure if you'd..."

Something in Bucky deflates, and he wants to cower into a ball. Bury himself so deep underground that he doesn't have to deal with how his ribs feel like they're cracking into splinters all over again.

Sam's already moved towards the passenger side door, and pulled from it a beautiful arrangement of evening primroses and jasmines. Of course Sam remembered.

You would have loved it.

"I don't have anywhere to keep it," Bucky croaks. He's turned the home he bought into a tomb, and he's closed the door to any remainder of life waiting to be lived.

Sam simply hands it to him, and Bucky takes it cautiously like it'll wither in a second. His touch is venomous and his want is a death-sentence, but the flowers stay alive.

"If you ever find a place," Sam says, squeezing his shoulder, "leave something there, too. Might help."

________

He'd add 'liar' to the list of words he's chosen to describe himself, if he said he didn't think about it every second since you died.

The idea initially comes to him like a snake, slithering and winding its way up his shoulder to hiss into his ear. He shudders the first time, jaws clenching, and dismisses it immediately.

But 'sinner' is a word he would use, and so on nights when he's awake too long and when your laugh sounds like a draft in his ear, he entertains the thought.

Indulges in it, grotesquely allows himself to think of an alternate ending, where his presence had not corrupted your fate, and you would have been alive and vibrant and trying out new flavours of gelato from the corner store. Stealing kisses from him, half awake, and dragging him to watch sunrises from the roof.

He thinks of things he'd do differently. Retire a lot faster. Took you to the National Parks like he said he would. Make sure your scent seared itself like a tattoo on all his clothes, because there's nothing on earth that replicated it and he's turned it inside out trying.

When the air is icy and the skin aches where his metal arm meets flesh, he thinks of how you always flicked his shoulder when he passed an off-hand comment under his breath, but muffled a laugh when his insults got more creative.

But soon, it will be closing in on two years since Bucky's last heard you groan at his stupid comments and the lake is just as pristine as the day he bought the cabin. The water glimmers like shards of diamond and there are days he thinks it's too still for even his liking.

"Have you ever been to Asgard?" you ask one night, legs splayed over his thighs.

He looks up from the book he's reading, pencil tucked into his ear. "I have not."

"Not even once?" you ask, distracted from whatever show you had gotten hooked on on TLC. Ever since you'd discovered the channel, you were convinced it was the best way to learn about "his culture". Sometimes he tuned in to learn about updates to "his culture" in the years he was gone.

"Strictly earthbound," he replies.

You nod, eyes drifting back to the TV. He watches you for a few seconds, hand gently squeezing the arm closest to his.

As it always was, your posture was pin-straight. Always ready. Like sitting still wasn't even an option. He used to think it was because you were never truly comfortable around him, until he realises that that was simply a part of you.

Bucky re-adjusts his glasses. He was getting old. His back pained and creaked like an old door hinge more each time.

He didn't think he'd get here. He's growing to love it. Mission reminders and target locations get replaced more and more with reminders that he still has to put the leftovers in the fridge from the date earlier that night, and that your shampoo needed a re-stock.

"Would you want to come with me one day?" you ask suddenly.

He puts the book down, and you turn away from the TV again. 

He can always tell when you're thinking. The world buzzes a bit. When you're older than a few galaxies, the universe and you become not so distinct.

"Might be a bit too grand for a fella like me."

"I think you'd like it," you counter, "and you're in a relationship with me. You'd fit in as well as anyone could."

He's still not sure how he's managed to accomplish the second part but you must have liked something about his ragtag sarcasm and social isolating tendencies.

Bucky's growing older each day. You're the closest thing he's seen to eternity. He doesn't think he would fit in, not with his thrift shop t-shirts and unbridled insecurities.

"Do you want me to?" he asks, hesitant.

He's met Thor, and he's heard mostly about Loki through childhood tales and news reports. Thor didn't seem to mind him, but then again, Thor saw the best in everyone.

"I'd like to show you the place I grew up," you reply, playing with his metal fingers. "You showed me yours."

"That's a couple'a streets from here, sweetheart," he reminds playfully. "Not exactly another realm."

The corners of your mouth lift slightly. "But you feel connected to it, don't you? That it is a part of you?"

Bucky intertwines your grins and keeps it there. He's always felt something towards Brooklyn. Something that kept him going when Siberian frost nipped at his skin. Tethered.

But when he'd shown you the place he grew up in, it wasn't the same. Brickwall had been overlaid with plaster and paint. Doors ripped off their hinges, wallpaper a ghastly white instead of the stained floral print his sister and he drew on. It was unease, trepidation.

It didn't feel like his anymore. Probably because Bucky didn't feel like him anymore.

"Yeah," he replies after some thought, even though it's not entirely right.

"I feel that way about Asgard," you continue the thought. "Being here is lovely, and I love learning of all the things your people do, but--"

"It's not the same," he interjects gently. "I get you."

You look at him and smile, and Bucky feels the same gnawing feeling that this is something that's too good, too pure for him.

God of the Night Sky and the Mortal of Blood Stained Hands.

It shouldn't work, but you've already got a drawer in his shelf for your belongings. You've talked about moving to a cabin by the woods if you ever wanted to settle down. You kissed him that morning, and once more on his shoulder, and the last time he's laughed this much in one dinner was the one he had the night before with you.

"Whichever day you're ready," you promise. "I've got a feeling you'll be convinced."

Bucky presses a kiss to your fingers, and you turn back to the TV with a smile.

He watches you for a while. Your fingers continue to play with his. Bucky thinks getting older may just be worth it.

You made a dozen or so trips back to Asgard since the conversation, and he pushed his involvement on each one with the unfailing and ultimately misplaced  certainty that he'd have time.

__________

You wouldn't approve of the way he'd kept the cabin. You wouldn't approve of the way he lived. He knows that, but he also knows if you were around then he'd have a reason to actually sow more than vegetables in the land he keeps digging up. He'd make sure of the table cloth that he found stashed away, leave the blinds open more to allow light to reach his room.

He looks at the bouquet of flowers by his feet and thinks that laying it by a boulder would be insignificant.

So for the first time in a long while, he prays the act of creation will bring him some respite and builds. 

A little hut, with sticks he finds around the place, and makes it big enough to house Sam's bouquet from the wind and sun. He carves out your name onto the boulder, painstakingly with his pocket knife until each letter was guaranteed to last a century. He adds the year of your birth, and can't find it in himself to add the year you died.

He steps back and exhales. It's a memorial. It's a start.

__________

Bucky spends most of the day digging up dirt, sitting out on the porch and looking for firewood. He’s learnt how to grow his own vegetables, and how to go into town unnoticed for other essentials.

And now he has something to tend to.

It starts with fickle sticks and grows into something sturdier. He brings the memorial stronger wood, and bands to hold it together. He looks for wildflowers and pretty leaves, bunches them together and leaves them under the protection of the small roof.

It's the most he's done in over a year.

Months go from crawling to a standstill when it nears October. Bucky leaves the house less often.Truth is, the sky has never entirely recovered since you were gone. It's never truly dark-- a faint navy blue or even azure in the days leading up to the anniversary.

He's seen people puzzle over it-- call it the newest effects of light pollution or climate change. There is no reasonable answer, but the one that exists is that you left and you took the constellations with you.

Still, evening always comes faster and he can't quite stand being out at that time, when there is a void where he used to feel you the most. Instead he stays asleep for as long as he can. He makes use of the brief time he has to fix himself some food, and bare minimum upkeep.

He gathers the last of the flowers he can see around, some leaves that hadn't entirely been lost and makes his way to the lake.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. Season's changin' and I don't got a lot of options," he says lowly and to the hut that's managed to stay up.

Bucky looks at the sparse flowers in his hands and thinks that he'll make the godforsaken trip into civilisation to get you better ones. Ones you really liked, colourful and dynamic.

For now, he tries tying them together with a blade of grass to make it look less pathetic. It breaks every single time-- he's never been very good at being delicate.

Something around his wrist catches his attention. Some days he forgets it isn't a part of him.

His hair whips rather majestically around his head. He’s used to the sting when it strikes his skin, only reflexively reaching up to tuck it behind his ear.

“Hair tie?”

His eyes snap to yours in surprise. You've never really talked to him before, just brief nods and smiles along the way. Bucky wasn't exactly the patron saint for socialising either. He's always thought something about you was otherworldly. He didn't consider himself significant enough to be going out of your way to talk to either.

“Would you like a hair tie?” you repeat. “It’s rather bad out there.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, though he’s never considered that as a solution. “Sure, if you’ve got one.”

“We’ve learnt to carry them around when you fight alongside the likes of Thor and Volstagg.” You smile, reaching into the compartment of your belt. “Long hair looks good. Doesn’t always work that way.”

Bucky gives you a tight smile, feeling slightly embarrassed but a voice in him compels him to accept the kindness you’re offering.

He quickly secures his hair into a lower bun, giving more show to cheeks dusted pink.

“I’ll give it back after the mission,” he promises.

“Don’t.” You pause, giving him a once-over. “It suits you.”

Most days he remembers it's one of the only things he's still got of you. Still, he ties the flowers together with your hair tie-- and they stay this time.

"See you next week," he says, and a wind blows past him. Pathetically, he dares to hope it's a sign from you.

___________

Two sharp knocks on the door, but his eyes are open before the second one. It wasn’t like he was getting much sleep anyway.

When his arm doesn’t keep him up, it’s the ache in the rest of his body to be near you. Trailing kisses up your arm and watching wildfire heat spread through his neck when fingers tip up his chin. Lips trying to catch each other until panting breaths matched.

He flips over to the other side. Both sides of the pillow are drenched with his sweat. Christ, if this was how it was going to be in the days leading up to the anniversary, he can't imagine what would happen the day of. 

Someone rapps intently at the door, only picking up pace when Bucky chooses to ignore it. By all means, he’s retired. That alone should entitle him to some fucking peace, but no. 

He curses as he drags himself out of bed and pulls on a shirt, shuffling to the door. When he pulls it open, his eyes are probably murderous, but there is no one to catch the daggers. There is a simple brown cardboard box, labelled with his name.

Bucky, with a narrowed gaze, takes a step away from the box and instead heads into the open air. But there is not a soul, even as he stalks around the cabin and really stops to listen.

He comes back to the threshold and eyes the box. Using his foot, he swiftly kicks the lid off it and braces for an impact that doesn’t come.

There are shirts. And a mug. He frowns, kneeling down to shuffle through the contents, only to find bits and pieces of things he just…left behind when he left the compound.

Pictures he never really got framed. Socks with torn toes. Sweatpants. Laptop.

And there’s a tiny box. His chest twists the second he lays eyes on it so much that he thinks he’s been injured.

There’s a ring in there. Not really even an engagement ring, since you were gone before he had a chance.

Just a ring. But it’s enough to make him suddenly feel the weight of the air around him and he’s forced to take a seat right there on the steps. There’s nothing else in there of you, just old mission reports that mention your active involvement. Maybe if the smell of cardboard hadn’t permeated through the fabric of his shirts, he’d have traces of your scent.

Fragmented parts of his life, like snapshots of his history, running through his mind like an old film. It makes him question, for a second, if death was finally catching up to him.

Well, it was late. He’d been kept waiting for years.

_____________

The day itself is grey and sullen. In crackles of electricity, he can almost feel Thor’s state of mind. He tries not to think that in a few years, you’d be gone for longer than he knew you.

He rounds up leaves as orange as mandarins and ties them together with the hairtie. He clears up the last bunch he’d left and takes a seat on the shore of the lake. Cloudless and barren. Chill.

He can sense the end of the battle is near– he sees Sam a lot less overhead, even his gun didn’t require as many re-stocks. His pace slows to match the few that are left around him, and he’s already wondering how he can finish this quicker to get to help with search and rescue.

But Bucky didn’t even have to be told. Mid-punch, something in the air shifts and a deep shiver runs up the curve of his spine.

Before he even straightens up the sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson. His body reacts faster than he does, because the speed at which his stomach drops is only rivalled by how fast he was sprinting to your last known location.

He yells names through open comms-- yours, Thor's, Sam's-- turning the corner and immediately feeling the full force of a blast shove him onto his back.

With a groan and the force of his left hand, he presses into his ears to stop the excruciating ringing. He feels someone pull him up– blue, red and white kevlar against bruised skin and he’s already pushing away.

“Sam, where–” he blinks furiously, trying to read what word’s Sam’s got on his mouth because his head is still spinning. “She–”

He hears something about Thor and building and searching and forces himself to look at the force of a multistory highrise that’s collapsed into rubble on the street.

Something about impaled and sacrificed and he feels like vomiting violently, shoving Sam aside to stumble through the dust and smoke, teeth clamping down on his heart in his mouth.

Thoughts of you waiting under rocks, choking while fly ash turned your lungs to rock, suffocating.  Every second of his incompetence is a second you spend wasting away where he couldn't find you.

It takes hours for Thor to give up searching through the rubble. It takes Bucky days.

It took a few seconds for the sky to turn red. It took weeks to turn from crimson to the ghost of blue it still remains.

God of the Night Sky and A Man Too Slow.

Your body is never found, and Bucky never forgives himself. It takes a whole month to be able to look at the night. Some days he hides his face from the moon, afraid of wrath.

____________

When Bucky gets the call, he isn’t exactly sure how to respond. One, because he didn’t even know you had his number memorised and two, he’s not sure how you’ve allowed yourself to get arrested. But it’s 2am and he’s on his motorcycle, on the way to the police station, still entirely confused about what exactly was going on.

“That’s him.” You point, jumping up from behind the bars.

You look lovely– someone’s gotten you out of the battle armour he usually sees you in, and into something that passes as authentically Earth-like.

He makes a mental comment to tell you, but to still be discreet about it. He's not really sure where the both of you stand these days. You've got him agreeing to braids in his hair like a viking, and sitting next to him during team nights. He's got you reading the entirety of Lord of the Rings and going to museums with him to steal back his belongings. But he's not really sure.

Bucky’s eyebrow twitches at the fact that they’ve got you locked up, but you look entirely unfazed like it’s a new restaurant or escape room you’re checking out. Excited, even.

"Hey,” he says calmly to whoever wants to listen, “what the fuck?”

The grin you give him is sheepish and he already kinda wants to laugh, but he fights back a smile.

“Broke two tables at the bar two blocks down,” the officer replies. “Looks like she was going for a third.”

“I promise, I did not mean to,” you swear to him. “I did not realise your furniture would be so weak.”

Bucky looks at the officer wearily. “Had t’lock her up for that?”

Whatever the officer was expecting, it was not Bucky's lack of respect for the law or private property.

“Well– superpowers– we’re not really sure–” he stammers.

You watch the man curiously, while Bucky's eyes flicker over to you. He knows you could bend the bars of the jail cell and walk right out, so indulging them was clearly a choice.

“I’m an Avenger, I’ll take it from here,” he interrupts, making his way over to you.

“I’m gonna need to see some ID–”

“Google it,” he bites back, before turning to you. “Y’okay?” 

“I’m great,” you reply, full of life as if it wasn’t the middle of the fucking night. “It was a lot of fun.”

“How’d you know my number?” He mentions for the guard to unlock the gate, ignoring the swelling in his stupid chest.

“We are friends, are we not?” you ask, a bit confused.  

Bucky can't figure out if he's surprised or disappointed- a good mix of both, perhaps. He's glad you consider him a friend, but something in him aches dully. He positively despises it and how often it's been creeping up on him whenever he sees you around the compound. He was a 100 years old, not some lovesick fuckin' teenager.

“Yeah. We are,” he agrees, turning to glare at the officer who was holding up his phone, eyes darting between it and Bucky’s face. “Could y’move faster? It’s late.”

The guy hurriedly unlocks it and you step out, stretching your arms over your head before waving goodbye to the guy and sauntering off. He watches you go for a second before pressing back a small smile.

“The bar-”

“Tell them to get stronger tables,” Bucky calls from over his shoulder, not even waiting for a reaction. “Send the paperwork to the Avengers office, and put the bail on the tab.”

He finds you outside, arms crossed over your chest while you wait for him.

“Thank you.” You give him a smile. “I forgot that it would be late for you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waves off. “Wild night, huh?”

He had heard that some of the agents who had shifted here recently were checking out the hubs around town, but he had no idea that you’d be with them. It made sense in hindsight. More often than not, you were seeking recommendations and guides on how to learn what it was like here.

“I’ve seen worse.” Your eyes shine, and for a second he thinks that they even glimmer like starlight. “I did not realise breaking tables would be such an issue.”

“Yeah, we tend to be possessive over stuff,” he scratches his neck, almost embarrassed for his kind. “Coulda kept the cops out of it, don’t know why they had to go through all this.”

“I will have them replaced. Ours will not break, they’re made for Asgardian parties after victories in battle.”

He nods slowly and wonders if a crane would be enough to lift the table into the joint. It was nearly 3am, and he was out here with you in front of a police station, and he can't stop his stomach from fluttering. He wants to punch himself.

“Are you hungry?” you ask suddenly.

Bucky’s head tilts. He definitely had dinner….maybe. Half a leftover burrito and an apple.

“I’m starving,” you add. “I saw this place along the way here–”

Not to rub it in, but Bucky Barnes, smooth player and charmer extraordinaire, blanks. He's about sixty years off his game, and sure, he thinks you’re real pretty and that maybe he’s always wanted to know what it’d be like to buy you dinner and maybe hold your hand? If you were good with that? Maybe even–

“Like a date?” he blurts out and immediately wrings his fingers.

You falter and he wishes he was never born. “A date?”

“Like– getting dinner together,” he tries to remedy. “Breakfast. What time is it?”

“Yes, that is what I asked.” Your head cocks to the side to match his in confusion.

“No, like– like different. Not just dinner– yeah, dinner, but more–” Christ alive, he wishes he could run into traffic, but the road was deserted.

You wait for him to explain a little better where he was trying to get at. He can feel his ears burning bright.

He just shuts up instead.

“Dinner-breakfast, but more,” you test slowly.

“...more romantic?” he tries finally, defeated. “A date. Romantic date– I’m tryin' to ask you out here.”

"Oh.”

The world is very still. He thinks he will hand in his resignation tomorrow and disappear.

He had done his part, embarrassed his mother and every internet poll that deemed him the most suave and mysterious Avenger, and could now die in peace.

“A date it is, then. Breakfast-dinner, but more,” you reply.

Oh. He thinks he’s probably going to combust but you lean over to press a small kiss to his cheek, and now he’s sure he’s going to combust.

“Humans think too much,” you say simply.

"Think I'm more of an exception than the norm,” he mumbles.

"Aren't I lucky," you tease, and tap on the helmet. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an extra?”

Bucky’s eyes fly open, and the blankets get kicked off in a frenzy. His chest heaves as he sits up, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

He knew it was going to be bad, but he didn’t think it would be this fucking insidious. 

He moves to wipe the sweat from his brow but comes back dry. The air is still cold even though he keeps the window shut, and he turns to it to see a thunderstorm taking place outside.

He watches the drops pelt against the window and trees shake violently for a moment, forcing himself to breathe as he rakes his hand through his hair.

Before it clicks, and his stomach drops.

“Fuck,” he hisses, not even bothering to throw on a jacket before bolting outside.

The path that he’s trodden a thousand times before looks entirely unknown, and had he not been reliant on his muscle memory he would have had no clue where he was heading. Inky blue trees, harsh and sharp, and he's sure he's gotten a few scratches on his face already as he sprints through the forest to the lake.

The boulder is there, the carving of your name remains but the hut of sticks and leaves-- it lays strewn across the land.

And the hair tie. The fucking hair tie.

He crawls miserably on his arms and knees, relying on the light from a clouded moon to guide him through every inch of grass. Eyes burning red, he continues to scour until morning breaks with twilight.

6 years he’s kept it with him. 6 years, and it’s gone with the rain.

He lets out a cry, fist driving into the earth, barely met with any resistance.

God of the Night, and Devil of Misery.

_______

The flowers had dried up and left him to rot with them. The lake was troubled on more days than not. He had a ring that was neither entirely yours, neither entirely his and no more than the traces of your skin in his memory.

So this time when the idea appears to him like a snake, crawling and inching up his back to tell him that he deserves it, you deserve it. It would solve everything.

He is no stronger than Eve. He had fallen from grace a long time ago. He shudders just as he did the first time, but now it felt like more reprieve.

_____________

“James,” it greets, hollow like a windchime.

His voice comes out more gruffer than he expects from months of unuse, “Got a minute?”

The light retreats further into the house, away from him. He watches it fade as it travels, unsure of what to do until it pauses, hovering in one spot.

It waits for him, he realises. He slips the beanie off his head and into his pocket, before hesitantly taking a step into the cabin. The floorboards creak under the weight of him the way his own used to months ago. Now they were well-worn and all the corners that made the most noise were identified and memorised. The house and its resident both stayed silent.

Bucky finds Wanda with her eyes closed, palms pressed into her knees as she sits midair, body levitating like she was held up by a marionette.

The room is lit dimly, the only light enough to see Wanda and he understands that the woman he met years ago and the one in front of him now were not the same. Even without his serum, he has a feeling the hair on his body would be standing up, adrenaline replacing desperation and fingers bound tightly into a fist. But even with his senses on high alert, Bucky finds it hard to find a reason to care.

“You found me.”

They gave him back his laptop. He knew the Avengers had eyes on her– but only because she was allowing them.

“What brings you here?” she asks, eyes still closed.

“I need a favour,” Bucky replies, voice unnaturally strong.

“Most do,” she hums, bones cracking when her head creaks to the side. “What is it that you want, James?”

“Got a feeling you already know,” he replies.

“Humour me.”

Bucky’s eyes burn the more he continues to stare. He feels sweat trickle down his back in a clean line. The room felt like it was closing in on him with every pulse of light, crawling into his skin and scraping up and down his bones until–

“I want to bring her back from the dead.”

Wanda’s eyes stay shut but a sick, twisted sort of smile works at the corner of her mouth. “Who?”

“You know who,” he swallows thickly.

Wanda straightens her head till she is sitting pin straight again, eerily firm as if her spine had been replaced with a rod.

“It has been months. Nature would not have been kind to her.”

“But it’s possible,” he says– asks, really.

“Anything is,” Wanda tuts. “But all that time would have eroded away at her.”

“We never found the body." He hates how his voice quivers for a second. “And she’s not from this Earth. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Depends.”

“Can you do it?”

“I can.”

Bucky feels relief flood into his system, an ecstatic sort of euphoria that has his heart lead–

“But I won't.”

And it goes back to how it was. Cold. Bitter. Was this some sick fucking joke?

“Why?” His voice drops an octave.

“Time will heal you. Getting in the way of that is only harmful to you.”

Real fuckin’ rich coming from you, he wants to scream.

“I tell you this because I know from experience.” It’s almost as if she reads his mind. Probably does. “Bringing someone back from the dead is not what you think it is.”

“I’ll handle it. Whatever it is.”

“Can you?”

Bucky wavers, brows furrowing. “Yes.”

Wanda hums, the same smile from before returning to her face. “Your spirit is admirable. But I’m afraid I can’t grant you this wish.”

Bucky feels white hot inside, and like his world crumbles into a dark heaving mess. “Wanda–”

“It’s for your own good, James.” If he wasn’t so full of rage he’d maybe hear the fondness that hid behind a few of her words.

“How would you know?” he snaps. “Vision wasn’t human–”

Wanda’s eyes snap open. Bucky is forcefully shoved a step back, arm jumping up in front of him in a second. For the first time he notices that the light wasn’t shining on Wanda– it was coming from her. Crimson red and pulsating as fast as the blood raced through her veins.

“You think Vision was the first time I’ve lost someone?” Her voice is cold. “You met him, James. You knew his name.”

Bucky’s grown to carry guilt on his back like Atlas. A little bit more is hardly a burden. “This– it’s going to be different,” he says. “She’s not a mutant, she’s a God, Wanda–”

“So you think you can match up to that by playing one?” Wanda’s voice raises. “You don’t get to pick who stays dead. You don’t get to choose. I didn’t. None of us did.”

“I wasn’t there when she died. If I was, then maybe–”

“That doesn’t mean anything. I cannot give you this favour.”

“Then consider it repayment. Of a debt,” he finally exclaims. “You said it. You owed me one. I’m cashin’ it in.”

Days of starvation just so that the kids could eat. If his handlers knew, they’d make him kill them with his bare hands. He gladly accepts fifteen more broken bones just so that the twins are kept together, and even when he goes back under, the sight of their big eyes, too big for their faces, staring at him haunts him in his nightmare.

“I just want another chance.” Bucky’s stare is strong, voice steady. “I’m tired of praying. I’m sick of it. I’ve been begging my whole life for a second chance at everything. You think I want to be here? That I get to be the one that’s still alive?”

The glow around Wanda looks like it should burn her. All consuming and vicious, like blood splattered on a wall.

“Please,” his voice reduces to the strength of a child. “Just try. That’s all I’m askin’.”

Bucky watches as the light slowly dims to a silhouette, leaving him blinking back the burn on his iris. He loosens his fist, knowing later that his fingernails probably broke through the skin of his palm.

Wanda’s chest rises and falls.

She closes her eyes. “Leave.”

He wordlessly turns on his heel. It was stupid of him to hope, he supposes.

______________

Autumn dies for December to grow, and he starts staying inside more than he already does. Snowfall covers the roof and the treetops. He swaps eggs for soup and makes batches large enough to last the whole day. The ground freezes over, and he looks for ways to keep his self-sustaining system going, but trips to town become more frequent.

Sam visits once more, and brings some more things with him this time. Books, a journal, some old box sets of shows. Bucky nods along to the conversation, asks after his family and when the time comes, rejects another offer to come to spend Christmas at the compound.

He accepts Sam’s flowers with more grace than the last time. The door closes, and he leaves it by the couch.

__________

He attempts to rebuild it. Pulls together some stronger branches and heavier stones. A new memorial lays together half-heartedly. Dejected. A little miserable looking.

He stares at it a little too long before one swoop of his arm cracks it in half and leaves it strewn across the grass.

Bucky doesn't try again.

__________

“Did you come up with the constellations?”

It's a stupid question, but he's always curious about you.  

“Hm,” you reply at first. “Not in the sense that you’d think.”

Bucky turns away from looking into the abyss and towards you. His flesh hand continues to trace shapes into your skin as your neck rests on his bicep.

“I didn’t place them in a way that was meant to be drawn,” you reply. “My mother used to tell me when I was a child that the spirits of those I cherished would live on through parts of our creations. For others, it would be through groves of orchards, or rain that corrode caves into mountains.”

Bucky watches the fingers of your free hand dance nimbly, while the other stays tucked between the both of you.

“I was young when I realised that certain lights were brighter when I felt too much for someone. Pain, joy, rage,” you continue, fingertips pointing upwards, “Those stars, satellites– whatever you wanted to call them– they were the ties I had to those I loved. So sometimes, I would move them with me so that every time I looked up, I would see that I had company.”

He tears his eyes away from you and towards where you were gesturing. It’s subtle at first, but then he sees– stars moving faster than they should, darting all around the canvas of the night like runaway splotches.

“Over time, those on earth noticed patterns and called them constellations. I’ve always seen it as my family,” you say, gently dragging a barely lit star from the corner of his eye towards the centre.

“That’s for Thor. Sif.” You take turns to point. “Loki. Fandrall. Hogun. My parents.”

Each seems to glow a little brighter as you call out their name. “There’s one for you, as well.” Your finger drops, finding its way back to comfort on his chest.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise.  

“You’ll have to see for yourself which one it is.” You leave a kiss on his jawline, and he instinctively tugs you a bit closer. “It won’t be any fun if I tell you.”

He doesn’t need to ask. There’s one slightly to your left, that’s glowing a little brighter tonight than the rest. His chest swells, and there's a profound sort of speechlessness that engulfs him. He never really knows what to say around you anyway.

“Really fuckin’ love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your the skin of your temples.

“I’ve got a clue or two.” You laugh and along with you, so does the sky.

___________

Bucky eyes fly open, fingers digging deep into the pillow. Not because of the way his brain was choosing to torture him again.

But the fact that the fucking person from before was back at his door, even though it was the middle of the fucking night.

He lets the first three knocks go unanswered but by the fifth one, he’s ready to unleash the force of the shitty month he’s had into whoever was here to drop off the next box of fucking whatever.

He doesn’t even bother pulling on shoes or straightening out his clothes. Hair wild and untamed and fury in his eyes, he marches down the steps of the cabin with a select choice of words for SHIELD and their stupid protocols.

With enough force to pull the door from its hinges, he yanks the door open, eyes ablaze and mouth set in a scowl.

And the earth stops spinning. 

The absolute wind gets knocked out of him and he’s scared to even blink because this has happened to him before. It’s happened, and his eyes have closed and it’s left and he can’t afford that again–

He freezes when a hand reaches out to touch his bicep. Because that has never happened before. He’s always woken up before this.

At the threshold of the cabin, he falls to his knees. His joints ache the same way they did in church all that time ago when his fury was masked with tears.

“Oh,” he whispers, kneeling before the essence of a God he thought abandoned him.

“Bucky?” you ask, confused and soft, hand reaching out to cup his cheek before lowering yourself to his height.

Bucky makes somewhere between a strangled noise and a strange laugh, head reeling.

“You’re back.” His hands fall at your waist lightly like he’s afraid to disrupt still water.

“What’s–” your sentence is interrupted when your eyes roll back into your head.

Moments later it goes limp, and his reflexes move faster than he can comprehend as he grabs you, body springing into action when his mind gives up on him.

He lets out a sigh of relief loud enough to be a sob, fervently holding up the dead weight and a rhythm returns to the stillness of the night, one he’d forgotten the sound of. If he was even the slightest bit aware, more than grateful, he would see the signs from then. His vibranium doesn’t warm when it meets the sliver of skin as he bunches up your shirt in his grip. It feels like he’s breathing in Antarctic air, not spring drafts.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your shoulder to whoever is listening. “Fuck– God, thank you.”

_______

"It's been a month."

"A week, and that's pushing it."

"You're pushing it," you mumble, tightening the straps of your armour, "I do not know how you live like this. Do you always just stare at the ceiling when you're bored?"

"Sometimes I like to switch it up. Look at the floor," Bucky adds gruffly, to a roll of your eyes. "Maybe the door on the days I'm feelin' real fancy."

"You will just let your TV lay that way? With half the screen missing?"

He shrugs half-heartedly. "Sports season's done. Got nothin' to watch."

"Hmm," you pause a second. "'No' to your offer then. You may take that as my formal reply."

"'No' to Thai takeout later?" Bucky squints out into the twilight through the window of the ammunition room. "Lebanese then?"

You raise your eyebrows, tightening the leather around your wrists. "Goodbye, Barnes."

"Bye," he replies, checking to see if his knives sat securely in his old tactical pants.

You send him a nod before you start striding towards the door.  The jet had landed a while ago, still onloading agents and recruits from the compound. 

Bucky's arm jets out to grab your elbow, pulling you back into him. He's well aware it's only because you let him.

"I'm kiddin'," Bucky laughs at the matching smile on your face. "I'll get it fixed. I'll fix it myself. Just marry me, please. I'm growin' old here, sweetheart. All this questioning's not good for my heart."

"You're already old. And we will talk about it when we get back," your fingers press gently into his chest, and he can feel your touch even through the bulletproof vest. "Your laws-"

"There's no law out there that says ex-enemies of the state and Gods can't marry. Even if there is, it'll be just another one I have to break."

Your eyes twinkle when you laugh. Bucky sees remnants of old cosmos in there, as he always has.

"We'll talk about it when we get back," you promise. "Be safe."

"Can't guarantee that."

"Try not to die, then."

"Always."

He can't remember a time when he wasn't the last one on the jet, owing to goodbyes like this. You never opted to join them, reaching the same way Thor does.

The night was uncharacteristically calm, especially since he knew that miles away you were about to step into another battle. But it's good. The night means you will be at your strongest, and that is what he hopes for.

Bucky allows a few seconds of silence to take you in, skin glowing even against harsh fluorescent lighting and a cool air of confidence around you. You raise an eyebrow at him, because this is far from the first time he has done this. He would never divulge why.

He takes a chance to press a quick kiss to your lips, humming. "I'll get the TV fixed when we're back."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Barnes." You smile, thumb swiping across the dent in his nose, an imperfection in a sea of many. "Thai for dinner?"

"Lemme check my calendar." Bucky takes a step back, feeling his heart constrict in a way that he's gotten used to craving. "I may have an opening."

"Please, don't try too hard."

"I'll have my secretary get back to you."

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. "I love you."

"So, that's a yes then?"

"Get on the plane, Bucky." You sigh. "You already know the answer."

"Love you more." He grins at you, bright and like he's never known sadness. "Catch you later."

____________

In the days that pass, he doesn’t know how to be.

His body leaves him no choice–  staying up all night, waiting for Wanda to show up at the door, fingers burning to take it all back. He keeps the doors locked and windows shut, as if ageing wood would provide any sort of a barrier when it came to her will.

Bucky walks around in a trance, eyes glossy and body stiff like he isn’t sure how much of what he’s seeing is real.

Your body, housed in his old clothes, looks three seconds away from death. He keeps a bucket by the bed from when you cough up dust, the last remainder of old organs. He massages leg spasms, and muscle cramps from your neck.

He keeps a towel close by for the nausea and anything in between as your body fights off the shock of a rebirth. Allopathy is useless when you're a God either way, so he resorts to herbs and roots to alleviate as much as he can.

Your lungs struggle for air at night. He’s already awake, propping you up to make sure you’re breathing better. He rubs at your back in circles the same way he used to do for Steve and finally takes a breath when the wheezing subsidies.

He fervently tells you he loves you every time you slip back under, and wipes at your forehead with a wet cloth to ease the warmth. He’s met with coughing fits and clenched eyes.

Exactly one week from your return, a trip downstairs to gather more firewood for the room and Bucky falters to a stop near the kitchen.

There's a note pinned to the dining table with no indication as to how it got there.

The debt is repaid. This was by your will. Whatever happens next will be by hers.

Every hour, he watches rotting flesh, dissolved muscles and clotted blood crawl out of your mouth. He forces himself to watch. It was his choice after all.

Bringing you back from the dead was never going to be easy.

_________

A week later, the remains of your old body stop exhuming itself. Perspiration beads line your forehead, and he thinks the salt of sweat is your first act of creation. 

Your breath steadies. Nights go smoother. He learns he can live off of two hours of sleep. 

He toys with the idea of telling someone. Sam. Thor, even.  But your lips are bluer than he’s ever seen, even more than when he’d introduced you to blueberry juice pops when the heat beat down on you both in July, and you’d kissed his red-stained ones. 

The longer he stares at you, he dismisses the idea. Something in him says that beyond being something they could accept, they could actively bring a stop to what he was doing right now. 

He couldn’t afford that. Not now, not ever; not when he’s let you down once before already. It’s a secret for now, then. For as long as it needs to be. 

__________

In the days later your nervous system seems to be rewiring itself. The first time he sees you with your eyes open, the plates he’s holding clatter to the floor. 

“Hey,” he whispers, fingers clutching the side of the bed, “Hey, honey. Can you hear me?”

But your eyes never meet his. He slowly follows your gaze to the closed window, eyes glassy and surrounded by strings of red. 

He sees you mouth something, and desperate as he is, he never truly understands what it is before you’re gone again.  

His exhale leaves staggering, head dipping to your arm as he clenches his eyes tight till he sees spots. 

_____________

Bucky starts leaving the windows open. The ones in your room, at least, and only when he's there to keep watch.

It becomes a mission then. The next time you opened your eyes couldn’t be to the desolation he lived in for months. He looks for flowers. Vines. Anything to make the place look less dreary and miserable. He cleans the blinds, and dusts the paintings in the room.

The cells in your body seem to be working overtime– every day there is a little bit less that reminds him of where you came from. Scabs fall away faster than they grow, leaving unbroken skin.

He notices it late. There is only one wound that remains-- a red, jagged scar along your stomach. It looks angry. Heals slower than the rest of them. It is the only place Bucky sees specks of gold instead of bronze when you exert yourself too much.

__________

It takes a good amount of time. He should have anticipated it— the next time you awake, and the next few times after that are only when the sun chases beyond the horizon. 

He drops to your side with questions of “can you hear me?” or “does something hurt?” but each time, something outside the widow holds your attention dear to its chest and unwilling to share.

The moon rays become an elixir more powerful than anything from this Earth. Light almost surrounds you like a cloak, sinking into your skin and drowning in your bones. 

He stays up at night, massaging your arms and your temples, but you are still so cold to the touch he isn’t sure the blood is circulating at all. So he gets more firewood. Makes sure the house is warm all the fucking time.  

Stagnant. Still. Some nights he thinks he can see you looking at him from the corner of your eye.

The second he turns, you lay unmoving as before.

________

He stands labouring over the stove. There's a batch of rich tomato soup, with bread toasting in a skillet nearby. He alternates between wiping down the bowl to serve you in, though you still haven’t eaten, and stirring the soup to stop it from sticking to the bottom of the pan. 

He makes note that he still has to get more gauze from the town, and proper tools to sand down the chairs before he can even think of--

But something interrupts his to-do list. It's so soft, he thinks for a second he's imagining it. But the ladle he's holding clangs against the pot, and he abandons the bowls with such hurry that he wouldn't be surprised if it's in shards.

He races up the stairs, three at a time, his heart is thumping louder than the floorboards creaking.

It’s silent. He can hear his own arm whirring quietly.

He lets out a breath when he sees you haven’t changed positions since he last saw you, and wordlessly turns to head back downstairs to an over-bubbling cauldron of soup. 

"Bucky?"

It’s almost like eternity whooshes past his ears when he realises that he wasn't imagining it.

“Hey.” He drops without a second thought to your bedside, knees scraping against the wood. “Hey. Hi sweetheart. What do you need?”

“Water,” your voice is hoarse and just above a whisper, but you’re looking at him.

You’re fucking looking at him, and your eyes are a share darker than he remembers them being.

He makes a grab for the jug by your bed and holds a full glass to your lips carefully, watching as water treacles in through chapped lips. 

"How are you feelin’?" He hates how shaky his voice sounds, as if he wasn't prepared. As if he hadn’t been waiting.

It takes a second for you to form the word. "Tired."

His fingers brush against your cheek. "What can I do for you?"

You don’t respond, and he watches your chest rise and fall heavily again. You were asleep again.

He bites into his lower lip so hard he can taste the rust of his blood. Moonlight filters in through your curtain and he runs his thumb over the corner of your eye, placing a kiss on your forehead.

It was a start.

___________

Bucky grew up with siblings he outlasted and an absolute wildfire of a friend. It was safe to say the man had more patience than most.

The same conversation repeats three more times over the next few days, and he answers each time with as much tender refrain as the first, begging to know where he can help and what he can do.

“Tired” turns to “I’m tired” turns to “I’m just tired”, and with each he is as proud and hopeful as he was when you talked the first time. 

You begin to eat finally, and he hopes his skills aren’t bad enough to send you to the other side again. Spoonfuls of soup. Bites of bread. A glass of water, and then two. 

“Buck,” you rasp.

And he’s as ready as he was the previous day, with a gentle, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

You’ve already gotten a slice of bread into you today, and you’ve slept through the night. He’s considering this one of the best days you’ve had so far, and that alone is triumph enough to ease the anxiety that pervades him. 

“I was dead.” But this was new. 

Bucky blinks, not sure if he heard you right. Your eyebrows knitted together tells him he did. 

“You were,” he confirms, not daring to breathe. 

“But now…” you trail off, as if you were expecting to wake up that minute. 

His Adam’s apple shifts up and down. “Things changed.”

“How?” you ask, eyebrows pulling together even tighter, and he worries it takes energy that could be used elsewhere.

The muscles in his jaw tighten anxiously. The floorboards press into his knees. 

"You did something?" your voice comes back quietly. 

His silence is enough of an answer.

"How long was I gone?"

"It’s been a while, honey," he replies, eyes never leaving yours. 

Your head turns to face the ceiling, a deep exhale working its way through you. Bucky's eyes drift to the scar on your stomach, hidden under the fabric. Thorny and broken.

"Who knows?"

His gaze shifts back to your face, but you aren't looking at him.

"Only me," he says, voice unwittingly dropping before adding, "and Wanda."

"Wanda," you repeat quietly. "It was magic."

Something familiar sets into Bucky's chest. Heavy, pressing down on his throat and making the bile rise.

"I'll get you more water," he says, pausing briefly to look at you, but you continue to stare at the roof. "I'll be right back."

You don’t have a response for him. As he makes his way to the door, it follows like a shadow. He pauses by the frame to look at you once again, but your eyes have closed.

Bucky watches for a second, swallowing thickly. It feels all too similar to guilt.

__________

Bucky dedicates himself even more vigorously to the house. He finally takes out the cutlery, cleans it up the best he can and wipes down the table every single day.  He spends the day collecting fruits for juices and vegetables for broth. Firewood. Making sure everything is sharp enough to use, and the traps he set up in his initial time here were still functional.

He checks to see if the trees can take the weight of the swing he’s hoping to fashion out of bark. How fast it would take to polish the porch chairs and flooring, and what exactly it would take to do that.

No matter how much he cleans, it isn’t enough to wipe the look on your face from where it was seared into his brain like hot iron.  

A week later he's in the garden, digging up the ground to plant seeds. It's January, and it's still fucking freezing, but he's gonna fucking try anyway.

He's got a hold of seeds of poppy, marigold, daisies and who knows what else, and plenty of fucking time.

"You garden now?"

He looks up in surprise. You lean against the backdoor, no winter coat on even though it's freezing. It flashes in his mind that you look paler than you used to, and he wonders if that will go in time. 

“I’ve always gardened,” Bucky defends weakly, and tries to keep his tone normal. “Just– not well.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you ask, “Has that changed?"

“Can’t say it has, sweetheart." He looks at the mess he's created on the ground. "'M tryin', though.”

The corner of your lip upturns into a faint smile. His stomach twists painfully.

"You're up," he says, a little too late. It came faster than he thought it would. Then again, you weren’t human. You didn’t always listen to the laws of nature. 

"Y'feeling cold?" he adds quickly. 

You shrug, pushing off from the door to slowly take a seat. Your legs dangle off the ledge of the porch, barefoot. Bucky waits for you to swing your legs like you always have but you stay still.

He dusts his hands on his jeans and stands, tugging his jacket off his shoulders and holding it out to you. "Can I?" 

"Go on," you allow, and he drapes it around your shoulders, making sure it isn't likely to slip off before stepping back.

A draft blows past you both without either of you saying a word. Discarding the little shovel on the ground, Bucky chooses to take a seat beside you instead.

"You will feel cold, won't you?" 

"I'll be fine, don't worry 'bout me," he reassures. 

"Seems like you have it covered already," you say, making a motion to imitate the shape of his beard. "Mighty fine mane you've got there, James. You could give Odin a run for his money."

He gives a short chuckle, threading his hands through his hair that reaches down to his shoulders.

He’s finding it hard to formulate words. He couldn’t even tell if his mind was racing or entirely blank.

"You've got grey in your beard now," you observe. It sounds wistful. Sad even, and all of a sudden he’s left realising that he doesn't know how long it has been for you.

"Been a while since I got a haircut." 

Christ, he was drier than a brick. His conversational skills and charm had deserted him along with the rest of his luck. 

You lift your eyes from his beard to his face, scanning from his hairline down to his chin. "You look as handsome as you always have," you say and his heart jumps. "Just a bit..."

Sadder. Tired. Mistrusting.

"Older," you settle on.

He'd grown more wrinkles than he could count, and his skin didn't bounce back as much as it used to.

Beyond that, he smiled a lot less. He spent more time thinking than verbalising.

“You need help?” He hears you ask faintly, head gesturing to the patch of dug-up mud.

“You need to get rest,” Bucky shakes himself out of it. “I’ll get you some–”

“I’ve rested long enough, Buck,” you say assertively. 

He wonders if you did. Bucky remembers what you told him of Asgardian funerals. How your body is set floating along a river, and your soul lifts towards the sky to rest. You never got to have that. He doesn’t even know if they sent an empty log along a cold river.

"Tomorrow?" he delays.  

You look at him briefly before nodding.The ground stays untouched and the sky still greys. Bucky sees you take a few deep breaths, shuddering when a draft of wind blows by. He silently shrugs off his scarf too, and wraps it around your neck loosely.

You simply let him. Minutes pass in silence, and neither of you make any motion to move. 

You bump your shoulder into his. "I see you haven't fixed the TV yet."

A swift exhale leaves him in the form of a laugh. He turns away so that you don't see how his eyes begin to burn.   

"Sorry, honey," he croaks out, "I've been distracted."

The smile you give him is melancholic, and that's enough to dissolve his red eyes from a warning into tears.

_________

Bucky buys every single streaming platform available, and every channel available on cable.

That night he takes apart every single component of the television, wipes it down and puts it back together better than before. He only rests when it's 2am and the sound of late night commercials softly flood the living room.

__________

Bucky takes the guest bedroom, initially, a floor away from you to give you the space you need. 

He then realises it's too far, it's too risky. Sheepishly, he shifts to the same room as you, but makes himself a place to sleep on the floor with blankets and a pillow.

You voice your protest, and even though he’s spent three years curled up beside your sleeping frame, he says his back could use the hard surface now. 

He gets you clothes from town. Sweaters and socks, scarves. Things he knew you used to like and things he always promised he'd get if he had another chance. You take them with a small smile and a thanks. He sees you wear them around the house, and while they're exactly the size they should be, and the colours he knows you love.

There's a nagging feeling in him that they don't sit right. They don't look right. Still, you wear them on the days you can leave the bed. He shows you around the house. The good parts, at least, and pretends like that’s how he’s always lived even though he can tell you see right through his facade. 

He’s there when you thrash around at night. Bucky's up before the minute is even over, at your side and gently calling your name till you jolt awake. He hands you glass after glass of chilled water, rubbing your back in circles till the wave passes. It’s entirely too reminiscent of what you used to do for him, and he hopes the familiarity would do you good. 

Sometimes you tell him what you saw. Darkness enveloping you for hours, holding you close and sliding its vines over you, binding your limbs like rope before you're shoved into blinding light.

“Last I remember was the fight," you say one night, as he wipes the sweat from your forehead. "I cannot tell how much of it was real, it's--"

And you pause and struggle, and he's at a loss for words because you never have been. You've always known what to say. You've always had a thought you wanted to share. 

"Thor told me a little bit," he offers quietly. "If you'd want, I'd tell ya."

You look at him, conflict raging behind drained irises. "I was fighting. I heard them say something about-- there was a building with civilians hiding."

"Yeah, there was," he confirms, voice tight.

"They wanted to-- do something to it." You close your eyes, brows furrowing in concentration. "I told Thor I would get them out before anything happens. We had done it so many times before."

"He said there was an explosion."

The sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson.

And Bucky was too slow to get you out.

"I don't remember that," you say and his eyebrows furrow. "I remember--"

Bucky watches you hesitate for a second before your hands nimbly move the fabric of your shirt slightly to reveal the outline of the scar, inhaling sharply. 

"I wasn't careful enough. There were civilians I was getting out and someone from behind--"

It dawns in a slow realisation the reason why the scar hadn’t healed yet. Why it stood out from the others that littered your skin. Bucky had thought for this long that you'd died in a blaze, trapped under bricks and mortar. That you had been left suffocating because he hadn't been fast enough, that he wasn't good enough.

"I knew I would not be awake for long. I just wanted to get rid of as many of them as I could."

"The building came down." He swallows the rock in his throat. "We spent days searching through it."

"I think I was gone before the explosion happened."

It makes sense-- the sky shifted all too quickly that day. You were gone before he even had the chance. Your fate had already been sealed. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have been there.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”

"That's not–" his words come out in a rush, stumbling over each other, insistent. "If I was there--"

"There is no point in punishing yourself," you interrupt his spiral. "It was a choice I made. I would do it again. It was what had to be done."

He swallows thickly when he knows the conversation ends there. 

__________

Some nights Bucky settles on pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and lingers there for a second longer than he should. 

You turn to face him from your place on the bed, looking at him like you've known him for centuries. Some nights it feels like you have.

_________

Bucky builds you a swing. It's a little ridiculous, and it takes a whole week to do it.

But your face breaks into the biggest smile he's seen since you got here, and he can taste the sun on his tongue. The strange feeling in his stomach is alleviated for a moment, and replaced with something closer to pride.

You spend hours on it while he works on parts of the house. He makes sure you've got a blanket with you at all times, even though you’ve never once told him you feel cold.

You ask him questions about everything. Him, the world; like you’re trying to relearn what you’ve lost.

"How long ago did you buy this place?" 

"Nearly two years ago," he replies, paintbrush in hand as he swipes up and down the deck. "Owners hadn't come here in a while and they wanted it off their hands quick, so I made an offer."

You hum, using the balls of your feet to swing yourself higher. "I have always wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this."

Bucky’s painting halts for a second as he fights a smile, but he doesn't respond. The squeaking of the swing stops. He looks over to you, only to find you already looking at him.

"Is this why you bought it?" you accuse.

Bucky returns to painting the wood, face turned away.

"You are far more of a hopeless romantic than I ever remember you being."

He scoffs out a laugh. "You'd'a run away."

"I wouldn’t have." You narrow your eyes. "I have had suitors in the past who've done far worse. You are far from the most embarrassing."

"You laughed when we kissed for the first time," he points out, amused.

Your jaw drops. "That was because I wasn't expecting it. You'd been courting me for months, I thought you were never going to move beyond that."

"I was tryin' t'be a gentleman," he defends. "I didn't know how they do it in Asgard."

"Well, for starters, they don't kiss someone after dropping tiramisu all over them."

He cringes, but it doesn't escape him that memories of the both of you feel like they're accompanied by a light this time, instead of dread. "Could you blame a fella for bein' nervous?"

"I do not know why, you had no reason to be."

He wants to ask if you've seen yourself before. He was damn near pissing himself whenever you got too close to him. The tiramisu was just collateral damage from when you chose to wipe cream smudged at the corner of his lip that night. 

When he lifts his head to look at you, you're back to swinging. Back to your own world. A new one you seem to have constructed for yourself since you came back. Back then he was privy to all your thoughts, no matter how mundane they were.

Right before he goes back to painting the deck, his brain makes a small connection. It's a small detail, but one that holds a lot more weight the more he begins to notice.

Your back curves in on itself ever so slightly. No longer pin-straight. His grip on the brush grows a little tighter.  

__________

February rolls around. Bucky's only managed to work up the courage to hold your hand occasionally when you go for walks.

Fingers laced in yours, he shows you parts of the woods he's discovered that stray from the main path. The shrubs that look like they're alight when the sunset catches them. The trees that have a hole right through the centre, like they've taken a bullet.

You keep him out longer and longer, and by now he’s run out of things to show you. He ends up repeating a lot, but you look glad each time, like you’re learning something new about him each day even though he’s dredged you through the same mud path at least thrice now.

He wants to think that it’s because you like having longer to hold his hand. 

You listen intently, asking questions whenever you could. You let him know what parts you like better, and parts you’re glad he’s left behind, even if it was recent. 

Bucky blushes from head to toe when you pick a flower and tuck it into his hair, and you smile it away with a swing of your hand. 

"You get visitors?" Your mouth moves in tandem with your fingers that weave together a crown from stray leaves and blades of grass. You tell him, even though he remembers, that it was something you learnt from Sif growing up. 

"Sam drops by every now 'n then."

"Do you visit them?" you ask, hands twisting deftly and with skill of someone who’s done this all too many times. "How has everyone been?"

Should he tell you he's been sequestered? That he dropped everything and disappeared overnight because the questions of 'are you fine?' and 'do you want to talk?' became as suffocating as a thick cloud of smoke.

"Last I heard, they were doin' alright." He hopes it's enough.

"I tried talking to Thor," you tell him casually, but it feels like a cold fist clamps down on his chest. 

“And?”

“I couldn’t hear him,” you tell him, just as normally and he’s disgusted that he feels even the tiniest bit of relief. “I couldn’t hear Heimdall either. I know he’d respond if he could hear me, so I can only assume he hasn’t.” 

“You’re sayin’ you’re not able to talk to them?” His voice sounds small.

“I believe I lost the ability to communicate with them,” you tell him, tying the last bit of grass together. “I don’t think there is precedence for when someone comes back from the dead.”

You hand him the crown, and Bucky doesn't dare to meet your eyes. It’s too small for him. It’s closer to the size for a child. 

"'M sorry, honey," he mumbles. It returns to his stomach. The sick, gnawing feeling that he’s tried to obtain salvation for.

"I still have you,” you tell him, “But you were here for this long without anyone. It must have been lonely.”

Truth be told, he never really noticed. It almost seems like he’s forgotten how it felt.

"Hasn't been for a while, now." He squeezes your hand.

"I don't like the idea of you staying here alone.” Your eyes scan his face. "You deserve to be around others."

Bucky doesn't know what it is about the way you say it-- like you're not entirely sure you're here either. Like you aren't real. 

He calls your name, unsure, scared even. You answer with a hum. 

"Are you okay with being here?" It’s too late to be asking this. 

Your face pulls together thoughtfully, but he can't decipher what you're thinking.

"I like spending time with you. Always." 

Your head leans on his shoulder, and you resume the tune you’re humming. Bucky tries not to think about the fact that you haven't quite answered his question.

_________

He wakes up on the ground again, not to your muffled groans or bed sheets being thrown to the ground.

You're not in bed. The window is open. There's scattering downstairs, and it's followed by a strange scent, and for a second he panics.

He scrambles down the stairs, mind already conjuring pictures and images so vile and ghastly--

But all he sees is you in his biggest shirt, one that you yourself once got him as a joke for a punchline he can’t really remember right now.

And you're surrounded by broken pans, bent forks and an entirely indiscernible charred mass on the bottom of a skillet.

"I tried to cook," you admit, "like on TLC."

"And you broke the pan?" he asks, a little stunned, a lot more in love. 

"I did not realise your cookware would be so weak." You try so desperately to hide a smile. "Tried to scrape it off using the fork."

He looks at the misshapen piece of cutlery.

"And what's that?" He slowly makes his way into the kitchen towards you.

"The remnants of a frittata." You hold it out to him.

Bucky takes the handleless skillet from you and looks at the ashes.

"What do you think?" you ask.

Bucky holds it back out to you. "Could use a few more minutes on the stove."

The smile you try to hold back breaks into laughter and his face lights up in surprise. It's the first time since you've gotten here, and the first time in years since he's been graced with the sound.

He bites his lip when you take it back from him, all while still giggling, like he doesn't quite believe his ears.

"I do believe I would fare better at toas-- oof."

Bucky pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. The pan drops to the counter as his head falls to your shoulders.

"I missed you so fuckin' much," he utters desperately into your neck, clenching his eyes closed so tight it hurts.  

"I missed you too," you say softly, arms circling his waist, pulling him closer.

___________

The days start to get warmer. Your skin still stays cool to the touch. It's something he's getting used to. For years he was used to waking up at night to turn down the thermostat, just so that he could stay under the covers with you without burning up.

But while good days increase, there are the ones you spend too feverish to get out of bed. You sleep the whole day, only waking when he brings you food.

March fades the dark circles around your eyes as much as it can, but they never truly go. The scar on your stomach doesn't heal beyond a certain point, and is always ready to turn garish and violent on days you can't get your head to lift.

Bucky wonders if you’ll ever get better. 

Fevers break when the mornings do. You tell him you dream of the same thing over and over. Darkness, holding onto you with the same tenacity as a mother stops a child from running into a flame.

You walk with your shoulders drooped, and always some sleep in your smile. Sometimes he hears you call for your parents, who he knows haven't been around for a few hundred years. He hears Thor's name, and Loki's during nights that are more peaceful.

On days that are good, you spend time helping with the garden and for once, the flowers start growing. Tree bark he can't break into two, you manage with one hand. You watch shows together on the couch, and he massages your head when it's in his lap.

And finally, Bucky shows you the lake when it thaws over. Crystal clear waters let you peer at the little plants growing on the bottom, and the sunlight glows in the ripples.

You notice the engraving on the boulder before he has the chance to divert your attention. When you ask, he tells you about the little memorial and the rain and the loss of the hair tie. 

Your hand squeezes his a bit tighter. He thinks no memorial can hold a candle to that.

You look at your reflection in the water a lot. Bucky sits beside you, skipping stones to see how far it can go, like he did in the harbour as a kid. Steve always used to win, no matter how much Bucky tried. 

"There was a lake by my school when I was child," you tell him. "When I was mad, I used to skip class to go sit there for hours."

“What made you mad?” He chuckles.

“A lot of things. I had too much energy to just sit there, and that was ‘unbecoming of a future leader of Asgard’.” Your face pulls into one of distaste. “I always thought there was more to learn about the world than what their books contained.”

Bucky collects a few pebbles from around him. "Did the lake make you feel better?"

"Always." You take a stone from him to skip across the surface. "Sometimes my friends used to join. Our elders said the water had the ability to remember. Loki used to make faces, and it would always linger for a few seconds before it disappeared. Even after we thought he was gone, I'd see his face there."

Bucky stays quiet, nodding at points to let you know he was listening.

"I used to see younger versions of myself sometimes," you continue, voice distant. "It always surprised me. I thought I used to know what I looked like. It was different each time."

You inch towards the shoreline, leaning forward on your knees. The clear water looks like an open sky underneath you. "I look different now, too," you say. "But I can't remember what I used to look like."

Bucky discards his stones to come join you, leaning down to where you were. The face staring back at him pulls a sick, twisted feeling in his gut. Deep in him, he knows what you're talking about extends beyond immediate impressions. Centuries of being intertwined with the universe had always given you lines and traces that transcended your physical appearance. 

You have always felt like the God of the Night.

Now you have been to the other side and returned, seen things others haven't and still kept intact. While he doesn't have the courage to admit it, he knows in his blood what you feel like. 

He's scheduled an appointment with him many times, but always just missed it.

Now, you feel closer to the God of Death.

"You've always been beautiful. Still are." It's a band aid on a gaping, festering wound.

Even still, you look at him with a smile. "So are you."

Bucky makes the mistake of looking at his visage in the water, and immediately recoils.

"Christ," he grunts at the difference between the both of you. "What a fuckin' mess."

"Oh, it isn't that bad," you laugh, watching him contort his face.

"Easy for you to say, you look stunning." He points to your reflection. "I look like I was raised by wolves."

"You just need a shave," you hum.

"I need a new face."

You leave aside his last comment to propose something entirely new instead, "I could do that for you."

"What? Give me a new face?" he asks and you give him a pointed look. "Oh. Shave my beard?"

"Same thing, no?"

He supposes so. "Alright," he agrees, with a certainty reserved for no one else. 

A small smile appears on your face, even though you aren't really looking at him.

Bucky watches you lean forward. Your fingers dip into the water, disturbing the reflection.

_____

Late evening finds you settled on the counter, armed and ready. "Lot of trust you're putting in me."

"I'd trust you with anything," he says, looking in the mirror to check once again that foam covers every inch of hair on his jaw. "You know this."

"Still," you note, watching him tilt his chin up. "I could do this with a dagger, if you'd like."

"This works fine, thanks."

You let out a laugh, and he finally steps in front of you, satisfied with his part. You swish the razor into water once again just in case, before leaning forward.

The first swipe goes agonisingly slow. Bucky watches your face screw up in concentration as you scrape down his left cheek.

You pull back and make a face. He raises his eyebrow in question.

"You are too far away," you declare, wrapping an arm around his bicep and tugging him closer.

Your legs wrap around his waist to keep him in place, locking behind his back. His breath hitches in his throat the proximity but you appear entirely unfazed, washing the razor again.

"Are you okay?" you ask, keeping one hand on his neck for balance as you get a much better go at his face.

"Yep," he thinks he says. It may just have been a sound.

You could have spent hours there for all he cares. He's too focused on the pressure of your legs on the small of his back and the way he's basically melted into your hand.

"Your eyes have always been my favourite feature," you tell him, blade carefully running down the curve of his jaw. "When you smile hard, there are these lines in the corner. It's like you can't handle being that happy."

He can't tear his sight from you, and from the fact that this is the closest you’ve been in years. You may as well have been telling him utter nonsense, and he'd still find it hard to control his breathing.

"But I have a soft spot for this." You lightly tap the bridge of his nose. He knows immediately what you're talking about. "I will never forget how stupid you were. Throwing yourself in front of danger like that."

"Couldn't let that guy touch you," his voice comes out an octave lower than what it was. "I'd gladly take a few more punches."

"That's why they stopped pairing us up on missions." The corner of your lip upturns, and you swish the razor around in water again. "You were being reckless."

"I'd do it again."

"One scar is enough." You tilt his jaw to see if you'd gotten everything. "I don't enjoy you getting hurt on my account."

Bucky exhales deeply when you get started on the other side. His hands itch to hold your waist, pull you closer like it’s been carved into the strands of his being, but they stay by his side. 

"I tried for so long after you were gone," he tells you instead, to gain a sense of control. "I went to the therapist. I tried talkin' about it. No one got it. It was the same thing over, and over."

How do you explain that it wasn't simply a person. He thought that that was where it ended-- everything in his life had finally culminated. And that was taken too.

"Went back to the roof a month after everything happened," he continues, studying your reaction. "It was s'ppsed to be a clear night. There was nothing in the sky. I couldn't see the constellations. I couldn't see your family-- I couldn't see you."

You listen intently, but never stop working at him. The longer you spent there, the more of his old face revealed itself to you. Worn, and aged a thousand years in a few months, but it was still the still face you swore to love and cherish for aeons. 

"They took all your stuff. Said it belonged to Asgard, they couldn't keep it here. Thor went off grid. All I had was pictures of us and the hair tie you gave me."

You clean the razor off in water, eyebrows furrowing at the information.

"It felt like you were never here. Like I'd just made you up all those years." You can hear the faint trembling in his voice. "But I had memories of you in all these places-- and I couldn't stay. It was easier to move here and start again."

Looking back at him, you realise you've already finished. There was nothing left on his face to clear.

"Was it hard?" you ask finally, letting go of the razor in the water. 

He looks at you, and you know he's struggling to form the right words. He looked like he wanted to scream, rip the hair out of his scalp, punch a hole through the mirror. 

"More than anything.” His voice comes out raw and peeling. 

Bucky watches you look at him for a long moment, and he wonders if he’s said too much too soon.

But instead you kiss him.

His arms find its way back home around your waist, and he feels you sigh against his mouth before your body relaxes, tilting your head to deepen it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there,” you breathe, forehead leaning against his. 

"Don't," he begs.

You search his eyes for any kind of a message.

He kisses you harder, pulling you flush against him.

__________

Bucky moves into your bed after you threaten him well and good, and he knows you intend to keep your promises.

For the first time since he can remember, he keeps the windows open throughout the night and throughout the day.

It’s foolish, to think he was invincible. That what you had had finally cemented itself as final.  

You both stay in as long as you want. There is no hurry, nothing to get to. You talk a lot more. You begin to tell him sometimes at night that you see glimpses of what seemed like beyond the end.

Gold. Blood of ichor. Warriors fallen in battle go to Valhalla. Trees that kissed the skies, and valleys so green it hurt. Sometimes, in the corner of your eyes, you could see those you'd lost over the years waiting for you, hand outstretched.

No matter how hard he tries, Bucky doesn’t seem to get it. Every time he thought he was dead, there was only jet black silence and crushing pain. Then again, he never truly died.

But he isn’t ignorant. Fevers and fatigue that initially lasted a day, now knock you out for a week. There are times you throw up more than you've eaten, and the dark circles look like abysses.

He worries to the point of his stomach churning. You look like you don't have the energy to be here, even though you kiss him like you do. 

Bucky runs his hands over your scalp and tells you stories of his childhood. What he felt when you moved in with him, how anxiety made space for comfort. He reads you tales from other mythologies and marks the similarities in the stories you've told him over the years.

Each time you come around your smile gets more tired. Your shoulders grow heavier and your skin loses colour.

You still cook breakfast together. You still watch TLC together to figure out the culture on earth because even after all this while, you still maintain that's the best way to do it.

Things could still be good. But more often than not, Bucky wonders if he’s unknowingly surrendered you to a life you do not wish to live. 

_______

"Sweetheart?"

You continue to drag your finger through the water, oblivious to what he's saying. 

He calls your name, and there's still no response. April sees this happening more often, and Bucky's learnt that no matter what he does, it only seems to worsen.

He touches your shoulder lightly and you almost jump.

"It's getting late. Wanna head back?" he asks, because you’ve skipped out on lunch to stay by the shore the whole day. It seems like it’s the only place you want to be. 

"Yeah." You give him a small smile, wiping your hands on your pants.

"Want a hand?" he asks, holding out his.

You grab it, and pull yourself up, giving him a small peck on the lips along the way.

It feels comically normal. He wants to pretend that it is.

"Pasta tonight?" you ask breezily, slipping your hand into his.

Your fingers are ice cold to the touch. He forces back a shudder.

"Anything you want," he promises.

__________

He catches you humming as you water the plants, when you walk with him, while you read from the end of the bed. 

It's the song of my people, you tell him. They used to sing it when everyone was together.

He listens to the tune and tries to commit it to memory, but it changes far too often.

May catches you staring a lot more often. At walls. The trees. The lake is the worst.

On what would have been the fifth anniversary of the both of you being together, he brings you a cake. The both of you share it over a glass of wine, even though it clashes terribly and leaves an aftertaste.

You laugh harder than you have in the last few weeks and he gets to feel triumphant for an evening. 

You chase the frosting on his lips with a searing kiss, and that's that.

“What do you suppose it means?” you ask later that night, arm wrapped around his middle.

“What?” he mumbles, drowsy from a full stomach and good time.

“That I got a second chance and others didn’t?” your voice sounds distant.

Bucky is suddenly very awake.

“It couldn’t be that they weren’t as loved," you continue. "So then what made me different?"

He doesn’t have an answer.

He rolls over to look at you. But you are staring at the ceiling once again.

_________

His unwavering faith that he can learn to live with it feels like it’s eroding. 

Death changes everyone. He knows that before Steve left a few years ago, he wasn't the same Brooklyn-born spitfire. Steve's died a dozen or so times. He was reborn into a different soul each time.

Spring bounds towards you with warmth and life. The grass is greener, and Bucky's learnt there's more to life than just casseroles and toast.

You bring him more flowers to tuck into his hair. He wears them dutifully, and then learns to press them in between pages of books you both buy from old bookshops.

You give him wider smiles. You talk a lot less. 

Bucky learns that silence doesn't have to be filled. He's loved you in the winter, and he loves you in spring.

But there is always a tension simmering under the surface, just out of reach, like the sky reflecting in the lake. 

Sometimes you say things that he can't quite make sense of. Sometimes it's a lot more obvious, and the same feeling of guilt returns to his chest and flowers under his ribs.

So he asks you one day. You're on the couch, head in his lap while he reads a book you've annotated the week before. The only disturbances are when he stops occasionally to ask you why you liked a line, or why you drew a heart next to another.

You're humming the tune he can’t catch. 

There's nothing really wrong, but he knows. He can feel it in his marrow.

“Sweetheart," he calls gently. 

You look up at him. 

"Are you– are you happy?” And he leaves his heart, raw and unprotected on the line.  

You don’t look surprised. Not entirely knowing either.

A beat passes before you open your mouth to speak. 

“I like being here with you. I love you, I always have, and I will always love being here with you,” you choose your words carefully. “But I don’t know if I can feel that anymore. Happiness, I mean. Or sadness.”

Bucky keeps the book down. You don't lift your head from his lap.

“I feel like there’s a void where my body should be,” you continue in a chance to explain, “I feel like I'm made of air.”

“Are you feeling under the weather?” Bucky tries to find a rationalisation. Anything, that he can fix. That he can control.

You slight him a smile. “Not since the last bout.”

He doesn't know. He doesn't want to get it. He’s always felt that he was selfish, that that was ultimately what led to his punishments. This was a whole new level.

“I was born on Asgard. I have always felt like I was a part of the mud and the riverbed. They were a part of me as much as I was, them. I don’t know if that’s still…”

You pause, and Bucky feels time come to a standstill around him. 

“I’ve been reborn here,” you continue. “I don’t feel like anything is mine. I don’t feel like… I am a part of something. Even the night.”

He knew. Though he knows in his dreams he can still feel traces of Brooklyn carved into his bones, it had jaded over time, been eroded by years of waking up in places he couldn't place.

You sit up to look at him. Your eyes have an intensity to it that even the universe couldn't mask. 

“Do you really like who I am now?” you ask finally.

“I love all of you. Every one.” Ever changing, transient.

“How?” you ask softly. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He swallows thickly and wills himself to ignore the chill creeping into his body. In truth there is so much he wants to say. He doesn't think that as a war-fractured man from the thirties who grew up in bloodshed will really have the sufficient words.

“I just do. Can’t help it.”

Even if you aren’t satisfied with his answer, he will never know it. He has known for a while now that he's been letting you down since the day he walked into Wanda's cabin.

You give him a slight smile. Lay your head back down on his lap. His book remains unread.

It felt like the beginning of the end.

It's a simple decision then. It would have been, for anyone who wasn’t born with a soul as corrupt as his.

One more week that is hard for you to get up from bed, turns into two. One more week that your face morphs into something he can’t quite recognise. He's never wanted to harm someone he loves, but he seems to do a fine job at it.

It's a simple decision, really. But simple didn't mean easy-- God knows he is anything but a saint.

When you see it finally, the fruits of a labour that took far too less time to manifest than justified the time he spent putting it off, the smile that appears on your face is blinding, he wonders how the sun even has the gall to shine.

“Thor,” you breathe out, only seconds before being engulfed in the most bone-crushing hug you’ve ever received.

Bucky watches from the sidelines, fingers wringing and entirely ready to be smithed to ashes.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he breathes into your shoulder. "I cannot believe this."

You pull back, and standing next to Thor gives Bucky a new frame of reference. One that isn't dependent on how you looked the week prior. He doesn't know how it slipped past him, how he hadn't noticed that you looked so different.

“You look wonderful." You grin at the behemoth of a man. "Your hair has grown out once more."

"They can try cutting it off my dead body," he replies defiantly, arms clasping at your shoulders to keep enough distance to study you from head to toe. "You'll have to give me a second. I didn't think this would be true, when Heimdall gave me James' message."

You look over at Bucky whose lips pull together in a tight line. 

He looks embarrassed. Unsure. Afraid. Guilty, and prepared to be berated for how long it took him. 

"It's true," you reply instead, giving him a smile. "Here, in the flesh."

Thor squeezes your shoulder once more, and laughs the same laugh he's always had around you. Loud, boisterous and entirely free. 

"The others will be thrilled. Sif, Hogun-- you have no idea how the past two years have been. There is so much to catch you up on."

Bucky knows. The fact that you're standing there today is living proof that he knows so well.

“I cannot wait to meet them." The corner of your lips upturn wider at his enthusiasm. "I've missed them terribly."

"We did not get to give you a proper farewell. Your welcome back will be a thousand times better," Thor says brightly. "We can return as soon as you say the word."

You look to Bucky, not for permission, but as a question he's known has been awaiting him a long time.

"Ready?" you ask softly.

He knows you didn't have to ask. That if you'd left him there and never returned, he'd deserve it and worse.

But you're you-- patient and kind. And he thinks that he can try to start redeeming himself.

__________

Turns out he wasn't wrong. Asgard really is too grand for a fella like him.

It is opulence-- gold and towering heights that bleed the love of its citizens and a history richer than words can contain.

Thor is smart. Aside from Heimdall, who greets you with the hug a father gives a child who's been away for too long, no one knows of your appearance until you are ready.

You get a few days in the tower to yourself, to breathe in the air that grew your lungs and touch the marble you've split your head open against in the past. The help are sworn to secrecy, and no one knows who Bucky is anyway except as the man who has been specifically allotted to the same room as you upon your request.

It doesn't take long for your face to pick up. Your skin comes alive with a vibrancy he didn't think he'd see again. You sleep sounder at night, and you eat more than you've had the appetite for in the last few months.

He trails behind you and Thor initially, not wanting to eavesdrop into conversations he has no place being a part of.

But you grab his hand, lace your fingers in his and tug him along as if to say that this is his home too.

He sees what you mean when you say that you are connected to the land. Clothes on Earth have never fit you right. Silks from Asgard decorate you like you are one in the same, like it flows from you.

_________

Reunions are a tearful affair. Lots of hugs are exchanged, punches to the shoulder, and kisses to various parts of your face.

“You have been alive for months, and we are just now learning of it,” Sif holds your hands in hers. 

“It took me a while to recover.” You give her a small smile. 

“We would have come as soon as you called,” she continues. “You did not have to heal alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

Eyes turn over to Bucky, and he’s suddenly very aware that the clothes he’s been given are too rich for him, too grand. He feels small, like they drown him out.

Despite what he’s saying, he feels as though he has deprived you. He knows that he has, and he has no one else to blame but himself. 

“Thank you,” Sif says instead, taking him by surprise. “We will remember this.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies weakly.  

__________

It takes days to meet the closest of your friends, until they decide they had their fill. Bucky is slowly introduced to all of them. Boisterous and loud, most greet him with a wide appreciation. Others are less quick to warm, and he gives himself no room to blame them either. 

Upon insistence, he joins you for your welcome back dinner, and gets a seat right beside you. 

Your hand holds his the entire night, squeezing tighter when something makes you laugh, or when someone is particularly embarrassing.

When there is a lull in the conversation after hours, sly grins are exchanged.

"So, this is the one you raved on and on about." 

His eyebrows quirk in amusement.

"I did not rave," you huff. "I simply informed you--"

"For hours. Days even,” they drag on. “A great warrior from earth with eyes that could rival storms--"

Bucky chokes on his wine. You award your friends with several curses and glares.

"Long hair past his shoulders. Oh, and arms to die for--"

You take in the way his face has gone red, all the way up to his ears. You laugh and grip his hand tightly with an unabashed shrug.

"I am only glad that that's all you remember," you joke.

He thinks he should be buried in the garden for his sanity.

_________

Walks around the castle become increasingly common at night. You are mostly left undisturbed, and you take the opportunity to show him everything you've ached to.

Where you've learnt, where you first scraped your knee. The first arrow you shot. Where your parents met. The first and last time you cried over a friend gone astray.

He can't fathom why he ever thought he wouldn't be ready to know this. As if knowing more about you would cement the fact that he was lesser than.

“You look ethereal,” Bucky tells you one night, honest and true.

You look at him, a bit taken aback. There was nothing particularly different about you this evening. In fact, you’d chosen to stay away from festivities today to lie around the gardens with him, citing a headache.

“I should have said yes earlier,” he continues. “You belong here. It shows.”

A laugh leaves you as an exhale. “It feels different.” You run your fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if it would be the same if I brought you here years ago.”

“Different how?” Bucky closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your touch.

“I don’t know,” you tell him. “I am not sure it is what I remember it to be.”

You don’t say anymore. Bucky doesn’t ask. 

He lays with you under a clear night sky, and your fingers deftly move the faint lights in the sky to mimic shapes of fishes and hunters. 

He notices the sky here, too, has taken the same fate as it has on earth. Not as full as it could be, always just a little less bright.

He assumed it would change when you came back. He assumed it would change when you came to Asgard.

The sinking feeling in his stomach reminds him of what he already knows is going to come.

_____________

There are nights you are dragged off by your friends for things that don't include him.

You shoot him a sorry smile and he tells you to just go with steady reassurance.

Bucky takes to exploring. He's been given robes to blend in. They always fit in a way that's too soft.

He looks at statues erected, memorials in place for those who've given up their lives for a bigger cause. He spots your name in there as well, as if they've not yet entirely sure that you're back. He spends hours at the library, reading up on things he couldn't find on Earth. Where heroes slain in battle actually go, what it's like over there. Stories of when they are brought back. None of them end well.

Thor finds him, and introduces Bucky to Asgardian mead that he swears got Steve tipsy. Bucky’s had a rough couple of years. He’s in no place to turn down a drink. 

He remembers what it's like to be 21 and drunk again and like nothing bad can ever happen.  When you choose to join in with them, Bucky finds he’s a lot braver and a lot smoother with liquor flowing through his veins. 

Stumbling through tower hallways, giggling and stealing open-mouthed kisses in the shadows like a bunch of teenagers until he has your back pressed up against the bedroom door. 

“Eager?” you breathe out when he nips at your neck, hands scouring every inch of you he can find. 

“What gave it away?” he mutters, pulling away to look you. 

Wild eyes and equally untamed hair, and there is a light in his eyes that outshines supernovae. 

“I love you,” you tell him, and it’s a startling moment of clarity in the middle of a juvenile hour. “I hope that always remains with you.”

Before he can respond, you thread your hands behind his neck and steer him towards the bed, mouth never once leaving his. 

________

Another solitary night, and it's by pure accident that he ends up retracing his steps to the first place he was introduced to in Asgard. He wonders how much of it was intentional, his conscience forcing him to a reckoning long awaiting him. 

Heimdall is there as always, standing tall with a grace that is still threatening. Bucky is not a fool-- he knows he can sense his presence.

Still, he looks only for a moment before making leave. 

"I hear it was magic that brought her back," Heimdall voices.

Bucky pauses in his tracks.

"Yes," he says, like he’s forced to respond.

"Are you aware of what it takes to bring a body back from the dead?" Heimdall asks, tone still. "Cells are broken and reattached if they do not malfunction. The brain is attacked with sensation after being dormant for months. The heart pumps degraded blood through vessels that have collapsed."

Bucky feels bile rise to his mouth at a memory that seems so far away. Enough has happened since.

Heimdall looks at him, steel cut eyes boring into his. “Our ancestors have tried this for centuries,” he says slowly. “It has always ended the same way.”

Bucky keeps silent. Wonders if the God can hear him swallow the lump in his throat– probably can.

“Tempering with fate has never fared well.”

“I’m not trying to play with fate,” Bucky finds himself moving on its own accord. “If this wasn’t supposed to happen, it wouldn’t have. I am not a God.”

Heimdall stares into his soul and Bucky feels suffocatingly exposed. “The separation between divinity and mortals is thinner than you may imagine.”

“I have no interest in crossing it.”

“Haven’t you?” Heimdall’s eyes flicker over to the direction you were last going in. “When your will supersedes reality– what else do you call it?”

“Luck.” His voice comes back stonily.

Heimdall gives him a wry smile. “No such thing.”

Bucky’s palms feel clammy, his stomach twisting into knots.

“Your grief is natural. But do not let it overpower your love,” Heimdall adds. “I am sorry you had to go through this. I'm afraid sooner or later you will have to see that you cannot disrupt the natural order of things.”

"Why?" His voice cracks and he curses himself.

Heimdall's eyes soften. "There comes a point where your love for someone becomes indistinguishable from hurting them. Your intentions are noble, but you already know where you stand."

Bucky quietly turns on his heel and leaves, but the conversation remains heavy on his mind for days to come.

_________

The first time you fall sick, really sick, like you used to be on Earth, Bucky watches from the sidelines as various people tend to you. Those with divinity at their fingertips, those with herbs and concoctions he’d never heard of, others with tools and prayers and everything. 

They try everything. It takes you a full week to recover.

Bucky sits, emotionless by your bedside, and feeds you from a spoon, food that your friends swore you grew up loving. 

Asgard was supposed to work. Being here was supposed to work. No one knows what to do, except to wait it out. As your fever quells and Bucky watches you open your eyes for the first time in a few days, everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says quietly from your bedside. “How can I help?”

The smile you give him is tired. He gives you a small one in return, and leaves a kiss on your forehead. 

It feels all too familiar. 

God of the Night and the Devil of Cursed Fates.

_________

Thor teaches him the song, the one he caught you humming for months. It sounds different to what he remembers you singing.

He watches you thumb through titles in the Asgardian library, looking for a book of wildlife to show him. It only takes a few seconds for you to hum under your breath again, but Bucky is quick to ask this time. 

“Oh.” You blink. “I may have remembered it wrong.”

He tilts his head at you, but you go back to browsing through library books.

___________

Nights in bed, he spends tracing up and down your arm. He's full from a feast, and he's watched you dance around a courtyard with spirit and joy, and for the first time in years he feels like he can breathe.

You drag him along with you, and while he may have been quick on his feet in the thirties, Bucky was significantly older. You don't seem to care. You laugh like nothing has ever worried you before, and he finds it infectious.  

"D'you s'ppose we'd have been married by now?" he asks, breaking the quiet.

"I remember turning down your offer," you say, the corners of your mouth pulling upwards. "So, who's to say?"

Bucky's face breaks into a smile, one that looks particularly incredible in the moonlight. "You said I knew what the answer was already. Looks like that leaves the ball in my court."

You look at him, a little endearingly, and as he's come to expect, a little sad.

"I think we would have," you hum. "But you wouldn't have survived wedding festivities here."

He scoffs, rolling onto his back and feels his stomach ache dully. "Barely holdin' on now as it is."

You pull closer to him, fingers dancing across his chest. "Why didn't you try to find someone else?"

He exhales, sharper than he intends. "Didn't wan'to," he mumbles.

"I'd hate to think you didn't try to find others who loved you," you tell him, brows pulled together, "You have so much of it to give. It'd be a shame."

"Didn't see the point." Bucky hopes he doesn't sound as sharp as he does in his head.

"If something were to happen tomorrow, and I am no longer here," you begin and he wants to beg you to stop talking about this, "It would break my heart if you didn't go on with life as you were meant to live it."

"This is how I'm meant to live." He sounds pathetic-- obsessed, and entirely dependent but he isn't sure you know. "This is it. This is the best it's ever gonna get for me."

You look at him, eyebrows knitted. Your thumb caresses his jaw, running across the sharp curve.

"You deserve more," you say gently. "You do. Life has been unkind, but you will always deserve more."

You’re doing it again. Preparing him. For the inevitable he knows is looming on the horizon. The one he saw in Heimdall's eyes.

Still, you notice that it is too much for him, and you break the tension with a smile.

Outside the window, the sounds of a party continue on. You would be out there too, if he hadn't noticed the slow in your movements and the dip in your energy. He instead gave his lack of stamania as a reason and asked if you would join him in the room, for which you shot him a grateful look.

"You never gave me a ring," you remind instead, voice teasing.

Bucky looks at you wearily before silently getting up from the bed. 

You sit up in confusion, watching him trail across to the wardrobe and pull out the clothes he was wearing on his first day here.

He shuffles back into bed and turns to you, holding out his hand in a request.

It takes a second but you give him yours, and he silently slides a ring onto your finger. Even in the darkness it glitters like it’s made of light.

"I've had it for ages," he tells you. "Woulda given it to you quicker if you'd just said yes the first time."

You laugh loudly, and hold his face in yours before kissing him hard to the sounds of a fading party.

__________

The effect wears off gradually. It goes the same as it does in the cabin. 

You begin to space out visits. Stay in for a day or two, which increases as time passes. Though the castle help are ever gracious and at your beck and call, you send them away in exchange for quiet nights in.

Bucky wipes your forehead with cool cloth. Feeds you nectar by hand and tells you of everything he's learnt since the time you've arrived there.

You begin to look sick again, and miserably, he does not know what to do. You've been attended to by the best of medicine that the nine realms have to offer. You've spent nights with your friends, drinking in joy and embodying love.

But you are dying. You have been since you came back, and he can no longer choose to look past it in hopes for a remedy.

He looks at you like you've given the world the light it bathes in, and wipes your perspiration with his thumb.

You smile back at him in your sleep, and he lets that slow the march towards the end.

_________

One of the good days, you lead him to the lake. The one where water remembers. You point out faces. He discerns them to be some of your friends a couple of hundred years ago.

He follows as you walk along the banks, letting you show him yourself through the years. Some streaked with tears, others with joy so infectious it has his stomach doing flips.

"That is the last time I came here," you point at the last one. "Two months before it happened."

He remembers the trip. He thought he remembered how you were back then, that he'd etched into the crevices of your mind.

When he looks down, he sees a different person. Your face is light. The weight of circumstance does not weigh you down.

You were right when you said you did not recognise the person you were.

That night in bed, he holds onto you tighter than he has, no longer afraid of causing more damage. He has already done the worst, and you've taken it without a word.

“Bucky,” you call.

He doesn’t trust his voice to answer, so he just makes a noise.

Your eyes meet his intently and he knows. You do not have to say a single word to him. 

You’ve made a decision. It was your will, as Wanda had told him all those months ago.

“I'm sorry,” his voice cracks. “I'm so sorry. It was so selfish.”

“It's okay,” you press a palm against his cheek and shudders from the cold.

“I love you.” His eyes burn, but he forces himself to take more of you in. “I love you so much, I'm sorry. I just wanted a second chance.”

“I know.” You smile but your voice is sad. “I know. I understand.”

“I don't know how you aren’t angry at me." I don’t know why you stayed.

You look him in his eye, giving him no space to run. "I would have done the same. If I could, I would have done the very same thing."

He chooses to believe that, despite what Heimdall has told him. If he tries, he can find heat in the frigid veins.

"But we are simply delaying the inevitable, my love." You press a kiss to his forehead. "I no longer belong here. I am not who I was. I doubt I will ever be."

He loves every version of you. He already loved, and he will always learn to love whoever you change to be.

"I know it is hard, but I have to go," you tell him softly.

His eyes burn and his head stings.

"I grew up with friends I loved, and a family that loved me. My life was good," you tell him. "I didn't realise how much I wanted to give that forward until you happened. I will always love you for that."

Bucky kisses you till you can't breathe and his tears mix with yours.

Till the morning breaks and you have to tell everyone of your decision, he tells you over and over again a tale you already know. Everything he's ever felt. Everything that’s happened in the last few months– his revolving door of therapists and all the movies he’s watched and all the bakery foods he thought you'd like.

You listen, and you tell him stories he memorises to heart. You are still dying. 

But this time he is there, and in that lies his true second chance. 

________

A month later, and not a day before that.

You pass away quietly, surrounded by people instead of rubble. He holds your hand throughout, and for long after even once your chest stops rising.

The Asgardians let him stay for as long as he wants, still and quiet. No one says a word as he presses a kiss to the crown, leaning his forehead against yours for as long as the universe permits.

The funeral goes by in a haze. Everyone gathers, even after such short notice. No matter how much time he had to prepare, the air was thick, and he swallows down his discomfort.

A gentle breeze whispers through the columns of the great hall, carrying with it the soft, mournful melodies of Asgardian lyres and flutes.

In the center of the pyre, you lay, ethereal even in repose. Around you, night-blooming flowers bloom alongside, as if the sky itself was paying its respects.

Thor recites the ancient eulogies. With reverent hands, they guide the vessel into the river that flows through Asgard.

As the vessel drifts away, a hush falls over the assembly. Just before reaching the edge of the waterfall, arrows shoot fire onto the wood, letting the flames consume the casket. Bucky holds back a cry. 

Thor hits the staff, and the casket continues onward instead of falling off the edge. Within a flash Bucky sees an orb rise above you and shoot off towards the sky.

Thousands of lights are let loose into the sky. He closes his eyes, says a few words no one will know except you, and lets go of the soul orb given to him.

And that was it.

________

Bucky looks at the last of his belongings, tied tightly together. 

There were a few things he was allowed to take with him, things that belonged to you while you lived here. He's grateful more than anything, that he's not relegated to photos.

He was made to stay a few more days in Asgard while everything was completed. Though the people were lovely, and he's more than glad he came, he knows that this was where this ended.

He exhales, looking back at the place where he spent the better part of three months.

"You will be alright?" Thor asks, walking with him to the courtyard.

He shrugs. It was still fresh, but the utter despair he had felt the last time had been replaced with a quietness.

"You?" he asks in return.

Thor smiles, and claps his back and Bucky is forced to take a step forward.

"It will be an honour to remember her," he says, and for a moment, Bucky feels a sense of peace at his words. "You are always welcome here."

A small laugh leaves Bucky in the form of an exhale. "Don't be a stranger, Thor."

The God summons the Bifrost and the force is enough to make Bucky hold his hands up to his face.

"I'll see you around. Thanks for everything." His lips pull together in a tight smile.

Thor takes a second, but then says, “You will be alright, James.”

It’s reassuring, he thinks. Bucky nods and turns, taking a step towards the bridge.

"Wait," Thor calls loudly, "I almost forgot."

He turns to him in confusion, and a list of possibilities running through his head.

"She told me to give you this," he says, "She used to carry them around for us."

From around his wrist, he pulls off a hair tie and holds it out to him.

Bucky takes it, a little stunned.

________

Two months pass.

Bucky stands on the threshold of a door that is foreign to him.

His head falls, but his arms raise either way. Two swift knocks and he takes a step back. He looks around nervously, hands stuffing into his pocket. His car lays at the end of the long driveway, ready to leave at any given moment.

For a second, he thinks about making a run for it. But the door swings open and Bucky's eyes quickly dart up.

"Hey," he says, voice coarse. "You got space for one more?"

Sam looks at him in initial surprise, but it fades to softness when he notices the shape the man is in.

“C’mon, Buck,” Sam says softly. “We’ve got you.”

Bucky lets out a staggered breath, and leans over to pick up his backpack that Sam's already beaten him to.

He takes one good look at the sky. Dark, clear and finally returned to the way it had been for centuries.

But he swears that a single star in the corner of his eye shines a little brighter than the rest.

[fallingdownhell]

Genshin men dealing with separation anxiety.

You didn't really specify any characters except for the men, so I just picked out some who I think fit this description. Hope you're okay with that.

Characters Included: Xiao; Wanderer; Tighnari; Diluc

Content: gender neutral reader; separation anxiety; mentions of insecurities; reverse comfort

Word count: 1,8k words

Thanks again for your request!

Xiao

Xiao is relatively new to the whole concept of dating and relationships in general

He tries to get used to it, but it's difficult for him. For so many years, he saw himself as nothing but a weapon. So this new situation is just something he never thought would happen to him

once he fully trusts you with everything about him would be when this particular "problem" starts to show itself

would have one of the worst cases, in my opinion

he is so used to loss, yet he can't imagine having to deal with your loss. He's sure that should this day ever arrive, it would ultimately destroy him, too

he can deal with a few hours alone, he doesn't need you by his side 24/7

but, once a certain time frame has been reached and he hasn't heard or seen anything from you, he starts to grow restless and anxious

Xiao tries to play it cool, but deep down, he worries about you

are you okay? are you hurt? could you possibly need his assistence? But you haven't called for him.. so everything should be fine, right? But what if you just didn't get the chance to call for him and you were already....

he tries to keep his thoughts under control, but he can't seem to redirect the course his mind has taken

he tries to reason with himself, not wanting to immediately assume the worst possible things

but soon, he can't take it anymore, so he starts looking for you. He searches the places you frequent the most, while maintaining a safe distance so you don't immediately spot him

he soon finds you in the streets of Liyue Harbor, talking to one of the vendors, laughing happily

as he sees you like this, his heart suddenly grows lighter, the impending feeling of dread slowly going away as it's replaced by this warm, loving feeling he always gets when looking at you or spending time with you

he waits until your done with your chat, watches you as you walk away from the booth. Once you're in an area with less people around, he appears in front of you

you're slightly startled, but you start to get used to his random entrances and dissapearances

you smile at him, and the last bits of Xiao's worries are instantly blown away as he allows himself to take in your calming presence

somehow, he always feels at peace with you. No matter what life might throw at him in the future, he's sure he will be able to conquer it, as long as you're there with him..

Wanderer

definitely the worst case out of all the others

but can you really blame him? He endured so much already, has experienced so much pain and heartbreak... can you blame him for not wanting to loose you as well, after he let you in?

it takes time and effort to convince him that your feelings for him are genuine and that you would never, ever leave him behind

it's not like he doesn't want to believe you. He really does, but he just can't imagine anyone being actually interested in him and wanting to maintain a relationship with someone like him...

like I said, time and effort is the key into his heart. And even once you managed to take your place there, he won't openly show it. He's awkward about those kinds of things, it's a whole 'nother issue

once you've successfully broken down the walls around his heart and marched your way in, he really can't handle being away from you for more than a few hours

as soon as you talk about leaving (be it to go to work, or groceries) he begins to feel anxious

because... what if you don't return after all? What if you finally realized how insufferable he is and you decided to not deal with it anymore? He knows you proclaim your love to him daily, but he can't help it

the doubts just start to act up like it's second nature to him, and no matter how hard he tries to suppress it, he can't seem to win against his own mind

his imagination runs wild, painting a hundred different scenarios on how you might leave him and run away

he wants to get up and out there, looking for you, but that would make him seem desperate and he most definitely does not want to be percieved in that way

so he sits it out at your shared home, trying to deal with all those intrusive thoughts in his head, intently watching the clock hanging on the wall, counting the minutes until your return

as soon as he hears the door opening, he is up and "greeting" you at the door

"Took you long enough. Where have you been all this time?"

he tries to sound indifferent, but to you, you can clearly tell that his voice lacks the ususal bite and he seems to be frantic

instead of an answer, you pull him into an embrace, lightly stroking his scalp

the Wanderer is taken by surprise at your actions, but that quickly fades and he melts into the touch, knowing that this was your silent reassurance to him

he acknowledges it, but doesn't comment on it

maybe one day, he'll be able to openly talk to you about everything that bothers him and be completely vulnerable to you. But that day is not now...

he just hopes that you can wait for him until this day finally arrives..

Tighnari

as cool and composed as the fox hybrid likes to think that he is, he has his weak moments as well

although... this problem probably won't arise until after the two of you are mated

he's not becoming overprotective of you and he's also not controlling or anything. He just.... he can't really deal with being alone anymore

in the past, before knowing you and even while dating you, it never really bothered him. He was used to not seeing you for a few days, sometimes even weeks, thanks to your position in the academiya

but now... he can't seem to deal with it anymore. Whenever you tell him that you have to leave for a few days, he dreads for those days to arrive

He's perfectly fine for the first two or three days, but anything that comes after that... total nightmare for him and his crew

He is restless, anxious, constantly thinking about you and your well being

Tighnari knows that you're more than capable of protecting yourself, but still! He's not there to protect you, how can he be sure that you're fine?

Sure, you write letters to him almost daily to keep him up to date and reassure him that you're fine... but what if those letters are written by someone else, who just happens to be extremely good at forging handwritings?

During that time period, Tighnari is also not able to sleep very well, if at all

he tosses and turns througout the entire night, hugging your pillow close to him, imaginig that it was you laying next to him, hugging him and stroking his back like you always do

he thought that this might help him to calm down, but all it does is increase his intense longing for you

he whines, calling out your name in the dead of the night, hoping that by some miracle, you would hear his cry and return to him

when you do come back to him, he doesn't care for any work he has to take care of that day

he will leave it for the other rangers to take care of, he has more important things to attend to now

namely, cuddling you in his bed, wrapping his tail around your thighs and burrying his nose in your neck, breathing in your scent that he missed so much while you were gone

he feels your fingers stroking along his back and he can't help the shiver that runs down his spine when you do so

he won't let you out of bed for the next few hours, after all... he has to make up for the days that you and him were separated..

Diluc

oh boy.. another one with a pretty bad case

Diluc has lost so many important things in his life, he couldn't bear losing you as well

He is a busy man, he knows he can't be by your side 24/7, even if he really wants nothing more

time spent with you is always the most treasured to him. With you, he always feels safe and loved. He had no idea how much he has missed feeling like this until you walked into his life

Now that he has those feelings back again... he won't trade them for anything else in this world

being as busy as he is, he doesn't really have much time to see you. Sometimes, you both go days without seeing each other, this fact made worse thanks to Diluc's unpredictable time management

only when his anxiety keeps getting worse, when thoughts from back then start to flood his mind again, does he give into his desires

in the dead of night, he seeks you out, knocking on your door, hoping, praying to the Archons above that you're not asleep yet

and it seems like his prayers were heard, as he can hear footsteps cautiously approaching the door

"It's me, darling. Please... can you open the door?", he calls before you even have the chance to ask who is out there

without hesitance, you open the door, seeing him standing there causes your heart to ache

without questioning him, you pull him inside, closing the door and then immediately turn to hug him. You instinctively know that he needs this right now

Diluc wastes no time in reciprocating your show of affection, burrying his face in your hair, breathing in and commiting your smell to his memory

standing here like this for a few minutes, you are the first to pull away, asking him to lay down with you

he nodds his head in agreement, following you to the bedroom where he pulls you close into him as soon as you are both comfortable on the bed

night like this have become a common occurance for you, knowing where the roots of his actions lie

without him having to ask for the much needed reassurance, you give it to him, trying to further the comfort with your touches to his arms and back, lightly stoking the skin there until his eyes start to grow heavy and he falls asleep

he has never told you the full story about the things that had happened in his past, and you don't pressure him to do so. Once he's ready, he will come to you on his own, you're sure of that

Until that day arrives.. you can wait and help him in any other way that he needs..

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐎𝐩𝐢𝐚

n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.

✦ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Sir Gawain x GN!Reader

✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut + fluff

✦ 𝐰𝐜: 2.2k

✦ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Minors DO NOT INTERACT thanks. also DONT USE SALIVA AS LUBE THIS IS THE MIDDLE AGES WAAAAHH

✦ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Anyway I havent written anything in a hot second, especially smut, so i might've lost my touch but this man makes me insane. Hope its still enjoyable anyway and im working on some fluffy stuff as well whoop enjoy :)

Stupid quest. Stupid forest. Stupid rainwater puddle.

You didn't see it – you were too damn busy staring into those gorgeous brown eyes of his, lashes lowered ever so slightly in a way so tender it might as well have been what knocked you over.

“Oh goodness.” Sir Gawain exhales a second after the splash, arms reaching for you a little too late. Turns out he’d been lost staring at you as well. “A-Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I–” You start to deny it but think better of it. It’s Gawain, he’d know the answer just from looking at you. “I’m cold. And wet. And tired.”

“I see. Let’s find ourselves a place for the night, yes? The storm from last night might be coming back.” He tells you, reaching out a large hand to pull you up. You take it without hesitation.

Quickly finding yourselves a damp and dingy little cave to pass the night in, Gawain gets to work starting a fire as you shiver uncontrollably. 

“You know–��� He begins, fumbling with two rocks and a handful of dryish branches, looking up at you for a moment, “You look good, all soaking wet.”

The warmth of his gaze sweeps over your form, lingering on your shaking shoulders, passing by the water dripping off your linen shirt and how your arms curl around yourself to keep the heat in – heat he stokes with that cheeky look, the quickness of his breath, the biting of his lovely, soft, bottom lip…

A spark goes off, catching fire to the branches, cutting the tension like a hot knife over butter. But it does not dissipate, the fire does not cool, it merely wanes to a simmer.

“I bet you’d look even better.” You blurt out, just to get the last word in before sitting by the flames, not entirely aware of what you’ve just said and where his beautiful, hasty mind would take your words. Then again, you’re much more concerned with not freezing to death.

“Trying to warm up with wet clothes isn’t going to do you any good. It isn't going to do anything at all, really.”

“What do you suggest, then?” You sigh, knees tucked to your chest, sitting opposite the dashing young knight.

“You should take off whatever clothes are wet and let them dry by the fire.” He begins shrugging off his thick wooly cape to lay on the stone floor beside him, “And sit close to me – we can share body heat.” he adds on quickly, as if he hasn't made his intentions with you clear enough throughout this journey already.

You’re not sure when it started, when his dark eyes began wandering, when his touches started lingering, or even when you started doing the same. But it’s clear to the two of you; the want– the need too transparent to hide. 

There’s more to it though, for you at least. It would be almost too easy to dive into him otherwise. Like a nymph’s bewitching calls into murky waters.

But it could never be that easy. Not with the one they may one day call King. That and his womanizinging reputation.

Expecting anything other than a purely lustful encounter out of this would be foolish to say the least, but perhaps you are a fool. Because the way he looks at you; the way he has been looking at you since– whenever you started noticing; makes you feel as if there might be a chance. 

So you do as he suggests, stripping down to the basics under his unwavering gaze, shuffling over to his side and nuzzling against him.

Questions swirl endlessly within your mind while leaning on Gawain's warm body, his shirt so thin you could almost perfectly imagine what he'd look like without it in your mind's eye.

But then, those eyes, clear as spring water in their intentions, cage you in with their stare and suddenly you feel as if everything must be laid out plainly, “What are your intentions with me, Sir Gawain?”

The look on his face nearly makes you regret it, fearing you may have offended him, but surely he’s aware of his reputation – surely he must understand.

After a beat he exhales with a slight smile as his large hand comes around to your shoulder, “Are they not clear?”

“Clear as they may be, I like things to be absolutely transparent, especially when it comes to men of your… caliber.” He hums in acknowledgement with a smirk, before it slowly slides off his face, replaced with a thoughtful expression so rarely seen it could be possession.

“I understand what you mean, love. But, in truth, I cannot answer you as of yet.” At the inquisitive look you give him he begins trying to explain himself, “It is that… Well, I am to be King somewhat soon, I assume. So it would be reckless for me to act as carelessly as I once did. But then also, I do not yet know what my intentions are – beyond tonight, that is.” Your face warms slightly at his suggestive tone as his hand drifts down your naked back, “All I know, is that you intrigue me. Greatly. If anything, I know– I feel as if… once will not be enough…”

A dark hand of long, slender fingers lifts your chin to meet his fathomless stare, looking deep into your eyes and beyond that – to your vulnerable soul. 

“I feel… the same.” You speak, suddenly breathless as your face nears his subconsciously, giving in to his siren call.

Lips meeting like a spark to a fire, a beginning. His hands wander over you, reverent, gentle, as yours grasp at the front of his tunic, urging him as close as humanly possible – as if close isn't nearly close enough.

The kiss grows fiercer, a push and pull of soft pink muscles attempting to gain control, before being forced to part, open around heaving breaths while eyes grow hazy with lust– no, yearning. Gawain draws back to shed that bothersome tunic before his hands attach themselves to your hips to pull you onto his lap. The ease with which he does it has you grinding down instantly, hands running over sweat-slick caramel skin.

His dark curls bounce as he tosses his head back under your movements, desperate for some control of the primal urges suddenly overloading his brain – to fuck you without mercy, to ruin you for anyone else – but no, that’s not how he wants this to go.

“God above, you're beautiful.” He breathes, hands stilling your hips to let his eyes sweep over your features slowly. The intensity of his gaze makes you squirm and the strength in his hands warms your inside more than the fire ever could. 

Burying your face in his gorgeous, exposed neck you speak so low not even God could hear, “Shut up and take your pants off.”

You feel him smile against your hair, laying a kiss against it before drawing away to do as you ask, somewhat clumsily, but earnestly all the same. Sitting still on his cloak, you watch him avidly, eyes catching on every new inch of dawn-hued skin revealed.

The singularity of the moment strikes you suddenly; back at the castle, amongst duties and expectations, this would never be possible – this calm, this undemanding rhythm. You have no place to be, no one to meet, so you can just be. Together.

“Where did you go?” He whispers, caressing your face with a softness undeserving of a knight’s strength, making your eyes focus back on his features and immediately surge forward to connect your lips to his, “Nowhere important.”

Gentle as a breeze Gawain lays you back, body between your legs and arms beside your shoulders. His prominent nose brushes yours softly, sensually as he parts your legs even further, “Good. I want you here with me. For this will not be a moment you’ll want to ever forget.”

“Oh,” You chuckle teasingly, back arching almost subconsciously against his warm, wide chest while his hips start moving against yours, “You’re sure of that, are you?”

“Your reaction tells me all I need to be sure.” He replies, so cocksure you’re suddenly reminded of who he’d been before the Green Knight had showed up proposing a ridiculous game – knowing he hasn't changed completely is oddly comforting.

“You talk too much… Sir.” You grumble in lieu of remaining silent and further inflating his ego, getting a raised brow at the tacked-on title.

“But you like it, don't you? Don't lie to me, it's unbecoming.” The corners of his lovely lips twitching with the effort not to laugh. Quick as a flash, your legs lock around his waist, pulling his center down to yours and he’s forced to take a breath from between his teeth as his long lashes flutter, “Like I said; you talk too much.”

Gawain bites his tongue – there will be plenty of time to get back at you once you’re mindless and thoroughly spent – he reasons. For now, he just needs to get you there.

One large hand settles at the base of your throat as his luscious lips travel down your neck in flickers of contact that have you arching against his firm grip for more. Soft as a feather, he pulls away your undergarments as needed to kiss at your chest; sweetly at first and then so wet and sloppy you’re left gasping and whimpering, hands grasping at his strong shoulders for purchase.

Grabbing you below the knees, he gently pries your legs open while kissing down your body until you're tingling and trembling all over wishing he'd just get to it.

“Gawain…”

“Hmm? Are you going to beg? Go on.”

You pout petulantly; no you won't beg, he'd enjoy that far too much. But you can, however, tempt him into doing what you want.

“Gawain…” you moan seemingly helplessly, nails brushing his skin making him shiver in delight, “won't you take me? It's clear you want to.”

“It's clear, is it?” He chuckles breathlessly, ceasing completely to just watch you and it makes you want to smack the back of his head in frustration.

Breathing deep, your eyes move over him carefully, appreciating every inch of delicious, exposed skin so many yearn to catch a glimpse of before…

“Gawain,” you raise an amused brow, surely he noticed… “Yes?”

Oh, he's far too good at playing dumb.

You raise yourself until your lips barely brush his, brown hues watching you closely down the length of his nose before your hand boldly presses down on his stiff cock and those eyes glaze over before rolling back in overwhelming delight, “I'd call this pretty obvious.”

Hand squeezing in pulses, you're granted a low groan followed by a deep sigh, “God, you're too much. I cannot– wait.”

Gawain's mouth devours yours, hungry as a wolf, pushing down once more while his lithe fingers graze the inside of your thighs, grinning at what he finds. Cheeks warming at how your mouth chases his as he pulls back, he gives his palm a full lick before wrapping it around his throbbing cock and stroking. The flames illuminate this length of his gorgeous neck like an old painting and your tongue longs to glide over it and follow the path of his sweat so deeply you almost miss him speaking, “Will you beg now?”

You groan most crudely, far over his games and his perfect face and his disarming voice and his damned haughtiness– your hand grasps the curls at the back of his head, delighting in his whimpered response, “Take me now or so help me–,” your not proud of the way your voice wavers but you’re both past that now.

Gawain’s lips connect with yours surprisingly softly, leaning his forehead against yours and lining himself up with your center, “Shh, I’ve got you, just relax.”

A kiss to your hairline is the only warning you get before he starts pushing into you, slow as can be and yet still you cry out at the feeling in between the kisses he places to your lips to offer some comfort.

“There we go, breathe for me. It’ll feel better soon…”

“Gawain…” You moan, clinging onto him as the bite of initial pain melts into pleasure.

Sucking on your neck, his hips sway against yours rhythmically, wavering only when your nails dig into his sides while moaning desperately in his ear, “Gawain please…”

“Now–” his breathing stutters while his hips buck suddenly, pressing a collection of whispered curses from both of your mouths, “Now you beg?”

“Just please fuck me, please.”

The way his cock twitches inside you tells all you need to know on how he feels about your words.

Curls brush the side of your neck as he reaches to bite at your lobe, grunting and moaning into it while speeding up his hips so much your own moans become stuttered and desperate.

As the end nears, Gawain presses his lips to yours, nearly missing in his eagerness, and opens his mouth as if to say something but no words leave him, only a loud moan of your name ringing across the cave just as your body does the same.

Your mind is eerily quiet as you come down, blinking eyes you don't recall closing and feeling the next king breathe against your naked chest while gathering himself. After a moment he raises himself on shaky arms to gaze down at you, hand reaching to brush a stray hair from your cheek and sighing as if suddenly, all is right in the world.

[peachhcs]

hughes brothers just seeing sam and will acting all couply and seeing how much the two are really in love

watching their baby sister fall in love

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

summary: the hughes brothers realize their baby sister finally found the guy for her + watch her fall in love

2.4k words

this request was so cutie and i enjoyed writing it :) pls send it anymore requests you guys have for samy and will!

au masterlist

for some reason, the hughes brothers never saw their baby sister's relationship with will coming except luke who was the one still around as the feelings grew and the relationship developed—of course he picked up on all of the signs the younger smith sibling gave samy. him and will were almost the same age, so the teenage pining was all too familiar to the middle hughes.

quinn and jack on the other hand? oh forget about them knowing until the summer they came home after samy finished up her senior year. with them being away for most of the year, they missed every single gaze, touch, and stolen glances between the teenagers as the year went on. plus, luke's not one to talk about his crushes in general, so why would he mention anything about his sister's love life to the two older siblings?

the entire relationship left all three of them speechless when it finally happened. watching samy and will interact at the draft in nashville was the brothers' first indication something was happening. they looked way too close than usual considering will's always been attached to luke or jack growing up. he'd just naturally gravitate towards the boys as they grew up in the summer months together pushing each other off the dock, having diving competitions, and playing hockey in the driveway. neither jack nor luke noticed will slowly attaching himself to their sister instead as the years went on.

when samy and will's first date came a month later, the boys were skeptical. of course they knew will and how he was the sweetest soul on the planet—it was their older brother instincts kicking in. samy was their baby sister and it took a certain guy to be the right one for her and neither of the brothers wanted her to get hurt. sure, will was family, but that didn't mean he couldn't fuck something up.

their teasing was relentless before they let the young couple leave, but really it was all a tactic to see how well will held up under this new dynamic.

"can you guys shut up?" samy eyed luke standing against the wall before glancing at their mom for help.

"what? we're just saying. mom never let us go out to ann arbor by ourselves when we were yoyr age," jack piped in from the couch. will stood beside samy in a nervous mess, unaware of the brothers (mostly jack and luke) eyeing him down.

"guys, just cool it, okay? let your sister be," jim stepped in because he was probably the only one that could shut jack and luke up. the boys shut their mouths after that and samy dragged will out of the house before anymore comments could be made.

"seriously?" ellen eyed her boys.

"what? we gotta poke fun at her too," luke defended.

"you were gonna give will a nervous breakdown," the older woman rolled her eyes.

"it's nothing he hasn't heard before. just gotta make sure he's up to our standards for our sister," jack shrugged.

they were still up when samy came back through the door at around 10:30. they all perked up when she walked into the kitchen with the biggest smile on her lips.

"someone's smiley," jack commented.

"maybe it's too early to say this, but i really think it's gonna work out between us. at least, i really hope it does," samy gushed, a lovesick expression on her features that her brothers had never seen before.

her words turned a gear in their brains. they've never heard her talk about a guy like that before nor had they seen a look like that on her face after she came back from a date. that stuck out to them and for a split second, they thought that maybe will was the right guy for her. maybe.

the start of the new school year had the hughes siblings breaking up until summer again. samy headed off to umich for her first semester, luke flew out to jersey with jack to really begin his rookie year, and quinn headed back out west to vancouver—a captaincy in his near future. with the brothers not there, they didn't see the development of will and samy's new relationship. yes, the siblings were close, but there were some things they didn't talk about in detail with one another. one of them being their relationships and love life.

anytime the youngest hughes was on facetime with her brothers, she only briefly mentioned will and they also never really asked. when summer quickly came back around and the gang reunited, they were still skeptical of will. was he really the guy for samy? was he becoming like every other jerk hockey player the boys knew all too well because well, they were once that guy too.

their relationship was approaching one year and the brothers finally got to see and understand that yes, will was the perfect guy for their sister.

lazy lake days were everyone's favorites because people went and did their own thing whether it was nap all day, tan, or just mess around. luke immersed himself with a conversation with some of his old umich friends. ethan and mark yapped on and on about their hockey season while luke chimed in with details from his rookie year. the boy missed being in michigan everyday, but he was glad he could reconnect with everyone during the summer months for a few weeks.

after awhile, luke needed to go inside to get a new drink. he nodded to some of his brother's friends on his way up the yard before sliding the glass doors open. relief filled his body as the cold ac air hit his skin and cooled him down from the burning 90 degree temperatures outside. he was about to head back outside until voices caught his attention in the living room.

he shuffled that way, not quite recognizing who was talking until he saw the faces. luke met samy and will's friends a few times, but he didn't know them that well. two boys stood by the couch snickering to one another with their phone cameras out. luke raised his eyebrow, trying to peer over them to see what had their attention.

he finally spotted his sister and will curled up on the couch together. samy's head was tucked into the crook of will's neck while his own head laid atop hers. her legs were thrown over his lap and his arm draped over her shoulders. seeing them in that position was still so foreign to the middle hughes.

"gonna have a whole album by the time summer's over," luke was pretty sure his name was ryan. ryan showed him the photo album on his phone titled smitty's so whippedwhich made luke laugh.

"god, they were so insufferable over the phone and even worse in person," gabe teased.

"will was always calling samy like at any chance he got. pretty sure we tried throwing will's phone out the window one time because he wouldn't stop calling her," ryan snickered.

luke's expression settled a bit the more he stared at his sister and will. it almost softened for a second thinking about will constantly calling her to hear her voice. that wasn't something a jerky hockey player did, luke thought in his head.

"they were annoying, but it was cute i suppose. never seen smitty act like this before, it's kind of nice seeing a different side of him," gabe added with a tiny smile.

the boys' words left luke thinking. he thought back to when samy came home after their first date last year and the look on her face he'd never seen before. hearing about will's change too made the hughes brother think maybe will wasn't like every other guy.

later that day, luke crowded around the kitchen island with quinn and jack as the three discussed when they wanted to go golfing and if they wanted to invite anyone. samy shuffled into the kitchen, sleep laced in her eyes still with will right behind her.

"morning," luke laughed a little seeing his sister.

"morning," the girl grumbled back obviously not in the mood for any teasing.

"heard you two had a pretty sound nap," jack chuckled.

"yeah, it was really nice actually. thanks for asking," samy's voice dripped with sarcasm towards her brother.

"jeez, someone's grumpy," the older brunette laughed which made quinn and luke chuckle too. all samy did was give him the middle finger as she bent down to pick up the bottle cap she dropped.

instinctively, will wrapped his hand around the counter edge so samy wouldn't hit her head when she came back up. the gesture went unnoticed by samy since it was in will's second nature to just do that, but the brothers saw it very clearly. they saw how will didn't even think when he did it, he just did.

neither of them mentioned it when they left, but all three of them thought about the gesture for awhile after.

jack wasn't good at falling asleep. his parents liked calling him the night owl in the family since they could never put him down for bed. he'd just jump right back up, his energy bursting to get out.

the middle hughes tiptoed around the guys asleep on air mattresses scattered across the house. he thought maybe some food could make him sleepy, so he started searching the fridge for a snack.

the guy didn't notice samy and will until he let his gaze drift to the backyard while he cut up some apples. his eyes stopped on the gently swinging hammock on the deck and the two people inside. he immediately recognized samy's frizzy curls—very much taking after luke with that gene.

jack wasn't meaning to be creepy, but he crept a bit closer to the back doors to get a better look. will's arm was draped around her shoulder and samy's head was on his chest. he could hear their faint voices through the door and small giggles at whatever they were talking about.

the older brunette smiled to himself briefly before a few tears edged their way to jack's eyes. seeing his sister in love was not something he thought would make him emotional, but after watching her grow up, it all felt bittersweet in jack's mind.

he was always the one samy would go to first after luke if she needed something. he was closer to her age and while she didn't think quinn couldn't give advice, he was six years older. jack and luke were and have always been samy's go to's. jack was emotional in the fact that his baby sister finally found someone who sat in a hammock with her late at night to look at the stars—especially someone she already knew so well.

he left them be after he cut up his apples, retreating back to his room where he'd go to sleep knowing samy was in the right hands.

water guns were most definitely the worst investment for the lake house. the hockey boys went crazy with them full and armed like they were going to squirt anyone who walked by them. somehow, some of the guys and the girls managed to get themselves into a mini water gun fight.

gabe and ryan teamed up against samy and hannah originally. their squealing caught the attention of some of the other guys who quickly ran to join gabe and ryan against the girls. rutger aided in throwing water balloons at them while mark and moldy chased them with water buckets. poor samy and hannah were severely out numbered.

"hey! you can't run forever!" moldy yelled as he chased after the youngest hughes with an entire bucket of water.

"i can and i will!" samy yelled back at him. the brothers found it amusing and endearing that a lot of their friends saw samy as their own little sister they could constantly tease.

will walked onto the deck where samy immediately ran to him as a shield. the blonde grew confused before he saw nick with the largest water bucket he'd ever seen.

"hey, woah. you can't dump that on me," will said as he held his arm out, shielding samy from the impending water.

"i will if you don't move so i can get samy," moldy laughed.

"i'm not a part of this, so technically, i'm a safe spot," will tried negotiating.

"i'm not sure it works like that, smitty. she runs to you, you're on her side," nick shrugged, smirking still.

"get her!" mark yelled as he ran towards the deck with his own water bucket. nick took that as a signal he could dump his water.

samy screamed as will quickly shoved her out of the way and took the hit as two buckets of water drenched him from head to toe. the boys broke out into laughter while samy stared in disbelief that her boyfriend was now dripping wet and she was perfectly dry.

"oh shit. i'm sorry will," the girl couldn't hold her giggles as she covered her mouth.

the blonde shook his hair out like a dog before breaking a tiny smile. "you're taking the hit next time," he mumbled, placing a chaste kiss to her lips.

quinn, jack, and luke had watched the entire interaction from where they sat together at their fire pit. the three of them were laughing watching poor will get soaked for samy.

"he's so whipped if he just took two buckets of water for her," jack mumbled with a smile.

luke and quinn looked his way. it was the first time one of them had ever said something about samy and will to one another since their entire relationship started.

"they're cute. makes me miss being a teenager in love," quinn muttered. "plus, i've never seen her so happy before nor have i seen will so happy either," the oldest hughes added.

their eyes flicked back towards the couple where will was now trying to dry himself off.

"it's a good look for them, isn't it?" luke said after a moment.

"she's happy. like really happy," jack nodded.

"i think he really cares about her. he's definitely sticking around," luke said.

"i mean wasn't he already? he's like family," jack laughed making quinn laugh too.

"i'm just happy she's found someone. i totally saw it coming by the way, so you all owe me still," luke muttered and the brothers rolled their eyes.

[izzywantscheesecake]

leo valdez x female reader!! dating headcanons *blows kiss*

Dating Leo Valdez Headcanons!

Pairing: Leo Valdez x Fem!Reader Fandom: Camp Half-Blood Chronicles/Heroes of Olympus Quick Synopsis: Just some paragraphs headcanons on how you and Leo would meet/what dating him would be like. Tags: Use of Y/N, Fluff, no specific physical description of the reader (other than the fact they're female coded), Comfort

HOW YOU TWO WOULD MEET I imagine Leo to be someone who looks for a person he's able to have a lot of common ground with in a relationship. Of course, he's able to crack jokes (even the not so funny ones) around practically everyone, but there's a difference between small banter and just full on being able to vibe with someone. I think he'd be very attracted to someone interested in the arts, or someone who likes to make their own things as a mean of self expression in general. We all know how Leo is in terms of self confidence - he'd like a person who is unapologetically them, proud of their art and self expression and someone who has enough emotional awareness to give him reassurance in a relationship when they can sense he needs it. You guys would probably first meet at some type of event or workshop, or if you're a camper, probably at the dining pavilion when he sees you and has to do a double take because "who is that cool girl I've never seen before?" he'd muster enough confidence to come up and tell you a corny joke, stumbling on his words, which makes you laugh.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

You looked up from your feet, now practically face to face with this guy you'd never seen before. His clothes were wrecked with dirt and debris, so were his gloves.

He was standing awkwardly, and his hands, clearly shaking, were clenched into tight fists.

"Sure?"

"So um, riddle me this. Why can't you hear a pterodactyl going to the bathroom?"

"Because pterodactyls went extinct 65 million years ago?"

His eyes widened, and a red tint began to become more visible around his face as he scratched his head, messing up his already tangled locks of hair.

"Oh.. That wasn't what I was going to say," He chuckled.

You smiled, suddenly feeling a warm aura coming from this boy.

"Well, what were you going to say?"

"Because, uh.. The P is.. Damn, whatever. My name's Leo. What's yours?"

ACTUAL RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS He was awkward at the start of the relationship, not really knowing what to say or what exactly "being a boyfriend" entails, but once he starts getting comfortable and more confident around you, that's where the fun begins (yes this is a star wars reference) Expect every Spanish nickname to be pulled out of the book. "Mi amor," "Hermosa," "Bonita," "Mi vida," "Corazón," if it exists in the Spanish language, he's most definitely said it. And he won't skip out on variations of your preferred name, or even silly sounding nicknames in public, like: "pookie" and "sugarplum" or some other stupidness. For dates, I believe he'd very much vary between educational and immersive dates and just straight up goofing off. It honestly depends on the season. Late Fall/Winter is for going to museums, workshops, possibly a joint coding class or hanging together in one of your rooms, and Spring/Summer is for exploring the town and having those cute little boardwalk + beach + ferris wheel dates. (I also imagine him to be somewhat clumsy and he WOULD drop ice cream all over the pavement.) As the son of Hephaestus, he is most definitely a human radiator. Definitely had a lot of fever scares just because of his temperature alone. But don't worry, he's fine. And the heat is an extra bonus if you're cuddling. Speaking of cuddling and physical proximity, Leo's love languages are gift-giving and physical touch. It doesn't matter if you guys have been apart for 2 minutes or 2 days, if he hasn't seen you in a little bit, he will greet you with one of those spin around hugs or a kiss on the hand. And for gift giving, he enjoys giving and receiving gifts. He likes to either make you little trinkets, or make/buy your favorite foods. He is a firm believer of giving his lady princess treatment, even on a dollar store budget. Though he wouldn't consider himself much of a photographer, I think he probably enjoys taking lots of pictures of you, both with and without him. It's to savor the moment, and also because he wishes he could've taken more pictures with his mother when she was still alive. He has a photo album of just you, him, and the adventures you two go on. You're not a stranger to pranking by him, by the way. If anything, he probably pranks you the most, out of love. You'll chase him down for a few hours, and he gets a thrill out of it knowing you won't stay mad at him forever. In conclusion, dating Leo can be rocky, calming, and give you a whirlwind of emotions, similar to how being on a floating trireme would feel.

A/N: I'm going to be real I never really paid much attention to Leo in the books, so I'm hoping this is accurate?? my bad if it isnt gang 🙏🏽🙏🏽

[st-danger]

craving good boy aeon pillow humping :( he's just so pathetic i can't stop thinking abt it

He's sweating. He can feel the back of his shirt sticking, knows that the nape of his neck is getting slightly damp. Outside, the moon is full, the temperature is low, and the chilly autumn air sinks into the abbey, impossible to escape the cold.

Aeon's heat doesn't care. A cool rag, a lukewarm shower- either or both seem necessary. He is burning both in temperature and in need, and lies slumped against the edge of the bed, having not even made it in. Just lying on the floor, palming himself shamefully while Dew simply Looks.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" Aeon asks, voice quiet. Hesitant. He can't stop rubbing himself, his hand moving of its own accord. He's out of control.

"Wouldn't dream of leaving you to suffer," Dew drawls, and offers a smile that is so far from reassuring and so deliciously intriguing Aeon feels the room around them grey out and unfocus for a moment. "Been waiting for this," he adds.

"Have you?" Aeon says, shoving the heel of his hand harder against himself, his hips hitching forward into it. He doesn't mean to whine, he really doesn't. Dew steps closer, leans down and places a gentle hand on Aeon's cheek, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone, and then tracing his fingertips along the sharp cut of his jaw, under his chin. Tilting his head up to make sure he looks right at Dew and only Dew.

"Haven't you?" he asks. "Or have I been misreading?"

"I mean," Aeon gulps, "I- called you, didn't I?"

"Maybe Swiss was busy," he shrugs. His brow is arched and he speaks with a honeyed tone; giving Aeon a hard time simply because he can. Aeon's face morphs into something plaintive, self-conscious in this state and instantly concerned he's made Dewdrop to feel like some kind of placeholder. Like he hasn't enjoyed falling to his knees before him on stage. Dew softens, and then kindly, "You didn't need to wait. Could've asked a long time ago."

In a show of grace, he doesn't make Aeon ask- he leans down and kisses him, and muffles the pathetic moan the contact pulls from him. It feels so good, so fucking good to feel lips on his, soothing some of the desperation welling up inside him, fiercer by the minute. He gives Aeon his tongue, licks slow and deep into Aeon's mouth and Aeon has to wrench his hand away from his cock. Insane to realize, but the combination of the heat, the slide of Dew's tongue, grinding on his hand- he can't possibly deal with it all at once. It's going to make him cream his jeans. The idea of going off so easy...Dew would probably love it. Aeon isn't sure he'd find it anything other than embarrassing in some strange way, and selfishly would rather be made to cum by someone else's hand. So he asks.

"Make me cum," he says, and Dewdrop pulls away, looking at him through heavy lidded eyes.

"Many times as you need," he assures him, and then straightens up, "if you do something for me."

"Anything," Aeon says without hesitating. He throbs in his pants and can feel himself leak, sudden and copious. He picks at the carpet beneath him and keeps himself from humping the air, but barely. "What?"

"I wanna watch you," Dew says, reaching over Aeon, for the bed, giving him a side view of his pelvis where the bulge in his pants is obvious and unmistakable. What does it look like? How thick, how long. How small or large, it doesn't matter. He wants to see. Wants to taste. Wants it deep inside him until his skin stops burning. "I'll suck you off after, anything you want. Please."

He snatches a pillow, eyes glittering as he holds it out to Aeon. An offering.

"Ride it for me?" Dew asks, hopeful.

Aeon's already unzipping, falling back against the floor to shove his pants off.

[taintedpearls]

datting korra headcanons ♡♡ I love your page its so pretty ＼(^^)／

ཐི⋆༊·˚ཋྀ dating korra headcannons — daily click

note: fluff + reg text under cut – tysm anon! ur too sweet.

love language is physical touch and words of affirmation.

thoroughly enjoys pda, it soothes her whenever in a crowd. wether it's holding your hand or keeping a grip on your waist, she's keeping a grip on you to keep her grounded.

zero shame. whatsoever. she knows she's attractive so she's constantly making flirty jokes and comments that get you flustered and nervous

but you're also really fucking hot, so you use it to your advantage. getting up close to her, returning flirty comments, swaying your hips more than you usually would and now she's the one with rosy cheeks.

whenever she has a hard day of being the start (which lets be honest, is most days) all she wants to do is lay in your arms while you speak to her softly.

adores kissing you! she doesn't really have a preference when kissing tbh. this girl could have a surprisingly good day being the avatar and would rush home just to kiss you aggressively as if someone really pissed her off.

loves cuddling. once again, even in public! she's a very affectionate person and you will more often times than not find the girl sneaking up behind you and wrapping her hands around your waist with a head on your shoulder, hot breath going down your neck. doesn't matter if your in the middle of an important conversation!

there are these little moments whenever she's had a particularly busy week and hasn't been able to see you much that she'll just relish in seeing your face and being able to hold you, hugs last forever with this girl.

you two have this sort of balance to each other. shes hot headed and often speaks her mind but you're calmer and think about what you want to say before saying it.

if you argue she's massive on communication. with the limited time you two can see eachother, she wants to savour the time you do have. so if you're upset at her, she's forcing you to talk to her.

but on more stressful days if she's upset at you... she's harsh and doesn't think about what she's saying. she doesn't mean it, but her words come off mean. she needs time to cool down before you let her come to you.

that being said she can definitely come off as possessive and pushy... and she is!

well she's possessive at least, she just comes off as pushy.

she's not a "oh my god she's gonna leave me for someone else so i have to keep my eye on her at all times possessive" she's more of a "i'm literally the fucking avatar and i'm trying to make sure she's safe" type of possessive

for example, if you get hurt she's pissed. super pissed. blinded by pure rage that you got hurt, at both you and whatever caused it.

"how could you be so reckless! so stupid? i swear you don't think before marching into a fight-!"

"can you please stop? my head hurts"

and then she's rushing to your side, asking if you're okay and taking care of you like she didn't say anything she just did.

constantly worried about whatever you're getting yourself into when you aren't around her.

if she's injured, you just sigh disappointedly while patching her up. she tries to make a stupid joke like "i really outdid myself this time huh?" but you stay silent. you don't want to lash out.

to make it up to you she tries to make you something

key word: tries.

she's an awful cook.

tried to make you two breakfast one time and it looked like she had gotten into a fight with flour.

that being said you're usually the one to cook, even if you aren't much better than her.

ALWAYS TAKING FROM YOUR PLATE.

game nights go crazy! she's hiding about 247 uno cards under the table.

whenever she works out, she'll always invite you to come with her. wether or not you're working out yourself or sitting down and reading a book beside her, you just like being around her.

always organising little dates around town for the two of you.

going out at night to the markets and mucking around while finding little trinkets for each other.

yeah this girl knew she loved you when you bought a little ceramic polar bear for naga.

watching her early days of doing pro bending matches and SCREAMING her name so loudly she thinks the whole stadium can hear you.

[himbosandhardwear]

Steddie I 2.3k words I Angst I Hurt/Comfort I Idiots to Lovers I SFW

The phone rings at a quarter to six, not an unheard of time for someone to call on a Friday evening, but he's not expecting anyone, so he lets it ring out until the machine gets it. Screening phone calls has become the new normal in the Munson abode. 

“Hey, Eddie, it's me.” There's a weird pause and then he gives unnecessary clarification. “Steve. It's Steve. You there?”

Eddie's already heading toward the phone, so he's still laughing when he picks up. “I can't believe it took me six years to figure out what a huge dork you are.”

“Me? Why am I a dork?”

“Because you just talked to my machine as though you've never called here before. It was weird. You're weird.”

Eddie hopes this comes across like the compliment that it is. Sometimes he says things to Steve and he's not sure if they land the way he wants. This time does land, thankfully, as Steve chuckles softly. 

“So what's up?” He asks, hoping he doesn't sound too eager, like he's desperate for a hangout.

“Oh. Um. So, I was wondering if you're free tonight?” 

Eddie punches the air a few times. “Sure am. What’d you have in mind?”

“Movie? The Hawk is playing some disgusting horror flick I assume you'd be into. And, uh, maybe food. Burgers or something.”

“Or something,” Eddie teases. He's practically floating on air, which is embarrassing, but Steve doesn't know that. “Sounds like a date,” he says, stupidly. 

Steve doesn't respond right away, the seconds stretching to infinity before he clears his throat. “Well, yeah. I hope so.”

Static fizzles through Eddie's brain. “What.”

“I hope it sounds like a date. Cause. You know.”

“I don't know,” Eddie manages, brain still skipping gears. 

“Because I'm trying to take you out. On a date.”

Okay, yes, Steve has become one of his closest friends over the last five months, and yes, sometimes Eddie flirts with him because he's a red blooded American faggot and Steve is smoking hot, but never in ten thousand years would Eddie predict this happening. It doesn't make sense. 

“Date?” He chokes out. 

“Is that okay?” Steve asks, soft, nervous. 

It's so okay Eddie can't fathom it. “Uh huh.” 

“Cool. I'll swing by at eight?”

“Cool.”

“Awesome. See you in a bit.”

And then, just before Steve hangs up, he hears it, the thing that makes everything that came before it suddenly make sense. 

Laughter. Robin's donkey braying laughter, coupled with cheers from at least three other people. 

So yeah. That checks out. It hasn't happened in years, not since middle school, before Eddie got too scary for girls to fuck with, but it's not the first time someone got dared to ask Eddie out. 

He slips down the wall and lands with a thud on the linoleum, cold water seeping through his veins as the implications become clear. The people he thought were his friends got together, without him, and thought it would be hilarious to dare Steve to ask him out. And he did it. He actually did it. And Robin! Her being in on it is almost worse. He really thought better of her, queer geek solidarity and all that. 

Has every interaction with these people been fake? Why bother? It doesn't make sense, but then again, he'd only recently let his guard down, started to believe they really liked him, wanted him around. It never made any sense that they liked him in the first place, Steve especially, he'd been wondering when the other shoe would drop and now here it is. Sort of wishes they'd just left him alone after everything and not gotten him attached like he is. It hurts. Logically, he knows he'll be fine, he has Wayne and the CC boys and some casual friends in Indy, he'll be okay, but it still hurts. 

What if this forces Dustin and the other kids to pick sides? He doesn't want that. Maybe he should just bite the bullet and move away, make the decision easier for them. It's about time anyway. He'll need to borrow some money from somewhere to fund the move but-

A knock on the door startles him out of his spiral and he jumps up on instinct. The clock on the stove says it's 7:55. He's been staring at the wall for two hours. A second knock snaps him out of another spiral.

“Jesus Christ,” he snaps upon seeing Steve Harrington at his door, dressed to kill. What a waste.

Steve's still lovely face drops as he takes in Eddie's ire. “What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?” His voice grates. “How fucking far were you planning on taking this bit? Bucket of pigs blood rigged at the diner? Maybe you drive me thirty miles outside of town and leave me there? What?”

Steve looks equal parts confused and horrified. Caught out too early to satisfy the parameters of the bet no doubt. “Eddie…”

“Save it. Take your gas station flowers and fuck off.” He slams the door behind him, it gives a satisfying crash, much better than the trailer's old door. 

He stands on the other side of it, not sure what to do with himself, when he hears a pathetic, “No, no, no, no,” and, “I don't understand,” and, “Eddie. Please.”

“Fuck! Off!” He yells at the door. If he has to endure any more manipulation he might actually get violent. Wouldn't be the first time he thought about attacking Steve Harrington. The anger is good, he needs it. As long as he's angry he isn't thinking about how bad it hurts. 

A minute goes by without a peep from Steve, but he also hasn't heard a car door slam or start up or drive away. Eddie slinks over to the porch window and peeks out. Steve is just sitting bent over on the top step, both hands in his hair, stupid bouquet of flowers at his side. The sight twinges in Eddie's guts, something like guilt squirming around inside. He doesn't want to acknowledge it but it gets harder to ignore the longer he watches Steve, alone and practically curled up on the stoop. What would be the purpose of that if he only came as a joke? He assumes maybe Steve is just upset that he didn't get to pull off his probable months in the making scheme but…the longer he watches the harder it gets to convince himself that's what's happening. 

Steve is crying. He can tell by the uneven breaths he's taking. The odds are getting slimmer that this is some manipulative tactic. If Steve is genuinely upset Eddie can't just ignore it. 

He opens the door. 

Steve immediately scrambles to wipe the evidence off his face, which is gut wrenching. If he's still faking he deserves an Oscar. 

He doesn't turn when Eddie approaches and sits gingerly at his side. He doesn't try to provocate, just sniffs as quietly as he can with his face turned away.

Eddie, for his part, doesn't know what to do next. His anger has left him, which was the only thing keeping him afloat. He suddenly wishes he hadn't left his cigs on the coffee table.

“I'm not sure what happened between when I called and now but I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.” He turns toward Eddie but doesn't make eye contact. “If you changed your mind, that's…fine, I guess. But please don't be mad at me. I don't think I can take that right now.”

Guess we're hashing this out.

“What happened was I heard everyone at your place having a laugh at my expense. Did you think I wouldn't figure out what that meant? You're not the first person to ask me out as a joke. Amy Johnston asked me to the Snow Ball as a dare in the 8th grade.”

There's that horrified look again. He reaches out like he wants to touch Eddie's knee but Eddie startles so badly he wrenches his hand back. 

“You can't think I would do that.”

“I can and I do.” His fingers are itching for that cigarette.

“Eddie. Please look at me.” 

He does but only because Steve sounds like he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His wet, puppy dog eyes are going to be the last thing Eddie's sees before he dies, he just knows it.

“They weren't laughing at you. They were laughing at me. That wasn't a prank at your expense, it was a fucking intervention, for me to pull my head out of my ass.” He stares at Eddie with his wide, imploring eyes. “I swear to you. On Dustin's mom.”

Eddie's cheek twitches. “If Claudia drops dead you've gotta raise Henderson yourself, you know that, right?”

“Gladly.” He gives one big sniff, done with hiding how fucked up this has made him. “Rob was laughing because she was happy, and everyone else was cheering because they were proud of me, that's literally it. ‘Finally ask Eddie on a date’ mission was a success. Until, you know, this part. I'm sorry you thought we would do something like that to you. Did we…or did I maybe, do something to make you think we weren't friends?”

Now Eddie is crying. He should just dig a hole and lay down in it. 

“Hey,” Steve scoots over and timidly places a hand over Eddie's clenching fingers, “it's okay. You don't have to tell me. I just want to make sure you know we love you. I don't want you to ever think otherwise.”

Okay, not helping with the waterworks.

“It's not your fault,” he manages to convey between hiccups. “I'm just an asshole who assumes the worst in people.”

Steve's thumb rubs gently over Eddie's wrist bone. “For good reason. I get it, you haven't had a lot of people in your corner, huh?”

He shakes his head, hyper aware that he's dribbling snot.

“Hey,” he pats Eddie's arm, pulling away slowly, “why don't we just stay in, order a pizza?”

Eddie sniffs, nods. Date canceled then. Good job, Munson. 

“I'll dump these,” Steve picks up the flowers, “don't know what I was thinking. Dating mode autopilot I guess.”

Eddie, feeling hysterical, lunges for them. “No! They're mine!” He crushes the bouquet to his chest. He's imprinted on them. If they disappear, any chance he has of going back to date mode will disappear with them. 

Steve stares at him, eyes ping-ponging up and down from the flowers to Eddie's face. He probably thinks Eddie has gone mental, and he'd be right. He hides his face in the purple and orange petals, destroying them irreparably no doubt. One would think he would be all cried out but he's been mainlining mountain dew all day so he must be extra hydrated.

“Eds. What's wrong?”

“Besides the obvious?!” He screeches, still hiding. 

“Yeah.”

“I fucked it up. You actually wanted to date me and I fucked it up.” 

Without warning, Steve has him bundled up against his chest, flowers crushed even more between them. “You didn't fuck it up. I just didn't think you'd want to go out tonight, after all this. It can still be a date if you want. An inside date.”

“If I want? You are certifiable, of course I want,” he mumbles into Steve's perfect tits. “I can't believe you want. You were really brave and I yelled at you.”

“Already forgiven.”

“You look really nice and I look like a hobo.”

“No more than usual.”

That startles a laugh out of Eddie. He smacks Steve on one of his perfect tits. His face is probably a lost cause but he does attempt to mop it up. “Sorry I made you cry.”

“Pfft,” he waves that off as though it were nothing, “for about three minutes I thought I'd let my friends talk me into blowing up one of my favorite relationships, that's all I cared about, really. If you're not mad at me I'm good as new.” He gets all sheepish for a second. “Also I've been crying off and on all day. Those assholes showed up at my door at ten am. I sobbed for forty five minutes over that time I called Johnathan a queer.”

“You said what?” King Steve shit, Eddie imagines.

“Yeah, and a lot worse than that too, if you can imagine. Don't worry, he beat my ass good over it. And he says we're square since he banged Nancy while we were technically still together.”

Eddie boggles at the ease with which all of this is said. Killing monsters really puts some shit into perspective, he supposes.

He glances up when Steve stands, brushing his hands off on his skin tight jeans before holding one out for Eddie to take. 

“C'mon. Inside date. We'll do a redo of outside date next weekend.”

He lets Steve pull him up. “Okay. You gotta let me get the pizza though.”

He beams at Eddie, sunshine incarnate. “Deal.” 

It occurs to Eddie, as he pulls a huge plastic Pacers cup out of the cupboard to put his flowers in, that Steve Harrington actually likes him. Romantically. Even though Eddie is a big dumbass. 

“Hey,” he drawls.

Steve glances over from where he's artfully posed at the opposite counter. “Mmm?”

“We should probably make out.”

Steve matches Eddie's casual statement, only failing where his cheeks are going red. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. I'd hate to waste all this time and money just to find out on the third date we're not compatible. Sexually.” 

Steve, who has never been shy about flirting, slinks over to him, fingers travel lightly over the cut collar of his Megadeath T-shirt, sending Eddie's heart into overdrive. “You're so right. Couch or bed?”

They never do manage to call for pizza.

[sunshinebuckybarnes]

college!ari + elevator

Want you to want me

Pairing: college!Ari Levinson x female!reader

Summary: Ari really likes you but doesn't know how to ask you out.

Warnings: super fluffy, Ari is a shy beefy boy and should be protected always! This blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI.

Authors note: feels like I haven't written in soooo long! I've had this in the pipeline for a while but just needed the muse to cooperate ✨ this sits in the same universe as our lovely college!Andy and will most likely have more parts 🩷 (word count: 1.2k)

"Just ask her out."

Ari turns his gaze at the sound of his friends voice, already missing having you in his line of sight.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ari grumbles, fiddling with the pages of the book he's been pretending to study from for the past hour. If only he could pull his gaze away from you.

Andy let's out a chuckle, "she's cool, she's nice and she likes you, just go over there and ask her out."

Ari sighs as he looks over to you again. You're talking animatedly to someone from your class and Ari can't help the soft smile that graces his face as he watches you.

It's not like he hasn't spoken to you before, you both had a similar group of friends and you shared a couple of classes. It was the fact that every time he spoke to you he'd get all flustered and tongue-tied and you'd give him a smile that both calmed and tortured him.

"It's not that simple, man," Ari huffs, pulling his eyes away from you again.

"Sure it is, just go over there and ask her out."

Ari stares at him, "I can't just go over there and ask her out."

"Sure you can!"

Ari sighs, dropping his head as he thinks it over. He wants to ask you out, god he really wants to. But what if you say no? It's not like you'd laugh in his face or anything, you're not like that. But you're friends and what if that's all you see him as?

"Is that how you got your girl? You just asked her out and it all worked out fine?"

Andy smiles as he looks at his friend, his dumb, clueless friend.

"Well I tutored her for a while and then we fucked in that room over there," Andy grins, gesturing to one of the study rooms.

Ari stares at him wide eyed, "so you didn't even take her on a date?!"

"Christ you're old fashioned," Andy laughs, "I took her on a date after. When two people want each other you don't have to stick to a timeline, dude."

Ari can feel his cheeks warm up, he wasn't a prude or anything but he was raised by a single mother who instilled chivalry in him. And he liked you too much to risk doing anything stupid. He wanted, no needed, you to like him - in whatever capacity you were willing to give.

"I just want her to like me," he mumbles quietly, almost hoping Andy doesn't hear.

"Pretty sure she already does, man. And right now she's coming over here and I would put money on it being to talk to you and not me."

Ari's head whips up and he catches your eye as you reach their table. You flash him a sweet smile and Ari swears he loses the ability to think.

"Hey beefcake," you grin as you come to stand in front of him.

Beefcake.

That name, and the way you say it, has lived rent free in his head ever since the first time you called him it.

You'd been drunk at one of Andy's parties and to say you had two left feet would be an understatement. Ari had arrived late after working a double shift at the garage and honestly all he wanted to do was go to bed, but as soon as he saw you dancing and stumbling he knew he could stay for just one.

You caught his eye from across the room and he swears the smile you sent him could light up a whole town. He didn't know why you were so happy to see him but in your excitement and inebriated state you tripped over the leg of a table. You would have fallen flat on your face if it wasn't for Ari's quick reactions and strong arms.

He caught you with ease. His arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you up like you weighed nothing.

The giggle you let out has played on repeat in Ari's mind ever since. Your small hands resting over his biceps, giving them a squeeze and giggling even more.

"So strong," you giggled, "so beefy."

"How much have you had to drink?" Ari mused, unable to hold back the smile as he looked down at you.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest as you peered up at him pouring, "only a little. Thank you for catching me, beefcake."

Ari's brows lift as you descend into another fit of giggles. With your chin against his chest he just prays that you can't hear his heart thudding.

"Beefcake, really?"

"I think it suits you," you beamed.

And well, who was Ari to disagree.

Andy's voice snaps Ari back to the present.

"So, are you coming to the Halloween party on Friday?"

Ari feels his cheeks heating up, wondering how long he was staring at you before his friend jumped in. Looking anywhere but you, Ari just wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

"I don't know yet," you say, Ari's eyes flicking to you at the sound of your voice, surprised to see you're already looking at him, "are you going, beefcake?"

Ari stutters as he tries to form a coherent thought, "me? I, um, yeah I think so, maybe?"

Ari can see Andy smirking out the corner of his eye and wishes he could whack him in the face with his text book.

"Well I hope you decide to," you smile, biting your lip slightly and Ari feels his chest constrict, "who's going to catch me when I fall otherwise?"

Ari laughs and he swears your eyes get brighter, "well in that case I might make an appearance."

"Look forward to it," you wink, "well it was lovely seeing you boys. I'll see you in class Ari."

You send them a final smile before turning and heading to the elevator.

Ari's eyes remain on you until Andy throws a pen at his head.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"Ari, seriously go fucking ask her to the party! She clearly wants you to go."

"What? No, she was just being nice, making conversation," Ari tries to brush off, his eyes connecting with yours before you quickly turn away and step into the elevator.

"I swear to god, go ask her now or I will set her up with Steve!"

Ari shoots daggers at Andy before he's up and out of his chair and rushing towards the elevator. His brain doesn't catch up with his body until he's squeezed himself through the closing doors and is stood face to face with you.

"You okay there, beefcake?" You chuckle, taking in his rosy cheeks and the way his huge chest heaves under his shirt.

"Um, about Friday, err Halloween, I um, was wondering..." He trails off, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but your eyes.

"I'd love to go with you," you smile softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

Ari's face splits into the widest grin as he breathes out, "really?"

You let out a soft laugh as the elevator doors open on your floor, "really."

Leaning up onto your tip toes you place a chaste kiss to his cheek before turning on your heel and walking away.

"Make sure you wear something pretty, beefcake," you sing over your shoulder. Sneaking a quick glance back at your favourite shy, beefy boy before the doors close. You see him smiling and touching his cheek and you know you're already in too deep.

Aw I'm so happy to finally share this! My college boy universe is expanding and we have Ari in the club! As always comments and reblogs are super appreciated 🩷 also please send me thots for more college!Ari ✨

[yuri-is-online]

Hi, there (again)!

If it's not too much trouble, make a second and last request, I can request

Pronto: (5) seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

With Trey, Silver And Sebek?

In case of passing me orders you can discard my order. Take your time and at your pace, bye 🌠🌌✍️💐

5. Jealousy pt.1- seeing their partner wearing someone else's jacket

Hello again yourself! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that this was the most popular prompt huh (ﾟωﾟ；) Sorry I took so long to get back around to this one, I hope it was not too frustrating a wait I find it a bit difficult to wrap my head around Sebek.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, Rook is a bit dramatic (Trey), light injury but nothing descriptive (Silver), some misunderstandings quickly cleared (Sebek). The rest of the event requests can be found here.

Trey

"My beloved, hath thou truly forgotten me? Tis I! Your sweetheart!"

In a scene out of a particularly annoying, tropey rom com, the thought dead lover throws themselves into the... indifferent arms of a most unwilling extra around whose shoulders have been draped a lab coat to serve as a makeshift cape. Trey should be focusing on his strawberries, or maybe the grip he has on the watering can, but it is getting much more difficult to ignore the farce going on just out of his line of sight. Sure, Trey trusts you, he isn't worried you are going to leave him for Rook of all people he's just worried that you're uncomfortable. That's it. That's why he keeps glancing at the lab coat and not listening to the dialogue.

"Thine eyes doth not deceive thee?" You know you're supposed to put effort into line delivery, but you literally just got this script ten seconds ago so you hope Rook' expectations are low. "I hath been adventuring in a distant land these many moons, thinking only of returning to thee and thine-" your face immediately wrinkles "Rook I'm not saying this shit."

"Non non," Rook shakes his head, dropping character only for a second "You will not be saying them, your character will be saying them." He settles back into his role making doe eyes up at you as you swear you hear the sound of something snapping just behind you. Probably your patience.

"Thine eyes doth not deceive thee, I hath been adventuring in a distant land these many moons, thinking only of returning to thee and thine embrace." the script calls for Rook to dip you, but instead of Le chasseur d’amour you find yourself gently pulled back by your makeshift cape into the arms of a knight.

"Sorry," the "cape" falls to the ground as Trey spins you into a dip, complete with the lengthy kiss the script called for "but I don't have anything cool to say." And yet the way he holds you, the strain in his smile and the angry slit his eyes have slimmed to is very cool. Very rare is the sight of genuine frustration on Trey Clover's face, rarer still the glare. Rook is well and truly enraptured, and now it's your turn to feel jealous.

"Chevalier des Roses! I certainly hope I did not overstep-" That bastard is grinning, almost like he was deliberately trying to poke the bear.

"Of course not." Trey pulls you up, arm wrapped firmly around your waist. "I just need to get a new watering can from storage and was wondering if Yuu wanted to come with me." Ha "ask" as if he is intending on letting you go, his grip hasn't loosened one bit.

Silver

"I'm sorry we weren't able to be of more help, prefect." The kitchen ghost's mournful face looks painfully out of place, you're so used to seeing their big smiles you almost feel like you're the one who screwed up.

"It's ok, really! Please don't feel bad, I'm not going to quit just because we had one little accident." Technically, it was not a little accident, otherwise you would still be wearing your clothes and not a master chef approved chef's jacket, but in pursuit of enlightenment one must be willing to make a few sacrifices. If making coffee could be considered a culinary pursuit.

"I'm very glad to hear that," some of the ghost's usual pep returns, along with it his seriousness as an instructor "but no more attempts today, you hear me? Make sure to put a compress on your arm when you get back to Ramshackle and put some ointment on it. I'll never forgive myself if your burn gets worse." You give a mock salute, carefully cradling the single thermos of coffee you had managed to salvage from your lessons close to your chest with your non injured arm.

"Aye aye captain, I'll make sure to come back to pick up my shirt after I've changed." And you did fully intended to do that if you hadn't run into the exact person your little delivery was for on your way back to your dorm. Silver pauses when he sees you, with a strange tight look on his face you don't recognize that doesn't disappear as you get closer. If anything it gets worse, and he doesn't snap out of it even when you're directly in front of him.

"Silver?" You try one more time and he startles, face slipping back into his normal listlessness.

"Sorry, I don't really know what came over me." So he says, but his attention remains firmly fixed on the coat even if his look is passive. "I didn't realize there were Master Chef classes going on."

"Oh there aren't, I just had a small accident." You say, subconsciously reaching for your sleeve as if you can hide a burn by drawing attention to it. It's a reflex, much like Silver's reach, his fingers careful not to irritate the bruised skin. "Silver?" You ask, trying to find the words you need to reassure him.

"I don't like red on you." He says, so oddly serious it takes you a second to realize he isn't really looking at the burn, no his attention is on your chef's jacket and it's offensive Heartslabyul badge. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me... I should be more concerned about the burns."

"Funny," you laugh ignoring his embarrassment "I think green looks nice on you."

Sebek

Sebek isn't very good at saying what he means. You know this, you love him in spite of this. It makes him feel very lucky, and he has no real problem telling people this. Silver was by far the person who heard him brag about you the most, even if he attempted to downplay just how happy he was to be with you it wasn't like he could hide very much from his friend. Which was what made this situation so... confusing. Hurtful even, Sebek doesn't have words for what he is feeling because "jealous" just feels petty but "distressed" feels pathetic. And he is neither of those things. In his opinion. Because being jealous is something insecure people do, and he is not insecure nor does he not trust Silver.

So why then why is he in so much physical pain?

"Hmph, I expect short sighted napping from Silver, but I was starting to expect better from you." Sebek can't tell who is more surprised that he isn't shouting, you or him. Hell, his tone is so normal Silver hasn't moved from his slumped position against one of the courtyard apple trees. You had been lying on the grass, waiting for him he knows as a fact even if his hammering heart is doubting it.

"Sorry, I couldn't wrap my head around some of the figures Crewel went over in class so I was up late studying." You sit up as you answer him, Silver's jacket falling off of your shoulders and taking Sebek's narrow gaze with it. "I guess I lost track of time."

"Did you ask Silver for help." It's a question but he doesn't voice it as one, there's genuine hurt on your face that pushes him back from anger into embarrassment and shame. You just look confused, looking down at the coat crumpled across your legs then back up at his still on his person and-

Laughing. You start to laugh and the lightest twinge of anger returns firmly setting his face into a cross between a scowl and a pout.

"H-hey I'm being serious. I'm Lord Malleus's retainer, diligent study is not something I will scold you for! I can help you stay awake!" His begging just makes you laugh harder, which should make him angrier but you're smiling. You are smiling and the silliness of the situation really settles on him. Sebek talks to Silver about you all the time, of course Silver would be just as worried as he would if he found you asleep on the courtyard green. There is no challenge to his honor or ability as a partner here, just the friendly concern over the partner of a brother knight.

"I know you are Sebek." You stand up, scrambling over to return Silver his coat before falling naturally into you place at his side and returning his smug pride to his posture. "Can I ask you some questions about those equations? I remember things better when I picture them in your voice."

"Of course!" Said voice booms back to life, the shout finally doing it's job in cracking Silver awake. "Make sure you don't take your eyes off of me for a second, Yuu!"

[anonymous-dentist]

A very exciting day from the Merpepito AU

Read on Ao3

-

Pepito has been a pirate for one month and three days, and he has finally been given his first Pirate Job.

"Pepito, I'm trusting you with something very important," Captain Celbi had said as the ship had pulled into port.

He had crouched and pulled out a small leather pouch from the pocket of his coat. He held it out to Pepito, nodding seriously as Pepito took the pouch in both of Pepito's hands.

"Pac and Mike are going to go grocery shopping while we're here, but they always forget the most important food when I send them shopping," Captain Celbi explained. "They don't buy any candy, and we both know how important candy is."

Pepito nodded seriously. Candy is important, Apa Quackity says that it's one of the major food groups along with fish, seaweed, and cocaine.

"So I need you," Captain Celbi continued, "to take this money and make sure that you get candy. One piece for every crew member, and two pieces for yourself as payment for taking on this very important mission."

And so here Pepito is, grocery shopping for the first time as a pirate. Mister Pac and Mister Mike and Richarlyson are with him, but they don't know about his mission; it's a secret mission, Captain Celbi had said!

The Sky Pepito town is huge, but Pepito doesn't think they'll get lost. Mister Mike seems to know where they're going even if Richarlyson does keep running off and getting lost in the crowd and punching people until Mister Pac goes to get him.

"Settle down, Richas!" Mister Pac groans. He takes Richarlyson by the hand and pulls him to his side. "You're going to get arrested like this, you know!"

"And?" Richarlyson challenges. "So what! Pai Cellbit gets arrested all the time!"

"Cellbit is also a complete sociopath," Mister Mike comments. He looks at the grocery list with a hum. "He told us to buy coffee, how the hell are we supposed to make coffee on a boat?"

Pepito doesn't know what a 'sociopath' is, but it sounds cool! Some kind of artist, maybe?

He looks around the market. There has to be a candy stall somewhere!

Back in the Reef, Miss Niki had the best candy. She made taffy out of The Ocean's salt, and she sold it alongside her cookies in her shop, and, man, Pepito really misses Miss Niki.

...He doesn't miss anything else about the Reef, though! Definitely not Apa Roier or Apa Quackity or Apa Mariana or Apa Carre or Ama Rivers or Awuelo Foolish, that would be silly!

Pepito is a pirate now. He's doing a Pirate Job for a Pirate Captain, and he's going to end up in sooooooo much trouble with the Navy because of it! (Everybody knows the Navy hates candy. It's because they're lazy disgusting sacks of organs and blood, according to Captain Celbi, and he's never wrong!!)

Pepito jumps as someone taps his shoulder. He looks up and sees Mister Mike looking down at him with crinkled, smiling eyes.

"Don't get lost, now, Pepito," he says. "Cellbit will leave you behind if we go back to the ship without you."

Pac gasps and smacks Mister Mike's arm, but he's smiling, and Richarlyson is laughing.

Pepito's eyes well with tears, but he doesn't cry. He knows that they're all pirates. They're evil. Of course Captain Celbi would leave if Pepito got back to the ship late, he's a pirate captain, and Pepito still hasn't finished his first Pirate Job.

So Pepito bites Pepito's lip and puffs Pepito's chest out. He will not be left behind! He's going to finish his Pirate Job, and then Captain Celbi will say he's a Good Pirate, and then Pepito will be a Good Pepito again.

...But Pepito can't see a candy stall or shop anywhere. Captain Celbi had said that this was supposed to be a secret, but if Pepito doesn't tell anybody that he was given this job, then it's still a secret!

Hesitantly, he tugs on Mister Mike's sleeve and spells out with his finger in the air, "C A N D Y"? (Apparently, there's something called 'sign language' in the Sky, but Pepito hasn't learned that yet, but at least Pepito can spell using the Sky Language now!)

"You want candy?" Mister Mike asks.

"Oooo, I want candy, too," Mister Pac eagerly says. He looks at Pepito with a smile. "When we're done shopping, we'll get some candy, okay?"

Pepito beams, all tears gone.

Richarlyson grumbles and tugs his hand free. He ducks his head, mutters something under his breath, glares at Pepito through his bangs.

Pepito frowns, all smiles gone.

He doesn't get why Richarlyson doesn't like him. They're friends, right? Captain Celbi always seems happy when they're playing together.

...Unless Richarlyson knows that Pepito is a Bad Pepito. Unless Richarlyson knows about the Very Bad Thing.

Uh oh.

-

(Cellbit watches the water, leaning against the ship's railing. He can dream of seeing him again, can't he?

Suddenly, a bright light erupts out of the ocean just over the horizon.

Cellbit frowns, standing and adjusting his hat.

That can't be good.)

-

Halfway through the grocery list, Richarlyson escapes again.

Maybe that's for the best, Pepito thinks. He likes Richarlyson, but he doesn't want Richarlyson telling his dads about the Very Bad Thing. Pepito likes Misters Pacandmike, they've been the ones teaching Pepito how to write the Sky Language. They're smart, and they're nice by pirate standards. Pepito doesn't want them to hate him, too.

So Pepito keeps watching Mister Mike argue with the saleswoman at the bakery. She won't sell him any bread because Richarlyson stole some cookies on his way into the crowd, it's rude. Maybe she's a pirate, too.

But the hair on the back of Pepito's neck raises on end as he hears a familiar shout and a, "Hey, watch it, kid! Where the fuck are your parents, huh?"

No...!

Pepito is a Brave Pepito. Pepito is a pirate! Pepito isn't scared of anybody!

But Pepito doesn't want to see the hatred in Apa Roier's eyes. He wants his last memories of Apa Roier's face to be happy ones where Apa Roier still loves him and wants to be his father and doesn't hate him or think he's a killer or a Bad Pepito.

Pepito can't help it.

Pepito runs.

Pepito holds Captain Celbi's money close to his chest, and he runs.

"What the-" Mister Mike exclaims. "Pepito! Where are you going!"

"Pepito?" Apa Roier asks. He shouts again and calls, "Pepito!"

Pepito ducks into the crowd and drops to his knees, clutching Captain Celbi's money tight so he doesn't lose it.

Apa Roier may be a fast swimmer, but Pepito is a Small Pepito. He knows that Apa Roier is super tall, so Pepito crawls between people's legs and under and through skirts and he hopes that Apa Roier can't see him because Pepito doesn't want to see him.

Pepito is gonna be in soooooo much trouble...

("He's a good boy," Apa Roier says. He glares over Pepito's shoulder at Luzu. "Not a killer. Can you get that through your skull, hmm?")

Pepito sniffs and wishes he was back home where he could hide under his bed until Apa Mariana would get on the ground with him and wait until he was done being scared. Apa Mariana would hold Pepito's hand and talk until Pepito felt better, and Pepito misses him so much. But now Apa Mariana has a New Pepito to hold hands with. He doesn't want Pepito anymore.

Suddenly, something heavy pounces upon Pepito from behind, knocking him down.

Pepito lets out a whine and faceplants onto the ground. He hears his glasses crack (at least he hopes it's his glasses...)

Captain Celbi's money digs into Pepito's stomach. It hurts...

"Got him!" someone shouts, and, oh, it's Richarlyson. Of course he's working with Apa Roier. He wants a Good Pepito, too, doesn't he?

Pepito whimpers and shakes his head. He wiggles, trying to get free, but all he does is rattle Captain Celbi's money a bit.

Richarlyson laughs and reaches under Pepito's stomach and pulls out the money pouch.

"This is Pai Cellbit's!" Richarlyson gasps. His other hand wraps around the back of Pepito's neck angrily. "You stole this from him!"

Pepito shakes his head again. He might be a Bad Pepito, but he isn't a thief! Captain Celbi gave that money to him for a job! A Pirate Job! So Pepito can be a pirate like everybody else!

"Hey, mister!" Richarlyson shouts. "I have Pepito!"

Pepito's stomach hurts, but not from getting tackled this time. He's going to be sick. Apa Roier hates him. He's came all this way just to find Pepito and arrest him and call him a Bad Pepito and-

Richarlyson is yanked off of Pepito; he shouts and fights and kicks right into Pepito's back.

"Richarlyson, what the hell?" Mister Pac demands. "What does Pai Cellbit always tell us?"

Pepito pushes himself up and back onto his hands and knees. His glasses are cracked, but he can still kinda see...

But then he's picked up by Mister Mike, and then they're running through the crowd.

Pepito glances down and sees that he's only being held to Mister Mike's chest by one arm. Mister Mike's free hand is holding a gun.

Pirates...

Mister Mike turns his head over his shoulder and shouts, "You are so grounded!"

"What? No!" Richarlyson protests.

"Crew protects crew," Mister Pac says. "Pepito is crew whether you like it or not."

Squinting, Pepito can see Mister Pac dragging Richarlyson along behind him as they hurriedly speedwalk through the crowd.

Mister Pac has his sword drawn, but it looks clean. That's good, Pepito doesn't want Apa Roier hurt.

"He stole from Pai Cellbit!" Richarlyson argues. "He's a traitor!"

Mister Mike rolls his eyes. "Who doesn't steal from Cellbit? Honestly, Pepito stealing from him is enough to make him crew in my eyes."

Pepito's jaw drops. A pirate likes him...!

They continue rushing through the crowd, groceries abandoned. Captain Celbi is gonna be so mad, but he might not call Pepito a Bad Pepito if Pepito's lucky. It isn't Pepito's fault that Apa Roier talked to the Sea Witch! Blame the Sea Witch, not Pepito!

The ship appears over the crowd, and Pepito can almost see the Pepitos on its deck. But his glasses are broken, so all he can really see are smudges that are vaguely Pepito-shaped.

"Cellbit!" Pac shouts. "We need to go!"

Captain Celbi appears over the railing. With his hat and his coat and the clear scowl on his face, he looks truly evil. (So cool...)

"What the fuck did you do?" he demands as they approach. "You were gone for twenty minutes!"

Mister Mike is the first on the ship. As soon as he's on board, he drops Pepito to the ground and reaches out to grab Richarlyson and pull him on board, too. He gently shoves Richarlyson to Cellbit, who takes Richarlyson by the shoulders and holds him still in front of him.

Captain Celbi looks at Mister Mike, and then he looks at the out-of-breath Mister Pac, and then he looks at Richarlyson, and then he looks at Pepito.

His eyes darken, a weird rumbling sound coming out of his throat that almost sounds like growling, but that can't be right. Sky Pepitos don't growl.

Pepito shrinks back. In the air, he shakily spells, "S O R R Y."

"It wasn't Pepito," Mister Pac says. "There was some- some guy at the market who saw Pepito and started chasing us! I don't know, he might be Navy? But they don't usually go after mermaids, right?"

"Who cares who he was?" Mister Mike huffs. He still has his gun out. (Scary...) "Fuck that guy."

He glances at Richarlyson. "You're grounded, young lady. Go below deck."

Richarlyson's jaw drops open in outrage. "But- but he's a thief!"

He holds out Captain Celbi's money pouch. "Pai, see? Pepito stole this from you! He's untrustworthy."

Captain Celbi sighs and takes his money back. "I gave him that money so he could buy candy because you guys never let me have any. Go downstairs, we'll talk later."

Richarlyson's face falls, but he storms downstairs, kicking a bucket full of soapy water over on his way.

Captain Celbi looks at Mister Pac. "We can't leave yet. Baghera and Mousey are still on shore, and we definitely don't have the food supplies to set sail right now. Next port town is over a month away, we'll starve before then."

He takes Misters Pacandmike to talk, occasionally glancing at Pepito.

Pepito lets them be. Pepito isn't a pirate. He can't participate in Pirate Stuff. He failed his Pirate Job. He'll never be a pirate now.

He walks to the gangplank and sits with his knees to his chest. He can't see much of anything, but maybe he can help Miss Baghera and Miss Mouse with their bags when they come back to the ship.

Pepito can't see, but Pepito can hear.

"Shit!" Apa Roier shouts in The Ocean's Language.

If Pepito squints just right, he thinks that he can see Apa Roier backing away from a wooden post on the dock with a hand to his forehead. He's shouting and in pain and it's all Pepito's fault.

Apa Roier's head snaps between the docked ships, looking. Searching. Probably very, very angry.

And then he sees Pepito. And Pepito sees him.

Pepito can't help it. Pepito starts crying as Apa Roier comes running towards him, tripping over himself as he scrambles up the gangplank with extended arms.

"Pepito!" Apa Roier cries. Pepito can't see the look on his face, but Pepito bets he's angry. "Pepito!"

He keeps chanting Pepito's name as he runs, because he's always liked Pepito's name. He always says that it's the best name Pepito could have, and it's probably his favorite name, so the New Pepito is probably named Pepito, too.

Pepito stands and tries running, but his vision is so blurry with his glasses broken and with the tears in his eyes that he manages to trip over the bucket Richarlyson had kicked over and he falls.

Warm arms scoop Pepito up and hold him close in a tight hug.

"Pepito, what the fuck," Apa Roier demands, his face buried in the top of Pepito's head. "A month, Pepito, what the fuck?"

Pepito shakes his head, his entire body quivering. He wants to hug Apa Roier back, but is he allowed to? No, right? Apa Roier's angry...

A cold shadow falls upon them from above.

A gun clicks, cold steel pointing right at Apa Roier's head.

"I'm going to give you one chance to get off of my ship," Captain Celbi coldly says, voice low and flat and absolutely terrifying. "Let go of my crew member, and get off of my ship. One. Chance."

"Your crew member?" Apa Roier scoffs. "He's my fucking son."

Captain Celbi inches closer until the gun is pressed into Apa Roier's hair; Apa Roier doesn't so much as flinch.

Pepito shakes. His lip wobbles, tears streaming down his face and snot bubbling out of his nose. He wants his dad!

In the language of The Ocean, Apa Roier says, "We're going home, Pepito. I'll beat his ass."

Pepito shakes his head frantically. They can't go home, the New Pepito is there, and Pepito doesn't wanna meet them! The New Pepito probably looks cuter than Pepito does. Doesn't need glasses. Is a fast swimmer. Doesn't have asthma. Isn't a killer.

But he can't say this. He can't say anything.

Behind Apa Roier's back, Pepito spells to Captain Celbi, "D A D."

Captain Celbi meets Pepito's eyes.

He lets out a breath, lips pressed together and eyebrows furrowed, but he nods and backs off, clicking his gun until it's safe.

And then Apa Roier lets out a war cry and lets go of Pepito, swinging a leg out and knocking Captain Celbi to the ground. He laughs and lunges for his gun, trying to wrestle it from him. Captain Celbi's hat falls off, revealing the pointy white things on the top of his head; they press flat against his hair and he bares his teeth angrily.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Captain Celbi demands.

"You kidnapped my son, what the fuck do you think?" Apa Roier snaps. He crawls on top of Captain Celbi, his knee between Captain Celbi's legs and his chest pressed to Captain Celbi's chest.

"Oh my gods," Mister Pac quietly says. "Mike, I think they're gonna..."

"Cover your eyes, Pac," Mister Mike replies.

Pepito doesn't know what they're talking about. All Pepito can do is watch uselessly as his dad and his captain wrestle on the deck.

"I didn't kidnap him!" Captain Celbi argues. "Bad brought him to me!"

"And you took him!?" Apa Roier incredulously asks. "Fucking pirates-"

He looks at Captain Celbi, and he goes quiet. He stops fighting.

Confused, Captain Celbi looks up at him. And then he stops fighting, too. The pointy things on his head stick right up, seemingly happy about something.

"Oh," Captain Celbi quietly says. "Hello."

He and Apa Roier are still borderline holding hands over the gun. Apa Roier is still flush to Captain Celbi's front, and Apa Roier's knee is still stuck between Captain Celbi's legs.

"Hi," Apa Roier says, voice soft, almost reverent in a way, the same way he spoke when he talked about how evil and bad and disgusting pirates are. "You kidnapped my son."

"I really didn't."

"I'm not getting off this boat until you give him back."

Apa Roier leans in close as he says that.

Captain Celbi licks his lips. "Then I guess you're going to be stuck here for a while, because Pepito is a prized member of my crew. I wouldn't give him up for anything in the world."

Pepito is... a prized member? Of the crew?

Pepito can't help it. He gets up and runs to Captain Celbi and gives him as good a hug as he can with Captain Celbi pinned to the deck.

He's a pirate!

Pepito is finally a pirate!

Best day ever!

[tossawary]

So, the Jackson "The Hobbit" movies get rid of the dwarves having musical instruments, rather adding a very atmospheric humming to the "Over the Misty Mountains" song. And I like this adaptational choice just fine, I think it sounds good, and because the question of "What happens to the instruments? Are they taking clarinets and a harp and etc. on the quest?! Are the musical instruments magical?" has bugged me for years. And I do think this choice suits the general *waves hand vaguely* more "serious / grim / lower high fantasy" aesthetic cultivated by the previous Jackson "Lord of the Rings" films.

But I do like the mental image of the Company being a very literal band going on a quest, because I think it's funny and delightful and unique. If I was doing an animated movie in particular, I would not like to be rid of the musical instruments during that scene. The vibe is very magical. Very whimsical. And whimsy does not have to be wholly separate from very serious subject matters! I think it would be very cool if the dwarves had more casually magical tools generally, which would do some easy additional worldbuilding for the level of craftsmanship in this world, and could fit in perfectly well alongside hidden doors and invisibility rings and mithril shirts and glowing swords and jewelry that never comes accidentally undone.

If someone did a version where all the dwarves are carrying musical instruments throughout most of the quest in this way and the creator really leaned into the music generally and audio-visual relationship in film specifically, I would absolutely watch it. That sounds amazing. It wouldn't necessarily have to be a musical or an opera as well, though that would also be extremely cool. (Personally, I would even also watch a "Fantasia" version of "The Hobbit" FOR SURE. I am an artsy dork like that. Though it might not be my first choice in my ideal creative project.)

I think you could could do some great, whimsical scenes with the dwarves singing at various points on the road, the musical instruments breaking at certain emotional points, the dwarves trying to do little musical spells at various points, and so on. A lot of this stuff could even just be other members of the Company fussing around with these things in the background (trying to play a musical spell to light a fire) while Bilbo has a foreground conversation with Thorin or Gandalf or something. I LOVE in animated (and live) movies when you can see supporting characters bickering or getting into hijinks in the background of a scene. (Also, this world was sung into being in a way, wasn't it? Why not have more magical music?)

(OHHH, the way that Smaug could be done in a more audio- and music-focused version of "The Hobbit" would be SO COOL.)

Alternatively, generally, I've also imagined that there are other dwarves with wagons nearby to take the musical instruments away again (let's say the instruments are not magical in any way and taking them along would therefore largely just be impractical), and that the night at Bilbo's house was actually also a RITUAL meal/meeting for the members of a long journey. You're going on a quest? You seclude yourself with your company, eat, drink, talk, plan, and sing a little to bond as an exclusive group the night before heading off together. Normally, this would have been done back at their own home or something, but they had to get their burglar first.

I think this would be a cool way to slip in characters like Dis and Gimli even just in the background, as family members come to see everyone off, seen fixing Kili's hair or hugging Gloin as the Company prepares to leave Hobbiton that last morning. Thorin and Balin could be exchanging a couple quick lines about how Bilbo hasn't shown up yet, and in the background, we could see Dis hugging Fili (the true purpose of a well-done adaptation of "The Hobbit" is to break my fucking heart) and Gloin's wife drawing off with a wagon full of musical instruments while young Gimli waves tearfully! You wouldn't even have to have them say anything to slip them in!

Just... I'm listening to the Andy Serkis audiobook of "The Hobbit" right now and I want to see some gloriously artsy visual adaptations of this world.