#7900+ words

[lycorogue]

Latest Story: I Think I Like You (Maybe More Than I Should)

For @mostlovedgirl-writes

A companion story for her work Ha! You Think That’s Embarrassing? 

MLG, I warned you that you sparked something! What's worse is that I had this story done on May 14th, and it just kept me this long to sort out what to title the darn thing! 😅[smile with sweat emoji]

The Aged-Up AU that MLG created for her MariChat May ficlet was just too enticing for me to leave alone, so, naturally, I nearly quintupled her story as I retold the same tale but from Adrien's POV.

Why do stories keep running away from me like this!?

I want to send so many extra kudos and just general love MLG's way. I barely wrote anything the past two years. Because of MLG, I have now written my SECOND 7000+ word story in a month (the 1st story wasn't due to MLG, but still...)!

Also, I had I Think I Like You by The Band CAMINO on a constant loop while writing this story (which is how I finally landed on a title). So, if you want some mood music, I'd suggest using that.

Summary: Adrien is intrigued by one of the junior designers at his father's company. Maybe more intrigued than a few passing interactions with Marinette would warrant. At least, that's what Plagg jokes when Adrien notices Marinette on an abysmal date and decides to intervene... as Chat Noir. **An AU where Adrien and Marinette (as their civilian selves) never met as teens** Rating: General Audience (does contain the word "shit" once) Word Count: 7,974 Estimated Read Time: 40min Status: completed one-shot Continue reading below, or find this story over on AO3, on FFN, or on DA.

I Think I Like You (Maybe More Than I Should)

Adrien's brain began fogging over. He knew he was the face of the Gabriel brand, but did his father truly need him to sit in on every partnership meeting? He was little more than a fancy doll paraded out to lock in a new deal. Especially when he wasn't allowed to add any actual input.

Just smile. Say some pleasantries about wanting to work with them. Talk up the brand. Look pretty and professional.

It was a relief to see Nathalie stand up. It was Adrien's signal that his part of the meeting was finally over. He stood up as well, shook hands with the shoe execs that Gabriel was partnering with for the fall line, and practically sprinted out of the door as Nathalie passed out the contracts for the execs to sign.

He should have known better than to exit the room backwards so he could get in one last wave and thank you to their guests. In fairness, though, he didn't expect the hall to have traffic.

“Whoa!” The woman Adrien rudely collided into cried out as she flailed to try to catch her balance.

With his Chat-Noir-trained reflexes, Adrien swung his arm out to catch the woman around the waist. He gently tugged her back up onto her feet, but he didn't calculate her already throwing herself back into balance. She tilted the opposite direction, and Adrien ended up dipping her; his other hand supporting her shoulders – and her hands reflexively grabbing onto his – as her momentum finally stopped.

“Easy there!” He nervously laughed. Of course, he would collide with one of his father's employees as he tried to escape one of his father's meetings. He was sure he'd never hear the end of this.

“A-Adrien?” The woman squeaked in a panic. “I-I mean, Mr. Agreste?”

Her large eyes shined like blue zircon gemstones. Her strawberry-pink lips were partially parted in shock. Her raven hair dangled like a curtain behind her as Adrien held her in the dip. She was adorable. She also looked so familiar to him. Those eyes, in particular.

Agreste! Wake up! Realizing that his father's employee was still leaning awkwardly against his arm, Adrien cleared his throat and lifted the woman back onto her feet. He held her elbows to help steady her. Once he was confident that she wasn't going to fall, he took a step back and hoped his blush wasn't as visible as it felt as it burnt his cheeks.

“Adrien's fine. I'm not really into formalities, if I'm honest. Are you okay? Sorry about colliding into you like that.”

“N-no! That's alright. I'm fine. I should have been paying attention as well.”

Now that they weren't inches from each other, the woman started to shrink into herself. She couldn't keep eye contact with him and fidgeted. Her foot rubbed the back of the opposite leg and her arms flailed about as she talked. Seeing her so nervous definitely brought about a familiarity, and a name bobbed to the surface of Adrien's memory.

“Marinette, right? You're one of the junior designers?”

She squeaked with a start. “You-you know who I am?”

Adrien laughed. “Well, yeah. You fitted me for a few outfits for the spring line, didn't you?”

Marinette blushed. “Mm-hmm. The casual evening wear line.”

“That's the one!” Adrien snapped with acknowledgment. “Were any of those pieces yours?”

“Mine?” Marinette flailed her hands in front of her again. “No! I'm not nearly– I mean, my work isn't quite– I'm not ready for that. I-I did help with the color selection though.”

“Well, that's quite the accomplishment in and of itself. I think those were some of the most fun outfits I've worn in a while, and it was largely due to how bright the colors were. Really shook up all of those bland whites and blacks and tans menswear tends to fall into. You know?”

Marinette nodded like she was a freshly bopped bobblehead. Adrien struggled to not laugh at how adorable she was.

“Oh! I'm sorry. I'm holding you up!” Marinette's eyes again flew wide and her blush deepened. “And I need to take these– Oh no! The sketches!” Marinette stared at her hands, suddenly realizing they were empty. The sketches she was carrying before Adrien ran into her were carpeting the floor.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Adrien leaned down to help scoop up the papers, this time keeping an eye on the door to make sure they didn't end up tripping Nathalie and the execs as they left the conference room.

“No, that's alright. I have it.”

“I'm the reason they got scattered all over the floor in the first place. It's no problem. Really.”

As they scrambled to scoop up the papers – Adrien focused on the conference room door and Marinette focused on anything but Adrien – they bonked heads.

“Oof! Sorry. I seem to just keep running into you today.” Adrien sheepishly laughed.

“No-no. That was on me this time.” An awkward, lopsided smile spread across Marinette's lips as she gathered the last of the sketches.

They both stood, and Adrien held out the papers he had picked up. “We really need to find a better way to run into each other. Preferably one where we don't do so literally.”

“I love you,” she swooned. “That!” she quickly corrected. Her blush deepened. “I'd love that. The not running into you part. I mean, no! Not that part. I love running into you. Not literally though. That part. But I don't love running into you. It's not like I purposefully position myself so that I have an excuse to interact with you. That would be weird and stalker-y and I definitely don't do that. I mean why did I even put that out there? Now you think that's exactly what I do, but I swear I don't. I just–”

Adrien softened as he listened to Marinette. There was something about her rambling that was equal parts confusing and endearing. He cocked his head to the side while waiting for her to get to the point.

“You're so nice,” she continued at that same frantic pace. Her papers slid out of her arms due to the uneven pressure she was putting on them. She juggled them a bit as her mouth kept going. “You don't have to be nice. Everyone would probably expect you to not be nice. Not not-nice. I mean, indifferent? But you're not. You're super nice. I mean, you put in the effort to remember my name. Plus, you didn't need to help me with these.” She held up her uneven pile of papers. “And you're standing here listening to me going on-and-on and good grief why am I still talking? I'm holding you up and I really need to get going as well and yet I just can't seem to stop talking. I'm so embarrassing. But you're still here listening to me, because you're so sweet and I just want to spend all night talking to you. And it seems like maybe you'd be willing? So, maybe we could go and grab dinner tonight after work or something?”

Marinette stopped with a gasp as she tried to refill her empty lungs.

Adrien politely chuckled. “You good?”

Marinette's blush quickly drained as the woman went pale as a ghost. Her eyes bugged out and her mouth slacked.

“I did not just do that!”

“Hmm?” Adrien cocked his head. His mind still frantically trying to sort through the word-vomit Marinette just spat up all over him.

She started backing away from him. “Ignore everything I just said. I don't want to date you. Not that I wouldn't date you if you wanted. Actually, no! You wouldn't– I mean I wouldn't– I mean I'm so sorry. My bad. I just remembered that I already have a date with someone else tonight. A very nice date. One that I've been looking forward to. With someone not you. So clearly I'm not waiting to go on a date with you. Because I have a date with someone else. Tonight! Definitely already have a date tonight. Sorry. Gotta go!” Then she sprinted down the hall.

There was a commotion behind Adrien and the conference door opened. Adrien mindlessly stepped out of the way as the execs filed out of the room, followed by Nathalie.

“Adrien?” she asked. “What are you still doing here? Something wrong?”

Adrien didn't register Nathalie talking to him. He looked through her and down the hall where Marinette had sprinted. His mind finally sorting through what happened.

“Did she just ask me out?”

“Huh? Who? Who asked you out?” Nathalie looked over her shoulder.

“Oh! Sorry. Never mind. It's nothing.”

Nathalie frowned. “I have to escort our guests out, but we'll talk about this later. You know how your father feels about you dating.”

Adrien waved Nathalie off and walked in the direction Marinette had sprinted.

The woman was quick! Adrien couldn't have lagged that far behind, but he couldn't find her anywhere. He couldn't even determine which office she was aiming for.

He tried looking for her office. Turned out that she was still too entry-level to have her own. With some effort – it was hard trying to bluff his way around the “why do you need Marinette?” question – he managed to sort out where her work desk was. She wasn't there either.

“What's the big deal with this girl?” Plagg poked his head out from behind Adrien's blazer. “Can't you just wait until the next time you just naturally see each other?”

Adrien scanned the hall to make sure they were alone. “Plagg,” he hissed, “You know you can't come out of hiding while I'm not in my office at work! It's too easy for you to get caught.”

“Pfft. We're fine. Believe me. I take way more notice of who's around us than you seem to, Mr. Literally-runs-into-somebody-twice.”

Adrien simply shook his head at his kwami.

“But, seriously. Don't you have anything better to do than try to track her down?”

“Probably, but I don't care. I need to talk to her again.”

“Why?”

Adrien stopped.

“I... don't really know. She intrigues me, and I guess I do kind of want to take her up on that date invite. Just so I can get to learn more about her. And she seemed so nervous around me. I need to check in with her. Make sure she's okay and that the two of us are good.”

“I'm sure that's all this is.” Plagg cocked an eyebrow before zipping back into hiding.

Adrien heaved his exasperation with Plagg's interrogation before continuing down the hallway. Maybe if he grabbed a treat from the breakroom to appease his kwami Plagg wouldn't tease him further.

“Okay, I'll meet you at Bastian's tonight at eight.”

Ladybug?

Adrien nearly sprinted towards the dominant voice. When he popped his head through the breakroom door, however, he instead spotted the same loose, medium-length, raven hair that had draped down his arm nearly an hour before. After all of her stammering around him, Adrien didn't recognize Marinette's more confident tone as hers.

She had both hands firmly planted on a table, her back towards the door. A thirty-something-year-old man with wire-rimmed glasses not properly shaped for his round face, a god-awful pencil mustache, and mousy-brown hair slicked back with far too much product sat across from Marinette. The man's basic white button-down shirt wasn't even properly ironed. Adrien was clear across the room and he could still see the wrinkles lining the man's sleeves. The man's tie was also a basic black and horribly dated. Adrien wondered if he had bought it for a school dance as a teen and just never replaced it.

“My reservation is actually for 7:30.” The man shrugged. “I prefer to not eat too late into the evening. I get heartburn then.”

“Okay. Fine.” Marinette's shoulders slumped a little.

“And don't forget to dress up nice. None of–” The man gestured to Marinette's lovely pastel pink capped-sleeve blouse and flowy cement-gray knee-length skirt adorned with cherry blossoms. “–this. I want Date Night not Office Space.”

Adrien scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Well, yeah. Of course.” Marinette backed away from the table and rubbed her elbow nervously.

With a huff, Adrien stormed away from the breakroom.

Seriously? Him? What does Marinette even see in him?

“I didn't even realize Marinette had a thing for Jules.”

Adrien pivoted at the mention of Marinette. A man and woman walked out of the breakroom, gossiping with each other.

“Have they even talked to each other before today?”

“If they have, then Marinette's a miracle worker for getting a word in edge-wise against the Jabberwocky.”

“She's pretty meek. Maybe she prefers being talked at.”

“Well, here's hoping she's also a masochist, because those are the only ones who could possibly enjoy the mental agony of interacting with that guy.”

The two workers laughed as they approached Adrien.

“Oh!” The female worker jumped slightly upon noticing him. “Mr. Agreste. What a pleasure to see you. What are you doing on the third floor? Something we can assist with?”

“No. Sorry.” Adrien put on his patented Model Smile(TM) as he scratched the back of his head. “I was just getting my steps in.” He held up his wrist to show off his fancy watch. It didn't register his steps, but he hoped it looked high-tech enough that they wouldn't notice. “I should probably head back to my office, though. Carry on.”

With a wave, he made a bee-line back to his office on the twelfth floor.

“Huh. I would not have guessed that guy was Marinette's type.” Plagg floated back out from Adrien's blazer and drifted over to the mini-fridge Adrien had put into his office.

Adrien plopped into a plush club chair he kept in the corner of the room. “Me neither. What does she see in him? For someone so fashion-forward and quirky and adorable–?”

“Maybe this is a case of opposites attract?”

“He sounded so rude towards her, didn't he? And then those employees joking about his endless talking and how painful it is to just interact with him? Does Marinette see something in him that no one else does?”

“Marinette seemed to be a bit of a motor-mouth herself.”

“Yeah, but hers was different.”

“How so?”

“It just... was. Okay?”

Plagg shrugged and gobbled down a large slice of Camembert. “Ah, to be a fly on the wall during that date.” He laughed. “If that woman could handle the– what did those guys call him? Jabberwocky? I like that. If Marinette could slay the Jabberwocky I wish I could be there to see that. Oh! Or the two of them just rambling at each other; holding two different conversations? Either way, get me the popcorn.”

“I am curious. Maybe it isn't as bad as it seemed in the few seconds that I caught. Their interactions, I mean.”

“If you say so.”

“Yeah. I'm sure there's something there that we don't know. Marinette wouldn't go on a date as awful as I'm thinking.”

“How could you know that? You barely know the girl.”

“That is true.” Adrien hung his head in his hands. Why was he even so fixated on this? Plagg was right. He only really knew Marinette in passing. It was none of his business. Even if it was a bad date, so what? Everyone has had terrible dates that they've suffered through.

Ones that they wished they could pull a rip-cord on.

That maybe they didn't have an escape plan for, but wished they did.

Marinette's gemstone eyes flitted into Adrien's mind.

He whipped out his phone and looked up the number for Bastian's.

“Hello? Yes. This is Adrien Agreste. Yes, that Adrien Agreste. I was wondering if you had an opening for a solo-diner tonight? I was hoping for around 7:20? Oh, no. A VIP table isn't necessary at all. Public dining is perfect. Fantastic. See you then. Thank you.”

Adrien turned from Plagg's knowing look. “What?” he asked his kwami, “I heard that Bastian's has a delicious salmon risotto.”

--------------

The quality of the salmon risotto was highly exaggerated.

It wasn't bad. It was a textbook execution of the dish, worthy of high marks at any culinary school. The flavoring was just a bit bland despite the chef clearly being a bit heavy-handed with the butter.

That didn't really matter though. Adrien wasn't particularly hungry anyway.

His stomach felt heavy and the back of his brain was itchy. He had no clue what he was doing there. The whole thing was insane.

It hit him all at once the moment he caught a glimpse of Marinette's raven hair coming around the corner behind the hostess. He realized that he had no excuse to be at this mid-grade (at best) restaurant. Not the same one that she just-so-happened to have a reservation for. And not at the same time as the aforementioned reservation. Definitely not while also eating alone!

I can't let her catch me here!

Adrien quickly pivoted to a different seat at his table so his back was towards her. As discretely as possible, he slid his meal over to his new spot. He then shrugged his sweater a little higher up the back of his neck and shagged his hair slightly. Similar to how he used to wear it when he was a teen. With any luck, she wouldn't recognize him.

He felt Plagg snake his way around his back and down to Adrien's hip. Plagg then phased his head through the sweater. “Plagg!” Adrien hissed under his breath.

“Calm down,” Plagg whispered back. “No one looks at someone else's hips. I just want to see this disaster.”

“No,” Adrien intoned, trying to not move his lips too much and get caught talking to 'himself'. “We're not spying on Marinette and her date. I'm sure it will be fine.” He poked some more at his risotto and wondered how bad it would look if he just downed it as fast as possible so he could escape.

“You're no fun,” Plagg huffed, but he didn't bother to retreat into the sweater.

Despite himself, as Adrien worked his way through his dinner, he attuned his ears to Marinette's table. His hearing wasn't as keen as it would have been if he was Chat Noir, but, over the years, he had trained his senses to be a bit more sensitive than usual, even out of costume.

Training his sense of touch was probably a poor decision, though. Especially with how many hands roam his body between fittings and shoots and quick-changes....

It seemed to work in his favor that night though. The entire meal, he barely heard Marinette say five words – outside of ordering her steak with the waiter – but Adrien could not get away from her date's dreary voice. Marinette's coworkers were right, however, and the woman was always more on the meek, non-confrontational side anyway. It was possible that she was somehow enjoying the endless conversation. Except, Adrien's sort of sixth sense – due to his heightened touch sensitivity – made him acutely aware of Marinette's discomfort.

Well, it was either the sixth sense thing or Plagg's wincing at Adrien's hip.

Despite warnings about cats and curiosity, Adrien couldn't help himself. He nudged his way around the table again. Shimmying closer and closer to his original chair before smoothly shifting to it and pushing his other chair back into place. Then he slid his half-eaten bowl back in front of him. Then the glass of wine.

He refused to keep going so he was full-on facing Marinette, but he could at least keep an eye on her in his peripheral now. He didn't like what he saw.

Her back was tight and tall. Her shoulders raised towards her ears. Her upper arms were flexed as she fidgeted with something under the table. A miasma of irritation seemed to radiate from her, and Adrien wondered if she was going to literally try to slay the Jabberwocky. Did this restaurant somehow have vorpal knives?

Adrien desperately wanted to just intervene. He wasn't sure at this point if doing so would be rescuing Marinette from her date or the other way around.

“And that was how my third marriage ended,” Jules monotoned across from Marinette.

How is that guy so loud? I get the masochism comment now, Adrien thought.

As Marinette filled her side of the conversation with yet another sip of water she started to take in the restaurant around her. In a flash, Adrien was laser-focused on the last bites of his risotto.

Please, don't let her see me, he mentally chanted, subtly shifting his head so he was turned away from her. If she catches me here I'm done for!

Right. He had no plausible reason to be at the same restaurant as her at the same time as her and right after she told him she had a date tonight. He'd be outed as a stalker or something! His father would throw him into lock-down if that ever got out! And, considering how recognizable he was, there was no way the other patrons wouldn't videotape him interrupting a woman's date and probably getting called an obsessive creep by that same woman.

Marinette had walked back – well, black-hole-absorbed back – her date invite to Adrien specifically so she could still come here with Jules. She must have had a reason to prefer the Jabberwocky's company. Maybe Adrien somehow offended her when they collided earlier. Maybe she had gotten in trouble after being late with those sketches. Maybe she didn't want anything to do with Adrien Agreste anymore. Wouldn't be a good look to ride in and try to White Knight for Marinette then. He didn't want to seem possessive of her.

His risotto finally done, he gently reached out to a passing waiter and requested the check.

“This is great,” Plagg whispered from his watch party at Adrien's hip still. “She's just gazing out the window now; not even looking at the guy. And he's still talking! I think he just likes the sound of his own voice.”

“That's hard to imagine,” Adrien intoned.

He thanked the waiter for the check, and quickly handed him in his payment. After confirming that the waiter was also assisting Marinette's table, Adrien included a nearly fifty-percent tip in hopes that it would help compensate for having to deal with Marinette's date. Meal consumed and paid for, Adrien placed his napkin on the table and stood to leave.

“Aww.” Plagg snaked back around to Adrien's chest just under his cable-knit sweater. “The train wreck isn't over yet.”

“Oh, yes it is.”

“Adrien?” Plagg warned. Adrien quickly shushed him.

He walked past Marinette's table as fast as possible while still looking nonchalant. He again prayed that she wouldn't notice him there.

“So, last year I went snorkeling with...”

Adrien struggled to not roll his eyes and scream at Jules to just shut up already as he caught the man still droning on at poor Marinette.

Just look forward. Don't react. Get out of here before she notices you! he ordered himself.

Adrien got to the front of the restaurant with no incident. He heaved a relieved sigh, thanked the wait staff and the hostess, and headed out the door. Fighting against his desire to full-tilt sprint, he casually followed the sidewalk along the front of the building. As soon as he reached the small alley between the restaurant and the neighboring building, however, he dashed into its welcoming shadows.

“Adrien?” Plagg asked with a challenging tone, “What are you planning? Nothing stupid, I hope.”

“Oh. It most definitely is. Plagg-”

“Adrien! Don't! You can't use your powers for personal gain, remember?” Plagg rattled off in a panic.

“What personal gain? Chat Noir is a hero, isn't he? And I'm rescuing Marinette. It's all on the up-and-up.”

“Adrien!”

“Plagg, claws out!”

“Adrien, no!” Plagg got sucked into Adrien's ring before he could fight his holder any further. In an instant, Chat Noir stood where Adrien was a moment before.

“Now, let's go rescue a citizen.”

Chat Noir puffed out his chest and casually walked back into Bastian's. He gave the hostess a salute as he walked past her. “Not dining today,” he called over his shoulder, “Just need to do a quick pop-in. Don't mind me.”

As he passed by the tables within the dining room the patrons all started to mutter among themselves about him.

“No need to panic,” he reassured them. “Paris is safe. Go back to your meals.”

It was too late. The restaurant was already abuzz and everyone was too focused on him to even think about their food anymore.

The only one unfazed by Chat Noir's presence was none other than Marinette's lout of a date.

Marinette, on the other hand, stared up at Chat Noir with those shining blue zircon eyes that had captured him earlier that day.

“Hello, Miss,” Chat Noir greeted. He rested one hand on the back of Marinette's chair, and the other he balled up before resting it on his hip. It took imagining Ladybug's disappointed scowl to keep him from using his balled fist to punch out Marinette's date.

“Buh-blah-uh?” Marinette blabbered in shock.

Chat Noir struggled to not smirk at how cute even Marinette blue-screening was. “Pardon my rudeness, but could I borrow you for a moment? Won't take but a sec.” He then winked at her to let her know that he understood her situation; he was there as her out.

Clearly still blue-screened, Marinette slowly pivoted her head back towards her date. Jules did not look impressed that a superhero was currently standing at their table.

“Excuse me,” Jules grunted, “but you're interrupting our date.”

Marinette slowly pivoted her head back towards Chat Noir, awaiting his response.

Chat Noir turned to regard the boorish man. It was so ironic to Chat Noir that this other man was complaining about interrupting dates. Him! He was the one who was interrupting so many dates within that restaurant with his loud droning. Let alone his prevention of Adrien's date with Marinette that night. Besides, how did he not notice that Marinette was desperate for someone to interrupt the date?

Taking a long, soothing breath, Chat Noir stood straight, his hand no longer resting on Marinette's chair. Once again breaking out his Model Smile(TM), Chat Noir relaxed his body in an attempt to disarm.

“Oh, right,” he said with a thick layer of honey in his voice. “Sorry about that. Interrupting a date is so annoying. I totally get that.”

Like a skilled magician, Chat Noir distracted from his hands with his winning smile. Meanwhile, his left hand scooped up Marinette's right.

“Let me just get out of your way,” Chat Noir finished with a coo. In a flash, he tugged on Marinette's hand, spinning her out of her chair and into his arms. After catching her in his arms earlier, it was a welcome return to feel her weight against him again.

Marinette was still stun-locked. Her only acknowledgment of what just happened was the rosy coloring flooding her cheeks.

Shifting his arm so it was draped around Marinette's shoulder, he confirmed that she had her purse on her. Chat Noir then gave Marinette's former date a two-finger salute before escorting Marinette out of the restaurant. Once they were outside, he detached his stick from his back. In one, smooth, solid motion, he scooped Marinette up into a bridal carry while extending his stick to vault up onto the nearest roof.

Upon landing, he shifted her slightly so he could reattach his weapon to his back before again lifting her into a bridal carry. A moment later, they were off. He wasn't sure where he was going. He just let his feet lead him. All he knew was that he couldn't be anywhere near that restaurant or that oaf of a date.

With the same ease as a leisurely jog around a track, Chat Noir ran across the rooftops of Paris with Marinette in his arms. He leapt across the gaps between buildings as if he was hopping over puddles to avoid getting his shoes wet. He felt so free and the weight of Marinette in his arms renewed his energy.

As they neared the Seine, Chat Noir stopped within a rooftop garden. It was a gorgeous view, between the flowers, the lights reflecting off the river, and a cozy-looking garden bench tucked within the flora.

Chat Noir gently rested Marinette back on her feet, holding her hands to support her while she regained her bearings.

“You okay, Miss?”

“Uh...” She blinked at him. Her face shifted between confusion, relief, shock, and frustration as if those emotions were on shuffle play. She finally settled on stupefied. “I'm sorry. What just happened?”

She was too cute. Chat Noir couldn't help himself. He chuckled. “I think I just rescued you from the world's worst date.”

Marinette cringed and moaned in embarrassment. “Believe it or not, I've had worse.”

She circled around Chat Noir, studying him. It unnerved him slightly, but he tried to not let it show. He reminded himself that there was no way that she'd know that he was Adrien Agreste.

“But why me?” she asked. “You don't even know me.”

Chat Noir pursed his lips. He was not expecting that question. Why wasn't he expecting that question?

“Let's just say–” his mind raced for a suitable answer. He rocked back and forth on his heels. “–I know a guy who asked me for a favor.”

Ha! Perfect! Vague but plausible.

Marinette's face fell and her shoulders slacked. “Oh, my gosh,” she whispered, more to herself than to Chat Noir. “You know Adrien Agreste.” Her eyes darted up to meet Chat Noir's. “He contacted you somehow, didn't he?”

Shit!

Marinette must have spotted Adrien in the restaurant after all. He was never going to live this down! With any luck – of which he was sure he had virtually none – his mask would at least hide the blush burning his cheeks. He broke eye contact with Marinette and scratched the back of his neck nervously. “What makes you think that?”

With a groan, Marinette fell onto the bench nestled between the flower boxes. She buried her face in her hands, muttering “no, no, no, no” into her palms. She then let out another whimpering groan.

“Hey. Are... you okay?” Chat Noir sat beside her. With a moment of hesitation, nervous that he was the source of her woes, he tentatively placed a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“I can't believe Adrien saw me on that awful date.”

Oh, good. He was the source of her woes. Excellent.

Chat Noir choked down his own whimpering groan.

“I'm so embarrassed,” Marinette continued.

Chat Noir tilted his head in confusion. Why was Marinette embarrassed? She caught her boss's son basically stalking her. He'd understand her being angry or feeling violated, but embarrassed?

“I feel like I'm missing something. So, what's the story?”

“It's a long one,” Marinette grumbled. She dropped her hands to her lap and rested her head against the back of the bench, gazing up at the starless sky.

Chat Noir smirked. He'd love a long story from Marinette.

“I'm all ears.” He willed the false cat ears atop his head to twitch and wiggle.

Marinette laughed. It was the loveliest sound Chat Noir could recall hearing. He melted a little as he settled in next to her, readying himself for Story Time.

She took a deep breath to steel herself and heaved out a heavy sigh. “There's this guy at work – tall, blond, sweet, and so handsome I melt into the floor every time I see him.”

Chat Noir hoped Marinette didn't hear him gulp his heart back into his chest.

“He even smells amazing,” she whined with yearning.

Chat Noir fought the urge to sniff himself that very instant, and the follow-up urge to wiggle closer to Marinette so she could perchance catch a whiff. Which one of them was downwind? Why wasn't there any wind right now?

Clearing his throat slightly, Chat Noir teased, “Okay, so you know Adrien from work.” He gestured as if offering the right of way to Marinette. “Go on.”

Marinette glared up at him with a little pout. It was adorable, but still sent a chill down Chat Noir's spine. It felt familiar somehow. As if he'd faced That Look at least a dozen times before.

“I never said it was Adrien.”

Oh. This is going to be fun, Chat Noir thought as he fought the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He dramatically crossed one leg over the other, then rested his chin in his hand. His other hand casually draped across his thigh. With a wisp in his voice, Chat Noir asked, “Oh? So, who is mister tall, fair, and handsome?”

Marinette flushed with embarrassment. She whipped away from Chat Noir's playful gaze, instead focusing on her thumbnails as she picked at them. “It doesn't matter!”

“Mm-hmm,” Chat Noir challenged.

Marinette shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders before again gazing up at the sky. “Anyway, this guy from work, I've...” She cautiously glanced back over at Chat Noir as she bit down on her thumbnail.

He straightened, relaxing both hands to seem more sincere. The shift in posture appeared to have put Marinette more at ease. She stopped biting on her nail, lowering her hand back to her lap.

“I've had the biggest, most embarrassing crush on him for the longest time.” She slammed the back of her head against the back of the bench. She screwed her eyes shut and whimpered a little before continuing. “I ran into him in the hall earlier today–”

Literally, and the other way around, Chat Noir thought with an embarrassed chuckle.

“–and in a fit of complete insanity I asked him out.”

A warm wave washed over Chat Noir. The confirmation that she had meant to extend the invitation made his heart skip in a way he wasn't expecting.

“Doesn't sound so bad.” Chat Noir hoped his glee didn't spill over into his voice. He had to remain neutral and detached from the situation. Neutral and Detached. Neutral. And. Detached.

“But then I realized what I had done,” she continued, “I got all flustered and started babbling, said, 'Sorry, my bad. I just remembered that I have a date with someone else tonight,' and ran away.” She glanced back over at Chat Noir and gestured as if to say, “ta-da! I'm an idiot!”

Chat Noir bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from laughing. It really was a ridiculous situation, now that Marinette laid it out so plainly. How could she be so cute and yet so insecure?

“And why did you do that?”

“Because,” she whined, “he's Adrien Agreste!” She threw her hands out, gesturing to the sky in desperation. “Not only is he France's top model and so far out of my league that I can't even see his league without a telescope, but also–” She violently shook her hands out in front of her, as if she were mentally shaking sense into herself. “He's my boss's son! I can't even begin to fathom how inappropriate asking him out like that was.” She screamed out her embarrassment before hiding behind her hands again. “I panicked and ran,” she finished softly.

Chat Noir wanted to pull her in for a hug so bad. The poor thing! He was right. She had meant to ask him out, and just revoked the offer because she got nervous.

How on Earth did that Jules guy get involved then?

“So,” Chat Noir drew out the word as he tried to sort out a non-judgmental way to ask, “after asking out the guy you wanted to go out with, how did you end up on a date with that other guy?”

“Ugh, it's so embarrassing.” Her chest heaved in mock sobs. “I was still panicking and wasn't thinking straight, and I heard that guy – I think he's from accounting or something – say that his date for tonight had fallen through.”

Gee, I wonder why.... Chat Noir mentally rolled his eyes.

“I didn't want Adrien to think that I had lied to him about having a date already–”

“Which you had,” Chat Noir teasingly pointed out.

“–so I asked him out. Right there in the breakroom. In front of all of my coworkers!”

Chat Noir pursed his lips as he choked down a laugh. When that wasn't enough he clapped a hand over his mouth to try to better hide his amusement. Now was not the time to laugh about how unhinged the whole situation was. That would be the last thing Marinette would need when she was already having a rough time with it.

Marinette again cradled her head in her hands. “You can go ahead and laugh. I deserve it. I'm such a loser.”

Okay. Definitely not the time to laugh.

“Nah, you're not a loser.” He gently elbowed her to try to catch her attention. “Delightfully awkward, but not a loser.”

“I'm going to have to quit my job and move to America, and start designing ready-to-wear for a department store,” she moaned into her hands.

Chat Noir knew that very sentiment painfully well. “A valid career path, but why are you moving an ocean away?”

Marinette sunk further onto the bench, bending nearly in half as she hid within her hands. “I'll never be able to show my face at Gabriel or any other fashion house in Paris again.”

“I don't think it's as bad as all that. Sure, you had one embarrassing day at work, but who hasn't?”

Marinette scoffed.

“Even Adrien has embarrassed himself in public,” Chat Noir ventured.

Marinette stilled for a heartbeat. Slowly, she sat up a little straighter and peeked out from behind her hands. “Really? But he's so perfect.”

“Pfft. Hardly!” Chat Noir dismissively waved off the very idea. He then draped an arm along the back of the bench and recrossed his legs.

Marinette studied him. Those zircon eyes flickered between pleading to be reassured and questioning if Chat Noir was simply jealous of Adrien.

The woman had been through the wringer that day, and had already suffered enough simply by going on a date with the Jabberwocky. Chat Noir wasn't sure why, but he trusted that Marinette would never weaponize someone else's embarrassment. It was time to break out the big guns.

Chat Noir nonchalantly shrugged. “His first modeling job after lycée, he had a horrible cold. Someone offered him one of those vitamin-C tablets that you're supposed to dissolve in a cup of hot water before drinking. Oblivious kid that he was, he put the tablet in his mouth and drank a cup of warm water.”

He shuddered remembering the next part. The vile taste returned to his mouth through recollection alone.

Marinette's eyes widened. Her mouth formed into an astonished 'o' and she slowly covered her silent gasp with her hand. She was getting ahead of his story.

Chat Noir nodded that she was on the right track. “The tablet started dissolving in his mouth and foaming over everything. It got all over his clothes; the furniture; the floor. It was like he had rabies! Everyone started laughing and calling him 'Atomic Blond'. He was so embarrassed that he vowed to move to New Zealand and become a sheep herder.”

“Oh, no!” Marinette laughed; breathy, secondhand-embarrassed, sympathetic laughs. Chat Noir could practically hear her thinking 'poor thing'. “How have I not heard that story before?”

Chat Noir shrugged. “His dad worked his PR magic and covered it up.”

More like Nathalie worked her magic, but to-may-to to-mah-to.

Marinette arched an eyebrow. “How do you know about it?”

“Sorry. That's a trade secret.” He pressed a finger to his lips and winked.

Marinette sighed. Getting off the bench, she gently stroked the flower petals as she passed by them. She wove her way through the lush garden and wandered over to the railing lining the roof. With a deep breath, she took in their gorgeous city. Her shoulders were relaxed. Her one foot was hooked around her other ankle, but she wasn't fidgety. She was the most calm and at peace that Chat Noir remembered ever seeing her.

“Thank you, Chat Noir.” She turned back towards him and tucked some stray hairs behind her ear. “I'm glad I won't have to move to another continent.”

Chat Noir joined her by the railing. “Decided to stay?”

Marinette puffed out her chest and stood tall. “If Adrien can still show his face at work after a day like that, then so can I.” A breath later, she puckered her lips and her bravado washed away. “I'll just make sure to stay in the basement where he'll never see me again.”

Chat Noir knew he definitely couldn't allow that to happen.

[break]

Their evening was over too soon. It wasn't the date Adrien pictured for the 2.5 seconds he had to process before Marinette had revoked her offer, but it was still a mostly-lovely evening with the intriguing woman. As Adrien got ready for bed, he already knew it was going to be a struggle to get his mind to stop thinking about Marinette long enough to fall asleep.

That was, at least, until he caught the evening news. Amateur photos and videos of Chat Noir in Bastian's confronting a patron and spiriting a citizen away flooded his TV.

“Oh, no!”

“And this is why we don't use our powers for personal gain,” Plagg said as he floated by, not prepared to give more of a lecture than that single sentence.

Adrien faceplanted into his pillows and screamed. “Ladybug is going to kill me!”

“There's always sheep herding in New Zealand.”

“Not. Helpful. Plagg.”

“Didn't realize you were expecting helpful,” Plagg teased.

Somehow, Plagg's snarkiness did help. Adrien chuckled.

“Do you think I at least helped Marinette tonight, Plagg?”

“Maybe.”

“Is it weird that I almost wish I had told her the vitamin-C story as Adrien? Have a real bonding moment between us? Maybe she'd be less nervous around me then.”

“I find it hard to believe that she could ever to be nervous around you now anyway, Mr. Atomic Blond.”

“You know, I don't think I'd mind if she called me that.” He chuckled at the thought.

--------------

The tick of the wall clock tormented Adrien as he sat through a seemingly endless morning meeting. He had always hated these meetings, but it was extra agonizing that morning. Marinette was in that very building at that very moment. But she wasn't in that room.

Adrien rapidly tapped his foot while he focused the rest of his energy on keeping the remainder of his body painfully still. He had no recollection of any words that were said for the past twenty minutes. He couldn't describe a single slide shown explaining the company's growth.

He needed out of this conference room. He was going feral.

Finally, the meeting broke, and Adrien was free.

He didn't bother with the elevator. He couldn't be trapped somewhere again. Besides, he could move faster on the stairs. Especially when he only took every third step and swung himself around each landing (saving him another 5 steps or so per floor).

He bee-lined it to Marinette's work desk. Just like the day before, she wasn't there. Adrien began wondering if he even had the right desk.

“I'll just make sure to stay in the basement where he'll never see me again.”

Adrien knew where to find Marinette!

He didn't care who caught him this time, he sprinted down the four flights of stairs to the basement. As he exited onto the floor he took a moment to even his quickened breaths. He wasn't sure if they were from the sprint or the anticipation of seeing Marinette again. Either way, he couldn't see Marinette while panting. Like that was the right impression to give!

His breaths once again steady, he checked that his clothes were neat and straight, and his hair was in place.

Perfect.

Now to just oh-so-casually bump (not literally) into Marinette.

The first few rooms he checked were empty. He wondered if maybe Marinette wasn't hiding. Did she take a personal day? She didn't actually move to America, right?

Then he heard muttering within the sample fabrics. His heart fluttered. He had found her.

Her back was again towards the door when he poked his head in. She had an armful of fabrics, and was holding up a sea foam swatch against a pastel teal one, trying to decide which shade to go with.

Adrien leaned casually on the door jamb, hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed.

“Hi. Marinette, right?”

“Gah!” Marinette jumped as she spun around, dropping her fabrics as she pressed herself against the rack of silks behind her.

That didn't go as smoothly as he had planned.

Adrien pulled his hands out of his pockets and held them up non-threateningly. “Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

“Didn't you. I mean-I didn't. I mean-you didn't!” She pinched her eyes shut and took a deep breath.

Why was she so cute?

“Oh. That's good.” Why was he dragging out each word?

Come on, Agreste! he berated himself, You know she likes you! Why is this so hard?

It was probably because Adrien had never asked anyone out before. It had always been the other way around. Girls fawning for him. His father dictating who he should date to better improve the brand. That sort of thing.

“Listen, I wanted to ask you–” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck. What if Marinette just bolted again and YOLO-asked yet another coworker out simply to avoid Adrien? He needed to take his shot though. He could do this! “Would you like to have lunch with me?”

Please say 'yes'. Please say 'yes.' Please say 'yes'.

Adrien wasn't sure he'd seen Marinette's eyes grow so large before.

“Uh– Bah– Bluh–?”

Adrien smiled. Throwback to when Chat Noir interrupted Marinette's atrocious date. The two of them seemed to have had a lovely evening after she did that stammering. Maybe this was a good-luck omen or something.

“Is that a yes?” he teased.

Marinette snapped her mouth shut and nodded.

Adrien chuckled. “Great! I know this wonderful little café by the river. What time do you get off for lunch?”

“Tw-tw-tw-tw–” Marinette pinched herself. “Twelve-thirty,” she gasped out.

Adrien checked his watch. It was half-past-eleven. He didn't have to wait too much longer. “Perfect. I'll come back for you in an hour.”

Glancing at the floor, he noticed that he again forced Marinette to drop what she was holding. He quickly scooped up the fabrics and passed them over to her. “See you later, Marinette.”

“Mm-hmm,” she intoned as she nodded. She held out her arms to accept the fabrics Adrien had gathered.

Pivoting on his heels, he gave her a quick wave over his shoulder and strode back out of the room, fighting the impulse to skip away.

He climbed every single stair leading up to his twelfth-floor office. He needed to get out the giddy energy, as well as find a way to kill the next sixty minutes. Even with Adrien pausing every couple of floors to do a mini tap-dance routine in the stairwell, he still only killed about eleven minutes.

The next forty-nine minutes were filled with endless twirls in his desk chair, memorizing the café's menu, non-stop ribbing from Plagg, and probably far more cartwheels than a twenty-something-year-old man should be doing in a business suit and within the confines of a corner office.

.

** Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know if you want me to tag you on any of my writing updates** @discoveringmiraculouswriters

[forthebrokenheartedthings]

Everything Left Unsaid (One Shot)

Summary: You’ve been Bucky’s best friend for five years. His partner. His safe place. He’s never told you he’s in love with you. Then you start dating someone else—someone who doesn’t know you, not really. Bucky says nothing. Until a double date turns into a breaking point. You follow him into the rain. And everything he’s held in? Comes out. It’s messy. It’s raw. It’s years of love, finally spoken. And once the damn breaks, there’s no going back.

TW: Emotional Manipulation (Not Bucky), Gaslighting, Explicit sex scene, Bucky Barnes

AN 💌 I hope you love them as much as I loved writing them.

WC: 7900 +

The double doors to the kitchen hiss open as you and Bucky walk in, still shaking off the rain and smoke from a botched infiltration in Midtown. You peel off your damp jacket, fingers stained from the warehouse’s scorched remnants, and glance over your shoulder at him.

"You," you start, stabbing a finger toward his chest, "are not allowed to say ‘trust me’ ever again."

"I was right," Bucky grumbles, tugging off his gloves, "you just didn’t listen fast enough."

"Fast enough? I was too busy saving your titanium ass from getting cooked by a flamethrower because someone thought it was a decoy unit."

He scoffs, heading toward the counter where a box of donuts sits open. "You’re still mad I beat you to the file."

"No, I’m mad you tripped the silent alarm and then smiled about it like it was some clever prank." You pluck a powdered donut from the box and toss it underhand. It hits him square in the shoulder. "Dick."

He catches it midair without looking and mouths the word, thanks with a smirk.

You both freeze when a voice cuts through the room.

"You two married yet, or is this just your elaborate foreplay?"

Sam's leaning against the fridge with a coffee mug in hand, grinning like the devil. Steve’s next to him, visibly amused. Tony swivels on a barstool with exaggerated interest.

"Oh, this should be good," Tony says. "What’s the over-under on when Barnes admits he’s fully domesticated?"

Bucky doesn’t even blink. "I’ll admit it when you admit your AI's smarter than you."

Tony gasps. "You wound me, Winter Barbie."

You roll your eyes and step between them, half-leaning into Bucky like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "Don’t listen to them. I still like you, metal gremlin."

You tilt your face up and press a light kiss to his cheek.

It’s quick. Familiar. Thoughtless—except not really. It lands just at the edge of his stubble, and the moment your lips brush skin, he goes still. Not stiff. Just still.

The room goes a little quieter.

Bucky's eyes flick toward you, unreadable. Then he clears his throat, shrugs, and mutters, "You’ve got powdered sugar on your mouth."

You smirk, swipe it off with your thumb, and pop it in your mouth. "Sweet. Like me."

Steve mutters something that sounds like "God help me," and leaves the room.

Tony leans in, stage-whispering, "So when’s the wedding? Can I be flower girl? I throw excellent glitter."

Sam drains his coffee with a sigh. "I’m giving it two months before they make us all regret having ears."

You laugh and elbow Bucky lightly. He just watches you for a beat too long, donut forgotten in his hand.

When you step away to grab a drink from the fridge, he stays still, staring at the floor like it’s saying something only he can hear.

Then quietly, like a prayer to himself, he says, "Yeah. Sweet like you."

Bucky’s still standing where you left him, powdered donut in one hand, staring at nothing in particular, when Tony’s voice slices in again.

"Barnes," Tony says, circling him like a shark that smells emotional repression, "I’ve seen cinderblocks with more facial range. Except, you know—" he gestures toward you, bent over in the fridge, "—when she’s in the room."

You snort, still bent over the fridge door. "You stalking his face now, Stark?"

"Oh, I take notes," Tony says. "Weirdest thing—he only smiles like a real person when you're around. It’s like watching a grizzly bear try yoga. Strange. Slightly dangerous. Beautiful in a tragic, masculine way."

Bucky finally turns toward him. "Don’t you have a board meeting to ignore?"

Tony grins. "Rescheduled. I’ve got better things to watch."

You shut the fridge, twist the cap off your drink, and walk back toward them like you’re rounding home base. "Can we give the man a break? You’re gonna scare off the only person here who’ll kill spiders for me."

"He’s not going anywhere," Sam mutters, now sifting through the box of donuts. "He’s been stuck to you like duct tape for five years."

You step up to Bucky and bump your shoulder into his lightly. "Ignore them," you say, voice low enough for only him to hear. Then you reach up, tousle his hair deliberately—which earns you the glare he usually reserves for terrorists. "Besides, I like you better when you’re not smiling for anyone else."

The color hits his cheeks like it’s on a timer.

Tony makes an exaggerated gagging noise. "This is worse than the Nat/Bruce thing. At least they were subtle."

"They weren’t," Steve calls from the hallway.

You look up at Bucky and grin. He’s staring straight ahead like someone just hit pause on his processor. You reach out, tap the center of his chest with two fingers. "Say you’re fine without blushing. Go on."

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Glares. "Eat your donut."

You wink and turn away, pleased.

Behind you, Tony whispers to Sam, "He’s doomed."

Sam shakes his head slowly. "He’s been doomed."

Four months ago – Atlantic City, 3 a.m.

It was raining the way movies overdo it—thick sheets, warm and relentless, soaking you to the skin in seconds. You and Bucky ducked into the only open storefront on the boardwalk, leaving a muddy trail behind you, both of you covered in bruises, minor cuts, and what you really hoped was your own blood.

It was a gift shop.

A truly heinous one. Blinding fluorescent lights, shelves of seashell snowglobes, and racks upon racks of T-shirts so ugly they bordered on criminal.

You looked at him. He looked at you. You both burst out laughing.

"We’re going to die of tetanus in a store that sells foam sharks," he muttered, flexing his shoulder with a wince.

You pulled your shirt away from your body. "Okay, yeah, we can’t go back to the quinjet dripping in blood and Jersey swamp water. New rule. We wear the shame."

Bucky squinted at a rack. "You’re joking."

You grabbed a shirt off the top and held it up to his chest. Bright yellow. Giant cartoon lobster. Text: 'HOT & CLAW-FUL.'

He raised one eyebrow. "This is a war crime."

"Agreed," you grinned. "So let’s match."

"You’re out of your mind."

"C’mon, Barnes." You leaned in, eyes shining with pure chaos. "It’ll be our thing. Battle trauma and bad taste."

He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say no.

Ten minutes later, you emerged from the dressing room wearing a mint-green monstrosity that read ‘I’M WITH STUPID’ — arrow pointing sideways. He followed behind you in the accompanying ‘HAPPY WIFE, HAPPY LIFE’ tee.

You turned to look at him and nearly choked.

"You—oh my God—Bucky, you look like someone dared a hitman to do improv."

He stared at you deadpan for a full beat. Then his mouth twitched.

Then—actual laughter. Real laughter. Loud and short and startled, like he couldn’t stop it if he tried.

It was the first time you’d heard it. Not a dry chuckle. Not a huff of breath. A real, gut-level sound. And when it finally ran out, he looked at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

"We do look cute," he mumbled, voice low.

You blinked. "What?"

He cleared his throat immediately. "Said we—uh—look like idiots."

You didn’t call him on it. But you never forgot it.

Later that night, you’re curled into one corner of the main rec room couch, hoodie oversized and fuzzy socks tucked beneath you. The lights are dimmed, just the flicker of the TV lighting the room. A few other team members had been in and out—Sam passed through muttering about weather anxiety—but now it’s mostly quiet.

On screen: cows flying across a storm-ripped highway. You’ve got Twister playing for the ninth time this year.

Bucky sits beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other idly holding a bowl of popcorn you keep stealing from. He's already tossed you one "you know what happens, why are you this excited" look tonight, and you met it with a smug, popcorn-filled grin.

You don't explain it to him anymore. You don’t need to.

"Favorite part’s coming," you murmur, already sliding a bit closer to him.

He huffs through his nose. "The cow?"

You gasp, mock-offended. "The tornado science! The tension! The cow is an emotional metaphor."

"You just like yelling ‘DEBRIS!’ with her."

You don’t deny it.

As the wind howls on screen and chaos unfolds, your head slips sideways, resting softly against his shoulder. He goes still—briefly—but doesn’t shift away. You scoot just slightly closer, like it’s muscle memory.

Eventually, your breathing slows, your grip on the popcorn bowl loosens, and your body melts comfortably against his side.

Bucky doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe too loud. Just stares at the screen while the storm rages and the wind howls and your hand is resting against his ribs like it belongs there.

He watches you more than the movie.

You don’t stir when he gently adjusts the blanket over your legs or when his fingers brush a strand of hair from your cheek.

You definitely don’t hear him whisper, voice barely above the sound of the screen:

"Yeah. ’Course you did."

He stays still long after the movie ends.

Bucky’s already pacing in the training room when you stroll in fifteen minutes late, two coffee cups balanced in one hand and zero remorse in your eyes.

He turns the moment he hears the door. "You’re late."

You hold up the coffee like a peace offering. "I’m also generous."

He narrows his eyes at the cup, snatches it from your hand. "You always think a bribe excuses you."

"Bribe?" You twist off your jacket and toss it aside. "Please. That’s a custom-ordered, double shot espresso with two pumps of hazelnut and exactly three ice cubes. That’s a love letter."

He sips it. Says nothing.

Smirks, faint and involuntary.

You stretch your arms overhead. "What are we doing today? Grappling? Disarm drills? Or are you gonna try to sweep the leg again like you’re a Cobra Kai dropout?"

He sets his coffee on the ledge and cracks his knuckles. "Let’s find out."

Ten minutes later, you’re both sweaty, breathing hard, and circling each other on the mat.

You fake left. He counters. You duck under his arm, sweep his leg—and this time, he goes down.

You land on top of him with a triumphant thud, both of you laughing, breathless.

"Pinned," you grin, straddling his waist, hands on his chest. "Finally."

"You cheated."

"Did not."

"You smiled like you were gonna flirt, and then took my knees out."

"It worked, didn’t it?"

He huffs a laugh, head thunking against the mat. "You’re evil."

You’re still there, poised above him, your hands pressed to the warm fabric of his shirt, when the door opens.

Sam steps in, freezes, then slowly backs up. "I’ll come back when it’s not weirdly sexual."

You don’t move.

Neither does Bucky.

Sam’s gone again before either of you says a word.

You burst out laughing. "God, his timing is perfect."

Bucky mutters, "He does it on purpose."

You stay there a second longer than necessary. Just looking at him. Just breathing the same air.

Then you push up to your feet and offer him a hand. "C’mon, lover boy. Lunch duty calls."

He rolls his eyes, but takes your hand.

"You’re gonna slice off your thumb."

"I’ve had this arm for seventy years. I think I’ve got it."

You lean in, watching Bucky hack at a red bell pepper. "You’re murdering that thing. That’s not chopping. That’s vengeance."

"Could’ve just done this yourself," he grumbles.

You grin, reaching for the cutting board. "Where’s the fun in that?"

The two of you are elbows-deep in a chaotic lunch prep. Something vaguely Italian, something involving way too many ingredients, and a playlist you keep switching every time he tries to play anything post-1945.

You reach over, flick a bit of water at him from the sink.

He turns slowly. "You’re gonna regret that."

You flick again. This time, straight at his face.

"You’re done."

You yelp and duck as he grabs a wet dish towel and whips it toward your hip. It hits with a satisfying snap. You retaliate by lobbing a handful of flour at him. It explodes against his chest like a smoke bomb.

The kitchen fills with chaos and laughter. He grabs for you, you dodge, and it turns into a slapstick chase around the island.

Steve walks in mid-sprint, takes one look at the flour cloud, the abandoned bell peppers, the absolute mess of you two—and just sighs.

"Nope."

He backs out the door without another word.

You lean against the counter, breathless, flour in your hair, laughing uncontrollably. Bucky’s grinning too, cheeks pink, shirt a disaster.

"You’re a menace," he says, brushing a streak of flour off your jaw with his thumb.

"And you’re terrible with knives."

He flicks your forehead, gentle. "Shut up."

You bump his hip. "Make me."

He doesn’t.

Instead, he goes back to dicing the pepper—still terribly—and you stand next to him, shoulder to shoulder, like there’s nowhere else in the world either of you is supposed to be.

The hallway is quiet, the low hum of the compound’s overhead lights the only sound as you drift toward the residential wing. You don’t even think about it—you just walk to Bucky’s door and push it open without knocking.

He’s inside, barefoot, freshly showered, pulling a shirt over his head.

"You ever heard of knocking?" he asks, not looking up.

"You ever heard of locking the door?"

He shakes his head, faint smile tugging at his mouth. "You want something?"

"Somewhere to land," you say, already walking past him.

You collapse onto his bed like it’s your own, grabbing one of his pillows and hugging it to your chest. It smells like him—soap, leather, that slightly metal tang that never really fades.

He grabs the book from his desk, sits on the edge of the mattress. "You know you’ve got your own room, right?"

"It’s cold. And lonely. And doesn’t come with built-in bedtime stories."

He raises an eyebrow. "You want me to read to you?"

You stretch out, head resting against the center of his chest now, hand curled near his ribs. "You’re halfway through something," you say, pointing at the worn paperback on the nightstand. "C’mon. Make it dramatic."

He sighs. "You’re gonna fall asleep in three pages."

"I will if you’re boring."

He flips the book open with a shake of his head, leans back against the headboard, and starts to read.

His voice is low. Steady. Not trying to perform—just giving the words shape.

You listen for a while, eyes drifting shut. Every now and then he shifts, ever so slightly, adjusting to cradle you better without waking you. His metal arm rests against your back. His other hand drifts to your hair, fingers brushing through it like it’s instinct.

Ten minutes in, your breathing changes. Slows.

He keeps reading anyway.

In the hallway, Sam passes by. He pauses just outside the half-closed door. Takes in the image: you fast asleep against Bucky’s chest, his hand in your hair, his voice soft even now.

Sam doesn’t knock. Doesn’t tease.

He just smiles. A small, quiet thing. Then he keeps walking.

Back in the room, Bucky’s voice trails off as he realizes you’re gone to the world.

He marks the page. Sets the book aside.

And stays there with you for a long time.

The city sprawls out beneath the compound’s west balcony, all golden haze and soft street noise. It’s late—later than you intended to be awake—but you and Bucky sit shoulder to shoulder in the cool night air, nursing slow drinks and slower conversation.

You’re both in T-shirts and sweatpants. His sleeves are pushed up. Your hair’s still mussed from sleep. Neither of you has mentioned it.

You steal his phone while he’s mid-sip.

"Hey—"

"You’ve got, like, three playlists labeled Workout and one labeled Stuff She Likes?" you grin, scrolling. "What is this, Barnes? Sentiment?"

He lunges half-heartedly for the phone. "That’s private."

"Mmhm." You scroll again, smirking. "Fleetwood Mac? Hozier? Lana Del Rey?"

He mutters into his glass, "You said you liked that song once."

"That was six months ago."

He shrugs, staring out at the skyline. "It’s a good song."

You press play.

The soft thrum of guitar filters through the balcony speakers. You settle deeper into your chair, stealing a glance at him. He doesn’t look at you, but his fingers tap lightly against the glass in his hand, like he knows the rhythm.

"Bucky," you say quietly.

"Yeah?"

"You ever make a playlist of stuff you like?"

He pauses.

Then: "Yeah."

You tilt your head. "Where is it?"

He finally turns to look at you, eyes unreadable in the dark.

"You’re listening to it."

You don’t say anything.

Just sit there a little closer than you were five minutes ago. Listening to music you forgot you loved, playing from a phone you didn’t know he guarded like a secret.

And beside you, Bucky doesn’t say another word.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows over the compound’s training deck. You and Sam lean against the railing near the edge, both sipping electrolyte drinks like you’ve earned them—because you have. The sparring session was brutal. You’re still sweating.

"You really gonna pretend that wasn’t a low blow?" you ask, nudging him with your shoulder.

Sam smirks. "I don’t fight fair against people who fight like gremlins."

You snort. "You’ve been hanging out with Bucky too long."

He gives you a look. "I could say the same."

You roll your eyes and lean back, letting the breeze cool your neck. The compound stretches out behind you. Beyond the railing, the tree line sways with wind. It’s quiet up here. Too quiet for what Sam’s clearly building up to.

"So," he says slowly, "you and Barnes…"

You groan. "Sam—"

He holds up a hand. "I’m not starting shit. I’m just saying—five years, shared brain cell, matching battle bruises. It’s impressive how long you’ve both managed to not get together."

"We’re friends."

"Uh-huh."

"We are."

"Sure. And I just coincidentally saw him reading to you while you drooled on his chest the other night."

You flush. "Shut up."

Sam shrugs, then goes quiet for a few beats.

You both watch the trees for a while.

Then you say it, soft and thoughtless. "He’s my person."

Sam turns to you. "Yeah?"

You nod. "Always has been."

He studies you. "Then why do you sound sad when you say that?"

You blink.

And it hits you a second too late—how true it is. That slight ache behind your words. Like you know something’s there, but you won’t let yourself name it.

You look away. "I don’t."

Sam doesn’t argue.

He just takes a slow sip of his drink and says, "Okay."

You both stand there a while longer, letting the wind speak for you.

The compound’s garage is quiet, save for the low whirr of a torque wrench and the hum of old rock bleeding from a dusty speaker on the counter.

Bucky’s crouched beside one of the team’s motorcycles, sleeves rolled, fingers smudged with grease. His metal hand adjusts a bolt like it’s second nature—smooth, practiced, something that doesn���t require thinking. Which is exactly why he’s doing it.

He doesn’t hear Steve come in. Just senses him. The shift in the air. That familiar presence.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks around the bike, nodding once like he’s inspecting Bucky’s work. Then leans a hip against the nearby workbench.

A beat.

Then: "You ever gonna tell her?"

Bucky doesn’t look up. "Tell who what?"

"You know who. You know what."

He exhales through his nose, grabs a rag, wipes his hands like it gives him something to do. "It’s not like that."

Steve crosses his arms. "It’s exactly like that."

"She’s my friend."

"She’s your girl."

Bucky goes quiet.

The wrench gets set down. Carefully. Deliberately.

Then he says it, like the words taste like blood: "She’s everything I never thought I’d get."

Steve doesn’t interrupt.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, grease streaking his temple. "That’s why I can’t touch it. You know what happens when I touch things I care about."

Steve’s voice softens. "She’s not a bomb, Buck."

"No," Bucky says, low. "She’s a home. And I’ve never had one that didn’t burn down."

Steve just watches him for a second, something flickering in his eyes—sadness, maybe. Recognition.

Then, gently: "She already knows. Maybe not the way you think. But she knows."

Bucky doesn’t answer.

He just sits back on his heels, eyes distant, grease-smudged fingers curled into fists.

The table is small, scratched from years of card games and caffeine rings. You’re both barefoot, knees knocking under the surface every few hands, too lazy to adjust anymore.

Bucky shuffles with one hand, elegant and smooth. You tease him every time he does it. He never stops.

"You cheating again?" you ask, watching him deal.

"I’m just better at this than you."

"That’s rich coming from a man who thinks three of a kind beats a straight."

"That happened once."

"Three times."

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

You lean back in your chair, pretending to study your hand. "Y’know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you let me win."

"I do. Every time."

You glance up, surprised to find his gaze already on you.

The room suddenly feels too quiet.

You swallow, set your cards down slowly. "You’re not as slick as you think you are, Barnes."

He doesn’t respond. Just watches you. Like he’s waiting for something.

And for a second—just a second—you lean forward.

It’s instinct. Half of one. But you catch yourself. You don’t pull back fast, just… stall. Hovering in a space that wasn’t supposed to exist between you.

His breath shifts. Yours catches.

Then you blink, smile like it was a joke, and drop your cards on the table.

"Draw," you say.

Bucky looks down at the cards.

Then back at you.

He doesn’t smile again after that.

Not even when you flick a joker at his forehead on your way out of the room.

It starts like nothing.

You come into the kitchen late one morning, hair damp from a quick shower, grabbing a banana and muttering about being late. Bucky’s sitting at the counter, sipping coffee, flipping a pen between his fingers.

You kiss his cheek without thinking—something you’ve done a hundred times—and open the fridge.

"I met someone," you say casually, like you’re announcing a weather update. "Yesterday. At that weird coffee place near Bryant Park."

Bucky’s pen stops spinning.

"Oh?" he says.

You’re rummaging through the shelves. "Yeah. We started talking about books. He bought me an extra lemon bar ‘cause the guy at the counter thought I was with him anyway. Whole thing was kinda funny."

"What’s his name?" Bucky asks, too evenly.

"Ethan." You pop a grape into your mouth. "Don’t know if it’ll go anywhere. He seems cool though. Tall. Real smooth."

You grin. You don’t see how Bucky’s fingers tighten around his coffee cup.

You don’t notice the pause before he says, "Huh. Smooth."

Then you start canceling.

You skip movie night. "Ethan got tickets to something last minute," you text.

You bail on your Thursday spar. "I’ll make it up to you," you promise.

You don’t.

The next week, you miss a team dinner. Don’t even text first this time.

Bucky shows up anyway. Sits in his usual seat. Orders your usual drink. Doesn’t say anything when it sits untouched.

When Sam asks, "She coming?" Bucky just shakes his head.

Later, when Steve mentions he hasn’t seen you in a few days, Bucky shrugs. "She’s probably just busy."

"Busy," Steve echoes. But his tone isn’t casual.

Bucky stops texting you at night. Stops sending you those dumb memes you always liked. He starts showing up early to meetings. Sits further from you in briefings. Doesn’t make a thing of it.

But every time someone says your name in a room and you’re not there?

He flinches.

It’s supposed to be nothing.

Just a casual night—team pizza and bad TV, no agenda, no pressure. Bucky’s in the rec room with Sam and Steve, half-watching something with car crashes and questionable dialogue. He hasn’t asked about you.

He’s learned not to.

But when the door opens and you walk in, his head turns automatically.

And then he sees him.

Ethan’s got his hand resting casually on the small of your back. He’s laughing at something you just said. You’re holding a pizza box like a peace offering. Your eyes scan the room like this is normal.

Like this doesn’t matter.

"Hey," you say, smiling. "Hope you saved us a seat."

Us.

You set the pizza on the table, then turn toward the couch. "This is Ethan."

The room stills.

Ethan nods, friendly and warm. "Nice to meet you guys. I’ve heard a lot about this crew."

He extends a hand to Steve, who shakes it with that polite but measured grip. Sam’s smile is tight. Tony—already half-exiting the room—pops his head back in and goes, "Oh, so this is the famous Ethan."

You chuckle. "I haven’t said that much."

And Bucky?

He says nothing.

He just watches.

You don’t notice how he doesn’t blink when Ethan drapes an arm across the back of your chair.

How his jaw clenches when Ethan makes a joke about how "she always gets competitive with movies—bet I’ll regret sitting next to her."

How every single person in that room—Sam, Steve, even Tony—glances toward Bucky with the kind of tension people usually save for explosives.

Because there is one in the room.

And it has Bucky Barnes’ face.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even shift when you lean into Ethan and laugh at something in his ear.

He just stares at the screen, expression flat.

Until the pizza box is opened and the first slice hits your plate.

Then—quietly—he stands and walks out.

No words.

No drama.

Just silence.

The kind that sounds exactly like a fuse burning out.

It’s the second time Ethan shows up at the compound that things start to fray.

You’re in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for some kind of potluck Tony insisted on throwing. You’re talking—telling a story from a recent op, gesturing wildly, laughing.

"Wait," Ethan says, interrupting mid-sentence. "Didn’t you say it was your left leg you landed on?"

You pause. "No. It was the right."

He chuckles like it’s adorable. "You sure? Pretty sure you said left the first time."

You blink. "I’m… sure."

Bucky, across the room slicing bread, stops mid-cut.

Steve watches him. Closely.

You laugh it off. "Either way, I didn’t break anything. Just a solid bruise."

Ethan leans in like he’s sharing something private. "Well, maybe next time don’t try to be the hero."

He means it as a joke. Maybe.

You smile like it didn’t land wrong. "That’s kind of in the job description."

A little later, you hum something under your breath while stirring sauce.

Ethan leans beside you and murmurs, "You still listening to that moody stuff? Thought we were gonna get you into real music."

Bucky’s hand clenches.

"Real music?" you echo.

"Y’know, fun stuff. Not that downer guitar chick thing. What’s her name?"

You don’t answer.

You change the song. You always change the song.

Later, at the table, you reach for seconds.

Ethan puts a hand gently over yours. "Babe," he says under his breath, "we’re trying to be good this week, remember?"

You smile.

It doesn’t reach your eyes.

Across the table, Bucky is silent. His food’s untouched. His eyes are on you.

Sam clears his throat, loudly.

Ethan doesn’t notice.

You do.

You say nothing.

When it’s over, Ethan goes to say goodbye, hand brushing down your spine like punctuation.

You stay behind to clean up.

Bucky’s already stacking plates. Quiet. Focused.

"Don’t," you say softly.

He pauses. "Don’t what?"

"Whatever that look is. Don’t."

"I didn’t say anything."

"That’s worse."

He looks at you then, really looks.

"I’m not mad at you," he says quietly. "I’m mad at myself."

You don’t ask what he means.

You don’t want to hear it.

You just take the plates from his hands and start rinsing.

And he watches you like he’s watching something walk out of a burning building.

Sam’s door creaks open slowly, and before he even looks up from tying his laces, he mutters, "You better be bleeding."

Bucky steps in. Closes the door behind him.

His voice is too calm. That’s how Sam knows it’s bad.

"I’m going to kill him."

Sam exhales slowly. "Which him are we talking about?"

Bucky just stares.

"Cool," Sam says. "So, Ethan then."

There’s a long silence. Bucky doesn’t pace. Doesn’t explode. Just stands there, fists flexing and relaxing like a heartbeat.

"He talks over her," Bucky says finally. "Like she’s an inconvenience to his story."

Sam nods once.

"Corrects her. Tells her what to eat. What music to like. And she just—she laughs it off. Like it’s fine."

"She does that," Sam says quietly.

Bucky swallows hard. His voice drops. "She used to play that music in my room. Every damn night."

Sam looks up.

"She doesn’t even put it on anymore. She changes it when he’s around." Bucky’s voice cracks like it wants to be angry but can’t get past broken. "He’s rewiring her. Right in front of us."

Sam stands, walks over, and leans on the edge of his dresser. "You said anything to her?"

"What the fuck am I supposed to say?" Bucky snaps. "That I’ve been in love with her since the first time she called me out on my knife skills and didn’t flinch? That I let her fall asleep on me because it’s the closest thing I’ve had to peace in seventy years?"

He shakes his head, voice tightening.

"I see her smiling, but it’s not her. It’s smaller. Like she’s rationing it."

Sam doesn't move.

Bucky's jaw flexes. "If she ever asks me to sit across from him, pretend to play nice? I’ll say yes."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Even if it wrecks you?"

"She won’t be alone," Bucky says quietly. "Not with him."

Sam watches him a long moment, then nods once. "Alright. Let me know when the curtain goes up."

The rec room is warm and low-lit, late afternoon sun spilling in gold through the windows. You lean against the back of the couch, half-watching a movie with Sam while Bucky sits on the floor, elbows on his knees, aimlessly flipping a poker chip through his fingers.

You’ve been thinking about it all day.

Trying to make it feel casual. Simple. Like it’s just logistics.

"So," you start, tone light, "Ethan and I are doing dinner Friday. Thought it might be fun to make it a double."

The chip freezes in Bucky’s hand.

Sam turns his head so slowly it’s almost comical.

You keep your voice breezy. "I figured we could try mixing groups a little, you know? He’s met most of the team now. Might be good to—blend worlds."

You glance at Bucky, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his face. Just for a second.

Then it’s gone.

"Sure," he says.

Just that. Simple. Too fast.

You blink. "Really?"

He shrugs. "Why not."

Sam says nothing, but his eyes are screaming. You can feel them boring through the back of your skull.

You cross your arms. "Bring someone, obviously. No pressure. Sam probably knows someone who can tolerate you for two hours."

Bucky smirks faintly, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. "I’ll ask around."

Sam leans forward, setting his drink down slowly. "This sounds like a terrible idea," he says, voice dry as the Mojave.

You shoot him a look. "I’m not asking you to come, Wilson."

"Not for me," he mutters. "For him."

Bucky doesn’t flinch.

You catch the edge in Sam’s tone but choose not to push. "It’s just dinner."

"No such thing," Sam mutters.

Bucky stands, tossing the poker chip back onto the coffee table with a soft clack. "Let me know where."

And then he walks out.

Not dramatically.

Just gone.

You stare after him, mouth slightly open.

Sam exhales, pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You two are gonna kill each other," he mutters. "And I’m gonna have to officiate the damn funeral."

The restaurant is one of those modern, steel-and-glass places with a name you can’t pronounce and candles that smell like irony. You’re seated already, laughing at something Ethan just said, one hand wrapped around your glass, the other brushing the edge of the linen tablecloth. You keep checking the door.

Then Bucky walks in.

He’s in black—black button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearm, jacket slung over his shoulder. His hair’s tied back. He’s not smiling.

He’s not looking at you.

A woman walks beside him—tall, pretty, confident in that effortless New York way. Sam’s friend, you remember vaguely. She's polite. Friendly. She greets you with warmth.

Bucky just nods.

You don’t know where to put your hands.

Ethan stands and shakes Bucky’s hand, too firm, too performative. “Glad you could make it, man.”

“Sure,” Bucky says, tone unreadable.

You feel the shift immediately.

The way his eyes flick to your glass when Ethan refills it for you without asking. The way he doesn’t sit until his date is settled. The way he keeps his hands folded in his lap, like he’s bracing for something.

You’re all pretending to be normal.

Ethan is telling some story about a board meeting. Bucky’s date listens politely. You laugh when you’re supposed to.

Bucky doesn’t laugh.

He doesn’t speak much, either.

When he does, it’s short. Clipped. Measured.

Ethan orders the second bottle of wine before you finish your first.

Bucky glances at the label. Doesn’t say a word.

And then the waiter comes back.

Menu in hand.

Pen poised.

And Ethan speaks first.

The waiter barely finishes asking before Ethan’s voice cuts in, confident and smooth.

“She’ll have the halibut,” he says, flashing a smile. “No sauce. Sub greens for the fries.”

Your mouth opens. Not wide. Just enough.

Like your body can’t decide whether to protest or laugh it off.

You glance at him.

Ethan doesn’t look back.

Just says softly—soft enough that only you and Bucky can hear— “Don’t make me remind you again.”

It’s casual. Gentle, even. Except it’s not.

You go quiet.

And Bucky—

—stops breathing.

His fork doesn’t move. His shoulders don’t shift. His eyes stay locked on the tablecloth like it just declared war.

The woman next to him, his date, senses it. Her eyes flick between you and him. Something passes across her face—uncertainty, maybe. Or pity.

The silence is a heartbeat too long.

Then Bucky stands.

Not abruptly. Not loudly.

He just folds his napkin. Sets it beside his plate. Pushes his chair back with surgical quiet.

“I’ll be outside.”

You blink. “What? Buck—”

He’s already walking.

His date glances at you, at the table, then quietly reaches for her purse. “I think I’ll call it too.”

You offer to order her a car.

She smiles faintly. “He already did. Said he doesn't do rideshare apps. Too ‘traceable.’” She says it like it’s a joke. But her eyes linger on the door.

And then she’s gone too.

You sit there with Ethan’s hand on your knee and your heart somewhere in the sidewalk outside.

You stand slowly.

Ethan doesn’t even look up from his phone at first.

Then, casually, “Where are you going?”

You pause. “Out.”

He finally looks at you. His mouth twitches—half-smile, half-warning. “We haven’t even ordered dessert.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You said you were.”

You blink at him. “Ethan—”

He sets his phone down, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Don’t make this a thing. It’s been a nice night.”

Your stomach twists.

You don’t answer. You just grab your coat and move for the door.

Behind you: “Seriously? You’re just walking out?”

You don’t turn around.

You push through the restaurant doors—

—and the rain hits you like a wall.

Hard. Cold. Real.

And there he is.

Bucky.

He doesn't speak at first.

You stand there, rain soaking through your dress, breath uneven, watching the way his fingers clench and unclench like they’re trying to hold something in that doesn’t want to be kept.

His jaw flexes.

And then he laughs.

It’s bitter. Hollow. It dies before it even gets out of his throat.

“I told myself I could handle it,” he says. Voice low. Rough. “Told myself I could watch it happen. You and him.”

You don’t move.

“But then I saw the way he looked at you in there.” He gestures behind him, toward the glowing restaurant windows. “Like you’re something to manage. Like you’re furniture. Background noise.”

“Bucky—”

“You haven’t smiled in weeks,” he says, and it’s a knife. “Not really. Not the way you used to. Not the way you did when it was just us.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off.

“And you—” he points at you now, soaked, shaking. “You changed your music. Your food. You stopped showing up.”

“Things are just—”

“No,” he snaps. “Don’t give me that. You disappeared. One day you were there—laughing at my cooking, stealing my hoodies, falling asleep with your head on my chest—and then you were gone. Like none of it mattered.”

You swallow hard. “You never said it mattered.”

His expression cracks.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months—he lets you see all of it.

“I didn’t think I could,” he whispers. “I didn’t think I was allowed.”

The rain keeps falling, soaking both of you straight through, but neither of you moves.

You can hear it in your chest—his breathing. Too fast. Too shallow.

“I’m in love with you,” Bucky says.

Just like that.

No hesitation.

His voice breaks like it hurts to say it—but he says it anyway.

“I have been,” he continues. “Since long before I even knew what to do with it.”

You’re frozen.

He doesn’t look away. “I didn’t tell you because I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin us. And maybe I already did. Maybe I waited too long. But I can’t—” his hand gestures, desperate, “—I can’t stand by and watch someone like him shrink you.”

“I didn’t see it,” you whisper.

“Yes, you did.” His voice is gentler now. “But you didn’t want to.”

Silence.

Rain dripping from your lashes.

And then:

“I don’t expect anything,” he says quietly. “I just needed you to know.”

You step forward.

One step.

Then another.

And before he can say another word, your hands are in his hair, his name falling off your lips, and you kiss him.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like your body just remembered what home feels like.

He doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around your waist, lift you up like instinct. You gasp against his mouth as your feet leave the ground, your fingers knotting tighter into his hair. The kiss breaks only for breath—just enough for you to whisper, “You idiot.”

Then your mouth is on his again.

There’s nothing soft about it.

It’s wild and soaked and years in the making.

And when he finally sets you down, forehead pressed to yours, both of you gasping—

Neither of you lets go.

The compound door clicks open, rain dripping in behind you, and Bucky barely waits for it to shut before you’re against the wall, his mouth on your neck.

You’re soaked—your dress clinging, his shirt plastered to his chest, both of you shaking from more than just the cold.

Your hands are in his hair again. You never even remember putting them back there. His fingers press into your hips like he still can’t believe you’re real.

Then you hear it.

"Uh—"

You freeze mid-kiss.

Bucky’s lips stay against your jaw for a beat longer before he pulls back, breathless.

You both turn.

Steve’s standing in the kitchen, holding a dish towel and looking every bit like someone who just walked in on a private movie. He covers his eyes with it, half-laughing, half-mortified.

"Oh my god," he mutters. "Finally. But also—Jesus."

To his left, Tony stands with a drink in one hand and a deeply amused expression.

He slow claps.

"No notes," he says. "Excellent execution. Loved the intensity. Real Nicholas Sparks climax."

Sam is silent.

Just staring.

Mouth open. Processing. Concerned.

"Y’all good?" he finally says. "Do we need to… call someone? Light a candle? I don’t know what protocol is here."

Bucky’s hand never leaves your hip.

Yours never leaves his hair.

You just smile.

"Goodnight, boys," you say sweetly, walking backward toward the hallway with Bucky close behind, his hand firmly guiding you like he’s not planning on letting go for a second.

Tony raises his glass.

Steve laughs and shakes his head.

And then you’re gone.

The door clicks closed behind you with more force than either of you intended, and suddenly there is only darkness, only the sound of your breaths and rain still dripping somewhere behind the walls. You’re tangled, desperate, skin slick.

Bucky’s mouth crashes into yours, teeth grazing, tongue urgent and claiming. His hands grip your thighs, lift you, and instinct drives you right back onto him—legs wrapping tight around his waist, pressing him closer. You're standing, but it’s like you're weightless, tethered to him.

You yank at his hair—long strands plucked free from the rainy night—fingers curling into his scalp. He groans, deep and ripping between your lips, breath rough and broken. One metal hand slides under your dress, fingertips searing over bare flesh. You gasp around a moan, head lolling back.

He lowers you to the bed with godlike care for the beast he’s just unleashed. His hands splay across your ribs, memorizing the slow-thumping beat beneath his fingers. His lips kiss down your spine, biting and worshipful both. You feel every thread of fabric around you vanish.

Your hands go straight to his belt. You undo it with swift impatience. He stops you, thumbs catching the hem of your dress, pulling it higher before lifting you so he can slip it off your hips.

Your skin shows first to each other in the soft glow of the bedside lamp—your bodies illuminated in real, flesh-and-blood detail. No choreography. Just hunger.

He parts your thighs, lips hovering near your core. A soft exhale, a whispered, "Mine." Then he’s kissing you —tongue sliding, exploring, teasing, tasting. You cry out, and your nails dig into his shoulder, leaving crescent marks he’ll wear proudly. His fingers slip inside you—gentle at first, then curl and stretch.

You feel him stop, pull away, and just when you panic, his metal hand cradles your cheek. He kisses you again, slower now, his voice husky, "I’ve wanted this for so long."

Your breath hitches. He moves, sliding inside you in one powerful thrust. You gasp, arching your back.

He moves slowly, then faster—hands in your hair, one arm around your back, holding you close as your bodies collide. The bed creaks. Your moans fill the space between words. He buries his face in your neck, chasing scent and solace.

Your legs tighten around him. "Yes," you whisper. "God, yes."

He steadies you, thrusts deep—slow, fucking deep—then draws away only to come back with everything he’s held in for months… years. You shudder, chest trembling, nails scoring his back.

"Don’t stop," you breathe. It’s more plea than command. He answers with more fierce persistence.

Something loose and fragile inside you snaps—you come apart on him, gasping in his arms. He groans low—fucking groans—and follows after, teeth clenching, whole body flooding before collapsing across yours.

The world stops.

You collapse together, chests rising, bodies sticky and slick, internal storms quieted at last by each other's touch. He buries his face in your hair, kisses your forehead in tiny, reverent gestures.

You run your fingers over every ridge of his arms, thighs, chest—like you're sealing yourself in forever.

After a long moment, you say, "Finally."

He lifts his head, voice soft with awe. "Yeah."

And with no sense of hurry, you drift into sleep together—entwined, at peace, at home.

It’s warm.

Not just the blankets. Not just the air thick with sunrise.

But him.

He’s behind you, arm slung low around your waist, chest pressed to your back, breath feathering slow and even against your shoulder. Your bodies are still tangled, your legs looped around his like you never learned how to sleep apart.

You don’t want to move.

But you do—slowly, carefully, just enough to turn and face him.

His eyes open the second you do.

Not groggy.

Not startled.

Just soft.

You blink up at him. "Been awake?"

He nods, barely.

"How long?"

"Long enough to not want it to end."

You smile, cheek pressed into his pillow. "That’s disgustingly sweet."

He shrugs, metal hand smoothing down your spine. "You bring it out in me. Don’t spread that around."

"Your secret’s safe." You shift, dragging your hand across his ribs, over the faded scars and firm muscle. "For now."

Bucky leans in, kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then just hovers there—like he wants to keep kissing you but he doesn’t want to break the moment.

You kiss him instead.

Slow. Lazy. Morning-sweet.

Then you stretch. "Shower?"

He raises a brow. "Together?"

You grin. "You really asking that?"

He laughs, full-bodied and happy. "God, I love you."

He freezes.

You freeze.

Neither of you speaks for a long second.

Then he clears his throat. "I mean—I didn’t mean—"

You cut him off with another kiss.

"You did."

He exhales, eyes wide.

You kiss him again. "I love you too."

His arms wrap around you tighter like he’s afraid someone’s going to pull you away.

You stay there for a while longer.

Because there’s no rush now.

There’s everything.

The kitchen is warm with sunlight and sarcasm. Steve’s already nursing a mug. Sam’s reading something on a tablet. Tony is, predictably, poking at a holographic spreadsheet he’ll abandon in five minutes.

You walk in barefoot.

Wearing Bucky’s shirt.

Nothing else.

Bucky follows a step behind, hair still damp, that same unreadable smugness barely hidden behind his yawn.

Sam’s the first to notice.

He glances up, squints, freezes.

Then chokes spectacularly on his coffee.

"Jesus," he wheezes.

Tony turns. Smiles.

Then full-on claps.

"Round two of the Barnes Redemption Arc," he says, grinning. "This one has considerably more nudity."

Steve doesn’t even pretend to be surprised.

He just lifts his mug and says, "Took you long enough."

You roll your eyes and walk straight to the coffee pot like this is any other morning.

Bucky follows, pulls down your favorite mug, pours for you. Like muscle memory.

Sam is still coughing. "I’m sorry, are we all just acting like this is normal now?"

Steve shrugs. "It was inevitable."

Tony raises a brow. "Inevitable and loud. The walls here are thin."

You sip your coffee calmly. "Then maybe don’t eavesdrop."

"I wasn’t the one narrating," Tony shoots back. "That was him."

Bucky, unbothered, sips his own mug. "Not sorry."

Sam just shakes his head, muttering into his hand, "This is some old-school enemies to lovers fanfic bullshit."

You lean into Bucky’s side, plant a kiss on his jaw in full view of everyone.

"I’m happy," you say simply.

He wraps his arm around your waist and murmurs back, "Me too."

Tony groans. "You’re gonna make me believe in love, and I hate that for me."

You kiss Bucky again.

Just to be sure it’s real.

[mandoalorian]

the night we stole the stars [bucky barnes x f!reader]

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x f!reader

synopsis: you and bucky chase the glow of a forgotten fairground, where soft kisses taste like memories in the making. beneath the boardwalk lights and scattered starlight, the night becomes yours—wild, sacred, and fleeting. but even as your hearts sync in stolen rhythm, something waits in the quiet edges of the multiverse, changing everything

word count: 7900

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content, dry humping in public place, grinding, making out, plenty of sexual tension, angst in the making (sorry in advance), a little sambucky if you squint

masterlist

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It was early. Not sunrise-early — city early. Horns honked like an orchestra warming up. A dog barked three times in a row. Somewhere, a jackhammer stuttered to life.

Bucky liked mornings like this. Loud enough to drown out memories. Soft enough that everything still felt... possible.

He waited outside the Tower with two coffees in hand, both black. No sugar, no nonsense. He knew Sam would complain. That was kind of the point.

When Sam stepped outside, hoodie pulled over his head, he squinted at the sky like it had personally offended him. His eyes landed on Bucky, then on the second coffee. He walked over wordlessly and took it.

“No sugar?” he asked, sipping anyway.

Bucky shrugged. “You’re sweet enough.”

Sam huffed. “You flirting with me, Barnes?”

“You wish.”

They started walking with no clear destination, boots hitting pavement in sync. The Tower loomed behind them, and Bucky felt a little lighter the farther they got from it.

“So,” Sam said after a beat. “I signed Valentina’s accords, we’re on the same team now, what’s all this about?”

Bucky winced. “Us.”

“Okay, now you’re definitely flirting.” Sam smirked and Bucky stifled a laugh.

“Outside all of this: Doom and the multiverse and… her,” Bucky stopped as he noticed Sam’s face soften. “I really miss you man,” he sighed, the revelation hard for him to admit. If only he had communicated better months ago. Then maybe the fallout wouldn’t have been so bad.

“I miss you too, Buck, but none of this has been easy. Abandoning me and teaming up with John Walker?” Sam replied, not angry but not amused either. “Seriously?”

Bucky thought ‘abandoned’ sounded harsh, but it wasn’t the time to mention it. He took a sip of his coffee. “I know, but the world really needs Captain America. I need Captain America. And I just want us to be okay again.”

“I want that too.” Sam sighed. “Come here.”

And in that moment, Captain America pulled the Winter Soldier in for a hug, solid and comforting, and for the first time in months, Bucky felt like he could breathe again.

“Now that we’re okay,” Sam said, pulling away but keeping his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “You gotta tell me how the hell you ended up on a team with a literal black widow assassin, the Red Guardian, and Walker. And those billboards… damn Bucky, they had you overlooking New York City like you were some kind of God.”

Bucky looked down at his coffee. “Yeah. That wasn’t my idea.”

“Valentina?”

“Yup. She created this whole PR thing. Wheaties boxes and magazine covers and merchandise. Wanted Yelena and Walker to pretend to date each other, but like hell they would,” Bucky explained. “At the time, they couldn’t be in the same room as each other for longer than ten minutes. So she decided it would look good if me and her pursued this fake relationship. I think she thought the public would put more faith in her if they saw she was dating an Avenger.”

Sam slowed. “Buck… that’s fucking crazy.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Wasn’t easy. But eventually the team started trusting each other. And because I was leading, it meant they were trusting me. And for once… I felt like I was actually doing something right.”

Sam took another long sip. “That’s not nothing.”

“I didn’t agree with the logistics,” Bucky said. “The secrecy, the contracts, the way Valentina tried to puppet us from behind the curtain. But when we were out there, actually fighting for people, it felt... good. Like I belonged somewhere.”

“You’ve always belonged somewhere.”

Bucky gave a quiet, humourless laugh. “You have to say that. You’re my friend.”

“I’m also the guy you iced out when I was trying to rebuild the Avengers. The real Avengers.”

That landed like a punch. Bucky rubbed the back of his neck.

“I thought you didn’t need me,” he admitted.

“Bullshit,” Sam said calmly. “We both know that’s not true. I needed you. I wanted you in it with me. You’re the one who stepped off to be with your Thunderbolt buddies.”

Bucky took a breath. “Maybe. But now you know the truth. Not everything was so rosy. I think from this point forward, we phase Val out for good. We do this, together. We lead, together.”

“Doom’s coming,” Sam muttered, eyes scanning the skyline like he expected Victor to emerge from the clouds. “We both feel it. And now we’ve got all these pieces— The Fantastic Four, the Avengers, tech from a different world—and no time to get our footing.”

“We’ve got each other,” Bucky said. 

They walked another block in silence.

“I hated that billboard,” Sam finally said, like he couldn’t keep it in any longer. Bucky let out a snort.

“Me too.”

“I hated seeing you in it more.”

“That one hurts a little.”

Sam stopped walking and turned to him. “Because you’re mine, Barnes. My grumpy, murderous, 108-year-old sidekick.”

“Sidekick? You’re pushing it now,” Bucky smirked. “I prefer ‘combat veteran with emotional baggage.’”

Sam cracked a grin. “Same thing.”

There was a pause. Then Sam added, “I get it now, though. You felt useful. That matters.”

“It does,” Bucky said. “But it doesn’t matter more than you. More than this.”

They locked eyes. A shared history of battlefields and therapy chairs between them. A bond forged in grief, hammered into something solid by time.

“I’m still with you, Sam,” Bucky said. “Even when the world spins sideways.”

Sam nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s go clean this mess up together.”

They stood there another beat.

Then Sam extended a hand, and Bucky pulled him in for another hug instead—tight, firm, warm.

“I love you, buddy,” Sam murmured.

Bucky’s voice was rough. “Love you too.”

A car honked behind them. The city marched on.

But for the first time in weeks, something clicked back into place. Like the world might still be fixable after all.

────✪────

Sam had given the Fantastic Four a floor of their own in the Avengers tower, on the condition of their cooperation. 

The door to the secure living quarters slid open with a hiss.

Reed Richards stepped inside, eyes scanning the space with something between dread and longing. It wasn’t much—a makeshift living area hastily assembled—but within it stood three faces he thought he might never see again.

Sue was the first to spot him. Her posture stiffened instinctively, shielding mode kicking in before she even registered the emotion. Then her face cracked—just slightly—at the corners.

“Reed,” she said.

Johnny moved faster. “You look like hell.”

Reed blinked. “You look... exactly the same.”

Ben Grimm chuckled from the couch, deep and gravelly. “We had better lighting than you did, pal.”

Sue took a slow step forward. “I didn’t think they’d actually let us—”

“They didn’t,” you said, emerging from behind her, voice firm but not unkind. “I did.”

He turned. You leaned in the doorway with arms crossed, tired but steady. “I reminded Valentina that you’re not much use locked in a cage. Reed agreed that you would help. So now you help.”

Ben gave you a small, grateful nod. “And in return?”

“In return,” you said, “you get your family. But if you step out of line, or Reed, if you try to vanish into a black hole of your own genius—”

“Understood,” Reed said, lifting his hands in surrender. “No disappearing acts. No more secrets.”

Sue was still watching him. She didn’t smile. But she didn’t stop him when he crossed the room and touched her hand.

The silence stretched. Then Johnny cleared his throat loudly. “So, uh. Doom’s back?”

“Doom’s coming,” you corrected. “We’re not sure from where yet. But the tech that attacked the safe house... it wasn’t from here.”

Reed’s brow furrowed. “Alternate universe signatures?”

You nodded.

“That explains the Stark resemblance,” he muttered.

“Exactly,” you said. “We thought Doom was a myth or at least dormant. But if he's tied into a multiverse collapse, we’re going to need your expertise. You said before that you’ve studied this stuff—doppelgängers, alternate selves—what can you do now?”

Reed’s expression turned calculating. Focused. Alive.

“I need to run some tests. The multiverse... it’s like a shattered mirror. Some pieces reflect you exactly, others distort you beyond recognition. I want to start with Johnny.”

“Me?” Johnny blinked. “Why me?”

“Because you’re a perfect test subject. Young, genetically altered by cosmic radiation, and narcissistic enough that if another version of you existed, you’d want to find him immediately.”

“Aw, you do know me,” Johnny said, grinning.

Reed stepped away from the group, already talking to himself. “I’ll need quantum mapping. Multiversal scans. If I can trace even the smallest residue of variant DNA…”

“Reed,” you interrupted. “Focus.”

He blinked and looked at you. “Right. Yes. I’ll start with the scans now.”

As he swept out of the room, Sue sighed deeply. “Same Reed. Different apocalypse.”

Ben snorted. “At least we got him back.”

You watched him go, already lost in theory, hands moving like they were drawing math from the air. Something about it unsettled you—but also gave you hope.

You wandered back to the upper levels, catching the tail end of soft laughter in the training hall. Inside, Yelena was perched cross-legged on a bench, casually tossing a butterfly knife between her fingers. Her gaze lifted when she saw you.

“Was wondering when you’d check in,” she said.

You leaned on the wall beside her. “Reed’s reunited with his family. The science-freak reunion went about as expected.”

“Any theories yet?”

“He wants to test Johnny first. See if he’s got a doppelgänger. Maybe map how the multiverse is pulling apart.”

Yelena tilted her head. “You think that’s what this is? A multiversal pull?”

“I think it’s something worse. Doom doesn’t just appear without reason. And he doesn’t send attack drones for fun.”

Yelena sighed. “You have a point.”

You smiled faintly, then looked around. “Have you seen Bob?”

Her fingers paused over the knife. “No.”

“How long’s it been?”

She gave a small shrug, too casual. “He wasn’t at the morning check-in. I figured he was with Bucky. Or maybe passed out somewhere dramatic.”

You frowned. “I thought he might’ve come to see you.”

“Nope,” she said. “But now that you mention it...”

The two of you exchanged a look. Yelena tucked her knife away and stood up. “You think something’s wrong?”

“I think something’s different,” you said carefully. “He’s been... off. Ever since the void.”

Her brow furrowed. “He said he felt weird. More... powered.”

“Exactly,” you murmured. “Like something in him activated.”

You both stood in silence a moment longer.

“I’m gonna go look for him,” she announced.

“Want some help?” You offered, already tapping into your aura to scan the room for life. 

“It’s okay, he can’t have gone far. Besides, I want all the glory for finding him.” Yelena joked. 

When Yelena left the room, you paused for a moment, taking in the silence. It felt good to have a moment alone, away from the stress of John and Ava arguing, or Bob disappearing, or the upcoming potential multiversal collapse. You inhaled, your fingers starting to tingle and burn a pale lilac colour, sparkling like iridescent flecks of glitter as you tapped into your own aura. Your own feelings. 

Calmness. Wonder. Peace.

You felt relaxed. 

You exhaled and pinched your fingers together, shooting a burst of energy towards a punching bag. The power snapped the chain and the bag went flying into the wall, knocking over a stack of weights in the process. The loud clatter made you jump. How were you ever going to learn to control your powers, when there was no one who could teach you?

You stood and sauntered towards the weights, reaching out to put them back into place. You turned back toward the far end of the room, brushing a hand over your arm to dispel the unease. That’s when you felt it.

Arms wrapped gently around your waist from behind, pulling you into a solid chest.

You gasped, instincts kicking in before your mind caught up.

“Whoa,” came the familiar voice, rough and apologetic. “Too much?”

You exhaled, your heartbeat thudding against your ribs as you melted back into him. “No,” you said, breathless. “Not too much.”

Bucky let out a soft laugh behind you. His metal hand rested low on your stomach, while his warm one splayed across your ribs like he needed to hold you closer. “Sorry. I saw you and just... wanted to be close.”

You turned your head slightly, cheek brushing against his stubble. “Then don’t apologise.”

He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Bob’s missing. Yelena’s out looking for him. We’ve got Reed researching but there is so much to do, and so little time. And the universe might just collapse in on itself in,” you checked your watch. “Six days,”

Bucky hummed quietly, acknowledging your concern. He dropped his hands to your hips, fingertips brushing skin. “What were you doing in here? Training?”

“I just needed some space to think, and uh— I was trying to understand my powers but I ended up just knocked over a punching bag. The chain snapped… we might need a new one.”

“Forget about the punching bag.” He gave you a gentle squeeze. “Your powers? We’ll figure it out. Besides, for now we just need to make sure we have reinforcements for when Doom comes. We plan for the worst.”

You smiled softly and turned in his arms. His eyes searched yours, his features soft in the training room’s dim light. He looked at you like you were something fragile and holy all at once.

“Bucky, I’m scared.”

He pressed his lips into the top of your head, letting them linger there. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

But that’s exactly what you were afraid of. You had seen just how protective Bucky was of you, even back when you hated him. He’d die for you. And you were too powerful… too chaotic and unruly. What if you hurt him?

You swallowed, and it cut like glass in your throat. Uncomfortable. Fear. Nearly impossible to repress. You tapped his chest lightly, trying to change the subject. “I had fun last night.”

“Me too, uh— I actually wanted to ask you if you’d maybe wanna come out on a date with me again, tonight? But a real date this time. I can show you how I did it in the 40s,”A pink blush appeared over his cheeks. Was Bucky Barnes nervous? When you didn’t reply, he stumbled over his words. “You can say no. I know we have a lot going on but I really think it might be a good distraction and I had this idea…”

Your hand stayed against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath your palm. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Bucky’s voice softened. “Okay then. I’ll drop by your room at midnight.”

“That’s late. Where are you taking me?” You asked, looking up at Bucky with curious doe-eyes.

“That, doll, is classified information,” Bucky smirked before sinking to the floor and pulling you down with him, your bodies tangled together on a training mat.

The hush of the empty gym held the moment like a secret. Bucky leaned against the mirrored wall behind him, legs stretched out, and you leaned sideways into him. His arm rested loosely around your shoulders.

“You ever think about the past?” he asked softly. “The good bits, I mean. Not the nightmares.”

You glanced up at him. “Sometimes. I try to remember my brother like that.”

Bucky hummed. “What was he like?”

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing idle shapes on your own knee. “He was funny. And so patient. He taught me how to ride a bike, you know? Held the seat the whole time until I was halfway down the street. Then I realised he’d let go, and I panicked, wiped out completely. Skinned knees. Total mess.”

Bucky chuckled gently. “Bet he ran straight to you.”

“He did.” Your voice softened with the memory. “Carried me back like I weighed nothing. Gave me the whole pep talk while Mom cleaned me up. Said, ‘you didn’t fall, you learned where the limits were.’” You paused. “He always believed in me, even when I didn’t.”

“You were close.”

You nodded. “He was my best friend. And when he died, I found myself searching for him in other people. I just wanted to feel protected again. Somehow I got caught up with Shane…”

There was a moment of reverent silence between you both. Bucky’s hand slipped from your shoulder to your back, running slow, comforting circles there.

“Shane wasn’t like him?” Bucky asked cautiously, voice almost a whisper, like he was afraid of breaking you.

You stiffened for a second, but then exhaled slowly, leaning a little harder against him. “No. Not even close. My brother protected me. Shane... hurt me. Controlled me. Made me feel like I wasn’t allowed to be myself.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed at that, but he said nothing. Just listened.

“You saw it,” you continued, your voice steadier now. “In the apartment. God Bucky, I’m so glad you came after me. I was a jerk to you and still, you kept coming after me. Saving me when I was in trouble.”

Bucky’s hand stopped moving for a moment. “Shane had a darkness in him,” he said, low. “I’ve seen a lot of monsters, but... the way he tied you up and looked at you—like he owned you—it made my blood boil.”

You swallowed, heart squeezing. “I used to think I’d never get away. And then one day... I did. I just ran. I didn’t even grab my coat.”

“And now look at you,” Bucky murmured, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Powerful. Brave. Still standing.”

You looked at him, heart caught in your throat.

“You were the one who showed me I could be more than what he made me believe I was,” you whispered.

He leaned his head down, brushing his forehead gently against yours. “And you showed me I’m more than what they made me.”

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his Henley. “We’re more than our pasts.”

“We are,” he agreed.

And for a long moment, neither of you said anything. You just sat there in the quiet, warmth shared between you, breathing steady, hearts beginning to heal—together.

Your breath mingled with his, both of you hovering on the edge of something that had been growing for days—weeks, maybe. The gravity of everything that had happened, the closeness, the confessions—it all pulled you closer.

Bucky’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin like he was afraid you’d vanish. His steel-blue eyes searched yours, his breath hitching.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, his voice rough and vulnerable. “Is that okay?”

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat. “Yes.”

He started leaning in, slowly—tentatively, reverently—like he was asking one last time. His nose brushed yours. His lips were just a breath away.

And then—

BZZZT.

Your comm crackled to life in your ear. Both of you froze.

“Sorry to interrupt,” came Reed Richards’ voice, clipped and urgent. “But I need you down in Lab 3. Now. I’ve found something. Something... important.”

You pulled back, blinking, heart pounding in a completely different rhythm now. Bucky sighed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help the small, exasperated laugh that escaped you. “Of all the times…”

He pulled away, clearly frustrated, but kissed your forehead in a soft, lingering motion. “We’ll come back to this.”

You nodded, already rising to your feet. “We better.”

────✪────

The lab was dimly lit, a low blue glow cast across the polished floor from the array of holographic panels circling Reed Richards like orbiting satellites. You stepped in quietly, the door hissing shut behind you. Reed didn’t even glance up at first — he was too focused, his hands weaving through data streams as if conducting invisible symphonies of code.

Only when you cleared your throat did he look up.

“Reed?” you called softly, drawing his attention.

He looked up, pale and drawn, like someone who had seen something they wished they could unsee. “You’re here. Good,” he said, his voice clipped, too fast. “I’ve made progress. Or maybe a mistake. I’m still deciding.”

You furrowed your brows and approached, arms crossed. “What kind of progress?”

Reed turned and gestured to the swirling portal behind him, a shimmering ring of translucent energy buzzing low. “Multiversal resonance,” he said, tapping rapidly on the console. “It’s more stable than I expected. I managed to create a soft tether. A gateway. Not just a window, but a bridge. I was able to bring something—someone—through.”

Your stomach dropped. “You brought someone here? From another universe?”

“Yes,” he said. “And that’s where it gets... complicated.”

You glanced at the portal. “Is this about the doppelgängers? Doom looking like Tony Stark?”

Reed nodded grimly. “Exactly. What we’re seeing—these strange overlaps in appearance—comes down to multiversal genetic convergence. Some universes don’t just echo ideas, they echo faces. Patterns of DNA that play out across timelines. It’s rare, but not impossible. You’ll see repeating archetypes, especially in people tied to strong cosmic forces. Heroes. Villains.”

“So this Doom, the one we saw,” you said slowly, “he looks like Tony not by coincidence.”

“No,” Reed said. “And... that brings me to what I have to show you.”

You stilled. Something in his voice changed. He wasn’t the overly confident, casually arrogant genius you were used to. He was nervous. Genuinely nervous. You had never seen Reed Richards unsure before, and it sent a chill through you.

He gestured for you to follow. You walked in silence through the back corridor, the tension thick as lead. When he paused at a reinforced door with a biometric scanner, your pulse quickened.

“Before I open this... I want to be clear,” Reed said, turning to face you. “I didn’t know this was going to happen. And I don’t know what to do with him.”

“Him?” you asked, confused. “Who is it?”

Reed looked at you, his eyes apologetic. Then he unlocked the door.

The lights inside were dimmed, but you saw him instantly.

Sitting on the edge of the cot was a man in a form-fitting fireproof suit, silver gauntlets hanging loosely from his hands, his posture relaxed but guarded. He turned as the door opened.

And your breath was punched out of you.

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. That face.

Steve Rogers' face.

No—not Steve. You knew that. Your brain knew that.

But your heart didn’t.

He stood slowly, confusion flickering in his gaze. “Hi,” he said cautiously. “I’m Johnny. Johnny Storm.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t breathe. It was like your body had frozen solid, horror and heartbreak twisting in your gut. Steve had been gone for years—but this? Seeing that face, alive, familiar, animated with new inflection and different energy—it shattered something in you.

“I don’t know how he ended up like this,” Reed said quietly beside you. “In his universe, Johnny Storm looks like this. I tried to trace the genetic divergence, but the more I dug... the more I lost track of our Johnny.”

Your head whipped toward him. “Wait—what do you mean, you lost him?”

“I think I displaced him accidentally,” Reed admitted, rubbing his forehead. “I was tracing multiversal threads and he slipped through one of them. I don’t know where he ended up. But I brought this Johnny in before I realised. Now I don’t know what to do.”

You turned back to the man in the cell—this Johnny who smiled like Steve, tilted his head like Steve, and radiated warmth with that same impossible familiarity.

You saw Bucky’s face in your mind. His grief. His softness. The way his voice broke when he said Steve’s name.

No. He couldn’t see this.

You stepped forward and placed a hand on Reed’s chest. “You cannot tell anyone about this. Especially not Bucky.”

Reed blinked. “I don’t—why? He’s harmless.”

“No, Reed,” you said sharply. “He’s not. Not to him.”

You swallowed hard, forcing back the storm behind your eyes. “Bucky already saw Doom with Tony’s face. He’s still dealing with that. But Steve? That’s different. That was his brother. His anchor. You show this to Bucky and you break him.”

Reed was quiet for a long time. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Hide him,” you said. “No one can know. Not yet. Until we figure out what this means, and where our Johnny is, you keep him locked away. Please, Reed.”

He hesitated... and then nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “I’ll keep this between us.”

You exhaled softly, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a little.

“I’ll run deeper scans,” Reed added, his tone shifting back toward the scientific. “I want to study this version’s neurological data. If there’s even a trace of Steve’s consciousness—”

“Then we tell Bucky,” you said. “Together.”

He nodded again. “Agreed.”

You looked back at the projection one more time before turning away.

It wasn’t Steve. But it felt like him. Like a phantom echo. A mirage your heart wanted to chase — but couldn’t.

You turned away from the door before the man inside could speak again. Before he could smile and tear another hole in your chest.

As the door sealed shut behind you, your legs nearly gave out from beneath you. You caught yourself on the cold wall, heart racing.

Steve’s face was back in the world.

And you had no idea how long you could keep it secret.

────✪────

The tower was quieter at night — no footsteps in the halls, no voices echoing through the common areas, no alerts pinging from the comms. Just silence, heavy and still.

You were lying in bed, eyes on the ceiling, the room bathed in soft, warm light from the bedside lamp. You’d changed into something comfortable hours ago, ready for your date night, and were trying to relax beforehand. Process everything that had happened. But rest hadn’t come. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind dragged you back to the lab. To Reed.

To the way Johnny Storm’s variant looked like Steve Rogers.

It had been hours since you left the lab. You hadn’t told anyone — not Sam, not Yelena, and definitely not Bucky. You’d eaten half a protein bar, drank some tea, and curled into your bed, hoping for sleep. But instead, you were stuck inside your own head, spinning in circles of guilt and protective instinct.

You didn’t even hear the knock at first. Just a soft thunk thunk at the door.

You sat up slightly, blinking.

“Yeah?” your voice rasped.

“...It’s me,” came the muffled voice.

Your heart tugged in recognition.

You padded barefoot to the door and cracked it open to find Bucky standing in a loose shirt and sweatpants, hair tousled like he’d run his hand through it a hundred times. His eyes searched yours, worry etched into every line on his face.

“You didn’t come to dinner” he said softly. “You okay?”

Your lips parted, but for a second, you didn’t know what to say. You finally nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

“Just… a lot on my mind,” you murmured.

He stepped inside quietly. The door clicked shut behind him. He didn’t go far, just stood near the edge of your bed like he wasn’t sure if he should sit or stay.

You climbed back into the bed and looked over your shoulder at him. “You can lie down. If you want.”

That was all it took. Bucky crossed the room slowly, eased onto the bed, and lay facing you. It was quiet for a beat — the kind of quiet that presses into your ribs.

“What did Reed find?” he asked gently.

You hesitated. Then lied. “Just more data. Another anomaly he’s investigating. But nothing solid.”

His gaze lingered on yours for a long second. Maybe he knew you weren’t being fully honest. Maybe he just trusted you enough not to push.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Okay.”

You studied him. His face was shadowed but soft. Less guarded than usual. His shoulders weren’t quite so tense.

“How are you doing?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He gave you a tired little smile. “I promised I’d stop lying when you ask me that, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“I’m tired,” he said, exhaling slowly. “Not from the fighting. Not even from Doom or the mission. I’m just tired of feeling like I’m chasing ghosts. Of trying to make peace with who I was and not knowing if I deserve any of this.”

Your heart squeezed. You reached out without thinking, your fingers grazing his forearm.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said.

A silence stretched, but this one was comfortable.

His hand found your hip beneath the blanket. Warm and gentle. He rested it there for a moment, like he was testing how close he could be without scaring you off.

You didn’t flinch.

“I like it,” you said softly, not looking away. “When you touch me.”

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I feel… safe.”

His thumb swept across your hip, tracing slow circles. “That’s all I ever wanted,” he murmured. “To make you feel safe.”

You swallowed, heart fluttering as he leaned in just a bit closer, their noses almost touching. You could feel his breath against your lips. His eyes searched yours, and then dropped briefly to your mouth, like he was weighing a decision.

“I had feelings for you,” he whispered, “even when you hated me.”

Your breath caught.

“I didn’t want to,” he added quickly. “You had every reason to hate me. And I told myself I didn’t deserve to want anything from you. But I’d watch you on missions. Hear you laugh in the hallway. See you stand your ground with Sam. And I couldn’t help it.”

A soft sound escaped your lips — a whimper somewhere between awe and disbelief.

“I didn’t hate you,” you whispered back. “Not really. I wanted to. But deep down… I think I was so afraid to come to terms with what I really felt. It was easier to fight with you than… the other thing.”

Your hand found his jaw and held it, thumb brushing across the stubble along his cheek.

“I think,” you added, ready to elaborate. “I was scared to forgive you, because if I did… I’d have to admit how badly I wanted you too.”

His breath stilled.

You leaned in closer, your foreheads almost touching.

“I wanted you when I thought I shouldn’t,” you said, lips barely brushing his. “And now… I just want you.”

Bucky closed the gap, but it wasn’t desperate — it was soft, sweet, tender. The kind of kiss that lingered. His hand slid up to your waist, holding you gently. Yours tangled in his hair.

And for a moment, the weight of everything — of multiversal threats, of ghosts in the shape of Steve and Tony — melted away.

It was just the two of you. Whispering warmth and safety into each other’s mouths.

And when the kiss broke, and Bucky tucked you against his chest, his arm curling around your back, you finally felt content. 

You were lying face to face with Bucky, your noses almost touching, the warmth of his palm still resting gently against your waist. You were both content to just be. To breathe each other in. To exist in the same sliver of peace.

His thumb made slow circles over your shirt, right above your hip. You’d long forgotten how to keep your heart from racing around him.

“As much as I love lying here with you, I did promise I’d take you out tonight.” He said, his voice low and husky from the hour. You hummed in response, eyes half-lidded, fingers absently brushing the seam of his sleeve.

He reached up and gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips barely skimming your skin. You shivered—not from the chill, but from the softness of it. From him.

“Oh, so you did.”

“Come sneak out with me,” he whispered, right against your temple.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

His grin was slow and teasing. “Let’s get outta here. Just for a while.”

You stared at him, half laughing, half suspicious. “Bucky. It’s nearly one in the morning.”

“Exactly. Everyone’s asleep. No one will miss us.”

You raised a brow. “What are we, sixteen?”

“Not since the Great Depression,” he said with a smirk. “But I still know how to cause a little trouble.”

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “Where would we even go?”

“I told you earlier, it’s a surprise.”

You groaned. “I hate surprises.”

He tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “Do you trust me?”

The question hung there, weighty, gentle, honest.

Your smile faded, but in its place came something deeper—something vulnerable. You nodded, slow. “Yeah. I trust you.”

His smile softened. “Then come with me. I promise you’ll like it.”

You stared at him, your breath catching—completely and utterly gone for him.

“All right, James Barnes,” you whispered. “Let’s go break the rules.”

────✪────

The rusted gate creaked behind you as you both dropped onto the sand-dusted boardwalk, giggling like you were teenagers again—though Bucky technically had at least a century on that title. The whole place was draped in shadows, lit only by the flickering remnants of carnival lights left on for maintenance or nostalgia. The sea whispered behind you, and the wind tugged at your clothes as Bucky caught your hand and tugged you deeper in.

Coney Island was asleep, but somehow more alive than it had ever been.

"Okay, rules of the fair," Bucky said, voice low, full of mischief. "One: you have to let me win every game we don't actually play. Two: you must pretend to be utterly charmed when I twirl you. And three—most important—no phones, no mission talk, just you and me."

You held up three fingers like a scout. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“You were never charming.” You bit back, with a smile painting your face and stars in your eyes.

“Ouch,” he grinned, already pulling you toward the carousel. It sat still and silent, the hand-painted horses frozen in place. Most of the lights had been turned off, but the moonlight cast a silver sheen across the platform.

“I dare you to ride one,” he said, eyes glinting.

“You dare me?”

He nodded solemnly. “Ride it like a princess.”

“Oh, I see. And what does that make you?”

He stepped closer, voice dropping theatrically as he tugged on his jacket. “Your loyal knight in shining leather.”

You threw your head back and laughed. “God, you’re cheesy.”

“Excuse you, I’m gallant.”

Still laughing, you mounted the tallest horse, gripping the pole, dramatically tossing your hair. “Take me on my steed, knight!”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said with a faux-bow, pretending to draw an invisible sword. “I vow to protect your honour and steal your cotton candy.”

The wind whooshed around you as he stepped up onto the carousel and reached for your waist. With a playful grunt, he lifted you off the horse, spun you once in the air, and planted you gently back down—your laughter ringing loud in the night.

Your cheeks were hot, and your grin stretched ear to ear.

“I hate how strong you are,” you said breathlessly.

“You love it,” he teased, his hands not leaving your waist just yet.

“I’m not confirming or denying anything.”

Then, you noticed it—the Ferris wheel. Set a little ways off, mostly dark, except for one lone cabin light that blinked weakly every few seconds. The wheel wasn’t running, but it was gently rotating—just enough for someone to sneak a ride.

You glanced at Bucky.

He raised a brow. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Depends. You thinking felony trespassing?”

“I was thinking romance. But felony trespassing is a close second.”

You grabbed his hand. “Then let’s go commit a crime.”

He laughed all the way there, helping you climb into one of the cars. It creaked as it lifted, slow and lazy. You shivered from the chill, and Bucky immediately shrugged off his leather jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Look at that,” you said softly, curling into his side. “A gentleman and a criminal.”

“Only for you.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, your breath fogging slightly in the air.

“I used to bring girls here,” Bucky said after a long pause, voice low and nostalgic. “Back before the war. Before everything. It was always Coney Island.”

You sat up a little, narrowing your eyes. “Wow. I feel so special.”

He laughed quietly, the sound bittersweet. “Hey, I haven’t brought anyone here since, well... not for about ninety years.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Not since Steve and I shipped out.”

Your chest ached, but in the warm, aching way.

His hand found yours again, intertwining your fingers like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“I used to think what I felt for those girls was real,” he said. “Back then, everything felt real. But it wasn’t. Not like this.”

You turned to him slowly. “Like what?”

He looked at you—not just looked, saw you. In a way that made your skin warm beneath your clothes, even in the cold wind.

“Like this,” he whispered, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “This is different.”

Your breath hitched. “Yeah… it is.”

The Ferris wheel turned on, just enough to shift the car you were in, giving you a sweeping view of the empty boardwalk below. Everything quiet, timeless. Like the world had pressed pause and made space for just the two of you.

Bucky leaned in, his lips brushing yours with a softness that made your stomach flutter. When he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It was reverent. Like every part of him was savoring the moment.

When you pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Best first date I’ve ever had,” you whispered.

He smiled, brushing your nose with his. “I’m not even done yet.”

You grinned. “What else is there?”

He nodded toward the beach. “Stars.”

────✪────

You kicked off your shoes the second your feet touched the sand, the grains still warm in patches from the sun earlier that day. Bucky followed, boots in hand, his rolled-up sleeves brushing against his forearms as the two of you wandered toward the tide. The moon hung low above the ocean like it was watching you, soft and golden.

You dropped onto the sand with a sigh, hugging your knees as the waves whispered their endless lullaby. Bucky sat beside you, then stretched out on his back with his arms behind his head. You glanced at him—his profile soft, more boyish in the moonlight than you'd ever seen him before.

“Lie down,” he murmured, patting the space beside him.

You did, your head on his shoulder, his jacket draped over you like a cocoon. He turned slightly, adjusting to cradle you better, one hand resting protectively over your waist, fingers splayed like he wanted to memorise every curve.

The stars were scattered across the sky like glitter tossed by a careless god.

“This was our favorite thing,” Bucky said after a while, voice quieter than the ocean. “Me and Steve. We'd come out here late, lay on the boardwalk or the roof of my building, and just… stare. No talking. No noise. Just… stars.”

You closed your eyes for a second, imagining that younger version of him. Smiling. Carefree. Unburdened by war or metal arms or trauma.

“I think he saw something up there I never did,” Bucky continued, “Hope. A future. Something good waiting.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the secret tucked behind your ribs. A Johnny Storm variant that looked just like Steve Rogers. Too much like him. The resemblance had sent ice down your spine. You touched Bucky’s chest lightly, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heart.

“He was right, though,” you whispered. “There is something good waiting.”

He looked down at you, his mouth twitching into the ghost of a smile. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “It’s this. Right here. You and me.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head to kiss the top of yours, lingering for a beat too long, like he was scared the moment might vanish if he moved too quickly.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he said against your hair.

You tilted your head up toward him. “Maybe it’s not about what you did. Maybe it’s about what you do now.”

He stared at you. And there it was again—that open, wounded awe in his eyes, like he still couldn’t believe you were real. That you’d forgiven him. That you’d chosen him.

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured.

“Anything.”

His hand moved from your waist to your cheek. “Back there, in the tower… before this. When you said you like when I touch you—was that just a line? Or…”

You leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Not a line,” you whispered. “It’s the truth.”

His smile was shy but electric. “Good. Because I don’t think I can stop.”

You laughed, the sound melting into the sound of the waves. “Then don’t.”

You closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a slow, deliberate kiss that melted into something deeper. His breath hitched, and his hands moved—one sliding under your shirt, fingers grazing the bare skin of your side, the heat of his touch making you shiver.

Your hands found their way to the front of his shirt, fingers tracing the hard muscles beneath, before boldly slipping beneath the fabric to feel the warmth of his skin. 

The stars were wide and endless above you, a smattering of silver across the dark velvet sky. You lay together in the soft, cool sand at Coney Island, wrapped in the folds of Bucky’s worn leather jacket. The wind carried salt and sea and silence, but none of that mattered — not with the weight of him over you, his mouth locked on yours like he was starved for every taste.

And you kissed him back just as hungrily, gasping when his tongue swept against yours, when his hips shifted against yours, slow and searching.

You felt everything.

The rough denim of his jeans against your thighs. The warmth of his hands sliding beneath your jacket, fingers curling under the hem of your shirt. The press of his clothed thigh between your legs where you’d unconsciously slotted yourself against him.

“God,” he muttered against your mouth, voice strained, reverent. “You feel so good like this.”

Your breath hitched as he adjusted his thigh just right — and you instinctively moved, hips rocking forward, rubbing against the strong line of muscle. It was clothed, it was barely anything — but your body jolted, craving more.

“Bucky…” you whispered, dizzy.

He kissed you again, slower this time, almost tentative. But his hands were not — one slid up the length of your back to hold you close, the other trailing down, past your waist to where your leggings hugged tight to your hips.

“Can I?” he asked, voice hoarse, palm resting at the curve between your thighs. “I won’t go any further unless you want—”

You nodded before he could even finish.

“I want,” you breathed. “Please, I want—”

That was all it took.

His hand moved over you, warm and steady, rubbing slow circles over the heat that pulsed between your legs. The pressure sent a jolt through your spine. Your hands clawed at his back through his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself as your hips rutted against him, desperate for friction.

“Jesus,” Bucky groaned, voice muffled against your throat. “Watching you like this — grinding on me — you’re gonna kill me.”

You whimpered when he pressed harder, a precise, perfect drag of his fingers over your leggings, right where you needed him most. Your body was trembling now, breath catching with each stroke.

And then — his thigh shifted again beneath you, and you found yourself rocking against it while he kept his fingers working you through your leggings. A filthy, delicious rhythm.

You gasped his name.

His mouth crashed to yours, swallowing your sounds as he pressed into you with equal urgency — the thick line of his erection clearly outlined through his jeans now, grinding against your hip.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re drivin’ me crazy. You feel that?”

You nodded, dazed. “You’re hard…”

“For you,” he said, his voice nearly breaking. “Been hard since you kissed me on that damn carousel.”

You shifted then, adjusting your angle — straddling one of his jean-clad thighs while reaching down between you, just bold enough now to cup him through his jeans. He choked out a groan and buried his face in your shoulder.

“Oh fuck—don’t do that unless you wanna see me lose it right here,” he growled, laughing breathlessly.

“I do,” you whispered with a smirk, rolling your hips down against him.

The air around you turned hot and thick, full of panting and groans and need. You rubbed against his thigh, hips rocking, slick and desperate beneath your clothes. And Bucky — Bucky met your rhythm, hands on your ass, pressing you down against him as he thrust up into the crook of your thigh.

The moment was messy, wild, completely clothed — but somehow more vulnerable than anything you’d ever felt.

“I’m close,” you gasped, shaking.

“Me too,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Let go for me. Wanna feel you come on me like this.”

And you did — with a broken cry muffled against his lips, your body wracked with waves of pleasure as your hips stuttered against his thigh.

Moments later, Bucky came too, groaning into your shoulder, holding you tight as his body trembled. The press of his cock against you went rigid, twitching through his jeans as he spilled into his boxers, panting like he’d just gone ten rounds in the ring.

Silence followed — just the crashing of waves and the sound of both your hearts hammering out of sync.

Then Bucky laughed softly, breathless and warm. “First date, huh?”

You buried your face in his neck. “Best one I’ve ever had.”

“Don’t tell the carousel horse,” he teased. “It’ll be jealous.”

You giggled, tightening your hold on him.

And neither of you moved — not right away. The stars shone down, and for now, the weight of the multiverse didn’t exist.

Just him. Just you. And the soft, sweet echo of everything you were becoming together.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world @positivenergy @cherriesnmango @navs-bhat @hits-different-cause-its-you @avivarougestan

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[lovequartz]

under wisteria blossoms

⊱ pairing: town doctor!wonwoo x reader

⊱ genre: small town, acquaintances to lovers, fluff & angst

⊱ warnings: historical inaccuracy, self-image and self-esteem issues, period-typical views (marriage/women)

⊱ word count: 7900+

⊱ tonight, i’ll send the glow of a firefly to somewhere near your window

⊱ notes: happy and somewhat relived to be able to share this, i think like aoybb this is something that i worked really hard on and tried my best with <3

The boy's skin feels warm and clammy underneath Wonwoo’s fingers. He’s glad the family called him when they did, thankfully the young boy’s condition had been better than he’d anticipated. He hangs his stethoscope back into its place over his shoulders and turns to the boy’s grandfather. 

“It’s a mild fever, he should be feeling better with a few doses of herbal tea and lots of rest,” Wonwoo pauses to pull the young boy’s shirt down and the sheet covering him, back up, “please don’t hesitate to call me if anything changes.” 

Your father walks the doctor to the door and bids him farewell with a firm handshake as well as a pat on the shoulder. As soon as the door shuts you move to change the washcloth resting on your nephew’s head.

“You could’ve greeted him properly rather than peek at him from the hallway,” your father teases. 

You shake your head as your hands busy themselves with wringing the washcloth. “He was so handsome,” you sigh, “I almost broke into a rash just staring at him.” You place the now cool fabric back into place across your nephew’s forehead, and press your moist hands against your cheeks in a futile effort to bring a chill to your warm face. Perhaps you’re the one with the fever now.

Your paths do not cross with the young and handsome doctor until sometime a week or two later. Your parents had insisted you bring him a small basket of persimmons on your morning delivery to thank him for Silas’s care, and your sister, Silas’s mother, had insisted that you bring your nephew with you.

So there you were, the pair of you, walking towards the town center to find Jeon Wonwoo’s office of practice. 

Silas squeezes your hand to get your attention and you glance toward him to let him know you’re listening. 

“Auntie,” he starts, “do you think I should become a doctor when I grow up?” 

You almost giggle but hold it in lest he thinks you’re laughing at him. His mother would probably run the streets in excitement if she’d just heard her son’s query. 

“Now why do I have a say in what you should be when you grow up? You can be whatever you want, I always tell you that.” 

His lips form a small pout before he replies; “You’re my best friend, of course you have a say.”

Tears try to fill your eyes before you will them away with a shake of your head. “Well as your best friend I say that you should be whatever makes you happy.” You tell him and lean down to quickly press a kiss to his cheek. “Now let’s hurry to Mister Jeon’s office so he can get his persimmons and you can go to afternoon classes.” 

The doctor’s office isn’t too hard to find, mostly due to the fact that there’s only one of them, and it’s fairly new to town.

As you and your nephew make your way to the entrance you notice the wisteria plants that span the awning. ‘They'll look lovely when they bloom in spring,’ you muse. 

The bell above the door chimes as the two of you enter and the young man sitting behind what you assume to be the reception desk nods in greeting. 

“Do you have an appointment?” He asks once you are closer to the desk. 

“Actually, I’m here with a delivery," you say, shyly holding up the basket, "and payment for Dr. Jeon's house visit." 

"Of course," he stands to receive the basket from you and sets it on the floor beside his chair. You watch him smooth down his dress shirt as he returns to his seat. The man then pulls open a drawer at his side and retrieves a medium sized journal, setting it in front of him and wetting his index finger to flip through its pages. 

"May I know the date the visit took place? As well as the patient's last name and address?"

You provide him with the information and watch as he skims through the cursive written on the journal's pages. 

As you converse with the man about payment you can't help but be thankful about how well behaved Silas is as you do. Although it might have been due to his fascination with the fish in a tank that sat in the waiting area, tucked next to some chairs and a table with a few newspapers, you're no less grateful. 

The two of you leave the office shortly after, your nephew a bit disappointed in not seeing Dr. Jeon, the man who has become the current subject of his admiration. 

"I'm sure we'll see him sometime soon," you say, trying to lift the boy's spirits, "it's a small town after all. Now, run along to class. Your mother will have my head if you're late again." 

Silas bids you farewell with a hug and you watch him jog down the road towards the schoolhouse, his bag swinging behind him. Unbeknownst to you that the doctor you'd been speaking about was watching it all from not too far away. 

Wonwoo is just shy of exhausted as he enters his practice. Removing his hat and tweed coat, holding onto them to hang them up in his office. 

Seungkwan stands from his chair to greet him but before he can utter a word Wonwoo lets out an almost comical sigh. 

"Please tell me I'm done with house visits for the day, I don't think I can handle another matriarch trying to convince me to marry their daughter." 

"You'll be happy to note that all the patients left today are mostly general check-ups." Seungkwan replies with a look of amusement. "Oh and before I forget the daughter of the persimmon farm came by with a basket for you and also took care of their bill for the visit two weeks ago," he continues. 

"I thought I caught a glimpse of her outside. Thank you, Seungkwan, I'll be in my office if you need me." 

Wonwoo closes his office door behind him as he enters, hanging up his hat and jacket on the coat rack to his immediate left. The basket of persimmons sits in the middle of his desk, covered with a cloth that had to have been hand-sewn. It's cream colored with a bouquet of embroidered flowers in the corner, beautiful work. It's a shame he can't enjoy the sweet fruit that lies beneath, work comes first. 

The bookstore's wood stairs creak as you ascend and in turn the bell hanging above the door chimes as you enter. Delight flashes across your face as you lock eyes with the girl who sits behind the counter. She returns your joy earnestly with a small smile and a wave of her hand. 

"You seem to be awfully chipper this afternoon." Jisun notes as you lean against the counter. 

"Maybe because I have it all to myself," You reply, with a smile. 

"I thought you had deliveries to do today?" She asks, confused. 

"Well, I did have one delivery today, to Dr. Jeon's office. My father said if I made that delivery and sent Silas off to classes I could take the afternoon off. I might have to do some this evening though."

At the mention of the doctor's name your friend gives you a coy look, which you ignore. 

Jisun and you fall into easy conversation between the calm buzz of the bookstore and her helping whatever customer needs it. You move to sit beside her behind the counter, to free up space. She tells you all about the planning being done by her mother for her upcoming wedding. Her engagement to the eldest son of the town's pottering family, Kim Doyoung, happened sometime this past winter. Jisun was over the moon when he had asked for her hand; you remember her crush on him from your school days. He was set to take over the family business in two to three years due to his father's declining health. 

"I'm thinking late summer or next autumn, because of the weather. My mother wants it to happen as early as possible, but Doyoung and I are okay with waiting a bit longer. His mother is fine with whatever I decide, she's truly wonderful." 

"I'm sure everything will work out. I just can't wait to atten– your response is cut off by the bell above the door chiming to announce a customer, your and Jisun's eyes snapping to the door. 

To your utter horror, Jeon Wonwoo enters the bookstore. 

You duck behind the counter quickly, praying he hasn't seen you yet and clutching your headscarf so it obscures your face better. 

Jisun gives you a confused look but you wordlessly plead for her to act normal, breathing a sigh of relief when she turns to greet the doctor. 

"Welcome, Dr. Jeon! I wasn't expecting you today."

You're glad Jisun is a better actress than she seems. 

Wonwoo returns her greeting and asks about the store. To which Jisun replies; "It's been fine, not too busy and not too slow." 

"How's Doyoung's father? I understand he's been taking his medicine diligently, but I haven't got around to seeing him yet as I was in the office all afternoon." 

She offers the doctor a smile, "He's doing much better, thankfully. We're all really grateful to you, Dr. Jeon." 

"Please, call me Wonwoo, I prefer to be 'Dr. Jeon' during work hours." 

Jisun smiles, "Of course."

Your squatting position soon becomes uncomfortable but you'd rather die than show yourself now, so you continue to listen to the two converse. 

"And the wedding? I know you've been planning." 

"Well, nothing is set in stone yet, but Doyoung and I are thinking perhaps late summer or even early autumn. Fret not, you and Seungkwan absolutely have a place on the guest list." 

"Looking forward to it then. Sorry to take up so much time with small talk, your father has a medical textbook saved for me. I told him I would be by this morning but I was a bit too busy." 

"I see, it's likely in his study then. I'll be just a minute!" She replies before turning around to the back of the bookstore, shooting you a wary glance before she disappears. 

You hear Wonwoo hum quietly to himself as he waits, and you silently pray for Jisun to make haste. Your legs are burning, not only from the weight of your body but also mostly due to the weight of your deceit. No matter, you cannot possibly let Jeon Wonwoo see you. 

"Here it is!" Jisun announces cheerfully as she returns, holding up the thick book with two hands and a sense of pride. 

"Thank you, Jisun. How much do I owe?" 

Jisun calculates the total along with a hefty discount sparing no room for argument, before wrapping the book up and handing it to the doctor. 

"You take care now Wonwoo! I'm sure I'll see you soon." Jisun says as she bids him farewell. 

You breathe a sigh of relief at the bell chiming, and the sound of the door closing. Grabbing onto the counter you hoist yourself back to standing much to the torment of your legs. 

"What was that about?" Jisun asks with a confused look as you wince and massage your knees. 

You open your mouth to respond but Jisun continues; "Don't you dare say 'nothing'." 

"I don't want him to see me." You admit, looking at your feet. 

"Why not?" She seems incredulous at your confession, "Is it because of your scar?" 

Your hand instinctively reaches to touch the long scar that runs through your left eye and down your cheek. The scar that "marred" you, the one that made people look twice, the only thing that prevents you from finding love. 

You sigh before giving Jisun a hollow smile, "I have to fetch Silas soon. I'll tell you more later." 

And with that you wave to Jisun and make your exit. 

The reminder of your scar brings awful memories back to the surface of your mind, and they are all you can think about as you walk to the schoolhouse.

Early Summer (Two Years Prior)

"Darling, is your sister ready? The Baes will be here any moment!" 

Your sister hurriedly pulls the curlers from your hair, and runs a brush through them. "Give us forty seconds Mama!" She looks you over in the mirror before giving you a reassuring smile, rushing to pick up the discarded curlers. 

"You look beautiful! Now go see Mama, quickly!" 

You meet your mother in the kitchen and she gives you a once over before kissing your cheek. "My lovely girl." 

Your mother instructs you on when to join them at the table after the Baes arrive and to bring the persimmons she's already cut with you. Figuring you still have time, you move to your sister's room where your nephew is playing. 

"Hi Silas." You say softly as you find a seat next to the boy. 

"Hi Auntie, what happened to your special meeting?" He asks with a tilt of his head. 

"The special people aren't here yet so I came to say hi one more time." You reply, pushing his hair out of his face, it was getting so long. 

You and your nephew chat for a bit more until the commotion from the front of the house draws away your attention; the Baes have arrived. 

The Baes were a modest family, a mom, a dad and two children, one boy and one girl. They owned the town jewelers, and were surprisingly well known. Bae Giwoong, the head of the family, was skilled with his hands, creating beautiful pieces that complimented anyone. Paired with a wife that had vast knowledge on jewels and precious stones, they had done quite well for themselves.

Hyunsik, the son, had come in earnest with his family to potentially ask for your hand. You were quite nervous, but seeing as your sister had married almost four years prior and had Silas, it was only natural that you were thinking about marriage as well. 

The meeting was dragging on. You had presented the persimmons just as your mother had instructed, before taking your seat at her side, across from Hyunsik who you offered a polite but reserved smile. He did not return it, only glancing at you briefly before returning his attention to the conversation between your father and his. 

Soon, the chatter dwindled and the Baes announced their leave. Your father convinced Mr. Bae to have a cigar with him just outside the house before they departed. You busied yourself with clearing the table of the used forks and now empty cups of tea your mother had prepared.

After your tidying, you swiftly move through the house to the window at the front of it, intent on eavesdropping. 

Peering out you see the son and father chatting amongst themselves, your father probably in his study to fetch the cigar he promised Mr. Bae. Leaning closer to the ledge you're able to hear the two as they converse. 

"They're a good family, what do you think of her?" Mr. Bae asks. 

"They seem to be," Hyunsik agrees, "She's adequate, I suppose. If only she didn't have that unsightly scar," he continues. 

Your heart drops into your stomach at his words, as your hand unconsciously reaches to the scar. 

His father mulls over his words with a hum before replying; "You'd have to keep her under lock and key, the poor girl's mangled." 

The dread in your stomach hardens and you want nothing more than to stop hearing these harsh words, but you are frozen in place. 

Hyunsik nods in agreement, "It's really a shame. I'd be able to overlook it if it were anywhere else, I just can't imagine waking up to that face every morning."

You feel the tears before you register that you're crying, and the sensation is enough to knock you back to consciousness. You stand hurriedly and make your way to your room before anyone can see you in this pathetic state. 

 You pretend. In the day you are just yourself, getting errands done and living day to day. You pretend to agree, when your mother tells you that Bae Hyunsik would not be asking for your hand due to the fact that he believes you two wouldn't be compatible. At night you are inconsolable, crying into your pillow until your tears eventually put you to sleep. 

Silas senses a shift in your mood, but as a three year old he only does what he can. Seeking attention whenever you're sitting idle, laying his head on your lap while you stroke his hair. His little hands playing with your free one. 

Eventually, you learn to move on. As does Hyunsik when he marries the eldest daughter of Lee's dairy farm. 

His words, however, will stay with you forever. 

Drawn out of your memories by the clanging of the schoolhouse bell you quicken your pace, keeping eyes out for your nephew. He appears within a few moments, his own eyes searching for you. You wave to him when he finally finds you. 

"How were classes?" You ask as the boy bounds up to you, reaching to smooth his unruly hair. 

"Good!” He chirps, before launching into detail about his afternoon. Keeping the two of you entertained as you follow the road home. 

The days that follow glide by until eventually they all bleed into a week, a week since you’ve seen the young doctor. Your deliveries go as well as can be expected, though they have been slowing down, and your father is busy preparing the year’s saplings. Silas has gone off to visit his paternal grandparents who live a few towns away, your sister going along despite her relationship of apathy with her in-laws. She did say something about Henry’s younger brother finishing his woodworking apprenticeship so she was expected to be present. 

You find yourself bored without your small friend but find time to chat with Jisun every now and again. Miraculously you haven’t run into Wonwoo at all, though you’ve caught glimpses from afar and he has not gotten any less handsome. 

At dusk your mother finds you with a basket in her hands. 

"Did I forget a delivery?" You question eyes falling to the vermillion fruit. 

"No dear, your father is out with the trees still and it slipped my mind that I had promised Mrs. Lee these. You know her youngest just got engaged," She explains. 

"Ah right I had forgotten. I'll take care of it," you reply, taking the basket from your mother's hands and pressing a reassuring kiss to her cheek. 

The walk to the Lee home is not long, but it is closer to the town than to your own home. You greet the few townspeople you come across on the way, offering them small smiles and polite nods. 

The greetings have you in a good mood so you have a little more pep in your step as you bound up the Lee family's porch, curling your fingers around the knocker when you make it to the door. 

"Coming!" You hear a girlish voice say, followed by the sounds of the door unlocking. 

With a slight tug of the door inwards you come face to face with Lee Daeun, the eldest Lee sister, one hand laid on the wood while the other cradles her very pregnant stomach. The polite smile on her face slips when her eyes flash with recognition. 

"I had assumed your mother would be dropping by, not…..you." 

You offer a shrug, "Mother sent me instead, sorry to disappoint." You reply jokingly, trying to ease the tension. 

Daeun doesn't respond right away, choosing to study you for a few moments. The silence becomes awkward quickly so you try your best to remedy it. 

"Congratulations to your sister, what a joyous occasion for her. And to yourself, I didn't know you were with child." You say with a warm smile, probably the most genuine thing the two of you had exchanged thus far. 

You hold out the basket to her, which she takes sliding it up her arm so it rests in the crook of her elbow.

"Yes, well, our family is quite satisfied with her fiancé. He's the son of an artisan, and they live a few towns eastward." Both her hands now rest on her stomach, "As for this one, it's only been a few months. Hyunsik is over the moon, and Momma insists on keeping me inside for the time being, so I don't get out much." Daeun's eyes seize you once more before she continues; "And yourself? I know your family has been searching for suitors, any success?" 

She may as well have doused you in cold water with the way her tone becomes icy. 

"Unfortunately not. I'm not too worried though, I know finding a suitable bachelor can take some time and I'm nothing if not patient." 

A scoff escapes her at your reply. "Worried? I feel you should be rather embarrassed. My youngest sister, a girl who we both watched play with mud when we were all children, is now engaged. Meanwhile you continue to age with no partner to call yours, as well as toting around your poor nephew pretending he's your own. I think it's time you face reality, nobody wants a scarred wife no matter how pretty she is." 

You are stunned into silence, fists clenched and nails biting into the skin of your palms. Every cell in your body fighting the urge to cry at the venom Daeun had spat at you for seemingly no reason at all. 

"Give your parents our family's thanks." Is the last thing she says before shutting the door in your face. 

You stare at the door for a few moments, tears starting to blur your vision, before you turn and hurry away from the Lee's home. 

Hot tears are blurring your vision as you head in the direction opposite your house. You want to find somewhere quiet to cry your eyes out before heading back to your residence and pretending everything is fine and dandy. 

Reaching closer to town, you stumble across the fountain just behind the main street, tucked between a few trees. A veranda shielding it from the setting sun with vines of wisteria weaved through its wood. The flowers are nowhere in sight as their blooming season is still a ways off. You, however, are too busy crying to care much about wisteria.

Shakily you manage to sit at the fountain's edge before your body is wracked with your sobs. Fingers fumble to pull the knot of your scarf resting against your chin loose, and once the fabric comes free you bury your face in it, your tears never once stopping. 

You don't know how long you sit there crying, removing your face from your tear stained head scarf every so often to breathe. 

A soft voice is the thing that finally brings you back to reality, and there before you with worry etched into his wrinkled brow is Jeon Wonwoo. 

Your mind blanks at the sight of him, and it feels as if someone has stuffed cotton in your ears as Wonwoo's lips move but you cannot hear a word he utters. His concerned frown deepens as he gets no response from you, leaning closer. It's as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you feel yourself falling backwards as if someone had grabbed onto the back of your dress and yanked. 

Wonwoo cries in surprise as he watches you fall towards the water, arms reaching out to grab you. The sound kicks your brain into gear, it's too late to stop your descent but you throw your hands back to catch yourself. A loud splash echoes through the small area before you are engulfed in the sensation of cold water drenching your skin and clothes. Wonwoo as he lunged to grab you had also met with the fountain water, his hands and forearms submerged, and his body leaning over top of yours. 

Silence buzzes between the two of you as the only thing you can do is stare at each other. It's only then do you truly realize the situation that you've found yourself in. Wonwoo's face is mere inches from your own and the only thing you can think is how much more handsome he looks up close. His strong jaw, sharp nose, and the flecks of honey that swim in the brown of his irises. 

You notice him studying your own face, and as his eyes drift over to the left you remember why you were crying in the first place. Your hand snaps up to cover your scar and this is what seems to break the trance between you and the doctor. Wonwoo can feel the blood rushing to his ears as he scrambles back to his feet, bowing his head and offering apology after apology.

 When you don't respond his eyes meet yours, and he notices you have not made any attempt to remove yourself from the fountain. Your green dress is bunched up over your knees, the fabric now dark due to the water, and your patterned head scarf still gripped in hand. 

Wonwoo's face still feels like it has been set ablaze but he offers you both of his hands, "May I?" 

You nod shakily before he leans over and your hands reach up to grasp his own. He pulls you firmly, but not yanking, and even lets one of your hands go to loop an arm around your waist for a more secure hold. 

You notice how firm his body feels against yours and how much taller he is than you'd thought now that you're practically pressed together. Heat rushes to your cheeks. 

Wonwoo slowly removes his arm from your waist and his hand from yours, taking half a step back to give you some (much needed) space. 

"Are you alright? I feel awful about startling you, but I heard the crying and wanted to know if you were okay." 

"I'm fine," you reply, voice small, "my apologies for getting you wet." 

The doctor's lips twitch and you feel perhaps he wants to laugh at you. You wouldn't fault him, you are soaked to the bone, rivulets of water running down your legs beneath your dress. 

"Water under the bridge." 

You almost giggle at that, but duck your head down and compose yourself quickly. 

Wonwoo continues; "Would you mind walking with me to my practice? I live right above it, and would feel better if I could get you into something dry before escorting you home. I know you live a bit out of town." 

Before you can respond Wonwoo must have realized how he sounded. 

"I know because you left me the persimmons and I treated the young boy, though I didn't see you there. I have seen you around town with him though, just briefly of course, completely coincidentally. I don't go out of my way to catch a glimpse of you here and there. I promise, I'm not a strange person." Wonwoo rambles in an attempt to clear the air, though you're not sure it needed clearing in the first place. 

The space above Wonwoo’s office is quaint, what it lacks in size it makes up for in homey-ness. Books piled neatly from where they spill out of the bookshelf, a warm armchair nestled right beside it. A dining table with one chair, both a dark cherrywood, sits against the wall adjacent to the small kitchenette. There’s a small wood-burning stove that looks well loved. Everything in the space feels very Wonwoo to you. 

Speaking of, you can hear him rustling through the drawers in the other room. He ushered you in despite your protests, not wanting to drip all over his home. Once inside he disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a towel clutched in his hand, and then layed it across the floor in front of you. “Since you feel so strongly about not getting my floor wet,” he’d said, before disappearing once more. 

You fiddle with your fingers, still drenched to the bone, as your clothes drip drip drip onto the towel. 

Finally, Wonwoo exits the room, pulling the door closed behind him with a bundle of clothes tucked safely in his other arm. 

“I’m sure they won’t fit like a glove, but you’re likely grateful for dry clothes either way.” His tone is a bit teasing, and you can only nod in response with your ears feeling hot. 

“The bathroom is just opposite of my room,” He says, passing over the clothes to your hands, “take your time. It’s just about dark so I’ll be sure to walk you home. You can call your parents, or husband, when you’re dressed. I have a phone.” He continues. 

The ‘husband’ comment makes you bristle but you decide to clear the air with Wonwoo at a later time, desperately wanting to get out of this wet dress.

“Thank you,” you reply softly, and turn to scurry into the safety of the bathroom. 

You get dressed quickly, not bothering with your undergarments. You’d rather have wet undergarments than be bare underneath clothes that don’t even belong to you, the thought flushes your whole body with heat. 

Wonwoo directs you to the phone, it rests on a side table next to the armchair,  and you dial your house phone with urgency, despite the slowness of the crank dial. The line rings for a few moments, and as you hear the other line click “Mother?” tumbles from your lips. 

Your mother says your name with surprise, “Darling where are you? Are you still at the Lees’?” 

“No, something happened on the way home. But I’m with Doctor Jeon, you know Doctor Jeon? He treated Silas when he had that god-awful fever. Well, he helped me out, so I’m fine. He insisted I call you before he accompanied me home, so I was just letting you know Momma.” 

You listen to your mother talk for a bit more before you bid her goodbye, her voice ringing out a “Be safe on your way home!” before you set the receiver down. 

“Thank you for letting me use your phone, and for the clothes,” you say to Wonwoo, who sits across the room from you in that dining table chair. 

“Of course,” he replies, “now let's get you home.” 

The small talk as the two of you walk the path to your family home is pleasant enough. You find that Wonwoo has somewhat of an eclectic sense of humor, and he’s quite witty despite the seriousness of his profession. In no time your home is visible, and you feel a tinge of disappointment at its sight. 

“Well, I suppose this is where we part,” Wonwoo sighs as the two of you stand in front of the gate of your home. 

“I suppose,” you echo.

A long pause ebbs between you both as you gaze at each other.

Suddenly you feel a jolt go through you as you have a realization. You’d forgotten your dress on the floor of his bathroom. 

“My dress,” you say bashfully, “I left it in your bathroom.” 

“That’s okay, I’ll get it washed for you. You can come by the office in the next few days, I’ll have it nice and clean.” He assures you with a soft smile. 

“Thank you,” you reply. 

Before you can turn to leave Wonwoo continues; “I haven’t seen your boy around, Silas was it? How’s he fairing these days?” 

You offer the doctor a tight lipped smile, “His father took him to visit family a few towns over.” You think you have to clear this misunderstanding up before it's too late. 

“Also, he’s not mine. Silas, I mean, he’s my sister’s son. I’m not married, I’ve never been.” 

“I see,” Wonwoo replies, and you feel you may have offended him somehow at his tone but he continues; “That’s good then, I felt I may have been acting inappropriately towards you. Thinking you were married and all.” 

“I didn’t think you were acting inappropriately at all.” 

“That brings me relief. Then you won’t think me telling you how lovely I think you look would be inappropriate either? Considering you’re unmarried.” 

You feel your ears are deceiving you, because surely Jeon Wonwoo didn’t just say he thinks you look lovely. But as you gaze at his face, a handsome smirk paints his lips, perhaps your ears work just fine. 

It seems your mother has never had a more perfect sense of timing as she swings the front door open shouting your name. 

You tear your gaze away from Wonwoo to call back to her; “I’m here! No need to shout.” 

You hear her footsteps as she makes her way to the gate, shooting Wonwoo an apologetic glance. He offers a soft smile in response. 

It isn’t long before you hear the rattling of the gate lock and your mother’s voice again “Honey, what are you doing loitering around outside…“ Her words trail off as she takes in Wonwoo standing across from you. Her gaze flits between the two of you, pausing at your state of dress; a linen shirt and black trousers that were a few sizes too big. Despite her obvious shock your mother paints on a lovely smile and bows her head in greeting to the doctor. 

“Oh my, Doctor Jeon, I had forgotten you’d be accompanying her home! Thank you for helping my daughter out, you’re quite the gentleman.” 

You shoot your mother an incredulous look, not wanting her to embarrass you further than you yourself already have. She ignores you, of course. 

Wonwoo bows his head with a smile, “Not at all. It was my pleasure, your daughter has quite the interesting personality.” 

“Doesn’t she? We have no idea where she gets it from, there’s no one like her in the family.” 

You assume your mother is trying to rope Wonwoo into having something to eat by the glint in her eye so you jump in. 

“I’m sure Wonwoo would like to head home, Momma. He has a bit of a walk back into town.” 

“Do you?” She turns to him, “We’d hate to keep you.” 

“I have some time,” Wonwoo assures her, “there’s no one waiting for me at home.” 

You can’t help but feel betrayed by Wonwoo’s choice to indulge your mother. 

“Really? Have you eaten? Let me pack some food for you to take!” 

And before any of you can say anything, your mother has Wonwoo’s wrist in her grip gently leading him through the front gate and to your house. 

You run a hand down your face before following. 

Your mother leads Wonwoo through the house, through the living room, to have him sit on the ledge just outside the living room doors that open up to the garden. 

“Now you wait right here,” your mother tells him, “I’ll have my daughter fetch you a drink while I pack up something for you!” 

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replies. 

She eyes you meaningfully before grabbing your arm to drag you to the kitchen. 

“There’s some cold yuzu tea in the fridge, take him a glass please.” She sets a medium sized cup onto a saucer, and you recognize it as a part of the china set your family typically uses for important guests. It’s white with some foliage painted on the side. 

You follow your mother’s command as she busies herself with packing side dishes, reaching past her into the fridge where the pot of yuzu tea sits. 

After pouring a cup you garnish it with a rosemary sprig you pluck from the plant sitting on the kitchen’s windowsill. You're careful not to spill as you make your way to where Wonwoo waits, your pace slow. 

He gives you a kind smile as you set the cup and saucer in front of him, thanking you in a soft voice. 

“Your mother made this?” He asks, after having a sip. The tea is quite refreshing, and it's probably one of the best yuzu teas he’s ever had. 

You shake your head. “I made the pot this time, usually whoever finds it running low makes it, between me and her of course. My older sister can’t brew tea to save her life, she takes after father.” 

“Well, it’s delicious. I suppose you’re quite the master when it comes to brewing tea.” 

You shake your head again, bashfully. You feel small under Wonwoo's fond gaze, not sure what is the appropriate way to act when he's showing you such kindness. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, with Wonwoo sipping at his tea and you trying to discreetly study his face. You know you've thought this before but he really is quite handsome. 

"The garden is beautiful, I don't think I've seen one built in the middle of a home like this before." 

"My great-grandfather built this house," you reply, moving so your body is parallel with Wonwoo's, both of you facing the open space. "He traveled a bit with my great-grandmother and when they built this house they took inspiration from some of the homes they stayed in on their travels." 

"I see." He replies, setting his now empty cup down, his knuckles brushing the side of your hand as he does so. 

You pull your hand away, as if burned, and heat flushes your body. 

Wonwoo doesn't comment on this thankfully but you think you see the edge of his lips twitch. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" Your mother's voice rings out. Walking to where you and Wonwoo sit with the containers of food wrapped up in an orange cloth. She sets it between you and Wonwoo as she kneels.

"I don't know what you like, so I added a bit of everything! I snuck in a couple of persimmons as well, we have more than enough." 

"Thank you kindly," Wonwoo says sweetly, giving your mother a smile. 

"It's no trouble dear! And don't worry about the containers, I'll have this one fetch them from you whenever." She says, motioning to you. 

"Well, thank you again. I should be getting on my way now, I've overstayed my welcome it seems." 

"Oh not at all!" Your mother pats his arm, "We're always happy to have you Doctor Jeon. My daughter will see you out, don't be a stranger now!" 

Wonwoo gathers the cloth in his fist, and the cup and saucer in his free hand. You take the china, passing it to your mother before leading Wonwoo back towards the entrance of your home. 

Soon you are in the exact same setting you were when you had arrived; you and Wonwoo standing across from each other at the gate. 

"My apologies for my mother, she's the type to flit around even if you tell her to sit still." 

"Not at all. She's quite the character, but I can tell she's also immensely kind. I now know where you get it from." The smile on Wonwoo's lips is teasing and you think about how nice it is to have someone compliment you. 

After a few more short moments of small talk you urge the doctor to be on his way. The sun had already sunk low behind the horizon and the path back to town settled in darkness. You hurry to grab him a lantern, just to help him light his way home, as the roads would absolutely be dark until about halfway into town. 

Wonwoo promises to make it home safely, and he watches you enter your house before turning and making his way to his own. 

Later that night you lay awake, palm pressed to your racing heart, replaying the moment Wonwoo called you lovely over and over again in your mind.

The next few days are spent with you staying busy, too busy even to go see Wonwoo for your dress. Pruning the persimmon trees and overall maintenance of the farm are the allotted tasks that fall to you. The workload is a bit heavy due to your sister and her family’s absence. 

You’ve taken to sleeping in Wonwoo’s linen shirt, his pants have been washed and folded, but perhaps selfishly, you can't bring yourself to part from his shirt. It smells like him, petrichor with a light musk and the hint of something floral. It's intoxicating and the scent lulls you to sleep better than any tea you’ve ever had. 

Sadly, you aren’t meant to hold on to the young doctor’s clothes forever. You have your mother wash the shirt, and find a bag to put Wonwoo’s clean clothes in so they can be returned to him. You intend to slip out quickly, but when your mother catches wind of your plans she rushes off to grab a few persimmons to send with you. 

“Please, he’ll be sick of persimmons at this rate,” you whine. 

She ignores your concern, slipping the wrapped fruits into your hand. “Nonsense! Nobody can be sick of persimmons,” she argues. 

Soon, you are on your way to the doctor’s office. Unfortunately, with the persimmons in tow. The walk to town is pleasant enough, and you get a sense of tranquility with nobody else on the path except for yourself and the occasional woodland creature that makes an appearance. 

You made a point to doll yourself up just a bit, wanting to leave Wonwoo with a better impression of yourself than last time. You don’t have high hopes, but perhaps just a hope that Wonwoo holds any feelings other than cordiality towards you. Your dress today is a dusty pink, and you’d found your sister’s rouge and applied a smidge to your cheeks and lips. 

The air is somewhat brisk, as it usually is in early fall, but the chill still makes you shiver slightly. Red and yellow tipped leaves sway in the crisp wind, it is undoubtedly autumn. Soon enough you are at the entrance of town, face burning with embarrassment as you catch a glance of the fountain, remembering the events that transpired there. 

Your pace quickens. 

As you come upon Wonwoo’s practice, you are surprised to see him waiting outside. Giving you a small smile and a wave when he notices you. 

“Good Morning,” he greets you with a honeyed voice.

“Morning,” is your soft reply, “do you always mill about outside this early?” 

This makes the doctor chuckle. “No, not usually. I saw you coming up the path from my window, so I figured it was only right that I came to greet you.” 

“Oh,” you try to fight the heat blooming on your cheeks, “I have your clothes, freshly laundered. Mother thought it pertinent to slip in a few persimmons even though I told her you’re probably sick of them by now.” 

The smile has not left his lips yet, and he reaches out to take the bag from your hand, fingers brushing against your own. “I could never be sick of persimmons,” he replies, “after all, everytime I have one I think of you.” 

The heat rushes back tenfold, you are beyond flustered and you think Wonwoo notices because of the way his lips quirk up. You feel your brain has been fried at just those few words and you struggle to form a reply.  Thankfully, Wonwoo takes pity on you, despite being the cause of your non-functioning state. 

“Your dress is upstairs,” he tells you, “I didn’t want it to get wrinkled so I hung it up as best I could. If you’d like, we could go upstairs and retrieve it or I can always bring it down to you.” 

“We can go upstairs,” your voice small as you reply, your heart fluttering shamelessly in your chest at the thought of being in Wonwoo’s cozy home once more.

The fluttering of your heart does not stop even as the two of you climb the steps.

You get a lovely sense of warmth when the two of you enter, and you look at the wood stove still kindling. Wonwoo guides you to sit in his armchair, disappearing to the area his kitchenette is. You watch him grab a resting teapot and pour whatever resides within it into a mug. The mug is then wordless placed in your hands, and you murmur a soft “thank you”. 

“Apple blackberry tea,” he explains, “I thought you might need some warming up from the chill.” 

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” you reply softly, “thank you.”

A small smile twitches at Wonwoo’s lips as he watches you cradle the mug and bring it to your lips to taste the tea. “Your dress is in the other room, give me a moment.”

You nod, taking another slow sip of the delicious tea. Both fruits pair surprisingly well, and it seems to be the perfect blend for a crisp autumn day. 

Wonwoo returns, your dress folded meticulously and resting in his hands. Despite how well worn it is it looks almost brand new, testament to his care of it.

“Oh, you didn’t have to go to all the trouble!” You stand to take the dress from Wonwoo’s hand, fondness swimming in your chest.

The man just shakes his head, “It was no trouble. It's something that belongs to you so I wanted to make sure it returned to you in an adequate condition.” 

You press the garment to your chest, your eyes meeting his. You try to think of what to say to convey your gratitude but nothing seems good enough. 

It's almost as if Wonwoo turns bashful under your gaze as he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t intend to keep you longer, I would accompany you back to your home but unfortunately I have a few patients to see this morning.”

You snap back to reality at this, “Oh! Don’t apologize please, you’ve done more than enough for me, Wonwoo. I can make my way home no problem. Thank you again, for everything.” You give him a nod, walking past him to the door. However, before you can turn the knob you feel a hand at the crook of your arm, pulling you gently to a halt. 

Glancing behind yourself, you see that Wonwoo has stopped you. An emotion you can’t quite place swims within his eyes, and it just adds to your confusion. 

“Wonwoo..?” You say slowly, when neither of you has spoken for a stretch of moments. 

He uses his delicate grip on you to turn your body so you two face each other once more, and the hand on your arm raises slowly to hold your cheek. Suddenly, his thumb is rubbing against your scar gently. He whispers your name and you feel as if you’ve been caught in a trance, you can’t speak, move, or think. All you can do is breathe and feel Wonwoo’s touch. 

His eyes trace the lines of your face, before they find yours. “From this moment onwards, I intend to court you. If you’ll have me.”

His words stun you, a moment of silence passing between the two of you before it is broken by your mouth, moving faster than your mind can. “Yes, I’ll have you. Of course I will,” You say breathily. 

A smile tugs on Wonwoo’s lips and then he is leaning down to brush his lips over your scar, his hand falling from your cheek and finding your own. 

⊱ notes: as always thank you for reading! it really was a pleasure to write this doctor wonu is very dear to me <3333

[blaisenon]

just say you never met me abbot/mohan, 7900 words

The first thing that Samira says to Abbot when she first sees him at the conference meet-and-greet drinks is, unfortunately, “Please be my boyfriend.” To his credit, Abbot’s expression barely changes. He just watches her, like he’s waiting for the rest of it to make sense, which, fair. “Please pretend to be my boyfriend,” Samira amends, very aware that she sounds like she’s about six years old and on a school playground.

read it here.

[eliteseven]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Shadowheart/Tav (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate), Shar (Dungeons & Dragons) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Romance, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Protective Tav (Baldur's Gate) Series: Part 6 of Minor Fall, Major Lift Summary:

Jen wants nothing more than to propose to Tav, but her plans go awry with the sudden re-emergence of her ex, Shar- leading to a massive confrontation.

[2baabbies]

🖤 You Should Think About the Consequence (Reader x Bangchan x Felix x Hyunjin; part 1)

Crossposted under 2Babbies on Ao3 <3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 (WIP)

Pairings: established relationship bangchan x reader, established hyunlix, reader x bangchan x felix x hyunjin, established minsung, background hyunbin mentioned, various hookups not detailed

Words: 7900

Summary: You have a crush on Felix and Hyunjin. Luckily, your boyfriend Chan does too. As much as you love pining together, it would be nice to let your friends know how you feel. (Inspired by Gorgeous by Taylor Swift)

Fluff + Smut + Humour

CWs: alcohol/reader is drunk at the beginning but there is no smut at this part, platonic undressing, groping without consent/reader likes it, slight exhibitionism, consensual voyeurism, dom/sub undertones, teasing, slight rough sex/marking, making love <3 mutual masturbation for hyunlix + spoilers they don’t fuck reader or chan (yet ;)))

~~~

“Naur.”

“Seriously, that’s enough.”

The giggles bubble up from your chest as Felix attempts to stare you down. His eyebrows pinch together and his eyes narrow, but despite his best efforts you see the smirk sneaking across his face seconds before he forces a pout.

“Naur.”

He grins.

“Stop. I do not sound like that.”

“Yes you do,” Hyunjin argues, which causes another round of laughter to burst out of you as Felix turns to him in astonishment.

“Wow, taking her side?”

“Her impression is impeccable, I almost can’t tell the difference.”

You squeal in delight and stumble into Hyunjin as you are racked with another round of laughter. He catches you seamlessly and drapes an arm around your waist as you let him take your weight. Felix tsks and shakes his head, then begins walking away as he unlocks his phone.

“I need to get you two home, I’m calling Chan.”

“Why?” You whine.

“Because you’re not making any sense, you’ve clearly had too much to drink.”

“Ah,” Hyunjin scoffs, “I had one drink.”

“Then you’re a lightweight, because you’re only being about as reasonable as the drunk girl.”

You blow a raspberry and rest your head on Hyunjin’s chest as he pats your hair.

“She’s a very intelligent drunk girl.”

“Mmthankyou.”

Felix shakes his head and steps away to make the call. You sway in Hyunjin’s arms for a moment, before craning your neck back to look up at him. He tilts his head to meet your gaze and smiles back at you. The distant chatter and muted music from the party happening upstairs swims in and out of your awareness. The lobby of the convention center, rented out for the company party, is empty aside from your group. Not even a desk attendant is present at this hour, but in your current state you are unable to remember why you would find your current situation embarrassing for any reason. You are pleasantly sloshed and only a little hot from the alcohol, and Hyunjin is rocking you close to him as he supports your unsteady legs. You feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

“Are you falling asleep on me?”

You giggle for the hundredth time that night and shake your head.

“Mno…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make Felix carry you out to the car.”

He winks and your heart stutters. How could Hyunjin be so charming? The golden glow from the lobby chandelier frames his head like a halo as he stares down at you with his soft, perfect, smile. Felix returns but you find yourself unable to look away from Hyunjin’s warm eyes.

“Chan didn’t answer, but Changbin is on his way to take us home.”

“He’s sober?” Hyunjin assures.

“Yeah, he hasn’t had anything to drink, he said.”

“I wonder where Chan is?”

You snort and let your head fall back as Hyunjin picks you up bridal style. He turns so you can see Felix, albeit upside-down.

“Why are you laughing now, Giggles?” The Aussie asks.

“I dunno why you even bother wondering… where Chan is- I mean at this point, I don’t.”

Felix seems surprised, from what you can register while looking up at him from your current angle, and helps Hyunjin put you in a standing position once again.The room spins in a circle before you realize Felix is turning you to face him. He cradles you in his arms and tilts his head to meet your eyes, much like Hyunjin did.

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin inquires behind you.

“What?”

“What do you mean by that, what do you think Chan’s doing?”

“What? I don’t know what. Working?”

Felix abandons keeping you on your feet and scoops you up, earning him an exclamation of joy. You drop your head on his shoulder and yawn loudly.

“When did you get so strong, Lix?”

He chuckles.

“I don’t know.”

“S’not fair… I hate it, you’re too cute to be carrying me around… Both of you are too cute…”

“Ah… Is that right?”

“Roight?”

Felix sighs.

“Okay. That’s enough.”

Hyunjin comes closer to study your drooping eyes and lets out a soft sigh of contentment.

“Are you tired, baby? Want us to tuck you in for bed now?”

“Mhhmhm… Like a baby…”

“Okay, we will. With a goodnight kiss and everything.”

You giggle and nod in agreement as Hyunjin pats your head.

“Oi, Changbin,” Felix greets.

Your head is too heavy to lift and you fail to decipher the hushed words spoken between Hyunjin and Changbin. You only become aware of Felix’s silence when his chest rumbles with his soft response and he passes you over to Changbin’s arms. You say nothing and allow yourself to doze off in favor of sleeping on the car ride home.

When you come to again Felix is the one jostling you awake. You blink around in confusion at the dim room then look at him.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, you gotta get changed.”

“Where am I?”

“Channie’s room.”

The bed sinks next to you as Hyunjin takes a seat. You grasp at Felix’s bare shoulders, shirt abandoned, bewildered that such elegant arms carried you home. No, Changbin carried you home, you think. 

“Where’s Chan?”

“Not home yet, but he’ll be home soon,” Hyunjin answers.

“Can you put your pajamas on? You shouldn’t sleep in this dress,” Felix asks.

Your hands fall to the hem of your party dress then quickly yank it over your head. Felix catches the garment as you toss it aside as Hyunjin helps lead your torso into one of Chan’s long sleeves. You fall back as they work together to dress you in a pair of his sweats, then move you to the middle of the bed to tuck you in. 

You groan softly and throw your arm over your eyes. Hyunjin moves it carefully and touches your forehead.

“Feel sick?”

“Mhm.”

“Was that a yes?”

“I’ll get her some water,” Felix whispers.

“Sit up again, hon.”

Hyunjin leads your arms around his shoulders then lifts you up by your back. He holds you there as you both wait for Felix to return. You nestle your chin in the crook of his shoulder and let his gentle breaths lull you to sleep. You drift back to consciousness as they coax you to take a few sips of water, the cold glass being a pleasant shock when it touches your lips. Hyunjin lowers you slowly and wipes a drop from your chin.

“Do you need anything else?” Felix asks.

“Kiss.”

“What?”

You slap your hand over your forehead then point there insistently.

“Oh.”

Hyunjin laughs and leans up to peck your clammy brow. Felix smiles against your forehead when he offers one as well.

“Anything else?” The Aussie whispers.

Your hand finds his cheek and holds it for a moment before you let it fall.

“Stay here?”

They murmur amongst themselves softly.

“I’ll stay,” Felix offers, “Until Chan gets home.”

You nod but your eyes have already long fallen shut for the night. The bed shifts and you feel Felix pull you into his figure as he curls up beside you. Hyunjin tucks the blanket in again and gives you another peck on the cheek before he leaves.

“Goodnight babies, sleep well.”

“G’nite, Jin,” Felix mumbles into your hair.

“Mhm, night…”

When you come to the next morning Felix is gone and Chan is sitting beside you, working with his laptop. He sits atop the blanket, only wearing a pair of sweats.

“Ngh.”

“Morning babe,” He chirps softly, “How’d you sleep?”

“Mhm… Too hot…”

Chan’s hand slides up from where it rests on your thigh and slips under the hem of your shirt.

“Take this off then.”

His eyes never leave the screen but his fingers tenderly caress your stomach as you struggle to pull his shirt off. They continue dancing there absentmindedly as he clicks through files and types with his other hand. You huff and toss the shirt over his head, successfully covering his face and causing him to pause.

“Something up, babe?”

He sets his laptop aside and flings the shirt away before rolling over to lay beside you. He props himself up on his elbow and leans over you as his hand moves to cup your waist.

“When did you get home?”

You trail a path with your pointer finger from Chan’s chest up to his neck, then trace the muscles there slowly. He smiles and tilts his head to rest his cheek in your palm as you cup his face.

“Not long after you. You and Lix were so cute.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I was a little jealous honestly. I carried Lix back to his room.”

“Boo.”

“Where was I supposed to sleep?”

“There’s room for three in your bed.”

He cocks his eyebrow and shakes his head.

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you make it to the party last night?”

He purses his lips.

“Not quite.”

“So, no?”

“I may have passed out in the studio. Changbin came and got me. And yelled at me.”

You sigh.

“Channie.”

“Hey, be a little thankful. You were doted on by two gorgeous angels thanks to my negligence.”

“I don’t think that’s the flex you think it is.”

He laughs.

“Hey, you know what’s really cute?”

“Hm?”

“Hyunjin got so flustered when I found out he was planning to spend the night in Bin’s room last night. Like we don’t already know they’re hooking up.”

You smirk as he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Ah, now I’m jealous. I bet he was so cute.”

“Freakin’ adorable even.”

“Damn.”

“You know… They only try to hide it from us because they think we’re not into that sort of thing…”

“I know.”

“So?”

“I don’t think I could face the guys again if they knew how I felt about them.”

“God, I know what you mean,” He sighs as he flops onto his back beside you.

Your hands intertwine as you stare at the ceiling. He brings yours to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

“You and Lix were so lovely… You really fit together so perfectly…”

“Stop fantasizing about me with other men.”

He giggles and pecks your fingers and the back of your hand.

“And Hyunjin… he has a couple hickies on the back of his neck. I wonder if he even knows about them,” Chan ponders.

“He’s a cutie…”

“You know, Hyunjin likes girls too.”

“That doesn’t mean he likes me.”

“Everyone likes you. And Felix… well, he likes everyone.”

“Don’t get my hopes up, Channie.”

He turns his head to face you and you follow suit.

“I’m just saying… The option is there if you want it…”

“I do… It’ll just be a big change… I like how it is now, I don’t want to ruin it for us.”

“I know, but you won’t, baby. You’re perfect.”

“Gross.”

He scoffs.

“Just let me know when you’re ready. There’s no rush, and I want to do what makes you happy.

“And what if I want my workaholic boyfriend?”

Chan grins.

“You’ll always have me.”

“And you’ll always have me.”

He rolls over again to cage your body under his and brushes his nose against yours.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You murmur as you lace your arms around his neck, “Even though you didn’t even give me a good morning kiss.”

He chuckles.

“Good morning,” You share a kiss, “I love you,” Another kiss, “I missed you.”

“G’morning,” You kiss again, “I love you,” You share one more lingering smooch, “You’re a dick.”

“Agh, because I missed the party?”

“Yes.”

“Oops.”

“You don’t sound apologetic.”

“Sorry,” He breathes before capturing your lips in his again.

You giggle as you separate.

“You lead the way. When you think the time is right… we’ll let them know.”

“Deal.”

You and Chan spend most of the day cuddling together, unbothered. It is not until much later that Jisung enters the room and interrupts your peace.

“Hey,” Jisung says sternly, “Stop that.”

Chan lays between your legs with his head resting on your chest. Your arms are draped over his shoulders as he works on his laptop, which rests in his lap. You have both fully dressed yourselves since the morning. You see his quizzical expression in the reflection of the screen before he answers Jisung.

“Stop… laying with my girlfriend?”

“Working. You said you would take a break today, what the Hell?”

“Oh, that’s easy: I lied.”

Jisung rolls his eyes and addresses you.

“You’re supposed to be helping us, stop enabling him.”

You kiss the top of Chan’s head and smirk as you catch his relaxed smile.

“No. He needs to make more money so I can be a trophy wife.”

Chan howls in laughter as Jisung stares in awe.

“You gold digger! Get away from him, he’s not your sugar daddy!”

You stick your tongue out as you pat Chan’s chest.

“You’re doing such a good job, daddy.”

“Thanks, babe,” Chan sighs.

“Ugh, no! Take a break! Now!”

Jisung slams the laptop shut and takes it away, leaving Chan grasping at empty air.

“Ah…”

“We’re watching a movie, get out there before I actually get angry.”

Chan makes a defeated noise and drags himself out of your embrace. You wink at Jisung.

“Thank you, Hannie.”

He blushes and shakes his head. You giggle and follow Chan to the living room, where the members are getting settled for the movie. Minho is on the couch, browsing through the options. Felix and Hyunjin are curled up together in an armchair, both scrolling through their phones. You grab one of the throw pillows and whip it at Changbin’s back, interrupting his conversation with Jeongin where they stand behind the couch.

“Hey, lovebirds, what were you doing in there?” Seungmin teases from another armchair.

“Nothing,” Chan protests, “Don’t be a pervert.”

“Were you having sex?” Jeongin asks.

“Yes,” You deadpan.

Chan turns to you sharply.

“No!”

“Crazy kids,” Seungmin comments.

“We weren’t having sex,” Chan scoffs, “Stop lying.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” You coo.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Would you prefer it if I called it making love?”

Chan scowls and gives up on arguing with you. Changbin swings the pillow back at you, which you catch with ease.

“She’s only with Chan for his money,” Jisung pipes up behind you, “She told me.”

“Yeah, I want to be a trophy wife.”

You hit Changbin with the pillow again and he cocks his head.

“I don’t think Chan’s old enough to have a trophy wife.”

“Ugh, you’re so rude.”

“Also, you could choose richer.”

“Well, how much do you make?”

Changbin smirks as Chan answers, “Not as much as me.”

Changbin finally takes the pillow and smacks you lightly with it.

“Can you guys stop flirting so we can pick something to watch?” Minho complains.

Changbin bites his lip and looks at Chan.

“Channie… Were you flirting with me?”

“Yeah,” Chan replies shyly.

You take the pillow, which Changbin still clings to with one hand, and hold it over your head as you grin at Minho. He holds up a finger in warning.

“I will destroy you.”

“In a pillow fight, right?” Jisung mumbles.

“What?” You question.

“Nothing…”

Jisung avoids your judging glare.

“You’ve lost your pillow privileges,” Changbin states as he finally pulls it away.

“C’mon…”

“So, what are we watching?” Chan redirects.

“Not horror,” Felix finally speaks up, his voice muffled where his face is pressed into Hyunjin’s chest.

Hyunjin hums in agreement.

“Let’s do drama,” Jeongin suggests.

“No,” Minho protests, “I’m not in the mood.”

Jisung gasps softly.

“My baby? Not in the mood for drama?”

“My life’s a drama thanks to you.”

Jisung whines and pouts as he drops next to Minho on the couch. The older sighs and throws an arm around him as he continues scrolling, and the younger quickly tucks himself into his side. The boys gently debate over what to watch and you resign beside Chan where he leans against the wall. He pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on your shoulder as you observe the others. 

You still as your eyes catch Hyunjin staring at you from his spot with Felix. Felix seems unaware, focused on his phone as Hyunjin’s eyes remain locked on yours. You offer a small smile but Hyunjin has no reaction. You feel Chan's nose at the base of your neck and finally Hyunjin looks away. You shift a bit and close your eyes as Chan pecks a barely there kiss on your neck, then rests his chin on your shoulder once again.

They finally come to a decision and everyone moves to grab snacks from the kitchen and fill the floor with pillows and blankets. You collapse on the floor once the makeshift bed is made and yawn obnoxiously into the fabric, prompting Jeongin to poke your back with his foot.

“Hey, cut that out.”

“Wake up, the movie hasn’t even started yet.”

“Mhm.”

Jeongin gives up and walks away. You lay there lazily until the blankets shift beside you, and you turn your head to see Chan getting comfortable. He smiles and pats your head endearingly.

“Sleepy?”

“Yeah…”

“C’mere.”

You groan and move into a sitting position, then slump against Chan and the couch. He chuckles and pulls a blanket over you, then wraps his arm around your shoulders. Seungmin settles back into the chair he claimed earlier with a bowl of popcorn. The couch shifts as Minho and Jisung settle in behind you, and Changbin takes a seat at the other end.

“Hey, you stole our spot,” Felix whines.

Jeongin now occupies the armchair Felix and Hyunjin were snuggled in earlier and only grins slyly as Felix pouts at him.

“Mean maknae,” You scold.

“You can sit with us, Lix,” Chan offers.

Felix does little more to argue with the youngest and shuffles over to you and Chan. He easily wedges himself between you two and curls up in your direction. Chan helps him tuck under a blanket and offers him a pillow, which he drowsily accepts. You pat Felix’s head and let him rest a hand on your thigh.

“Hyunjin, get the light?” Minho requests.

The lights dim and you hear Hyunjin’s steps pause before he joins you on the floor. He sits next to you and throws a blanket over the two of you. He takes a moment to settle in and rests his head on your shoulder once he finally does. You feel his hand roam under the blanket for a moment, before it finds Felix’s where it rests in your lap. The two intertwine fingers there, concealed under plush layers.

Soon you feel them shift again, and you fail to ignore the way they brush their hands over your thigh. Their hands disconnect and Felix cups your thigh again, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. You inhale sharply, which seems to go unnoticed as his motions go on without break. Hyunjin’s fingers spread over your thigh, then squeeze gently. Your leg spasms in response, and Chan glances over. You swallow thickly as his eyes flit over the subtle, yet undeniable, motion under the blanket.

Chan’s arm falls from your shoulder and moves around your waist, then he presses a kiss to your temple. He rests his head against yours and continues to watch the movie. Hyunjin nestles his head further in the crook of your neck and slides his hand under your thigh, then slowly gropes there. This time is a bit rougher and your core throbs from the teasing. Felix’s thumb moves a bit higher up your thigh and you let out a controlled exhale to calm yourself.

“Are you-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Minho,” You hiss.

His voice startles you at the same time his hot breath washes over your ear. Hyunjin lifts his head and draws his hand away discreetly while turning to glare behind him. Felix’s hand stills but remains where it is. Your heart pounds in your chest and you catch Felix and Chan both biting their lips to suppress their laughter.

“Sorry, are you using that blanket?”

Minho reaches past you and Hyunjin to point at one of the extra blankets on the floor, no doubt suspicious or aware of the tension growing between you. Hyunjin silently grabs the blanket and passes it to Minho, who mumbles a soft thank-you. You sigh and shove your burning face into Chan’s neck. Felix moves his hand a bit lower and pats your leg as he looks up at you with wide, gentle, eyes. Hyunjin casually yawns and rests his head on your shoulder again, but this time keeps his hands to himself.

Hesitantly, you slide your hand over Felix’s. He turns his over and caresses your fingers slowly. His fingertips follow the lines of your palm then slip down to your wrist. He soothes you with gentle touches then clasps your hands together once you have settled. You shut your eyes and will yourself to relax as the movie continues peacefully.

“Hey,” Chan’s soft voice in your ear startles you awake as the credits are rolling, “Everyone’s heading to bed now.”

“Oh, okay.”

Felix has already taken his leave, but Hyunjin is still beside you on the floor. He sits with mussed hair and a dazed expression, probably just coming to as well, and watches Chan as he helps you up from the floor. You smile at him and let Chan lead you back to his bedroom.

You stretch then sit on the end of the bed as Chan shuts his door.

“Was that okay?” He asks while kneeling in front of you on the floor.

“Y-Yeah, I liked it.”

“Good, I thought you did but I couldn’t…”

Chan allows himself to trail off as you lean in and kiss him. He hums softly and moves closer, pulling your thighs around his sides as he presses his hips into your core. You whine softly into his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck to draw him in deeper. You stay like this for a while, lightly grinding and trading heated kisses. Eventually, Chan breaks the kiss so you move to mouthing at his jawline.

“Oh, babe… You’re so… Fuck…”

“Hah… Hot, sexy, beautiful?”

“All of the above…”

He cranes his neck and lets you litter sloppy kisses where you please. He groans and pushes you back on the bed, then dives in to attack your lips. His hand slips into your pants and prods your heat gently, experimentally spreading some of the slick around with two fingers.

“Good girl.”

“Ahn…”

A knock sounds at the door.

“Come on,” You cry softly when Chan separates from you.

“I’ll be quick.”

Chan cracks the door open while doing little to fix his tousled hair or wipe away the sultry kisses you left on his neck. Someone speaks and he responds by throwing the door open and pulling them in by their shirt.

“Stay here. Where’s Felix?”

“O-Okay, uh,” Hyunjin stammers, “Bathroom?”

Chan steps out and shuts the door behind him. Hyunjin braves a glimpse at you then rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he turns away. You smirk and sit up, wiping your mouth and combing your fingers through your hair as you study him. He toys with his fingers and sways uneasily where he stands. Chan returns with Felix faster than you expected and silently shoves him into the room before shutting and standing at the door.

“Oh,” Felix gasps when he sees you, “Um, what-“

“On the bed. Sit.”

Hyunjin and Felix share a look and silently obey. You grin wildly, admiring Chan’s authority. You cross your legs and lean back on your hands as the two settle at the end of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Felix starts.

“Chan, if we did something wrong-”

“Quiet.”

Hyunjin’s mouth snaps shut and he stares in disbelief.

“As soon as I step away from this door you can go, but not a second before,” Chan crosses his arms and leans against the door as he speaks, “I know what everyone says about me. You all think I don’t know what you’re doing. Flirting, hooking up, checking us out, I see all of it. The only reason I’ve acted oblivious is to make her comfortable. I wanted her to be ready.”

You preen and watch him with admiration.

“I don’t have a problem with you putting your hands on her, but could you at least offer to give me the same treatment?”

“W-Wait,” Felix splutters, “Y-You’re not mad?”

“I’m furious that while you were feeling up my girlfriend neither of you made a move on me. Are you trying to kill my ego?”

Hyunjin bows his head and Felix laughs incredulously.

“We didn’t,” Felix reasons, “It’s not like we didn’t want to t-touch you.”

“We didn’t think you were interested, Chan. You… don’t act like her.”

You giggle and smirk at your boyfriend as his attention falls on you.

“Well?” You prod.

“You two can stay if you want, but we’re not putting our hands on you tonight. You can watch me and y/n, and that’s it; if that’s alright with you, love?”

Your body warms as you nod.

“Of course, baby.”

Chan smiles at you then turns to his friends.

“Your choice. Stay or go.”

He leaves his post at the door and drops on the bed in front of you. Felix and Hyunjin both remain seated but you are too enraptured by Chan to watch what they are doing. He tenderly cups your face and you pull him in by his shirt to complete the kiss. He chuckles and leads you to lay down again as he cups the back of your neck and begins kissing down your throat. You sigh happily as you fall back into a rhythm of kissing and grinding slowly.

You let your head fall to the side as you tug Chan’s shirt upward. In the moment he takes to remove it you let your gaze fall on Hyunjin and Felix. The cool light of Chan’s room washes over their delicate features and dimly illuminates their flushed faces. They both seem tense with anticipation, but at the same time are lounging together with ease. Felix’s lip is trapped by his teeth as he drinks in the sight of Chan trailing kisses over your neck and chest, while Hyunjin bashfully watches your reactions and curls his fingers in the bedspread. You gasp softly as Chan’s hands slide into your pants and tug at your panties.

“God, I can’t wait to have you.”

Your laughter turns into a breathy moan as he lowers your pants and presses a deep kiss into the v-line of your stomach. You pant softly as he strips you of your pants, then helps you remove your shirt. He resumes covering you with teasing kisses: from your chest, down your sternum, over your stomach, and finally between your thighs. You mewl as he avoids the wet patch growing on your panties, and scowl softly as he rises again.

“Don’t be a tease.”

“Ha, you’re so wet already.”

He presses his thumb against your clit through your panties and draws out a whining moan as he circles there slowly. Your voice is probably too loud for the late hour but you are unable to silence yourself.

“Channie…”

“I’m sorry, but look at you. Was that all it took? They barely touched you and you’re dripping.”

Your back arches as you moan pitifully. Chan takes his time pulling your panties off, savoring your desperate sounds and writhing figure.

“Chan…”

He spreads your thighs, quickly, given how pliant you are for him, and holds your panties up gracefully between his fingers.

“Are you watching? Do you see what you do to her?”

“Fuck, y/n…” Felix hisses.

You look at them and sigh softly. Felix meets your eyes easily, his lips are slightly parted as he watches you with a softness. Hyunjin’s gaze flicks away from your face for a second, then returns shyly as he watches you in silent distress. His palms rest over his crotch but he does little to relieve himself. Felix has a pillow clutched in his lap.

You prop yourself up and unclasp your bra, then let Chan remove it for you.

“Don’t you two want to cum?” You ask innocently while slowly tracing your bottom lip with your index finger. Your eyes wander over their busy hands thoughtfully, “Chan’s deal was that we weren’t going to touch you, he never said anything about touching yourselves’.”

“Fuck,” Felix growls as he digs his fingers into the pillow.

Hyunjin looks away and shyly gropes himself through his sweats. You bite your lip and glance at Chan, who watches them both with a pleased demeanor.

“She likes it when you do what she says.”

Hyunjin nods and moans softly, but hesitates to continue. He looks at Felix, who gently draws him closer.

“Come here, babe.”

“Lix…”

Felix slides his hands over Hyunjin’s abdomen, then into his pants. He whines at the contact and melts as Felix laps at his ear. Chan lowers himself between your legs and slides his hands over your thighs.

“No.”

He stops and looks up attentively then quickly rises to face you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just fuck me already.”

He laughs and gives you a heated kiss.

“I want to make sure you’re ready, baby.”

“Don't make me wait anymore, Chan. Please.”

While your voice is steady your body is shaking, anxious for some relief from the tension. Chan notes your quivering limbs and kisses you again, sweeter than before, then he tests your patience.

“Do you really need it? I’m sure you can wait a bit longer.”

“I’m serious, Chan.”

“Then prove it.”

You huff and grasp his throat as you crash your lips against his. He groans and pushes closer, following your hand as it slides around his neck then up into his hair. He obediently falls into you and groans into your mouth as you fumble to pull down his pants with your other hand. He turns his head away, breaking the kiss, and helps you slide off his bottoms as you nip at his neck.

“Are you nervous, baby?”

“Shut up.”

Chan finally kicks off his pants and boxers as he laughs at your response. You smirk and suck roughly on his ear lobe as he sighs playfully. You groan as he leans away to grab a pillow, and tucks it sweetly under your head.

“So impatient, my love. Don’t you have any appreciation for chivalry?”

“Chivalry is dead.”

He kisses your forehead tenderly.

“Mhm, you’re so cute.”

He abruptly rolls you onto your side and grasps your hips as he grinds against you. You gasp and moan as he folds himself around you and slides his cock against your heat. Gently, he turns your head to look at Felix and Hyunjin while he speaks breathlessly in your ear.

“Did you forget we have an audience?”

Your eyes flutter as he nips along your jawline. Felix is curled around Hyunjin as he thrusts into the hand still concealed beneath his sweats. Hyunjin has a hand awkwardly tucked into Felix’s pants, palming him messily. They watch you with hazy eyes between messy kisses.

“Chan…”

“Look at what you do to them.”

“Oh…”

Your cheeks flare from the attention, the circumstances suddenly becoming much clearer. Chan kisses your cheek then murmurs into your ear, “I love you so much. I love you so, so much, baby.”

“I love you too.”

“Are you ready? Do you want me now?”

“Yes…”

Chan lifts your leg over his hip and enters you with a shallow thrust. You gasp and muffle your moans in your pillow as he pulls out, then gradually pushes deeper with each subsequent thrust. He buries his nose in your neck and groans softly as his body molds into yours.

“Does that feel nice? You like it, baby?”

You nod and turn your head to kiss him messily. He returns the kiss then breaks it. You brush your lips over the bridge of his nose as he murmurs against your chin.

“Look at them, baby. Jinnie and Lix are losing it over you.”

“Hah, Chan…”

You do as told. Chan peppers kisses over your neck as you watch Felix and Hyunjin, and they watch you back. 

“Touch yourself,” Chan commands.

You whimper as you slide your fingers between your legs. You tilt your head back to expose more of your neck, and sob softly as his fingers join yours to play with your clit. He kisses your ear and murmurs sweet praises between each kiss.

“That’s right, you’re beautiful, baby. So wet for me, so good. You’re such a good girl.”

“Fuck, Chan…”

“You’re so perfect. My sweet girl.”

He prods your folds gently, stretching you open even more as he slips a digit in alongside his cock. His thumb circles your clit and you abandon touching yourself, opting instead to wrap your hand around Chan’s arm and cling to him. He sucks gently at your neck as his pace quickens and you feel your climax approaching. He rocks into you recklessly, his inevitable release signaled by his shaky breaths and pointed thrusts. You try to watch Hyunjin and Felix, but your eyes struggle to focus as you are blissfully fucked out.

“That’s my babygirl. You’re so good for me.”

You moan dumbly at the praise, smothered in Chan’s love as he compliments his deep thrusts with the softest kisses. This intimacy was familiar to you, but now so overwhelming with observers. It was the same love Chan always made to you, perhaps that was why he wanted the others to watch. In one way, he was setting the standard. How to talk to you, how to touch you, how to worship you. In another way, it was a message: this is what you are missing out on if you ignore me again.

You muffle your cries of pleasure in the pillow, although you had already been too noisy, and scratch your nails over Chan’s bicep. He groans as you clench around him and quiver from the intensity of your sudden orgasm. He slides his fingers from between your legs and up to your stomach, lessening the overstimulation a bit as he chases his own release. You crane your neck to give soft kisses and whisper words of encouragement into his ear. He keeps his face tucked into your neck as he holds you tight to him, now too far gone to manage a coherent sentence. 

He makes a wrecked noise, somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and fills you up with his release. You reach your hand up to cup his head and kiss his temple as he pants through the afterglow. His cock softens and he drowsily pulls out, only to collapse into your welcoming arms shortly after. You trade lazy kisses as he catches his breath and lets his hands roam over your thighs and stomach. You giggle softly and cup his face while staring into his loving eyes.

“Mhm, good job, baby.”

He laughs breathlessly.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

Chan slumps on top of you and wraps his arms around your torso. You return his hug while tracing little shapes over his back. He turns his head where it rests beside yours to face the others.

“How you doing, boys?”

“Fuck off,” Felix jokes, “You cocky bastard.”

You giggle and rub Chan’s back lazily.

“Did you two come?” You ask.

Hyunjin makes a tired noise and Felix laughs. You look back at Chan as he lowers his head to rest on your chest. Hyunjin watches you with flushed cheeks and an expression mixed with shame and anticipation.  A stain darkens the crotch of his sweats. Felix is lazing against him, his eyes shut and his cheek pressed against Hyunjin’s shoulder. His eyelids lift heavily as he looks at you and smiles.

“Good boys…”

Chan laughs at their reactions to your praise: mild shock and sheepish satisfaction.

“I didn’t imagine you two would be so into the praise thing,” Hyunjin mumbles.

Chan replies, “Oh? What did you imagine? Care to share?”

“Ha… Maybe another time…”

Chan rises up and you let your arms fall above your head as your eyes flutter shut. 

“Not to kick you two out, but I have to get y/n cleaned up… She’s not going to stay up much longer, as you can see.”

“Mhm…”

“Ah, but,” Felix stammers, “A-Are we good?”

“We’re more than good,” You purr.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Lix. You and Jin should get to bed.”

“O-Okay… Um…”

You pry your eyes open to look at Felix, who struggles to choose his words under your’s and Chan’s waiting gazes.

“Is it okay if we, um… Kiss goodnight?”

“Oh, Lixie,” Hyunjin breathes.

Chan grins.

“Well… I don’t know… I’m still a bit sore about earlier…”

“Shut up,” You chastise as you reach out to Felix, “Come here, baby.”

Hyunjin laughs as Chan stares at you, appalled. Felix grins and crawls across the bed, letting you guide him close to share a few tender kisses.

“Goodnight, honey.”

“Goodnight.”

Felix sits up and smiles smugly at Chan, who grabs him and begins tickling him mercilessly.

“Ah-AH! I’m sorry!”

Hyunjin shakes his head as Chan squeezes Felix in his arms. Felix pouts up at him and screeches as Chan wetly kisses his cheek.

“Ugh, no tongue! Please!”

You look patiently at Hyunjin, who looks away as he notices you.

“You don’t want to kiss me, Jinnie?”

“Ah… No, I do…”

“You’re so shy, you’ve kissed me before.”

“Not… When you’re naked…”

You both look at Felix as he gasps, he is still wrapped in Chan’s arms but now the two are sharing a deep kiss. You watch Hyunjin contemplate before slowly making his way to you. You smile patiently as he hovers over you, and slowly shut your eyes.

“Goodnight, Hyunjinnie…”

“Goodnight,” He whispers before planting a kiss on your cheek, “Sleep well.”

“Ugh, Chan,” Felix groans, “This is weird.”

“Why? What do you mean weird?”

“You’re naked…”

“I just let you watch me fuck my girlfriend, and since when do you have a problem with me being naked?”

You peek up at Hyunjin and gently caress his cheek as he moves away from you. Chan drops Felix on the bed and rolls his eyes.

“Get out of my room already, you little monster.”

You snicker as Chan turns his attention to Hyunjin, who lets himself be led closer to receive a soft peck on the cheek. Hyunjin’s face burns as he shyly returns one, then follows Felix up from the bed.

“Goodnight,” Chan sings.

“Goodnight,” Felix replies.

Hyunjin smiles at the two of you and waves as he and Felix depart. Chan looks back at you as the door clicks shut and exhales softly.

“I think that went well.”

You giggle.

“I think so too.”

Your eyes fall shut again as a yawn escapes your lips. Chan chuckles and leans down to kiss your cheek.

“It’s alright, love. I’ll clean you up, you can go to sleep, okay?”

“Thanks baby…”

By the time you roll out of bed the next morning nearly everyone has gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Felix is making pancakes, Hyunjin is waiting at the coffee machine, Jeongin and Jisung are eating at the table, and Changbin is chatting with Felix.

“Good morning, nuna,” Jeongin sings as you take a seat across from him.

“Good morning everyone,” You smile at the soft chorus of voices that reply, “What’s on the agenda today?”

“We were just talking about it,” Jisung answers, “We’re split between staying in and going out.”

Seungmin shuffles in and hovers beside Hyunjin. Changbin delivers a plate of fresh pancakes to you and smiles at your surprised reaction.

“No, Binnie, you should eat these ones.”

“I’m good, I already ate.”

“I’ll take them,” Seungmin mutters.

“Ladies first,” Changbin argues.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” Felix comments.

“Thank you, oppa,” You purr, which Changbin waves off with a wink, “And thank you for making breakfast, Lix.”

“No problem.”

Felix shoots you a smile over his shoulder and you notice a soft blush on his cheeks. You smile and let your gaze linger until he turns away.

“Are you going to drink the coffee or just stare at it?” Seungmin asks Hyunjin.

“Oh,” Hyunjin mumbles, “I’m drinking it.”

Hyunjin glances over his shoulder as you giggle then quickly looks away, but you still see redness in the tips of his ears. The interaction does not go unnoticed. Jeongin and Jisung both glance between you and the boys and give you curious glares. Chan enters the kitchen with only a towel around his waist. His hair is damp from a recent shower, and the marks you left on him last night are on full display. He claps his hands together as Minho files in behind him.

“What’s cooking?”

“Felix is making pancakes,” Changbin replies.

“I’m next,” Seungmin cuts in.

“Noted,” Chan replies.

He stops beside you and kisses your temple.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

“Morning, love,” You hum, “Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, the best.”

You giggle as Chan gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. You hold a bite up for him and he happily accepts it, then gives you a quick peck on the nose.

“Get a room,” Changbin heckles.

“Looks like they already did,” Minho mutters.

“Get some clothes,” Seungmin groans.

Chan rolls his eyes and leans down to accept another bite before stepping away. You continue eating your breakfast in silence then notice Jeongin silently trying to catch your attention. You tilt your head as you watch him try to discreetly mime questions.

“We were thinking of heading out for dinner tonight,” Changbin informs the room, “But how do you guys feel?”

Chan moves across the room to grab a glass from the cupboard, standing beside Hyunjin in the process. He drinks his coffee and averts his eyes. Jeongin points to the two then wiggles his finger between them.

“I’m good with anything,” Chan answers.

“Where would we go?” Minho asks.

You shrug, feigning ignorance, and Jeongin glares.

“What’s a good place that we haven’t been to in a while?” Changbin ponders.

Jeongin then points to Hyunjin then you. You smirk and scrunch your face up as you feign consideration then shake your head. He responds by raising his eyebrow and tapping his fingers together as you fail to convince him. Jisung looks between you then repeatedly gestures to Felix with his eyes.

“Wasn’t there an Italian place near here or something?” Chan answers.

“That place is always full,” Hyunjin murmurs, “You need to reserve months in advance.”

“Oh, true.”

“I mean,” Felix pipes up, “If we stay in I can just make dinner?”

“No,” Changbin protests, “You made breakfast, you shouldn’t have to make dinner too.”

You roll your eyes at Jisung and shake your head, but still smile coyly as they stare you down. You happen to glance at Minho, who is watching Chan from across the room. Your boyfriend stretches, showing off the muscles in his back, then takes his glass to the fridge to pour a drink. Hyunjin stares at the floor, but his fingers curl around the edge of the counter with visible strain.

The conversation continues in the background, but you find yourself distracted by Jeongin’s senseless gesturing. You realize he is pointing at your phone and pick it up to read the newly sent messages.

in: why is felix staring at you like that

in: did you fuck or what?

You glance at Felix, who seems to be sneaking glances at you as he converses with the others. Jisung leans across the table to peek at Jeongin’s phone and creates a new groupchat for the three of you.

js: tell ussss

js: ;(

You shake your head at them.

js: whyyyy

js: jinnie can’t even look at you or chan

js: we have to knowww

js: plus

js: lino saw them leave your room last night

js: sus af

in: you have to tell us!

in: it’s so obvious you guys did something

Jeongin and Jisung both pout at you. You sigh.

yn: they were with us last night

yn: jin and lix

in: what did you do?

yn: they just watched chan and I

Jisung’s eyes widen and his mouth makes an ‘o’ as Jeongin grins devilishly.

in: kinky

yn: that was it

js: so far? ;))

Jeongin snickers and you cover your face.

yn: don’t tell anyone

yn: >:(

yn: I mean it

Jeongin makes a lip-locking motion and Jisung nods solemnly while crossing his heart.

yn: also, I think your boyfriend is eye-fucking my boyfriend 

Jeongin points to himself, confused, and mouths ‘boyfriend’. Jisung rather indifferently nods at you in agreement then shoots Jeongin a judgemental glare.

js: you don’t even have a boyfriend so she was obviously talking to me

in: oh right

Jeongin looks embarrassed as you grin at him.

“What the fuck are you three doing?” Seungmin interrogates.

“Mind your business,” Jisung sasses.

The other members seem to clue in to your absence in the current conversation.

“What were they doing?” Chan asks.

“I don’t know, but I think they’re texting each other.”

Changbin comes to look over your shoulder and you quickly lock your phone before slamming it facesidedown on the table.

“What are you talking about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Changbin rests his chin on your shoulder and reaches around you to grab your phone. While futile, you attempt to wrestle it back by grabbing his arm.

“What’s her passcode, Chan?”

Chan smirks and shrugs as he watches you throw more of your weight helplessly against Changbin.

“I don’t remember.”

“Liar.”

“Let go or I’ll bite you.”

“You’re not going to bite me.”

You unhinge your jaw and clamp down on Changbin’s bicep, earning a startled screech as he abandons his mission and skitters away.

“You bit me!”

“She warned you,” Chan defends.

“It’s rude to kiss and tell,” Minho teases while shooting you a knowing look.

“It wasn’t a kiss, hyung!” Changbin argues.

“It’s also rude to stare, Lee Know,” You retort.

Minho smiles smugly and shrugs. Jisung grins at the two of you and hurriedly refocuses the subject on your plans for the day.

“Why don’t we just order in? That way none of us have to cook and we don’t have to worry about getting ready to go out.”

“What should we do in the meantime?” Felix asks.

“I’m going to do nothing all day,” You announce proudly.

“I like that idea,” Jeongin agrees.

“You have to practice being a trophy wife?” Seungmin remarks.

“I want to be the best.”

“I have work to do,” Chan laments.

There are multiple exclamations of protest and Chan throws his hands up in defense.

“I’ll be done by dinner, I promise.”

“Channie,” Changbin whines, “You’re no fun.”

“I think he’s fun,” You murmur while winking at your boyfriend.

He winks back and gives Changbin an ‘I told you so’ look. Changbin lightly bops the back of your head and points at Chan.

“Go to horny jail, the both of you.”

Jisung raises his eyebrows suggestively at you and Jeongin snickers into his hands. You brave a glance at Hyunjin, who is watching Chan with a fond smile. Felix looks similarly lovestruck. Your heart stutters watching them.

“Can I bring my laptop to horny jail?” Chan jokes, bringing you back to reality.

“No.”

“Aw.”

[hueberryshortcake]

Have you read any good Darkwing fics?

if you're looking for oddly specific answers to this question i am your man.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566572/chapters/28622120

^ Darkwing Duck and the Ghoulish Ghost Cat of St. Canard - i haven't read this one in a little but i loved it! elmo sputterspark and drakey mallard shenanigans, morgana was In It, spooky stuff galore. i think it was 13,000 words and 8 chapters but i already closed my tab sorry

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26542129

^ Cave In - dt17 dwd where huey is gizmoduck's sidekick and quiverwing quack is the bane of darkwing duck's existence. neither huey nor fenton can figure out why those two put up with each other or why dw seems to hate this random loud mouthed child with everything he's got. (spoiler alert: he doesn't.) 2500 words, 1 chapter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993286

^ Embryonic Rockabilly Polka-Dotted Fighter Pilots - i haven't read this in a long time. author's summary simply says "There are not enough words in the English language to accurately describe the contents of this story." my personal bookmark notes simply read "deranged. amazing." do with that what you will. then read this author's other work that also came from 1998. 4600 words, 1 chapter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29875023/chapters/73517133

^ The Way the Story Goes (Story for Baby Girl) - if you read this you may end up with a stomach ache. it is worth the stomach ache.

"So, here’s a story for you. Now, as far as storytelling goes, there are a few rules:

1.) As my baby girl reminds me: Everyone is their own main character

2.) As my dad told me: You never finish the story you thought you started

3.) And, as my wife taught me: At one point, everything that every character has ever done made sense to them"

i can't do it justice here, just. read it. 39,900 words, 12 chapters

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42041061/chapters/105554823

^ Be Careful What You Wish For - one of my favs!!!!! i go back to this so much and (spoilers) the sequel is currently updating which was like a dream come true for me lol. drake and gosalyn are butting heads as usual and gos makes a wish that has unexpected consequences. 22,300 words, 8 chapters

okay now i am going to be self centered and share my own stories. i really like them - this is due to the fact that my target audience was myself

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55941160

^ brilliant - a little exploration of quiverwing duck, what he gained, what he lost, what he salvaged. 2200 words, 1 chapter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58056823

^ professor waddlemeyer was never killed, gosalyn was never sent to the orphanage, and she was never rescued by darkwing duck. but quiverwing quack still appears, fighting crime after school, and darkwing takes her under his wing. 7900 words, 1 chapter. this might have a sequel if i can GET MY ACT TOGETHER

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59364523

^ The Last Enemy. my magnum opus. a year into quiverwing duck's new existence, a bit of accidental necromancy reunites him with a very disoriented gosalyn who can't remember enough to understand how or why her life is suddenly very different. it has everything. drake is vaguely culturally idahoan if you catch my meaning. launchpad is less-vaguely jewish. morgana is there and she's doing great sweetie. this is possibly the most self indulgent thing i have ever written and please read it. 9600 words 1 chapter

ok bonne nuit!

[annerb-fic]

My SG-1 Fics

So as part of my navel-gazing, I looked back at the fics I wrote for Stargate SG-1, as it was my first true fandom. As I started digging around, trying to figure out just how many stories I'd written, I realized I actually had a lot of SG-1 fics I never transferred over to AO3. I currently have 79 fics up on AO3, but when I went digging back into my old ffnet account, I actually wrote 99 stories total. (Yes, that kind of makes me want to write just one more to make it an even 100. Lol)

The final tally:

Total Stories: 99 Total Words: 782,530 Average fic length: 7900 words

The vast majority of these fics were written between 2007 and 2011. 2008 and 2009 were my most prolific years, with 18 stories per year.

The majority of the fics were one-shots, though I did have some longer multi-chapter fics.

Only two stories were left incomplete (Siren and Human Conditions), though many more had imagined sequels that never got written (String Theory, Hyperion, and Mimesis, chief among them).

Only two out of those fics were explicit and those were written very near the end of of my SG-1 years.

The one other really interesting thing I noticed as I dug back through these fics and my old Livejournal, was just how many of these fics were created as part of a challenge or ficathon or exchange of some kind. I'll talk more about those in a later post, but here's my partial list of all the writing challenges I was a part of during my LiveJournal SG-1 days:

Day of Indulgence

Galentine’s Day

apocalype_kree

sjficathon

SG-1 Comment Fest

Alphabet soup (George Hammond Alphabet Soup Tribute to Don S. Davis)

Lostcityfound “we’ll always have Pegasus” ficathon

Spacepiratefic!

Ucp_ficathon (Unusual Crossover Pairings)

Samcarterfic ficathon

Sjfanfic10

Schmoop_age ficathon

Sd_ficathon

Au100 bingo card challenge

Daniel_vala ficathon

Take back the week ficlet challenge (@holdouttrout)

20 characters writing meme (I wrote seven fics for this! I gave a list of 20 characters, people would pick two characters from the list and then give a small prompt).

Sj_everyday secret santa exchange

Galpalathon

Samjackfriends ficathon

Tealc_ficathon

Sweet Charity Auction

Help Japan Charity Auction

Porn Battle

Awesome Ladies Ficathon

My fave SG-1 fic I wrote, if I had to pick one?

It's very hard, of course, but I think I still have to pick we build then we break (and build up again) as my fave fic. Or at least the one I always think back to with the most fondness. (And it was an exchange fic!) I learned something from each and every fic I wrote, SO MUCH, but that one really feels like my final love letter to the fandom and the pairing. Honorable mention to the DC Series and String Theory.

[hpdaddyknowsbest]

Closing out today's releases with a few fics + our first artwork of the fest!

Step Into my Office Miss Granger - Severus/Hermione, Artwork

A Lesson in Legacy - Abraxas/Narcissa, 4000 words

The Powers & Their Plans - Draco/Hermione, WIP, 7900 words

better - Theo/Astoria, 1600 words

All explicit.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello!! I’m looking for some soulmate fics! Specifically soulmate marks, but I’m open to anything.

I also don’t mind if it’s human aus or just their normal good omens universe

Thank you for everything you do for this fandom!

Hullo dear! Have you checked out our soulmate tag?

#soulmate au

Here are some you may also enjoy.

Dancing With a Stranger by KiaraMGrey [Rated E, 5k words]

When Aziraphale agreed to go out with Anathema to a club, he never expected to meet a handsome stranger. What's more, he doesn't understand why the very sight of the beautiful redhead stirs something inside him. Something that feels a lot like memories.

or

They find each other, in every universe. But in some, the veil is thinner than others

He'll Gladly Drown by IntoTheMiddleDistance [Rated G, ~2k words]

Soulmate/Soulmark AU. Aziraphale and Crowley are soulmates; Aziraphale has seen Crowley’s soulmark and has known the truth for a long time. Crowley has no idea they’re so deeply connected. Worried about the consequences of being soulmates with a demon, Aziraphale has made sure to hide his soulmark from Crowley. But in the celebration after Armageddon fails, the truth comes out.

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream by Lurlur for Pearl09, WyvernQuill [Rated T, 7900 words]

Soulmates share dreams any time they are both asleep. Crowley has spent 6000 years hoping to find his soulmate, but right now, after the Apocalypse has been averted, he'd be happy just to have Aziraphale's love.

-Mod AB

[thelonelyshore-if]

The Lonely Shore Devlog #7

( 04/08/2024 ) Chapter One, Part Two: 17,339 words Added: +7900 words Total Wordcount: 131,648 words

Long time no devlog!

I hope everyone's been doing well over the past month. We're already a week into April, which feels impossible. I was able to make some really solid progress this weekend, and I figured it was about time for a new devlog.

Recently, I posted about the writer's block I've been struggling with. Last month was a rough one for me; I was dealing with a personal loss on top of a really busy month at work. It seems to be finally passing. I couldn't be happier, as I want to get the rest of chapter one out as soon as possible.

Part of what's slowed down progress on this half of the chapter is the amount of branching I've subjected myself too. I'm convinced it's the strongest choice for the story, and I think it'll create some really fun replayability, but it is, unfortunately, a ton of writing lol.

To vaugly tease a little bit, the MC is going to visit the library, and then they'll get the choice to visit Ravi or Jay at work, or go to the mall (which has three different possible scenes, including visiting Beck or getting coffee with Yas), before the scene comes back together for what I've been affectionately describing as a "team meeting". I think it will be really fun, and being able to hop from scene to scene has actually helped me get back into the writing groove!

I can't put a solid date on a release, since I'm still deep in the writing process, but my goal is to have it out by the end of the month.

For your patience, here are three separate sneak previews <3

[picascribit]

20 years later ...

20 years ago yesterday, I made the above post on my livejournal.

20 years ago today, I started writing and posting my first fanfic, Moony's Tale.

I don't have any particular love for the Prisoner of Azkaban movie, and my relationship with HP as a whole is complicated these days, but it's hard to deny that the movie and the series had a greater impact on my life in terms of subsequent time spent than any other media I've ever consumed. So happy faniversary to me!

Fanfics I wrote or started writing in 2004:

Survivor's Guilt: Moony's Tale (Wolfstar, 71k words, rated E, UNEDITED) - Prisoner of Azkaban, retold from Remus's POV.

Survivor's Guilt: Padfoot's Tale (Wolfstar, 63k, E, UNEDITED) - Prisoner of Azkaban, retold from Sirius's POV.

My Dearest Moony (Wolfstar, 600, G, EDITED & PODFICCED) - A letter from Sirius to Remus, found after Sirius's death.

A Polyjuice Duet (Wolfstar, 7900, E, UNEDITED) - Sirius brews Polyjuice potion. Shenanigans ensue. Unedited.

Secret Keepers (Jily & Peter, 21k, E, UNEDITED) - The last days of Lily and James Potter, told from four different POVs.

The Power of Two (Fred & George, 35k, rated M, UNEDITED) - Canon-divergent post-OotP AU wherein the Weasley twins are instrumental in the defeat of Voldemort.

[cheynovak]

Forged - Part one

Summary: Calista is a young woman who lives with her uncle and nephew since her parents died, one day 'the God king's' guards under the leadership of a knight come to town. Looking for young women to present to the crown prince Cyrus (Luke Evans) , who is in search of a wife before he can claim the throne. Calista meets the handsome Knight Ezra (Jensen Ackles) who doesn't seem to be who she thinks he is. Will she fall for the dark intriguing prince, or will she fall for the guidance and warmth of Ezra?

        

Warnings: Nothing too explicitly in the story.

English is not my first language

Words:  7900

Part 1 out of... I'm sorry I want to put so much into it, that it is getting to long for one shot.

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The forge was always hot, always alive. It was a place where sweat and strength melded with metal, transforming raw material into objects of beauty and utility. My uncle Henry thrived here, his rough hands and muscled arms constantly engaged in the ceaseless dance of the smith. My young cousin Micah and I lived in the small cottage behind the forge, where the clanging of hammers was our lullaby. 

Today was like any other, or so it seemed. I was sweeping the front of the shop when the silence was disturbed by the sound of hoofs, many, many hoofs. A royal knight of the gods arrived, with a few guards. All working to protect the kingdom of the Gods.

Guards where humans who wanted to become godly in hope to claim the title of knight one day.   

Their arrival was announced by the shimmering of their armour, so brilliant in the sunlight that it appeared forged from gold itself. Micah, who was playing with a wooden sword nearby, stopped mid-swing, his eyes wide with wonder. 

"Calista! Look at them!" he exclaimed, dropping his toy and running over to me. His face was alight with excitement, a stark contrast to the sooty, sweaty atmosphere of our world. 

"They are quite a sight," I agreed, smiling at his enthusiasm. “Why do you think they are here?” I had no idea. Uncle Henry emerged from the forge, wiping his brow with a cloth. The heat and soot of the forge clung to him. 

When he saw the royal guards, his expression shifted from one of routine fatigue to wary alertness. It was unusual for the them to stop in a town like ours unless there was trouble. They were notorious for their strict enforcement of the gods' laws, but to children like Micah, they were heroes in shining armour. 

"Calista, Micah, get back into the shop," Uncle Henry ordered, his voice firm. 

Micah hesitated, his eyes glued to the guards. I gently tugged his hand, leading him back toward the shop. As we retreated, my eyes met briefly with the leader, the knight. His helmet obscured most of his face, but his piercing green eyes were unmistakable. There was something about him, a depth that both intrigued and unsettled me. I quickly looked away, ushering Micah inside. 

"Why did we have to leave?" Micah asked, his voice tinged with disappointment. 

"It's not safe to be around them," I explained, closing the door behind us. "Uncle Henry just wants to make sure we're out of harm's way." 

Micah's shoulders slumped, but he didn't argue. Instead, he moved to the window, peeking out at the guards as they talked to my uncle and tended to their horses. I could see the longing in his eyes, the desire to be part of their world. I understood that longing, anything was better than this dusty place, though I would never admit it out loud. 

Inside the shop, the air started to cool down, the familiar smell of metal and soot providing a strange comfort. Uncle Henry joined us shortly after, his expression serious. "They're looking for young women to attend their prince his party.” After that he mumbled something about finding the right coal to press a diamond from.  

Uncle Henry said quietly. "Best we stay out of their way until they leave. They are staying the night and asked to take care of their horses."  

"The God prince?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. We heard stories all our life, but never seen the sons of the God King. Uncle Henry shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Just stay inside and keep an eye on Micah." 

That night, we stayed inside, the usual warmth and clamour of the forge replaced by a tense silence. As I lay in my shared bed with Micah, my thoughts moved back to the knight with green eyes until Micah spoke sleepy "I want to be like them,"  

"I know," I replied, holding him closer to me. “And one day you will prove the Gods you are worthy.” "I will," he promised himself before drifting to sleep.   

-- 

The next morning, after making sure the fire was hot enough for my uncle to work, I took Micah to the market. He skipped beside me hoping we would see some guards.  

The market was bustling with activity, and as we moved through the stalls, I noticed a few of the guards buying food. They looked at me, their eyes lingering longer than necessary. I scanned their faces, but he wasn't among them. 

I knew what they must see, the ugly poor girl with ashy dark long brown hair and brown eyes, and a dress stained from the coal I carried for my uncle. I hated the way I looked, except for my eyes. I had my mother's eyes, big and dark, and they were the one part of myself I took pride in. 

As we continued through the market, I saw the Jamerson sisters flirting with the guards. They welcomed their attention, giggling and tossing their perfectly white blond curled hair, batting their bright blue eyes. The guards seemed to enjoy the attention, smiling and chatting with them. I wondered if it was like this everywhere the guards went. Did people always fawn over them, despite their notoriety? 

The Jamerson’s were part from beautiful also the richest families in this town, the gems of our community, every man would want their hand in marriage, and they knew. While me, just a working-class girl with dirt under her fingernails and dirty straight hair couldn’t even dream of marriage.  

"Calista, can we get some apples?" Micah's voice broke through my thoughts. "Of course," I said, smiling down at him. We approached the fruit stand, and I handed over a few silver coins to the vendor, who gave us a friendly nod. 

As we picked our apples, I couldn't help but overhear snippets of conversation from the guards nearby. 

"...only the blonds? The captain wont be pleased." 

"Keep looking. The one he wanted has to be here somewhere." 

Micah and I moved on, but their words stayed with me. They were searching for 'The one” and it seemed urgent. I wondered who it could be and what she had to be like. Maybe even dreaming of what it would be, living like a god. But I wouldn’t or couldn’t leave my family.  

Micah reached for an apple with too much enthusiasm, and it slipped from his hand, tumbling onto the ground. Several others followed, scattering across the cobblestones. The marketeer, a stout man with a furrowed brow, immediately rounded on us. 

"Hey! You need to pay for that!" he barked, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "I'm so sorry," I apologized, quickly bending down to pick up the fallen apples. Before I could gather them all, a pair of strong hands joined mine, lifting the fruit from the ground.  

I looked up and found myself staring into those same piercing green eyes from the day before. The knight handed the apples back to Micah, but his gaze remained locked on me. 

I was baffled, unable to speak as he turned to the marketeer and paid for the fruit. "No harm done," he said, his voice steady and commanding. I took in his face, unable to look away.  

His eyes were bright yet commanding, a few fine lines on his face, his eyes an intense emerald green that seemed to see right through me. His brown hair slightly longer and hung partly in his face but was just a little shorter on the sides, catching the sunlight and giving off a slight golden silky shine. His beard added a ruggedness to his godly features. 

He notices me staring, "T-thank you," I stammered, finally finding my voice I saw the crest on his armour, he was the captain. 

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Be careful next time," he said to Micah, ruffling his hair gently before turning back to me. "It's easy to get lost in the hustle of the market." 

I nodded, still stunned. " Thank you." He lingered for a moment, his gaze softening. "What's your name?" he asked. 

"Calista," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. 

"Calista," he repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. A small smile curved his lips, making his eyes even more captivating. "Is your father a good smith, Calista?"  

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. "He’s my uncle, actually, Micah's father." I corrected, my voice stumbling slightly as I held my nephew close in front of me. "But yes, he's the best." His smile widened. "I'll be sure to remember that. It's rare to find skilled people these days." 

Micah clung to my side, his eyes still wide with admiration. “I want to be a knight  someday." he blurted out, unable to contain his excitement. “I’m sure you will.” he said, ruffling Micah's hair again before kneeling to match his height. "But even knights have to start somewhere. Helping your family is a good beginning." 

Micah nodded vigorously, as if receiving the most important advice of his life. "I will! I promise!" he said grabbing my bags from my hands. Showing the Knight he meant it.

He nodded once more and then turned to rejoin his comrades, who were finishing their purchases. As he walked away, I couldn't help but watch him, his commanding presence standing out even in the bustling market. 

"Calista," Micah said, tugging at my sleeve. "Can we get some sweets too?" I said we didn't have the money for sweets today, Micah lifted a coin, gold with the emblem of the gods. I looked at the knight. He nodded once more and then left with the other guards. 

I smiled, the tension of the moment easing. "Alright, let's get some sweets," I said, leading him towards the candy stall. As we made our way through the market, I couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes on me, the way he had looked at me as if seeing something more. It was a feeling both thrilling and unsettling, and I knew it was one I wouldn't forget anytime soon. 

Back at the forge, Uncle Henry was busy at work, the rhythmic sound of his hammer echoing through the air. Micah ran inside to show off the sweets we had bought, but I lingered at the door, my thoughts still on him. 

Uncle Henry glanced up and saw me standing there. "Everything alright, Calista?" he asked, wiping his hands on his apron. "Yes," I replied, finally stepping inside. "Just thinking." 

"About that knight ?" Micah asked, uncle looked at me, a confused look in his eyes. 

I nodded. "He's different. There's something about him..." Uncle Henry chuckled. "Be careful, Calista. The guards, especially the knights of the gods are not like us. Their lives are full of duty, danger and women." 

"I know," I said softly. "But he was kind. And he paid for the apples and gave us a gold coin." Uncle Henry's expression softened. "Kindness is rare in their world. And rarely comes for free." 

As the day went on, I tried to focus on my chores, but the knight's face kept appearing in my mind. His green eyes, his smile, the way he had spoken to Micah and me—it all felt like a dream. A small part of me hoped I would see him when he picked up his horse. As evening approached, I heard voices outside the forge. One was deep and steady, unmistakably the knight’s, but my uncle sounded upset. 

Curiosity got the better of me. I sneaked to the door and peeked out. He saw me immediately and smiled. "Why don't you ask what she wants?" he said to my uncle, his voice calm and steady. 

Uncle Henry looked defeated, his shoulders slumped. "Ask me what?" I stepped out hesitantly. The man turned to me, his eyes gentle but serious. "Calista, I've come to offer you an invitation. There is a ball at the palace in honour of Prince Cyrus. He is searching across the realms for the most beautiful women, hoping to find his bride." 

I was in shock, unable to process his words. "But I'm not beautiful," I blurted out, my insecurities surfacing. His lip twitched, almost a smile. "All diamonds were carbon once," he said softly. 

I felt a sting of offense. I knew I wasn't beautiful, but to call me that... "So, you think I'm like a piece of coal?" I retorted, my voice tinged with hurt. 

He stepped closer, his expression earnest. "Calista, I didn't mean to offend you. What I mean is that you have the potential for greatness and beauty. If you were to be chosen, your family could live on the palace grounds. Your uncle would become the royal smith, and Micah would have a greater chance to become a knight." 

"But why me?" I asked, still incredulous. He smiled again, a warmth in his eyes that made my heart flutter. "Because I see something special in you. You may not see it yet, but I do." 

I hesitated, torn between doubt and the possibilities he offered. The chance to improve our lives, to give Micah a better future... it was tempting. "What would I have to do?" I asked finally. 

"Attend the ball," he said simply. "Let the prince see you. The rest is up to fate." I looked at Uncle Henry, seeking his guidance. He nodded slowly. Micah must have sneaked up on us. His face lit up with hope. "Please, Calista! Say yes!" 

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his expectations, I would do anything for my family, for those who were left. "Alright," I said, my voice steadying. "I'll go to the ball." 

"Wonderful. I will make the arrangements. We leave tomorrow at first light."  As he turned to leave, I felt a mix of excitement and fear. The future seemed suddenly uncertain, filled with both promise and peril.  

That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. The thought of the palace, the ball, and the prince filled my dreams, but it was the nameless knight’s emerald eyes that stayed with me. 

The journey to the castle was on horseback, and I found myself escorted alongside the Jamerson sisters. We rode in a silent procession towards a portal that would take us to the palace. The knight kept quiet, not even looking at us, while the other guards constantly talked and flirted with the two sisters. I couldn't help but wonder how many girls they had invited. 

As we approached the portal, an uneasy feeling washed over me. The air shimmered with a magical energy, and a drowsiness began to settle over us. I realized it must have been magic by the gods, a means to ensure their safety and to keep mortals from discovering the portals and borders of their realm. My eyelids grew heavy, and before I knew it, I was slipping into a deep sleep. 

When I woke up, I was lying in a bed so large that I couldn't touch the ends even if I wanted to. The sheets were silk, soft against my skin, and the room was bathed in a gentle light. Roses adorned the walls, and golden details highlighted the exquisite furniture. It was a room fit for royalty, far beyond anything I had ever imagined. 

I sat up slowly, taking in my surroundings. The bed canopy was adorned with delicate lace, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow. The scent of roses filled the air, and I felt a mixture of awe and nervousness. 

A soft knock at the door startled me. "Come in," I called out, my voice still groggy from sleep. 

A maid entered, her demeanour respectful but warm. "Good morning, miss. I hope you slept well. I am here to help you prepare for the day." 

"Thank you," I replied, still a bit dazed. "Where am I exactly?" 

"You are in the guest quarters of the palace," the maid explained as she approached the bed. "The ball in honour of Prince Cyrus will be held tonight. There are many preparations to be made." 

I nodded, still trying to process everything. The maid helped me out of bed and led me to a dressing area where a beautiful gown awaited. It was a deep royal blue. The fabric shimmered with an almost ethereal glow.  

As the maid helped me bath and dressed, I couldn't help but ask, "How many girls were invited?" 

"Quite a few from all over the realms," she replied. "The prince wishes to meet as many as possible in his search for a bride." I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. "And the guards, do they often bring girls here?" 

The maid smiled knowingly. "They do their duty, but each guard is different. Some are more honourable than others. And as long as the guard hold on to their duty the King and his sons don’t mind who they spend their time with." 

I thought of the ones I met, and him, his quiet, steady presence, I couldn’t picture him in any brothels or a different girl by his side every night... But he was still a man. Even if there was something about him that felt different, more sincere. 

Once I was dressed, the maid led me to a grand hall where other young women were gathered, including the Jamerson sisters. They looked as excited as ever, their faces glowing with anticipation. The guards were present too, their demeanour more formal in the presence of so many guests. 

As I stood there, waiting for the day to unfold, I couldn't help but feel a flutter of hope. The palace was a place of magic and possibility, and though I still felt out of place, I was determined to make the most of this opportunity. 

The day passed in a blur of preparations. We were groomed, pampered, and taught the proper etiquette for the evening. The other girls chattered excitedly, their nerves evident. I tried to stay calm, focusing on the promise I had made. This was a chance to change my family's life, to give Micah a better future. 

As the sun began to set, we were finally led to the grand ballroom. The room was magnificent, with chandeliers casting a golden light over everything. Every girl was presented to the King and his sons. Yes, plural—no one knew he had two. 

Al though the other one seemed to be running late? The king and the prince seemed similar dark haired men, but I was too far out of sight to really take them in. I waited till it was my turn.  

My nerves made my hands tremble as I watched the floor, trying not to trip over my own feet in the unfamiliar heels. When my turn came, I approached the King, my heart pounding in my chest. I knelt before him, expressing my gratitude for the invitation. Then I looked up, seeing the prince on his right side. 

Prince Cyrus had pitch-black hair and cold, piercing green eyes. His jaw was sharp, and he was stunning in his black, simple yet elegant ensemble with golden details. His lips lifted slightly in a reserved smile. "It is an honour to meet you, my prince" I said, my voice steady despite my nerves. 

"The honour is mine" he replied curtly, his gaze assessing me. Then I heard a familiar voice, and my head snapped towards the left side of the King. "I'm sorry I'm late, Father." He kissed the ring of the King. It was him, the nameless knight. The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. 

The king waved at him, “Take a seat, Ezra. You haven’t missed much.”  

He smiled softly and nodded for me to look back at Prince Cyrus, who raised an eyebrow, curious about my distraction. I managed a clumsy curtsy, my heart racing, and stumbled slightly as I walked away, trying to process what I had just learned. 

As I stood there, taking it all in, lost in thought, looking at all the women trying to earn the prince his attention, many far more beautiful than me. A hand gently touched my shoulder. I turned to see Ezra, or rather, Prince Ezra, standing before me. His eyes were warm, and his smile reassuring. 

"Calista," he said softly, "I'm sorry for the deception. I wanted to get to know you without the title and the expectations. I hope you can forgive me." 

I nodded, my heart still pounding. "I understand. It’s just a lot to take in." 

Ezra smiled, his eyes reflecting genuine warmth. “I wanted to find a girl who is good for my brother, not one who is throwing herself at royalty,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the Jamerson sisters. 

I looked down, feeling a pang of self-doubt. “I’m afraid I’m too plain for your brother. He won't see me amongst these beautiful women."

Ezra thought for a moment, then extended his hand towards me. “May I have this dance?” My nerves fluttered. “I’ve never danced before,” I admitted. 

“That’s alright,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I’ll guide you.” 

As the music changed to a soft, elegant waltz, Ezra led me to the dance floor. The room seemed to hold its breath as everyone else left the floor, their eyes turning towards us. The attention was both exhilarating and daunting. 

I whispered to Ezra, “Everyone’s watching us.” He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my ear. “Even my brother’s eyes are on you now,” he murmured. 

I glanced towards Prince Cyrus, who was observing us with a thoughtful expression. Ezra’s words made me even more nervous, but I focused on the warmth and steadiness of his hand as he guided me through the steps. 

The first few moments were shaky, but Ezra’s calm presence made it easier. He moved gracefully, his confidence providing a steady rhythm for me to follow. As we twirled and glided across the floor, the initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a surprising sense of ease. Ezra’s touch was gentle but firm, leading me with a skill that seemed almost effortless. 

“You’re doing beautifully,” he said softly, his eyes meeting mine. “Just follow my lead.” I nodded, trying to relax into the dance. The music swirled around us, and with each step, I felt more at ease. The elegant movements and the rhythm of the dance began to sweep away my anxieties. 

Ezra’s gaze remained fixed on me, and despite the many eyes on us, I felt like we were alone in the ballroom, lost in our own world. His smile was encouraging, and there was a warmth in his eyes that made me feel special and valued. 

As the dance came to an end, Ezra twirled me gracefully and led me back to the edge of the floor. The applause and whispers from the guests blended into a soft hum, but all I could focus on was Ezra’s reassuring presence. 

“Thank you,” I said breathlessly. Ezra’s smile was gentle before he stepped away. I glanced around at the other guests, feeling a new sense of confidence. Prince Cyrus’s gaze still lingered on me, I bowed softly, and the Jamerson sisters looked at me with a mix of surprise and jealousy.  

As the evening continued, I felt a renewed sense of hope. The palace, once so intimidating, now felt less daunting. Ezra's presence had transformed the grand, overwhelming space into something more manageable and welcoming. I no longer felt like a stranger in a foreign world but rather as though I had found a tentative ally in the midst of all the opulence and formality. 

As I mingled with the other guests, I kept glancing over to where Ezra was conversing with his father and Prince Cyrus. Each time our eyes met, he offered a reassuring smile or a subtle nod, a reminder that I wasn’t alone in this grand and unfamiliar environment. 

 The evening wore on with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. I tried to engage with others, learning more about the palace and its guests, but my thoughts frequently drifted back to Ezra. He seemed to be making an effort to ensure that I felt included and valued, a gesture that was not lost on me.  

Dinner was served, and the grand dining hall was filled with the clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation. The long, opulent table stretched across the room, lined with guests in their finest attire. I had been placed at the far end of the table, a position that felt both isolated and distant from the heart of the evening’s events. 

Prince Cyrus, seated at the head of the table next to his father, seemed to be in deep conversation with Ezra. After a brief exchange, a servant approached me, a polite but firm expression on their face. “Excuse me, Miss Calista. Prince Cyrus requests that you switch places with Lady Eliza.” My heart skipped a beat my eyes darted to Ezra, who was seated at the opposite end of the table. He met my gaze with a reassuring nod, and I took a deep breath, rising from my seat. 

As I moved to the seat next to Prince Cyrus, I felt a mixture of nerves and excitement. Sitting closer to him, even if he wasn't directly engaging with me, felt like a small but significant shift in my favour. 

The dinner continued, and Prince Cyrus and I sat in silence while he conversed with his father and brother. The conversation was animated, and though I was not directly involved, I could sense the undercurrents of the evening’s discussions. I kept my posture upright and my demeanour composed, doing my best to blend in and make a positive impression. 

Ezra, seated across from us, seemed to notice my quiet discomfort. He leaned forward slightly, catching my eye with a supportive glance. “Lady Calista,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear, “you should know that your uncle is indeed highly regarded as a horse smith. His work is impressive, even by our standards.” 

I smiled gratefully at Ezra’s attempt to include me in the conversation. “Thank you, your highness.” I replied softly. “He’s dedicated to his craft. It means a lot to me that you think highly of his work.” 

Ezra nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Perhaps he can find a spot amongst our staff at the tables.” Prince Cyrus glanced briefly at our exchange but quickly returned to his conversation with his father. I took comfort in Ezra’s presence and his efforts to make me feel more included. 

As the dinner continued, the plates were cleared, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics. I found myself more at ease, aided by Ezra’s occasional attempts to draw me into the discussion. His kindness and the small gestures of support helped me feel less like an outsider. 

At one point, Prince Cyrus turned his attention to me, his piercing green eyes assessing me with a new curiosity. “So, Calista,” he said, his tone polite but distant, “what do you think about the palace so far?” 

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, trying to keep my response genuine yet tactful. “The palace is incredibly impressive,” I said, glancing around at the opulent surroundings. “It’s a world so different from my own, but it’s fascinating to experience it firsthand. I’m grateful for the opportunity.” 

Prince Cyrus nodded, seeming to consider my words. “I’m glad you’re finding it intriguing. It’s not often we have guests from such different backgrounds.”  the way he said those words, I had no idea if he liked of dislikes it. But the side eye to his brother was clear.  

As the evening drew to a close, I retired to my chambers, my mind still buzzing from the day’s events. The opulence of the palace and the complexity of court life had left me both exhilarated and overwhelmed. The next morning, after a restless night, I decided to take a stroll through the palace grounds to clear my head and find some solace in the beauty of my surroundings. 

I wandered through the vast corridors and winding paths until I discovered a hidden garden, a serene oasis of lush greenery and blooming flowers. At the heart of the garden was a tranquil lake, its surface reflecting the soft morning light. The atmosphere was peaceful, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the palace’s interior. 

As I approached the lake, I spotted Prince Cyrus sitting on the edge, leaning on his hands, face towards the sun, his black shirt was slightly open, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest.  

His presence was striking, and for a moment, I was captivated by his beauty. The sight of him in such a relaxed, informal setting was a departure from the formalities of the previous evening. 

He looked nothing like his brother and yet, in some subtle ways, they were very much alike. My gaze must have lingered longer than intended, as Prince Cyrus turned and noticed me staring. I felt a flush of embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, my cheeks heating. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

Prince Cyrus’s eyes softened slightly, and he gestured for me to come closer. “No need to apologize, Calista. Please, join me.” 

I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing as I approached him. The garden was peaceful, and the tranquillity seemed to offer a moment of reprieve from the grandeur of the palace. As I reached the edge of the lake, Prince Cyrus patted the grass beside him, inviting me to sit. 

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said, his voice warm and welcoming. I gingerly sat down on the grass next to him, the soft blades cushioning my weight. The morning sun cast a gentle glow over the scene, and the ripples on the lake shimmered in the light. Despite the initial awkwardness, the atmosphere felt surprisingly relaxed. 

Prince Cyrus leaned back on his elbows, his gaze fixed on the water. “I often come here to find some peace away from the formalities of palace life. It’s a rare moment of solitude.” 

I looked at him, noting how different he appeared. "It’s beautiful here,” I said, taking in the serene surroundings. 

“It is,” he agreed, casting a sidelong glance at me. His expression grew more curious as he asked, “So, why are you here, Calista?”  

I looked at him, slightly confused by his question. "I get the sense that you’re not entirely comfortable with attention and spotlight.” he added. “I suppose you’re right. I’m not used to being in the centre of attention. I’ve always been more of a behind-the-scenes kind of person.” 

Cyrus smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I understand... Although, from what I saw last night, you handled the attention quite well while dancing in my brothers arms.” I felt a flush of warmth at the memory of our dance. It had been a moment of unexpected connection, and the compliment, even indirectly, made me feel good. “I suppose I did manage to hold my own,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Cyrus’s smile faltered slightly, and I noticed a flicker of displeasure in his eyes. “I see,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “Well, perhaps it’s not entirely surprising given the circumstances, he did meet you first.”  

“Tell me,” Cyrus continued, his gaze intense and probing, “are you here for the throne, me, or my brother?” 

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, trying to navigate the delicate balance of honesty and diplomacy. “I’m not here for the throne,” I began, choosing my words carefully. “I’m no queen, but my dream is for my family to have everything they can dream of."

"And hoping to be wed to a man who truly cares for me. Your brother must have seen something in me to bring me here, but beyond that, I do wish to meet you, my prince. Maybe next time, you could be faster and ask me to dance first.” 

A flicker of something—perhaps surprise or amusement—crossed Cyrus’s face. His cold green eyes softened slightly, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. “You certainly have a way with words, Calista.” 

I smiled, hoping to defuse any lingering tension. “I only speak from the heart. I’m here to experience and to learn, and if that includes getting to know both you and your brother, then I’m open to it.” 

Cyrus studied me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “It’s not often that someone expresses their intentions so candidly. I suppose it’s refreshing in its own way.” 

The brief moment of shared understanding seemed to bridge the gap between us. Despite his usual reserved demeanour, Cyrus appeared to appreciate the honesty and directness I had offered. 

“I’ll keep your suggestion in mind,” Prince Cyrus said, his tone hard and final. It was clear that the conversation had reached its end, and I took it as my cue to leave. I bid him a polite farewell and made my way back through the palace, feeling a mix of emotions. 

In the following days, the atmosphere in the palace grew increasingly tense. Only five girls remained from the initial group, and each of us had been assigned to participate in various courses designed to test our skills and suitability. Each night was filled with grand balls, and tonight was no exception. 

I stood in the ballroom, surrounded by a sea of elegant gowns and glittering chandeliers. The air was thick with anticipation as guests mingled and the orchestra played a lively tune. Despite the festive atmosphere, I felt a pang of unease. I hadn’t seen Ezra in what felt like forever, and his absence was a notable void. 

As I scanned the room, I noticed a distinct emptiness where Ezra's throne usually was. I had grown accustomed to his reassuring presence, and his absence was keenly felt. The remaining girls, each vying for the prince’s attention, were not particularly kind or supportive. Their whispers and glances were sharp, and I felt the weight of their scrutiny. 

Prince Cyrus, dressed in his customary black, eventually stood and walked onto the dance floor. My heart skipped a beat when I realized he was making his way toward me. The realization came late, and I almost missed the opportunity to prepare myself. 

He approached with a measured stride, his expression inscrutable. “Calista,” he said, extending his hand. “May I have this dance?” 

I hesitated for a moment, then placed my hand in his. His touch was firm and commanding, and I felt the strength in his grip through the layers of my heavy gown. We began to move in sync with the music, and as we danced, I could feel the eyes of the other girls on us. 

Prince Cyrus leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “You dance well,” he murmured. “Though, of course, the competition is fierce. It’s interesting to see how some of you handle the pressure.” 

I tried to focus on the dance and not let his words unsettle me. “Thank you, Your Highness,” I said softly, attempting to maintain my composure. 

His whispers continued, each one laced with veiled criticism. “You have a certain grace, though it’s clear you are still learning the ways of the court,” he said, his voice carrying an edge. “It’s a challenging environment, and not everyone can adapt as quickly as others. May I suggest you spend some time in our library, learning about our past.” 

I felt a tightening in my chest as he spoke. His compliments, though seemingly kind on the surface, were undercut with reminders of my perceived inadequacies. The way he spoke made it clear that while he acknowledged my presence, he saw me as still falling short of the expectations of court life. 

Despite the sting of his words, I tried to focus on the positive aspects of our interaction. The dance itself was a reprieve from the tense atmosphere, and the closeness of our bodies in motion provided a rare moment of connection. 

As the music came to an end, Prince Cyrus guided me back to my seat beside him. The transition was smooth, but the weight of the moment felt heavy. The other girls—those remaining in the competition—shot me sharp, envious glances. I could feel their eyes on me, a mix of irritation and speculation. 

I took my seat, trying to steady my breathing. Despite the intimate dance and the seemingly special attention from Prince Cyrus, he remained silent, his gaze turned toward the dance floor or engaged in conversation with other guests. His aloofness was disheartening, especially after the whispered comments he had made during our dance. 

The silence between us was palpable, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I had done something wrong or if I was simply not meeting his expectations. The discomfort of being so close to him while receiving no further attention made me feel uneasy. I glanced at him occasionally, hoping for some sign of recognition or a hint of his thoughts, but he remained distant. 

Despite this, I tried to focus on the positive. The fact that I was sitting beside him, even if it felt uncomfortable and isolating, indicated that I was still in the running. Prince Cyrus’s silence was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it meant there was less chance of making a misstep in conversation. On the other, it left me wondering about his true feelings and whether my efforts were making any impact. 

The hours passed, and eventually, the event began to wind down. Prince Cyrus remained reserved, his interactions with me minimal but polite. As the guests began to depart, he offered a brief nod in my direction, a gesture that felt both formal and dismissive. 

I stood up, preparing to leave, and took one last look at the prince. Despite his earlier remarks and the chilly distance, I hoped that my persistence and adaptability would eventually be recognized but he did not once look at me again. 

In the solitude of my room, the grandeur of the palace felt like an empty shell. I missed the warmth of my family, the comfort of familiar surroundings, and, oddly enough, Ezra’s reassuring presence. The opulence of the palace, though dazzling, seemed hollow without the connections that truly mattered. 

The next morning, my maid who seemed to wake me every morning needed to be my ally for the day, hoping to learn more about Ezra. “Where is Prince Ezra?” I asked, trying to keep the concern out of my voice. 

She looked up from brushing my hair, her expression somber. “He is out on a mission for the King. It’s one of his frequent duties. The King relies heavily on him.” 

I nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment. I had hoped to see Ezra soon, to find some solace in familiar company. “Can you tell me more about Prince Cyrus, he seems slightly younger than Ezra, yet I hear he is crown prince?” I inquired, curious about the prince whose presence seemed to dominate the palace. 

The maid hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. “Prince Cyrus is indeed the one who will inherit the throne, if he finds a wife." she began. “However, it’s known that he is not well-liked by the people. He’s very much like his father—stern, cold, and focused on maintaining power through conflict.” 

I listened intently, trying to piece together the dynamics of the royal family. “And Prince Ezra?” I prompted gently. 

“Ezra is the oldest son,” she continued, her voice softening. “He chose not to take on the role of crown prince. He believes he is not fit to rule, and his decision has caused quite a bit of tension. He’s more like his mother, who was kind and compassionate, ruled with her heart, but she passed away some years ago.” 

Her words painted a clearer picture of the complex relationships within the royal family. “So, Ezra does a lot of the King’s work?” 

“Yes,” the maid confirmed. “Ezra often handles tasks and missions that the King delegates, especially those that involve delicate or dangerous matters. The King values him for his skills and dedication, though it means Ezra often bears the brunt of the Kingdom’s more difficult affairs.” 

The maid’s explanation helped me understand the dynamics I had witnessed. Ezra’s absence now made more sense in the context of his role and responsibilities. It also shed light on the strained relationship between the princes and their father. 

“Is there anything else I should know about Prince Cyrus or the royal family?” I asked, seeking more insight into the world I was navigating. 

The maid glanced around to ensure no one else was listening, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Rumor has it that Prince Cyrus is hesitant to marry, or at least, he’s reluctant to make anyone his queen. There’s a lot of speculation about why.” 

I leaned in, my curiosity piqued. “Why is that?” 

She continued quietly, her eyes darting around to make sure we weren’t overheard. “There’s talk that Cyrus fears betrayal. His former lover only wanted to marry him to kill him. Since he ordered to kill her former husband. The incident left a mark on him, and he’s wary of trusting anyone who might have the ambition or opportunity to undermine him.” I felt a chill at the mention of such intrigue. “So, is that why he seems so distant and guarded?” 

The maid's eyes flickered with a hint of caution as she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s another version of the story that circulates among the servants and courtiers. Some say that Prince Cyrus’s former lover ran off with Prince Ezra.” 

I was taken aback. “Ran off with Ezra? What do you mean?” She nodded gravely. “Yes, it’s said that she shared a bed with him, no longer being pure, it would also explain why Ezra stepped down.”  

“Cyrus’s feelings toward Ezra are clouded by resentment and suspicion. Not only affected their personal relationship but has also created a rift within the royal family. Ezra, despite his own sense of duty and honour, bears the brunt of Cyrus’s distrust.” 

This new perspective on the relationship between Cyrus and Ezra deepened the intrigue surrounding the palace. It was evident that personal betrayals and rivalries had significant impacts on the dynamics within the royal family. 

"What if Cyrus doesn't marry? My maid looked at me and said. "If the King dies and the crown prince isn't married, the other gods in this realm will get a chance for the thrown via politics. And both Ezra and Cyrus will be killed."

“Thank you for sharing this,” I said, trying to process the gravity of what I had learned. 

That night, rest was elusive. The weight of the day's revelations and the uneasy atmosphere in the palace made sleep nearly impossible. Driven by a mix of curiosity and a need to clear my mind, I wandered through the castle’s quiet corridors, my footsteps echoing softly on the marble floors. 

I decided to do more research on the god and theor powers, learning only the god king and his childres posses the magic, the divine that gives them power to rule. When killed the power is giving to the one who killed, Marriage of the crown prince will secure the bloodline, Children can only be born from a mortal and a god...

After reading all the books I could, since the others were is foreign languages. I found myself hungry and drawn to the kitchen. The grand palace, despite its splendor, felt eerily empty at night. The only light came from the flickering lanterns, casting long shadows that seemed to dance on the walls. 

Approaching the kitchen, I heard the soft rustle of movement. When I peered inside, I was startled to see Prince Ezra standing by the pantry, his shirt off and his back to me. His movements were slow and cautious, and it was clear he was in pain. 

I hesitated for a moment, but then stepped inside. “Prince Ezra?” I called softly, not wanting to startle him. “What are you doing up?” 

He turned to face me, his expression a mixture of surprise and discomfort. His usually confidents were replaced with a look of weariness and distress. “Calista,” he said, his voice strained. “I didn’t expect to see anyone. Please just Ezra.” 

I noticed the fresh bandages wrapped around his ribs, but they were not sufficient for the injuries I could see. “You’re hurt,” I observed, taking a step closer. “Let me help.” 

Ezra seemed to hesitate, but then nodded, resigned. “Thank you.” He sat down on a nearby stool, and I fetched a first-aid kit from a cabinet. As I prepared the supplies, I couldn’t help but notice the freckles scattered across his chest, mirroring the ones on his face. The contrast between his rugged exterior and the vulnerability he displayed was striking. 

Carefully, I began to clean the wound on his ribs. Ezra winced slightly as I worked, but he remained still, his focus on the small plate of food he had taken from the pantry. The warmth of his skin against my fingers was unexpected, and I felt a flush of warmth spread through me, mixing with the concern I felt for his injuries. 

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” I said, trying to keep the conversation light despite the seriousness of the situation. “How did this happen?” 

Ezra sighed, looking away. “It’s nothing too serious. Just a skirmish with some troublemakers. It’s part of the job.” 

I nodded, concentrating on cleaning the wound and applying a fresh bandage. The silence between us was punctuated only by the soft rustling of fabric and the occasional clink of the utensils as I worked. The intimacy of the moment, combined with the vulnerability he displayed, created a strange but comforting connection. 

As I finished bandaging his wound, I looked up at Ezra, my hands lingering on his shoulders. “You should be more careful, Ezra. The palace needs you.” 

He met my gaze, his green eyes warm in the soft yellow light of the kitchen. A faint smile touched his lips. “Only the palace?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint something deeper. 

I felt a flutter of warmth spread through me at the way he looked at me. It was as if his eyes were trying to understand something more than just the immediate situation. My pulse quickened, and I felt a mix of nervousness and anticipation. 

I handed him his shirt, but he didn’t immediately put it on. Instead, he took a step closer to me, closing the space between us. The proximity made my heart race, and I could feel the heat of his body, a contrast to the cool night air. 

I shifted uneasily, unsure of what to do. “You should—” I began, but my voice faltered as he stepped even closer. His presence was both comforting and overwhelming, and I felt a surge of emotions that I wasn’t entirely prepared for. 

Ezra’s gaze remained fixed on me, his expression serious but gentle. “Calista,” he said softly, his hand reaching out to gently touch my arm. The warmth of his touch made my heart race, and I felt a surge of emotions that were difficult to suppress. His eyes landed on my lips. 

I stepped forward, my hand instinctively finding its place on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingertips. His eyes held mine with an intensity that seemed to search for the right words.  

He swallowed, his voice steady, the atmosphere changed again. “You are exactly what my brother needs.” Confusion clouded my thoughts, and I blinked, trying to make sense of his words. “Only what your brother needs?” I asked feeling bold yet afraid to speak louder than a whisper.

I swore I saw Ezra's lips part while he ever so slow bended down towards me. His hand dropped to my side. My body leaned into him by lifting me on my toes.  

Ezra’s expression softened as he looked away, he looked down for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I have to go. T-thank you for...” He pointed to his side before he pulled his shirt over his head and left in the dark hallway.  

Leaving me alone, in the kitchen.

-------------------

What do you guys think? Good enough to continue?

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@jackles010378 @headinthemoon87

[courtmandas]

fic: guilty pleasure (part six)

A/N: welcome back to the present timeline. pls prepare yourselves for all the angst and drama that is about to unfold. all 7900 words of it. shout out to @shesmore-shoebill @poppyfamily and @baflegacy hope everyone enjoys the insanity!

PRESENT DAY

Her body was a live wire. The entire drive back to Amanda’s apartment, Courtney was replaying the kiss. Over and over. How insistent Amanda’s hands on her were, keeping her steady and close. The absolute heat in her kiss, all tongue and skill and unmatched confidence. The way she couldn’t help but groan out Courtney’s name because the whole scenario was overwhelming. Courtney’s heart hammered and she could still feel how excited she was, concentrating right between her thighs. Trying to remember the last time she’d been so turned on was difficult. Angela had always, always turned her on, but it felt like Amanda had stolen the breath right out of her. She couldn’t make any part of her body focus on something else. Her mind’s eye just kept replaying the look on Amanda’s face and the needy strangle in her words when she’d admitted that she hadn’t stopped wanting Courtney for a second in four years.

She parked the car and leaned back against the seat, forcing herself to take deep breaths. She ran a hand through her hair, and from beside her came a notification on her phone. The name on the display made a shiver course through her already compromised body.

Amanda.

Hey there, did you get home okay

It was so fucking flirty, considering the undertone of Amanda knowing just how deeply she’d affected her. Courtney was going to lose her mind. Just pulled in

Awesome

Courtney, despite all her better judgment, didn’t let the conversation end there. You were right, you know

About?

It was bad. It was so bad. It was going to cement whatever whirlwind was happening between them, but Courtney didn’t have a sense of reason right now. Her libido was raging.

I haven’t been touched like that in so long. I’m having a crisis over here.

As she expected, the response didn’t come as quickly as the others. It didn’t come in the form of a text at all. Amanda called her. Oh, God, Courtney feared what the sound of her voice was going to do. She answered, anyway.

“Hi.”

“Hey. You okay?” Amanda’s tone was even, not at all giving away the excitement Courtney knew she must’ve been feeling.

“Not at all. You left me high and dry.”

She regretted the words the second they were out, because of course, Amanda pounced on the phrasing.

“I don’t think I left you dry, babe.”

“God damn it, Amanda.”

There was a throaty laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not. I just want to fix this problem for you.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It took all her focus not to squeeze her legs together to alleviate the whole thing. Even a fraction would’ve helped.

“You’re evil, Amanda.”

“How? I’m also high and not so dry.”

She knew. It was a huge part of what made the whole thing intoxicating. Amanda was dying to have her. “What if I don’t live up to your expectations?”

The insecurity must’ve thrown Amanda for a loop because there was a pause. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Courtney, you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life. If I don’t put my hands on you again soon, I might go insane.”

She throbbed at the words. “I want you to.”

“I will, baby.”

“Holy fucking shit, Amanda.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to see this side of me.” Amanda teased, shameless.

“And I meant it.” Courtney closed her eyes. She was still in her parked car, trying to chill herself out. Amanda was doing the opposite of helping. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have someone right now?”

Amanda made a disbelieving noise. “No, Court. I haven’t had the time or the energy.”

“Okay.”

“After what just happened, I couldn’t think about anyone else if I wanted to.”

“Good.”

“Oh, it’s like that?”

“Yes.”

“Possessive, huh?” Amanda’s tone dropped low. “Why do I find that hot as fuck.”

Courtney let out a very undignified squeak. The rasp in Amanda’s voice was incendiary on her senses. She had to get out of the conversation. She had to.

It was like Amanda read her mind. She made a huff of her own. “Court, I have to hang up. You’re about to make me walk out on my job.”

The joke relieved the tension. Slightly. At the very least it made Courtney giggle. “So sorry.”

“All good, babe. I’ll see you some time tonight, okay?”

“Can’t wait.”

“Yeah, you and me both. Bye, Court.”

“Bye, Mandy.”

-

She’d already cancelled two interviews she was supposed to do this week. The producers were pissed at her and so was her agent, but Angela explained that she was going through the worst break-up of her life and they tried to accommodate. As much as greedy Hollywood types could, anyway. They sent her co-lead in her place, and she knew he was probably pissed. He now had double the duty of press. Angela should’ve sent him a fruit basket or something.

As it was, she was becoming a mainstay on Trevor’s couch, cradling a pillow to herself and pressing her face into it to keep all the anguish at bay. It wasn’t healthy. Angela didn’t care. She’d earned the right to sit in it. Regardless, it was hard to watch Trevor and Arasha fret over her, so she did all the normal human things required of her. Hygiene and food consumption, mostly. Otherwise, she just sat in it, replaying and dissecting every moment of the last few years, desperate to pinpoint exactly where Court had decided that trying wasn’t worth her time. She thought about all the dozens of times she’d gotten home well after Courtney was asleep. Times she’d had to cut dates short because her input was needed on something and yeah, times when Courtney had tried to initiate some semblance of intimacy and Angela didn’t follow through. She realized how much all those little instances piled up on top of each other must’ve felt like rejection to Courtney. She was right. Angela was a ghost, coming and going and barely affecting Courtney’s life except to make her happy for half a second only to leave and make her miserable for ten times longer.

She crushed the pillow to herself again, like doing that was somehow going to hold her pieces in place. She hadn’t fully cried yet, and she was sure that fact was stunning to Trevor, who was so used to her being an utter wreck when shit hit the fan. She wasn’t fully aware of just why she was so determined to keep herself from shattering. It was something about how unaffected Courtney seemed to be. How she’d calmly and cooly explained the who, what, why, and when, like she was reading the outline of a script. Angela wished the only thing had been messier and louder, just so she could’ve processed it. What was happening was so cold, almost. The cleanest of breaks that almost felt like nothing was different at all. Courtney was right, after all. They hadn’t exactly been setting the world on fire in the last two years of their relationship.

She buried her nose in the pillow, and shut her eyes, trying in vain to teleport away to a place where her life still made sense. Where it didn’t feel like everything was crashing down on top of her. One day soon, she’d have to walk back into the world and be the semi-famous public figure that she was. She’d have to do her ever-growing list of jobs, and fulfill her already stupid amount of commitments. And she’d have to just be okay with not keeping the one commitment she’d actually wanted. She had to live with the fact that Courtney was going to find someone else who’d succeed in all the ways Angela failed.

God, the proposal must’ve seemed so desperate, even if they’d discussed it in happier times. Courtney really only said yes to appease her, or maybe it was an attempt to whip Angela into shape. Like, hey I’m still in this please try.

The self-pity continued to gnaw at her. Her thoughts were cyclical, just around and around in the same endless circle. She had no solution for getting Courtney back. No solution for how she could even begin to apologize. Nothing that didn’t make her seem utterly desperate. It wasn’t like she was going to walk away from her career. She wasn’t going to magically discover how to have a healthy work/life balance. She just had to let Courtney go.

What a cruel fucking fate.

The couch dipped beside her. Angela didn’t make any attempt to look up, but she could tell from the deep sound of sympathy that it was Trevor. She felt him run a hand across her shoulders. It was gentle and assuring and it did help. Trevor’s presence always helped. He was deceptively level-headed, a natural balm on her more anxious demeanor.

“Ang, Amanda’s on her way.”

Ugh. What the hell.

She lifted her head and immediately felt a pang of sympathy for her baby brother. He was so visibly worried about her, his shoulders slumped, his blue eyes carrying exhaustion. He’d been working just as hard as she had lately, trying to further his brand and make a name for himself. She’d added so much unnecessary stress. Fuck, what else could she feel awful about.

“Why’d you call Amanda?” Angela felt like a little kid trying to avoid their mother. “I’m fine.”

She was not fine.

“You are not fine.” Trevor said, his tone stern. “You’re not even really processing anything. You’re just sitting on this couch and feeling sorry for yourself.”

“So what?”

“So, you need someone to talk some goddamn sense into you and since you won’t listen to Arasha or I, Amanda’s my only option.”

Angela dropped her head on the pillow again, annoyed at how well he knew her. It was like she’d come to him because she knew he wouldn’t let her spiral too far. She was safe with Trevor. He knew her better than anybody.

The doorbell rang.

He knew her better than almost anybody, and Angela felt a sense of dread watching her brother get up to answer the door. Amanda was going to be so pissed at her. They’d technically been texting for days now, but Angela had only been giving short answers. Nothing concrete. Nothing emotional. Amanda had to know she was full of shit. Amanda always knew when she was full of shit.

Amanda was barreling toward her with purpose, her eyes ablaze. Trevor was already out of sight. He must’ve figured he wouldn’t be of any help. Angela kind of wished he’d stayed. At least she’d have a human shield. She watched quietly while her best friend took the place her brother had just occupied.

“Hi, Amanda.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “What the fuck, Ang.”

“What the fuck what.” She knew she looked pathetic. She didn’t need Amanda to rub it in.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

Angela sighed heavily, and her grip on the pillow loosened. “I thought you were busy.”

“When have I ever been too busy for you?”

Amanda had a point. She’d never failed to be there when Angela asked. It just felt so humiliating to explain that she’d failed so miserably.

“This fucking sucks.” Angela muttered.

Amanda reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair back behind Angela’s ear. “I know, but you can’t just shut down, Ang. Your life isn’t over.”

It wasn’t. It was just that there was a huge fucking hole in it that Angela couldn’t fill with anything. A gaping, bleeding hole that didn’t even seem like it was going to heal. Amanda was always so put together, so stoic. She didn’t fucking understand. She didn’t get it. She’d never known what it was like to love someone the way Angela loved Courtney. Angela longed to know what it was like to be so fucking blasé about everything. It must’ve been so freeing.

“How do you do it?”

Amanda’s brow furrowed. “Do what?”

“Act like nothing ever hurts you.”

“Plenty of things have hurt me, Angela.”

“You’d never fucking know it. How do I learn that?” She identified the tell-tale burn in the back of her throat that told her the tears were coming. It pissed her off so bad that Amanda just tugged it out of her so easily.

Amanda sighed and yanked at the pillow between Angela’s arms. “Come here.”

Angela went and shut her eyes to the rush of comfort felt when Amanda’s arms wrapped her up, one hand at the back of her head while the other continued to caress her back. Angela buried her face in Amanda’s neck just as the dam burst. The sob came, heavy and violent. Amanda just held her. “I fucked it up so bad, Amanda. I was such an asshole.”

She curled herself even closer. Amanda squeezed her. “I’m pathetic.”

“Whoa. Hey.” Amanda used a hand under her chin to bring her head up. “No, you’re not. And you’re not an asshole, either. You have a demanding career. Your personal life suffered. It happens.”

“I fucking hate it.” Angela sniffled. “I don’t know how to go home if Court’s not there. It’s going to gut me, Amanda.”

Something shifted in Amanda’s expression. Her eyes widened and her lips pressed into a straight line. She didn’t stop the motions of her comfort, but she did exhale sharply. “Ang, why we don’t go outside, hm? Just take a walk around the neighborhood. The fresh air will be good.”

It sounded like a good idea to her brain, though it was difficult to convince her body to go along for the ride. That didn’t matter so much, because Amanda practically picked Angela up and made her stand on her own two feet. Angela swatted at Amanda’s grip on her, making Amanda laugh and take a step back. As Angela started to go, Amanda tossed an arm across her shoulder. Angela rolled her eyes but found endless security in how steady Amanda was.

It was the only thought on her mind as they went out the front door. That was truly Amanda’s power.

-

Amanda wanted to flee. As far away as her feet could carry her. Unfortunately, her body wouldn’t listen. It stayed in step beside Angela as they walked the winding path of Trevor and Arasha’s neighborhood. They’d been walking for a good twenty minutes and thankfully, Angela wasn’t crying anymore. The weight of her emotions were still in her voice even as she talked about mundane shit to occupy herself. Amanda listened to Angela go on about how Trevor was trying to get her into baking and gave approving nods as she tried to act like she wasn’t dying inside. She was such an awful person. She was the worst person. She was evil. She’d let Angela cry on her shoulder while fully knowing that Courtney was in her apartment. That a mere few hours ago, the only thing that kept her from fucking Angela’s ex-girlfriend senseless was Arasha calling to tell her that Angela wasn’t okay. And now, knowing that Angela’s biggest fear of going home was that Courtney simply wasn’t there anymore, and that loneliness might just eat her alive.

The worst part was that Amanda wanted to go home to Courtney. She knew the moment she was with Courtney again, she’d lose the battle. It was just sex. It wasn’t going to mean anything. Courtney just needed someone to get her there. Amanda was a tool. Besides, how was Angela ever going to find out. Courtney and Amanda were going to be the only ones who knew and neither of them would have ever dreamed of shattering Angela that way.

No. She had to call it off. What the fuck was wrong with her. Coming face to face with Angela’s despair had brought the immensity of the situation crashing down onto her. It felt like all her bones were going to be crushed to dust. She’d never felt such acute guilt in all her life. It was gnawing at her, leaving behind a dark pit in her stomach. Every step she took beside her best friend felt like a drag through drying concrete.

She didn’t know if Angela was still talking, but she had to do something. “Ang.”

Angela paused mid-sentence, her still wet and puffy eyes meeting Amanda’s. “What?”

She reached out to grab both of Angela’s hands and made her stop walking. They stood there for a second, quiet in the California daylight, suburbia just existing around them while Amanda’s brain screamed at her. She wanted to be pulled into an abyss.

“I have to tell you something.”

Angela just kept looking at her expectantly.

“I’ve been talking to Courtney.” It was a safe way to put it. She could spin that platonically. She could distance herself from the guilt. Angela could know at least a part of it. It would be okay.

“What does that mean exactly?”

“She called me. She was really drunk and she just wanted to vent, and I kept texting to check on her and we’re friends again, I guess? I just feel fucking awful about it because I love you so much, Ang. You know how important you are to me.”

Angela looked off to the side, her brows clinched together, teeth digging into her bottom lip. Her arms crossed over her chest tightly, like she was hugging herself. “Is she okay?”

Amanda hadn’t been expecting that question. “She’s trying to be.”

“It’s good.” Angela nodded a couple times, working to convince herself. “It’s good that you’re there for her. Fuck knows I wasn’t. All I did was make her promises I couldn’t keep and treat her like an extra piece of fucking furniture. Like she couldn’t just get up and leave.”

Amanda felt a pang in her chest and a twist in her stomach. Angela had taken Courtney for granted. Courtney did deserve to feel connection and passion with someone who was all about her. Amanda knew she would kill to be that person, that even standing in front of Angela and knowing her pain wasn’t enough to quell her need to make Courtney feel something besides heartache.

“Are you sure you’re okay with Courtney coming to me?” Amanda wasn’t going to take it as permission. Her and Courtney were going to talk about it.

“What Courtney does isn’t my business anymore, Amanda.” Angela said, throwing up her hands. “Do you want me to police who you can be friends with?”

“I just don’t want to hurt you, Angela.”

“You’re not.”

Amanda shut her eyes, and the guilt seemed to get heavier. She was omitting so much detail, just to save herself. Just so she could have everything she wanted. The whole thing was such a fucking mess. “Do you want to fix things with Court?”

It seemed like the normal question a normal person would ask in the normal version of this situation.  

“I wouldn’t know where to start. I just hope she lets me apologize at some point.”

“I think she will.” Amanda reached over to rub a hand over Angela’s shoulder. Angela put a hand over hers, thumb running a circle on the back of Amanda’s hand. “You just have to go back to your life, okay? You can’t let your career suffer. You can’t let losing Courtney turn into losing everything.”

“I know. I know.” Angela kept her steady eye contact. “You’re right.”

“And I’m here whenever you need to talk about anything, you know? You don’t have to worry about whether I’m busy or not. I love you, Angela. I’m at your beck and call.”

An honest to God smile touched Angela’s lips, her grip on Amanda’s hand becoming a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you, Amanda.”

“Anytime.” Amanda smiled right back. She could do this. She could fix everyone. “Are you ready to head back? Arasha promised me dinner if I got you off the couch.”

The joke was easy, and they fell into it like an old coat. Angela turned back in the direction of home, her shoulders rising and falling as she laughed. “I can’t believe you guys bet food on my well-being.”

“She should’ve known I was going to win.”

Angela laughed harder. “Your ego is so fucking massive. That’s crazy.”

Amanda laughed, too, and fell back into step with her best friend. It was going to be okay. She could handle it. She could take care of them both.

She was going to take care of them both.  

-

The best thing about living with someone who spent half a decade bartending was an overstocked liquor cabinet. Amanda told her she had free reign over whatever she wanted, knowing that she was going to need to indulge at some point. Courtney did that night just so she didn’t have to think about just what Angela was going through and just how much Amanda was having to lie to keep herself and Courtney away from a firestorm. Courtney was pissed off at her own lack of self-control when it came to Amanda. She’d never lost herself so completely in a moment like that and then she’d turned around and done it again when she’d practically let Amanda seduce her on a phone call. The solution, of course, was to get herself the hell out of there. Problem was, she was having a good time and that was where the guilt came in to tear her up inside.

She made and downed three martinis in the span of about 45 minutes and then ran to her room to do anything besides think. Thankfully, the quick drunkenness brought a drowsiness with it, and Courtney fell back against the pillows, eyes closing as the room did a sharp spin. Her phone went off with a text: most likely Amanda telling her she was on the way. Courtney didn’t bother to even acknowledge it. The last few months had been so emotionally draining. It was a relief to be alone. It was a relief not to have to answer anyone. Her heart was still hurting, but her brain and her body were excited to be free of all the extra work they’d been doing to stay with Angela. That sounded so fucking terrible, but it was the truth. Courtney sighed behind her closed eyes and soon enough, she was sinking into the realm of sleep.

Fifteen minutes passed before the front door of the apartment opened, and Amanda was coming in, wine drunk from dinner, calling out Courtney’s name.

Courtney’s eyes shot back open. She gingerly shifted herself until she was sitting up against the headboard, the remnants of a half-waking dream swirling in her subconscious. Angela was in it somewhere, but Courtney was already forgetting the rest of the dream’s contents. She was all the better for it, honestly. There came a quiet knock on the bedroom door. “Court?”

“I’m here.” She squinted as Amanda turned on the light. The taller woman was already out of her regular clothes and in her usual baggy t-shirt and shorts pajama combo.

Courtney tried not to stare at her mile long legs. It proved futile.

If Amanda noticed the distraction, she didn’t comment. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Is it cool if I come in?”

It was unbearably sweet, but also completely embarrassing that it took something so small to make Courtney swoon. “Yeah, of course.”

She scooted over on the bed, enough to put a healthy distance between them as Amanda took up a spot near the far end of the bed, legs folding beneath her, forearms resting on her knees.

“Hey.” She said, lips tilting into a smirk.

“Hi.” Courtney replied. “How’d it go?”

“Angela’s a wreck, but I managed to get her off the couch. She was laughing and joking around at dinner, and she said she was starting to feel more like herself.”

Courtney couldn’t help her sigh of relief. “I’m so happy to hear that.”

“I mean, obviously, she won’t get over it overnight, but she’s at least back to somewhat functioning. Hopefully, Trevor and Arasha can get her to call her agent and fix the press tour.”

For obvious reasons, Courtney truly didn’t give a shit if it got fixed. She was bitter as all hell for the way Angela’s outside responsibilities had ostensibly ruined their lives. Amanda picked up on the tense silence. She gave Courtney a sympathetic smile. “It all sucks so bad, Court. I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I just am.” Amanda exhaled and dropped her head. “I don’t know how to actually help either one of you and I hate it.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, Amanda. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Amanda’s head shot back up; her expression was incredulous. “I almost fucked you on a desk like 12 hours ago.”

A lightning bolt of remembrance and lust hit Courtney at the words. She smothered it. “I initiated.”

“And I could’ve said no, like an actual good friend would.”

“Stop, Amanda.” Courtney tapped a hand against Amanda’s knee. “I took advantage of your feelings for me. That’s not your fault.”

“You did not take advantage of me. Never say that to me again.” Amanda’s face turned to stone. “I’m a grown ass woman. I did exactly what I wanted to do. I still want to.”

Amanda’s eyes were intense and now they were refusing to stray from Courtney at all. There was so much tension in the air Courtney could’ve been smothered under it. There was no getting away from it. Just like Amanda, she didn’t want to get away from it.

“How do we get this out of our systems?” Courtney asked, halfway to defeat. “I fucking hated it when we weren’t speaking. I don’t want to do that again.”

“I don’t, either. But I’m also not going to go back to pretending that I don’t want you.”

Another flare of heat struck Courtney. Low and insistent.

“I’ve never been a no strings attached type.”

“I know.”

“If we do this…,would it really just be sex for you?”

Amanda didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“I can’t just knowingly hurt you, Amanda.”

“You won’t.” Amanda reassured, boldly leaning forward, wrapping her own hand around the one on her knee and using it to urge Courtney closer. “Can we just not think for a second? Please.”

It was exactly what Courtney had been trying to do all fucking night. She knew without a doubt that Amanda was going to blank out her brain. It’d already happened twice that day, after all. She just wished she was strong enough to resist it, wished she’d told Amanda that she wasn’t allowed in the room because Courtney did not trust herself at all. For good reason, too, because she was closing the distance between them, moving to settle her knees on either side of Amanda’s waist, and sitting herself in the taller woman’s lap. Amanda unfolded her legs, and the shift put her thigh in a very precarious position. Courtney ignored the need that shot right through her and looped her arms around Amanda’s shoulders while Amanda grabbed her around the waist.

Brown eyes stared up at Courtney. “Good?”

Courtney’s heart was already racing and that coupled with an expectant heat growing between her legs made her nod. She dropped her forehead to Amanda’s. For a second, they just stayed suspended there, inches from sealing the deal, each of them waiting for the other to decide their fate. It was Amanda who gave in first, surging upward to join their lips and crush Courtney to her. Courtney groaned on impact. There was so much passion and confidence in Amanda’s kiss, in how her hands slid up Courtney’s back, one settled behind Courtney’s neck to keep her close while the other grabbed at her hip. It was easy to tell that Amanda was trying not to overstay her welcome. The zealous nature of her touch was confined to innocent places. Courtney had to respect the restraint, even as the kiss deepened into a slow, sure tongue-laden rhythm. A throaty noise from Amanda sent another pulse of need through Courtney’s body. It was crazy to be kissing so languidly, like the sex was over. Courtney hadn’t expected anything like it from Amanda. She’d thought maybe Amanda was just going to jump her, which she absolutely would’ve welcomed. What was happening was something else entirely. It was Amanda cradling her close and kissing her like she feared Courtney might just vanish if she stopped.

The thought made Courtney whimper into the connection. Amanda made an affirming noise back, and her hands slid beneath Courtney’s t-shirt. Courtney’s fingers tightened in Amanda’s hair instinctively.

That action was the one that brought out the Amanda Courtney had been expecting. She parted their lips, dark, lustful eyes fluttering back open. “You drive me so fucking crazy, Court.”

The words were rasped and low, Amanda’s tone more of a growl than anything else. Courtney had barely done anything, and this was what she’d turned Amanda into. It was a heady rush. She leaned back and lifted her arms to give Amanda permission to slide her shirt up and over her head. Amanda obliged, and God, somehow her eyes got darker, mouth leaning in to crush itself onto Courtney’s again while her hands greedily covered her chest. Courtney rocked her hips into the attention, making Amanda let out a laugh that disrupted the kiss. She didn’t stray far, but the smile on her face was endearing as hell. Courtney couldn’t find it in her to laugh, considering Amanda was inches from her mouth and circling her nipples with the pads of her thumbs.

“What?” She breathed, tilting her head in an effort to get Amanda to kiss her again.

Amanda resisted teasingly, and her hands abandoned their mission to settle onto her hips. “Can I not be excited by a gorgeous woman grinding on me?”

Courtney had to wonder if the bumbling charm was a part of Playboy Amanda or if this tiny detour was caused by how excited she was to finally be with Courtney. Courtney wanted to believe it was the latter, and as such, she rolled her hips and smothered Amanda’s cocky smirk with a firm kiss. This time, the rush was so much greater, and her mind went away completely. Her body was in charge of everything happening. She used her weight to press Amanda backward until she was lying all the way back. Amanda grunted as the change in position had Courtney completely straddling her, her hips rocking forward again as her thigh landed flush to Amanda’s center. The friction – even combined with the high pitched noise from Amanda -  wasn’t nearly enough, but Courtney kept seeking it, not even close to caring about how desperate she looked.

Amanda broke the kiss with a groan, and her hands shot down to Courtney’s waist, where they grabbed her tightly enough to hold her still. “Fuck. Easy, baby.”

“Sorry.” Courtney giggled breathlessly, and nuzzled the woman beneath her.

“Come here.” One hand let her go to reach up and tangle in her hair, guiding her until her face was buried in Amanda’s neck. Amanda’s fingertips fluttered over her racing pulse point as she moved Courtney’s hair to the side so she could breathe hotly in her ear. “Fuck, I really don’t want this to be the only time I get to touch you.”

Courtney whined at the proclamation, the anticipation in her body reaching a fever pitch. The throb between her legs was becoming unbearable. Thankfully, the hand that wasn’t keeping her close was slipping beneath the waistband of her shorts. The fact that she’d forgone underwear made Amanda hum approvingly against the shell of her ear. Two fingers slipped downward and stroked lightly at her. Amanda’s lips trailed along her jaw, babbling praises in between hot kisses. Both of Courtney’s hands fisted the sheets and Amanda’s fingertips went lower.

Courtney shamelessly grounded her hips down into the touch. Amanda laughed again, and her light touch continued, even while her breath hitched just slightly at feeling Courtney’s arousal.

Again, she wondered if that sound was just for her.

There was no time to dwell on it because Amanda’s middle finger slid inside her. Courtney bucked and clenched and whimpered.

“God, Court.” Courtney was being cradled so close she could feel the way Amanda’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Courtney felt herself gush around the finger inside her at the further realization of how much she was affecting Amanda. Then, Amanda added her ring finger, and Courtney lost any coherent train of thought.

Amanda moved to muffle the next sound she let out into the hollow Courtney’s throat. Courtney went even crazier. If that were possible. She could feel her pulse everywhere.

Amanda stopped holding out and began a slow, steady rhythm in and out of her, wet sounds starting to fill the quiet room. Courtney couldn’t hold in the orchestra of noises she was making, her hips grinding to meet Amanda’s fingers and double the sensations. She wasn’t going to last very long. Especially not when Amanda’s hand shifted so her palm was applying the necessary pressure to Courtney’s clit, her fingers quickening in tandem.

“Amanda.” She lifted her head to draw Amanda into a dirty open-mouthed kiss, her body climbing. Her hips snapped downward, right against Amanda’s palm. She groaned low and deep at the feeling, only for her volume to escalate when the pad of Amanda’s thumb drew a tight circle around her clit to accompany her quick, nasty thrusts.

She threw her head back, lights exploding behind her eyes, thighs trembling, every other muscle becoming a tight rope. Amanda was watching her. Courtney could feel the attention, the awe. She was still being fucked, but the thrusts were slowing to a stop, the pressure gone.  She opened her eyes after what might have been a minute or an hour, and haplessly grinned at Amanda, her body bonelessly falling forward. Amanda’s fingers slipped out of her, Courtney’s inner muscles mourning the loss with another clenching throb. Amanda draped both arms over her back and just held her.

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

Courtney hummed and finally lifted her head up. She put both hands on Amanda’s shoulders to steady herself, feeling Amanda’s thumbs rubbing against her hip bones in a soothing pattern. Gorgeous, hooded brown eyes observed her and it was hard not to notice just how soft and warm they were. Amanda was still wearing her clothes. It must’ve been so uncomfortable with all the heat they’d been making.

Courtney leaned in to kiss her, needy. “Can I touch you?”

Amanda’s eyes grew big, like she hadn’t been expecting the offer. “You want to?”

“Yes.” Courtney ran her hands under the hem of Amanda’s shirt, biting her lip at how much heat emanated from her skin. She felt Amanda’s breath catch yet again, the muscles in her stomach rippling under Courtney’s palms. Yeah, she wasn’t going to get tired of that. “Wanna hear how you sound when I actually fuck you.”

“Jesus, Court.” She tugged Courtney forward, so their lips were an inch apart again. “Be my guest.”

Courtney pounced.

-

In the morning after any usual one-night stand, Amanda would’ve been gone. It was her tried and true MO. There were two huge problems with that in this situation: 1. She was in her own apartment and 2. it was the greatest sex she’d ever had in her life. Hands down. And look, she wasn’t usually a ranking girlie, but Courtney was talented. Amanda had never been so utterly dismantled. One round became two rounds became three became four and Amanda forgot she was supposed to be feeling guilty.

Well, she had forgotten, and then the harsh light of day gave her a not so wonderful wake up call. The guilt swirled inside her, alongside all the other insanely powerful things that Courtney brought up in her. Amanda was well and truly fucked. In more ways than one. To make it worse, she hadn’t even retreated to the safety of her own bedroom. No, she woke up next to Courtney. Courtney, who looked so fucking ethereal with the sheets bunched around her waist and her back exposed, both arms curled under her pillow. Amanda wanted to suspend time so she could just live in that moment. Kiss and touch Courtney awake, hold her close. Intimate things. Love drenched things. So far outside the realm of just fucking to relieve built up tension. So far outside the promise of just helping Courtney through an emotional upheaval. She’d told Courtney that she wasn’t being taken advantage of, but that wasn’t true was it. Of all the people who probably would’ve jumped at the opportunity to be Courtney’s physical rebound, Amanda must’ve been the top of the list. It was her reputation to not take sex that serious. Too bad she was now taking sex very seriously. And not just because Angela was going to hate her forever.

Fuck. Angela. It was so fucked that this was the first time Angela had crossed her mind in hours. What the fuck was wrong with her. She’d immediately scurried out of bed, the guilt so intense and complex and sickening that she couldn’t run fast enough. She ended up in the kitchen, just standing in the dark, the rays of the rising sun peeking through the lone window. She didn’t know what to do. She felt nauseous, and uneasy. How had she thought she could compartmentalize the two sides of her new life: the one that wanted to heal Angela and the one that wanted everything with Courtney.

That was the truth. She couldn’t deny it anymore. She didn’t just want Courtney. She was crazy about Courtney. She was…oh, God. What the fuck was she going to do.

She called Shayne. It was the only option. Who else could she talk to. Who else was going to understand. He answered almost immediately, which somehow only increased her guilt. He was always so quick to be there for her. What had she ever done to deserve him.

“Hey, Amanda.” Shayne sounded lively and awake. He was the most intense kind of morning person and right now, Amanda was grateful.

“Shayne, we had sex.”

Shayne wheezed out a laugh. “Yeah, quite a few times.”

She wished she could laugh with him. “Not you and I, idiot. Me and Courtney.”

“What?”

“Courtney and I had sex last night. Courtney and I had so much sex last night.”

“Jesus.” Shayne groaned out in frustration. Amanda could picture him running his hand down his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve never been less okay, actually.” Amanda replied, inhaling deeply to prepare herself for saying the next part out loud. “I’m in love with her, Shayne.”

“Yeah. No shit.”

“Please don’t rub it in.”

“I’m not trying to.” He said. “What do you need?”

Amanda squeezed her eyes shut, fingers drawing anxious patterns on the counter behind her. “Can you come by? Court’s leaving for work soon.”

“Yes. I’ll bring coffee.”

“Thank you, Shayne. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to find out. See you soon.”

Amanda was grinning to herself as she hung up the phone. Shayne made her feel so loved. He was always so quick to care for her, even when she did the stupidest shit imaginable. And she had done the stupidest shit imaginable. She stared up at the ceiling, wishing somehow that the answers were up there. They had to be up there, but nope. There was just plaster. Just the anxious push in Amanda’s brain, telling her to leave the apartment until Courtney was gone. She didn’t move and soon enough, there were footsteps in the hall. Courtney was there, in the button down and slacks that were her work uniform, hesitant smile on her face.

It was exactly what Amanda was expecting, and honestly, it was something she could work with. It wasn’t a cold shoulder. It wasn’t avoidance. It was a little testing of the waters. An invitation.

“Good morning, Court.” That part she could do. The smugness, the flirtation. Maybe it would calm Courtney down. Maybe it would make the whole thing feel less insane.

“Morning.” Courtney crossed the distance between them but stopped a few inches away. It was safe. “Are you okay? I felt you get out of bed awhile ago.”

Yeah, because I’m fucking panicking. Amanda thought, her eyes unabashedly flicking down to Courtney’s lips. How would it feel. Kissing Courtney after the night they had. A respite of affection to follow all the pent-up passion. God, she couldn’t think like that. They couldn’t just kiss without the intention of sex. It was far too romantic. It would blow Amanda’s cover. She’d only fall farther, and she couldn’t do that.

“I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

Courtney watched her closely, and then very boldly took another step forward. She invaded Amanda’s personal space, the heeled boots she wore for work giving her a couple extra inches of height. “Is that my fault?”

Amanda figured there was no point in lying. “Might have seen you there and panicked.”

She’d done so much more than panic. What did it matter. She couldn’t take back what was already done. She didn’t want to.

Courtney’s smile faded just a little. “Maybe next time you should go back to your room, huh? Boundaries and all.”

Boundaries? Boundaries when her lips and tongue and fingers were all still tingling from being all over Courtney? It was such a crazy thing, but she supposed she knew what Courtney meant. She wasn’t talking about sex. She was talking about intimacy.

“Next time.” Amanda agreed.

“You’re okay with there being a next time, right?” Courtney’s hands reached out to rest on either side of Amanda’s collarbone. Amanda appreciated just how innocent the touch was, though it still made her heart flutter. Her eyes flicked down to Courtney’s lips again, and this time, she didn’t bother to stop her instincts.

She ducked down to lead Courtney into a kiss, her arms moving to gather the shorter woman to her. Courtney gasped and giggled at how forward it was, her fingers sinking into Amanda’s hair. Amanda was going to die. Her whole body was warm, her nerves alight, her heart so pleased by current events. Her brain was a different story, but who gave a fuck about that when Courtney was nibbling at her bottom lip and pulling back with a gorgeous, dazed smile.

Fuck. She was so beautiful. She was so sweet and sensitive and adorable. Sophisticated, but silly. Everyone who knew her loved her and everyone who didn’t probably wished they did. Amanda was obsessed with her, and it had so little to do with the admittedly incredible sex.

“Amanda.” Courtney cupped her face to draw her gaze. “Say the word and we’ll go back to being just friends.”

There was no going back. They both knew it. The line was crossed. The dam was broken.

Amanda appeased Courtney, anyway. “I’m good. I promise.”

She was not good.

“Okay.” She brushed her lips on Amanda’s again. The kiss was far too gentle for two people who were supposed to be fuck buddies. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The exchange was easy, carrying with it an affection neither of them could really hide. It was so good, and Amanda was handling it.

Then there was a knock on the door.

-

Shayne was pissed at her. He was absolutely, completely, totally, royally pissed at her. If she wanted to be more vulnerable, this was not the fucking way to do it. Was she insane. Did she have a death wish. What in the fuck had possessed her to do something so detrimental to her own health. Why the fuck hadn’t she taken herself out of the situation. Why was he always catching her.

Okay, yeah, there was no catching her this time. He just had to be what? Understanding? Empathetic? He sure as fuck wasn’t supportive. Even less so when the person who opened the door to Amanda’s apartment was Courtney herself, the usually tucked in button down she wore to work looking roughed up around her waist. Shayne wasn’t a betting man, but he could’ve easily guessed why Courtney’s skin was flushed a little pink, too.

“Oh, hi, Shayne.” Courtney didn’t look surprised to see him. She did look agitated, though.

“Hey.” He stepped right past her, his eyes laser focused on where Amanda was standing in the kitchen, perched against the counter.

“Have a good time, I guess.” Courtney said, shutting the door behind her with a thud.

Shayne didn’t have time to care or wonder what it meant. He was walking as fast as he could toward Amanda, her coffee in one hand and his in the other.

Amanda’s gaze was trained on him, her own olive complexion a little flushed, both hands shoved into the pockets of her shorts.

“Hey.” He held out her cup. “You okay?”

She took it from him and let out a frustrated sigh. “Not really.”

“Come sit down.” He said gently, taking a seat at her kitchen table. “Talk to me.”

“What’s there to say, Shayne?” She straightened up, eyes hard and serious just like that. “I’m fucked.”

He just looked back at her and felt his anger lessen. “Amanda, just sit.”

She slumped back against the counter again. It was like she didn’t even know he was there. Her thoughts were just exploding into words, a rant she’d been holding onto for dear life. “I’m a shoulder for Angela and a body for Courtney and meanwhile, I want to fucking die because I’m lying to everyone.”

“I know.”

“You were right. God, you were so fucking right. You told me. You warned me. And I just didn’t listen.”

He dropped his elbows to the table, blue eyes steady. He didn’t really know what she wanted him to say. She was in the deep end. There wasn’t a safe way out. “You can still call it off, you know.”

“No.” Amanda said sharply, hand holding her coffee in a renewed death grip. “Why should I? I’m already in it. It was one of the best nights of my life, Shayne.”

“Amanda…”

“I know! I know I’m a piece of shit. What am I supposed to do about it now.”

He knew he had to get her in the right place. “You could lose Angela.”

Something flickered over Amanda’s face at that, like maybe she hadn’t considered that scenario. There was no way she hadn’t. “If I stop right now, I could still lose Angela. But I won’t. Because she’s not going to know. And it’s just sex. Courtney doesn’t feel shit for me. I’m a rebound for her self-esteem.”

Shayne dropped his head into his hands, everything she was saying making his head and his chest hurt just that little bit more. Then, he lifted his gaze back to her, his resolve to drill his words into her psyche so she stopped running away. “It’s not just sex for you, Amanda.”

“So what? It doesn’t matter. None of this is about me, Shayne.” Amanda stopped to take a deep breath. “It’s not about me.”

“You’re playing with fire, Amanda. Someone’s getting burned one way or another.”

“Let it be me. I don’t care. Angela needs me. Courtney needs me. I can take a little heat.”

Shayne didn’t believe that for a fucking second.

[munsonkitten]

sugar on my tongue

by deadratz

explicit • 1/? • 7900 words

accidental sugar baby eddie, soft dom steve, sub eddie, misunderstandings, didn’t know they were dating, virgin eddie

If there's one thing Eddie's piece-of-shit father taught him, it's that nothing is free. Everyone is always looking for something in return. That's why, when Steve starts giving Eddie gifts, Eddie tries to find ways to pay him back.

Read on AO3