#I MISS THE WAY I WOULD TALK TO THE LAMP POST BECAUSE IT WAS MY BEST FRIEND

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It’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fair ITS NOT FUCKING FAIR

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ʜᴛᴛᴘꜱꜱᴇʀᴇɴᴇ'ꜱ ꜰ1 ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴜᴘʟᴏᴀᴅ 1 : ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ / ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ |ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴋɪɴᴋ

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: 18+ only. smut. corruption kink. orgasm delay/denial. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. hair-pulling. possessiveness. slight choking (glimpse and you miss it?). brief reference to previous dub-con (very minuscule, not charles or max). no penetrative sex. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: oneshot 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: all mine • brent faiyaz

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ: the strength i had to summon to post this is something crazy. it's my first smut fic if you can believe it or not, but the way i feel exposed to the world is wild. i almost forgot to include the actual kink because i got carried away, but it's there i promise you, don't get disappointed too early in! can confirm that while i was writing this i had to take several breaks and stare at the ceiling. the black!reader is vague i think, it's not noticeable until the end, but i had written it with all shades of my poc girlies in mind < 3. n e ways: hope you guys like it!

want to be added to my f1 kinktober taglist? or my general tag list? send me an ask!

huge thanks to my beta readers @lorarri and @sweetpiccolo-blog ! i appreciate y'all so much :)

cross-posted on my ao3, htpsss

here's the link to the masterlist for my f1 kinktober special, and send me a private message if you would like to be added to the list to become a beta reader in the future!!!

it’s late. you’ve kicked jimmy and sassy out of the bedroom, and locked it shut. you’re standing with your back pressed against the door, staring with unfocused eyes. you moved your stuffed animals inside the closet and had them facing the wall even though you closed the closet door. the window curtains are drawn shut, and the only light in the room is the warmth of one nightstand lamp. one of the plushest towels max owns is spread across the bed. in the center lays a single pillow.

this is the last chance you have to get off before max and charles get home in a few hours. they’ve been gone for a triple-header, and you haven’t been able to orgasm once in the near month they’ve been gone. you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one).

the obvious thing to do would be to talk to your boyfriends, and tell them that you’re ready to start exploring the sexual side of your relationship. you’ve been dating them for two years now, and you’re afraid that they’re getting tired of waiting for you to be comfortable enough to have sex with them. but, you’re also afraid that once they learn how inexperienced you really are—they’ll make fun of you, leave you, and find some other woman who knows how to please them. you know that’s outrageous and never going to happen. they’re the sweetest boys you’ve ever dated (way better than that one dude you dated who tried to get you wasted enough to persuade you into having sex with him), and they’ve been very respectful concerning your boundaries. always pulling away when they feel themselves getting hard, and constantly reminding you to tell them to stop if you feel uncomfortable and that there’s nothing wrong with that, and that they’re willing to wait as long as you need, and will continue loving you regardless even if you decide to never have sex with them. so—of course you know that they won’t be assholes about your innocence—it’s just your own self-esteem, insecurity, and overthinking that prevents you from saying you’re ready.

you make a deal with yourself. if you can’t manage to get off grinding against your pillow one last time, you’ll force yourself to sit down with your boyfriends, stare them in the eyes and state that your ready to have sex. who are you kidding—you’re going to get off right now one way or another even if it kills you, because you definitely will wither away and die if you have to have that conversation with your boyfriends.

you walk over to the bed, heart beginning to race as you start playing one of those curated “songs i’d like to be railed to” playlists, before throwing your phone somewhere up the bed. you move to straddle the pillow, and begin to calm your heartbeat. you take a few deep breaths and let your mind wander. the first thought that comes to your head is the goodbye kiss you got from your boyfriends before they left. 

they had gotten all their luggage together and were pulling on their shoes at the entryway. charles was pouting at you, wide green eyes and all, “you are sure that you don’t want to come with us? for at least one of the races? we’ll be gone for almost a—“ 

“yes, cha. i’m sure,” you cut him off with a firm nod, “lemme give you a kiss before you leave, okay?”

charles frowned at max who laughed—like he wasn’t the one begging you to come with them last night before you all went to bed. with a little upset ‘hmph’ charles leaned down and kissed you softly. you had pulled away, only trying to give him a peck, and charles grunted disapprovingly. one of his veiny hands rose and gripped at your waist over your t-shirt, strongly pulling you forward, causing you to tumble into his chest. “oh, i am going to need more than that, mon ange,” charles smirked down at you, “i am leaving for so long, and that’s the goodbye kiss you’re leaving me with? no, i do not think so.” 

you glanced away from him, cheeks beginning to become warm as you make to hide your face is his broad chest. charles tutted at you, tightening his grip on your waist, and his other hand gently pushed your head up to look at him, “c’mere and give me a real kiss, pretty girl.”

you made a suppressed little squeal in the back of your throat, a noise max and charles became very familiar with, often present when they start teasing you. you surprisingly leaned up and initiated the kiss, causing charles to let out a shocked gasp into your mouth. his hand on your waist moved lower, falling to the small of your back and pushed your body completely against his. his other hand caressed your jaw, soothing you enough to allow him to control the kiss, as he flicked his tongue at the seam of your lips. you shakily sighed, allowing him entrance and the kiss deepened, a pleased humming noise in the back of your throat escaping.

you impatiently shift side to side on top of the pillow, not yet allowing yourself to get any friction. sliding both of your hands underneath your sweater—well, max’s sweater, and you start playing with your chest. flicking gently at your nipples, just the way you like. 

you could feel charles chuckle into the kiss, but you dismiss it, and keep kissing at him eagerly. however, you failed to recognize that he wasn’t laughing at you, he was laughing at max. cockily making eye-contact with him, before he let his eyes flutter shut and devoted his attention to you.

max stared on, his mouth slightly open as he watched his two loves give him a show for free. charles’ hand slipped lower, gliding over your ass, across your criminally well-fitted jeans, and found its home on the back of your thigh. max is well acquainted with how skilled charles’ mouth is, so he knows he must have done something spectacular to cause a choked-off moan to escape you, your hand raised to grab at charles’ polo in a fist, wrinkling the pressed shirt. max huffed, deciding to no longer spectate, and took the few steps to reach you across the foyer.

you let out a shocked gasp, eyes fluttering open in surprise at the feeling of your other boyfriend pressed up against your back. you attempt to break the kiss, but charles doesn’t let you. hand slipping from your cheeks to the nape of your neck, tangling in the hairs there and keeping you exactly where he wants. one of max’s hands came to rest at your hip, while the other rested on your navel. your eyes fell shut again in pleasure at how charles gently nipped at your bottom lip, and max’s presence is pushed to the back of your mind.

you didn’t register max’s hand disappearing from your abdomen, but suddenly, the air was cut with a pained moan from charles and his lips were ripped away from yours.

your eyes flew open, and max’s hand was buried in charles’ hair, tugging his head backward and maneuvering it into what must be an almost uncomfortable angle, but with how pleased charles looked—you wanted to feel it too. his eyes rolled backwards, before he pressed them shut and re-opened them to reveal dilated pupils and half-lidded lashes; panting hard, lips covered with your shared spit, and a fucked-out look in his eyes.

you struggle to pull off your sleeping shorts, eventually managing to tug them off to reveal your white cotton panties. your hand leaves your breast to touch at your heat, and you’re shocked at how wet you’ve gotten already. you use that same hand to adjust your pillow, before you let your hips fall all the way and make contact with the pillow. you sigh in relief.

now, max is the one to laugh with his hand firmly keeping charles in place. “oh, you know better than to tease me charlie…” he started, and you barely heard him. fixated on the way charles’ tongue frequently slips out to lick at his lips, but you could hear the smirk max was wearing. 

“and you’re also not the only one leaving our sweet girl for a month. you should be nice and let me have a taste too, hm? isn’t that right, schatje?” he directs at charles. max’s other hand made its way up your abdomen, copping a feel at your chest, before it rested across your throat. he wasn’t squeezing at all, but the weight of his hand, how it spans across your neck, and how you can feel the strength lying underneath his skin, caused you to lose your breath. he guided your head back and dropped his to get his own goodbye kiss.

the kiss felt like it lasted for a lifetime, but realistically it had to be less than a minute of max forcing charles to watch how he ravaged your mouth, before charles started whining loudly. max patted your neck gingerly before pulling away and laughing at charles’ teary eyes. your legs were trembling and you were pretty sure if max wasn’t behind you, you would’ve fallen long ago. in one smooth motion, his hand fell to the monegasque’s throat from his hair and pulled him closer, completely sandwiching you between them, as their lips met in a wild kiss. 

your hips start to rock against the pillow, keeping it slow in the beginning, learning your lesson about friction burn the last time you got too erratic with your moves too quickly.

charles—completely desperate—whined deep in his throat and max kept pulling consistently depraved moans and grunts out of your boyfriend. max’s other hand moved off of your hip to smack at charles’, a nonverbal command for him to calm down and let max take care of him. you felt charles practically vibrating against you in need, but he slowly started to calm; his posture slackening and lips slowing, allowing the dutch full control. 

the two of them were completely ignoring you. caught in their own world, putting all of their energy into their kisses, and in turn gave you a front row seat to something you're never going to forget about. you felt so small in between the two of them, like the only thing that kept you from floating away is the fact that you were stuck in between their bodies.

eventually, max released his grip on charles and separated from the kiss, giving charles air to breathe. the blonde stepped backwards away from your body, and you stumbled embarrassingly. max’s hands went up to hover around your waist (suddenly so shy to touch you) to make sure you actually didn't fall. charles shook his head, physically trying to clear the haze in his mind before he stumbled away from you as well, pressing his back against the wall. 

his chest was heaving with exertion, cheeks flushed a pretty red color, while his hands went to tug at his uncomfortably tight pants, failing to adjust himself to make his erection less obvious. he suddenly turns shy as well—it probably doesn’t help that max was laughing at how easy he is to turn on—, and charles tries to try and tug his shirt down to cover up his problem as best as he can. 

your hips start to pick up in speed, movements more sure and less shaky. the friction between the cotton pillowcase and panties is multiplied on your cunt, and when you rock down deep enough, the catch of the panties on your clit is nearly immobilizing. 

thinking about the moment before your boys left leads you into fantasizing about their dynamic, and how they are in the bedroom. that morning alone proved who was actually in charge; charles will tease and take whatever he can, as long as max allows him to. you can recall many instances of max guiding a well-fucked charles out of the bedroom and depositing him on your lap, before he went on to clean up and run the monegasque a bath. 

the multiple post-sex facetimes you’ve gotten from the two when they’re across the world always starts with max softly speaking, “i’ve worn him out pretty good, but he refuses to fall asleep unless he gets to call you.” and the phone is passed to charles, who’s voice and lips are ruined to hell and you have to decipher what he’s attempting to say.

you’re starting to acclimate to the current tempo, so you pick it up another notch. you lean forward, bracing your hands on the bed for support as you focus on doing deeper and slower grinds against the pillow, allowing your clit to get constant attention.

you find comfort in the fact that charles allows max to take him to such a vulnerable state, and sometimes—you even find yourself getting jealous. you started joining them to see their aftercare for yourself, and found out that you're aching to be taken apart and put back together like max and charles do to each other. 

the sound of max’s constant praises of charles being “so good for him,” and charles’s constant stream of “thank you, thank you, maxy” has you losing all train of thought.

you abandon the slow-and-steady technique, you’ve tried it several times this month and it’s failed to get you to come. you bite your lip, letting out a frustrated groan. your hips slow, and you grab the front of the pillow with one hand and pull it upwards, hoping that a tighter space allows better friction. you start moving quicker, doing smaller more shallow motions and it’s tons better. you can’t stop thinking that it would be even better to ride charles’ face. 

even though your eyelids are scrunched shut, the thousands of tiktok edits you’ve seen of your boyfriends post-race; balaclava lines, sweaty, messy hair, and all—are playing behind them. you moan out desperately, toes curling in your socks. you hear the phantom noises of monegasque moans along with the imagined whispers of dutch-accented praises. 

the knot in your navel tightens, your thighs begin to tremble, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing. this is it, the feeling that’s escaped you for a month, it’s returning, you can finally come. 

you start to rut against the pillow, uncaring of how your wetness has seeped into the pillow cover and sticks against your thighs—if anything, it’s just another pleasant sensation. unfiltered squeals and gasps start slipping out, you’re too blissed out to regulate your volume at this point.

but then, a minute passes and you still haven’t fallen over the precipice. it’s right there; you can see it, you can even hear it, but you can’t fucking feel it. 

your moans of pleasure turn into cries of frustration. your legs start to quiver with exhaustion, and the orgasm you almost had fades. tears spill from your eyes, as you frantically rut against the soaked pillow, not caring about rhythm or technique anymore. and your chance is gone, your sobs echoing around the room at another failed attempt.

you climb off the pillow and fall on your side, crying into the towel trying to muffle your anguished noises. you have the fleeting thought to think that you're overreacting, but fuck that. you’ve literally been unwillingly denying yourself for a month.

after you’ve cried yourself out, you get up and start to clean up the mess you made. when you lean down to pick up the shorts you flung across the room, you hear jimmy and sassy start yowling outside of the room. and faintly, you hear the front door open.

fuck.

a giggle slips out of charles as the cries of the cats are heard outside of the apartment door. max shoots a glare at charles for laughing at his children, before he loses the fight and a smile slips out in response to the monegasque’s. finally managing to slip the key into the lock, max speaks, “we’re supposed to surprise her by being early, cha—maybe we should’ve let the cat’s know when we called earlier today?” they step through the threshold, quickly shutting the door behind them so the cats won’t run out. charles makes a questioning hum as they both start slipping out their jackets, “they are cats, mon minou. i do not think they care about anything other than when you come back to feed them.”

max side eyes him heavily as he squats down to untie his sneakers, and looks around slightly confused, “i think we are missing a greeting from one more kitten, wouldn't you say, charles?” the man in question nods in agreement, while finally petting jimmy and sassy to calm them down a little bit. whenever the two of them return home, you usually race to the door along with the cats. you give them warm hugs and sweet kisses, help them take their jackets off, and let them know if you cooked a meal for them, or prepared a bath. 

but tonight, they don’t hear the sound of your footsteps coming towards them. it’s rare for them not to be greeted at the door, most of the time you beat them to unlocking it, with the alarm system the cats provide. 

charles questions, “maybe she fell asleep? we did not tell her that we moved our flight earlier. and we did tell her to go to bed because we would be arriving late.”

max snorts disbelievingly, “when has she ever gone to bed when we’ve told her to,” he starts, “she’s probably just in the bathroom or something.”

the two spend a few minutes paying some attention to the cats, before they begin to get suspicious at the fact that you still haven’t come to welcome them back. they straighten up and start heading towards the bedroom. 

max pushes the door open, and everything looks normal except for the fact that you’re nowhere to be seen. the bed is put together, one nightstand lamp is on, and the bathroom is empty. max and charles stare at each other with matching baffled expressions, before you clear your throat in the doorway.

max jumps, “shit!” and charles flinches, “oh, what the fuck!”

your giggles reverberate through the air, and the two men can only laugh along with you. “oh? so you find scaring us funny, schat?” max teases gently. you pad over to him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him in for a tight hug, nodding softly into his neck as you breathe him in. charles huffs after he’s deemed that you spent too much time loving on max before he pulls you into his own grasp, one arm braced tightly around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head resting in his chest. “she’s absolutely frightening, max, can’t you tell?” he teases back, defending you jokingly. 

max hums, “definitely. where were you hiding, baby?”

you freeze for second as you pull away from charles’ grasp, before stuttering your way through an explanation, “u-uh oh, i was-um, i was just in the laundry room! i was just putting a few things i had accidentally spilled uh- spilled juice on-yes juice of course, in the uh-washing machine, yes,” you nod firmly, to fully convince them.

the monegasques raises an eyebrow at you and dragged out an, “…….okay, i guess?” max follows up with a sarcastic, “yeah….we definitely believe you!”

you narrow your eyes at him, “are you calling me a liar, max? because, why would i lie about—“

charles cuts you off, turning your head back towards him as he squints at your face. he runs his thumb underneath one of your eyes, and speaks softly, “were you crying, mon ange? your eyes are red and swollen.”

you shake your head rapidly to attempt to dismiss his worry but it’s already too late. max practically teleports to your side and scans your face and with a gasp he reveals, “yes, you did cry. i can still see the tears stained on your cheeks.”

you shift uncomfortably, “yes, okay! i did cry! but it was nothing serious,” you pause and mumble the last part of your sentence, “i was just overreacting anyways, it doesn’t matter.”

max smacks his teeth at you disapprovingly, “hey, don’t be mean to yourself, schatje. anything that causes you to cry does matter. tell us, and we can try and make it better for you.” the two boys wear you down with earnest eyes; the monegasque brushes his lips against your hand comfortingly and the dutchman tucks your hair behind your ears soothingly. they wait patiently and don’t attempt to push you any further, but there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of them; they won’t let this go until you explicitly ask them two. and suddenly, your resistance falls and words start rushing out of your mouth.

“im so tired, okay? i’ve been trying for ages, ages, and i can’t get there! everytime i try, i-i-it’s like i’m right there–right there! and then it never comes! it’s torture. the harder i try to reach for it, the more it slips away, and then it doesn’t even feel good anymore! i thought this was supposed to feel good–and now what’s the point?! i don’t even wanna try again if i’m just going to be–”

“woah, woah, woah.” max cuts you off, “what are we talking about exactly, schatje? have you not been getting enough sleep or something? because we can try and–" you interrupt, “NO! i haven’t came in a MONTH! are you even listening to me?!”

charles chokes on his own breath and max damn near faints. most importantly, they’re shaken at your bluntness around the topic; every time they try to ask if you’ve been finding…relief–for lack of a better word, you tend to snap shut if they use any ‘explicit’ words with you– you tell them not to worry about it. so, to hear you say it plainly reveals how much distress this has been causing you. secondly, the thought that you’ve been desperately trying to get off for a month on your own, is a paralyzing thought. they nearly convinced themselves that you had no idea about anything sexual due to your refusal to answer any of their questions—which there would be nothing wrong with, they’d be happy to teach you how to please them and them alone. it’s a seductive thought, the fact that you’re untouched, that no man has had the opportunity to taint you and ruin your perspective on how you should receive and give pleasure. they’ve been praying for the day you’d be ready to let them teach you how to be good for them. maybe that makes them monsters, for taking advantage of your naivety and innocence, and molding you into their perfect girl, but they stopped feeling guilty for desiring this long ago. 

you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating, to not cum,” you gasp softly, “especially when you’ve been edging yourself accidentally for so long, hm?”

a questioning sound slips from your lips, “hm? what’s edging? i just haven’t,” your voice drops to a whisper, “cum.” max thinks that he’s seriously fucked-up in the head, because he watches how you bury your face into charles’s chest after your whispered word, refusing to make eye contact with them out of embarrassment; and relishes at the fact that you absolutely have no idea about what exactly you’ve been doing to yourself. he’s going to enjoy ruining teaching you everything he knows.

“edging is repeated instances of sexual stimulation and stopping before your orgasm. it’s called that because you are kept ‘on the edge.’ you can do it to yourself or with others,” max states in an unfazed manner. he sees you start to relax, knowing that you find comfort in his matter-of-fact tone. 

a pout lowers your lips, “who would enjoy that? it feels terrible.”

max breaks out in a grin, slipping an arm around charles and squeezing at his tapered waist, “you know somebody who enjoys it very much, liefje,” charles blushes at the sudden call out, and watches the way your eyes widen in shock. max continues, “anyways, you may find that you enjoy it when it’s done properly—with people who are experienced enough to make sure you’re feeling good and keep you feeling good… and show you how to have a proper orgasm, hm?” max segways into the important topic, not allowing you to deflect any longer.

charles stops your attempt at hiding in his broad shoulder this time around, and firmly holds your face to keep you facing max. the dutch give charles a nod of appreciation and watches how he shifts on his feet at the acknowledgement; he might have to take care of him after he’s done with you, too. max allows your eyes to avoid meeting his, letting them roam his face as you battle your own insecurity.

“liefje,” max deepens his tone, knowing how you melt at any pitch similar to his morning voice, “there is no need to be embarrassed about your virginity and innocence. you had your boundaries set, and never bent or broke them to make someone happy at the cost of your comfort. no matter how much pressure someone applied to you, you refused to let them have you in one of the most vulnerable positions you could ever be in because you felt unsure or plainly uncomfortable with them. that is something you should take pride in and no one should make a joke out of your virginity for that instance. tonight, you can still make that decision if you are not completely sure on allowing charles and i the privilege of teaching you how to feel satisfied. we will continue to wait for you; you have the power here, not charles or i. do what is best for you at this moment, and if that changes, tell us so, and we will continue or stop at your will.”

the room is silent as the three of you digest max’s spiel. charles and max seem to be completely nonchalant about the matter, but they are trying to hide how anxious they are about your possible refusal, for your sake. of course they are hoping that you’ll accept their helping hands, or lips, or tongues, or coc—but, that’s not their main intention tonight. the goal is for them to start building a deeper level of understanding and trust with you, to where you allow yourself to be in your most vulnerable state with them. and that will take time; they’re not expecting you to completely reveal your innermost workings to them instantaneously. however, they most definitely want to show you how good they can make you feel and how good you can make them feel. and once you internalize that, then they can start working on showing you the wonders of sex—or plainly put, they can start tainting you.

you nod. charles eyes brighten and his cheeks dimple with the appearance of a wild smile. he leans in to kiss you in thanks, but max halts him with one finger to the forehead and a quick ‘aht aht,’ “that won’t do, liefje, i need verbal confirmation—words, please.”

“y-you can…you can help s-show and teach me how to…how to feel good. i am ready to have…,” your voice thins out, and suddenly you shake your head, eyes meeting max’s straight on in an unusual act of confidence, clearing your throat, “i am ready for us to have—i’m ready for you to fuck me.”

max wasn’t exactly ready for that wording and faltered, a little shook. charles on the other hand has to struggle to refrain from laughter. at the mixed reaction, your bravado slips away, and you add, “please?” charles loses the laugh automatically; your timid but desperate widened brown doe eyes stare up at the two of them, flickering between them anxiously, plump lips parted with your tongue flicking out—he has a few ideas of something he can offer to keep that mouth of yours busy.

max rumbles in satisfaction, “see, that wasn’t so hard, was it pretty girl? we’ll work on that confidence of yours for sure—but, i have a few rules for you first before we get started. charles, why don’t you tell our girl the first two?”

“number one, always answer our questions with words; if you don’t, we’ll stop and wait for you to respond. two, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell us, and we’ll stop what we’re doing and make it better for you or stop completely if necessary,” charles answers assuredly.

you nod, and max raises an eyebrow at you, “i mean, yes!”

max praises you, “you’re already doing so good for us,” he watches your breath catch at the sentence and figures he may have another praise kink on his hands, “you wanna be a good girl and tell me what you were really doing before we came home?” your cheeks burn and your previous embarrassment returns full force, but you fight through it, not wanting to break the rules right off the bat.

“well, you remember how i said my usual method wasn’t working anymore? i wasn’t lying about that. i only g-get off when you guys leave, andidoitbygrindingonapillow—and i have to put down a towel before becauseimakeamess. so! i really was doing laundry, i just didn’t spill juice on it…i kinda, spilled on it.”

charles’ hands fall away from you in shock, and max really doesn’t know if he can handle another revelation like this from you without actually passing out. you continue to over-explain, “and i i-i didn’t even get to, y’ know (oh my god, she soaked the pillow without even cumming, max!), and i got that wet anyway…and i can’t really control it, but if you guys don’t like it i can try and—“

“NO!” “PLEASE DON’T!”

you flinch away, and they apologize heavily for their overreaction.

“please, don’t, mon ange. i can tell you that max and i aren’t ever going to hate what’s between your legs, or what comes from there,” charles suggests with a smirk, before his face shifts to a more blank state “wait. did…did you have a chance to change?” you hum a little “mm-mm” glancing down at yourself still clad in max’s sweater and cotton panties, “uhm. no, i was a little more concerned with cleaning up the bed before you guys saw it so—sorry, i’m not a little more presentable—“

“are you wearing the same panties, mon ange?”

you freeze, brain lagging at what the monegasque had noticed. “mhm, yeah,” you whisper softly, playing with the hem of the sweater self-soothingly.

“can i,” charles takes a deep breath, “can i touch you, mon coeur?”

you squeak, “yes please, charlie.”

max watches as charles places his massive hand on one of your thighs, spanning the front with no struggle, and gently caresses his hand up, slowly making his way up your thigh. charles taps two fingers gently against you, and you spread your legs a smidge wider, and the sound of your thighs peeling off one another from the stickiness you leaked, reverberates around the room. max can’t help but let a moan slip out. charles slides his hand in between your legs, both of your own hands fisting at the hem of your borrowed sweatshirt, and you gasp at the lightest touch of charles pointer and middle finger against your soaked panties. max sees charles pupils blow wide and mouth drop open in awe—and he can’t wait anymore.

max presses his front to your back, sandwiching you in between them once again, and impatiently asks, “schatje, can i?” you let out a breathy ‘yeah,’ and max doesn’t hesitate to bully his hand in between your legs as well. he cops a more generous feel of your cunt, and groans at the state of ruin your panties are in.

“liefje,” max starts, “walk with me to the bed, please.” max pulls away, and unfastens one of your hands from the sweater to guide you. you turn around stumbling through your first few steps—charles sets you upright more prepared for your legs becoming jello than you are, and helps you over to the bed, one hand firmly set on the small of your back. max sits on the edge of the bed, man spreading comfortably, and watches how your eyes automatically fall to stare at his thighs with a smirk. he glances at charles behind you, who mouths ‘can’t blame her’ with a smirk of his own. the dutch pats his lap, “c’mere and give me a kiss, pretty girl.”

you rush to sit in his lap, slowing at the last minute, not wanting to sit your full weight on him. he huffs, and grabs at your hips situating you firmly on his lap, before leaning in and kissing you stupid. your gasp of shock transforms into a hum of pleasure, letting max have complete control of the kiss. his hand comes up to rest on the back of your head and moves you exactly where he wants, sucking on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue against yours. max kisses like he’s going to run out of time, he ravishes you completely. you squirm against him, pulling away to pant against his cheek needing air. max chuckles, and you only get to whine at his teasing for half a second before charles, who’s now sitting next to max, pulls you into another kiss. charles, on the other hand, kisses like he has all the time in the world, he draws it out. he keeps the kisses slow and closed in the beginning, pausing to pull away and thumb at your lips, relishing at how they’ve already swelled from max’s abuse, the surrounding skin already beginning to turn raw and sensitive from their friction of their facial hair. he continues kissing you, all tongue and sloppy not caring about about the way your hands come up to grasp at his chest in desperation, before switching to absolutely bruise your lips by nipping and tugging at them. 

your hips jump forward against max’s, and he can’t stop the groan that tumbles out. you jolt away from charles’ assault and stare at max with an embarrassed expression, “s-sorry—“ max narrows his eyes and dismisses your apology, “don’t apologize for that. you feel good, you’re allowed to show that unless i tell you differently.” 

“yes, max,” you answer, even though he didn’t ask a question.

“oh, you’re such a good girl for us, liefje,” he tests. and his instincts didn’t fail him. your hips twitch against his again, and a near inaudible moan slips from your lips.

he turns towards charles, “yeah, that works doesn’t it, cha?” charles nods, eyes still stuck on your lips. max smirks at charles being completely entranced, before turning back to you and clocks the glaze beginning to form over your eyes, “alright now, liefje, i need you to pay attention to me really quickly, hm?”

you hum, bobbing your head a few times, before you manage to get out a “yes, max.”

he holds your head steady with his thumb and pointer finger gripping your chin, “i’m not going anywhere, baby, take your time and focus.” it only takes you half a minute to truly focus in after your heart stops racing to give him another verbal confirmation before he continues. “tonight, neither one of us is going to make love to you—“ your shoulders drop and a frown is quick to spread across your mouth. you really only prepared for the situation that you’d tell them you were ready, and then you’d get railed into next sunday. you start to panic; maybe you came off too depraved, and he’s letting you down slowly—

“hey, hey, hey. no overthinking yet, let him finish, mon ange,” charles calls out to you worriedly, he’s experienced the same thought process you're going through before and would rather try and prevent the self-doubt from overtaking you.

max pets at your waist over the sweater and continues, “not tonight. we’ve just gotten off a flight, and had three back to back races. it’s late, and i’m sure all three of us are tired. we should initiate something like that with a clearer mind,” you feel a little selfish now, his points very valid, “but, i still want to give you an orgasm, okay? sure, you may not be able to get off by grinding on a pillow anymore. you’ve probably just acclimated to it and need to give it a break. so, to compromise: you’ll get off by riding my thigh.”

charles and max wait for your reaction. your frown lightens into a pout, but you’re disappointment doesn’t completely fade away. “how is that any different from riding the pillow? it’s the same thing.” charles laughs shakily, “oh, mon ange. you have no idea. listen to max and give it a try before you take it off the table completely.”

you shrug, and agree, “fine. how do i….uh how do i do the thigh riding, i guess?”

charles turns to look at max, wordlessly asking for permission, and max grants it with a wave of his hand. charles scoots up closer, and shifts your straddle from max’s whole lap to his right thigh. as soon as your pantie-covered cunt firmly presses on the muscle of max’s jean-clad thigh, a soft ‘oh’ croaks out of you. max flexes and relaxes his thigh once and your hips jump up and away from him. max and charles glance at each other; you’re ridiculously sensitive, they’ll have to see if that’s your natural state or if it’s just the result of your prolonged edging and the fact that you were grinding against a pillow not too long ago. charles squeezes your hips, bringing your attention to him, “i’m going to start guiding you now, you ready, mon coeur?”

“mmm, yeah—that felt really good, i want more,” you speak timidly.

“good,” charles states, and then he pulls your hips forward dragging you against max’s thigh, and a flash of heat zings up your spine. you moan, a small, breathy exhale, and charles keeps it slow at first, not pushing you down to roughly or making the motions too quick—he wants you to learn to love the friction again. barely a minute passes before your hips start fighting charles’ guided rhythm, and a frustrated groan slips out of you, not able to fight your boyfriends grip. max clocks back in from where he was watching the pleasure start to flicker on your face and asks, “what are you supposed to do, baby?”

“more-ah, please, charlie,” you moan shakily. charles smirks, “look at you, still using your manners like a good girl—“ a louder moan echoes, “okay, okay, mon coeur. i’ll get you there, i’ll get you to cum like you need, okay? i’ll make you forget all about your manners too, hmm?”

you stopped listening to anything after charles reassured you that he’s going to get you to cum, you believe him. he adjusts his grip on your hips and starts incrementally increasing the pace and pressure for you. your moans start to become more frequent, and increasing in pitch rapidly, the drivers can tell you’re hurtling towards your long-awaited orgasm, sooner than they thought. charles slowly releases his grip on your waist letting your hips take over once he’s sure you’ve gotten the hang of it. you throw your head back in pleasure, your hips have a steady grind and…and you’re feeling good. a suprised laugh slips out of your lips at that and shifts into a sharp moan when max starts flexing his thigh rhythmically giving you a little more texture to work with. max lets his heavy hands fill in for where charles’ and presses you down into deeper slower strokes. 

you cry out, it’s a little too much for you, but it feels so good, that you bear with it, they know what’s best for you, anyways. max grins down at you smugly, and you start to tear up a little; he can still feel your hips twitching away from the pressure sometimes. not wanting to push you too far with that motion alone, he lightens up on the pressure but starts bouncing his thigh. the shriek you release surprises all three of you, but you don’t run from it, if anything you lean into it more. one of your hands fists into charles’ shirt for support, and the other falls to max’s, tugging it off your left hip so you can hold it tight. max’s grin softens into a small smile and he kisses your joined hands, and charles leans into press kisses on your neck, praise slipping out of their lips freely.

“doing so good for us, pretty girl.”

“yeah, baby, that’s it. take what you need.”

“don’t be shy, let those sweet moans out for us.”

“just like that, oh! look at that, you’ve leaked all over his thigh,” charles points out. max looks down and registers that his pant leg is sticking down to his thigh and the denim has darkened with the amount of wetness. “oh, yeah. look at that, baby,” max pats on the side of your face, and you can’t even recall when you screwed your eyes shut, but you look down, and a mortified squeal leaves you. not much longer and you’ll have drowned his thigh. the dutchman sucks his teeth at you, “don’t be embarrassed, liefje. i can’t wait until i can taste it straight from the source,” he moves his other hand underneath the sweatshirt, and slips two fingers between your inner thigh while gathering your wetness. he sucks on one finger moaning explicitly at your taste, before offering both fingers to charles to clean off. the monegasque flicks his tongue out teasingly tasting them first, before he makes a quick motion of sucking them in and fully running his tongue in every crevice to get every last drop of your taste. 

you moans start to become pitchy little ah-ah-ah’s, and you frantically start rabbiting your hips. you’re so close. max squeezes you hand, and starts up the praise again.

“i wasn’t joking, schatje. when i finally get my mouth on your pretty little cunt, you won’t be able to pull me off of you until i force at least three orgasms out of you.”

charles pulls off of max’s fingers and adds, “i need to give her three or four from my mouth too. i don’t think she’ll be able to handle that many.”

“yes, she can. she’s such a good girl for us, she’d let us keep going until we tell her when she’s done.”

“mmm, yeah—she’s right there, look at that cute little face she’s making.”

“her pretty little o-mouth, we should fill that up for her too.”

“thinkin i’ll fill that sweet little cunt of hers first with my dick—“

what escapes your mouth is definitely a scream, and max can’t bring himself to muffle it even though it’s the middle of the night. he pays a hefty sum of money for this penthouse, they can deal with hearing how charles and him make you scream with pleasure. your orgasm completely whites-out all of your senses; ears ringing, eyes rolled back, skin feeling raw and thighs shaking. max and charles work your hips back and forth a few more times, helping you with the aftershocks until you squirm out of their hands. you fall forward into max’s chest, body trembling, and tears streaming down your face.

max cradles you close and scratches at your head, calling your name a few times to get a gauge of how out of it you are. with no verbal response, he sends charles to get water and a towel to clean you up. max softly murmurs praises at you constantly, and charles joins in with the affirmations when he returns. the both clean you up when you’re still floating; they put you in an oversized tee, not bothering with undergarments, wiping all wetness and cream away from between your legs trying to avoid looking at your cunt directly, they even manage to get your bonnet on for you, and even have time to change the duvet before you start becoming aware again.

you turn and automatically move to snuggle into the crook of max’s neck, but he gently presses a straw to your mouth so you can hydrate after the amount of fluids you seem to have lost. your eyes open, and you croak out a disapproving hum at not being able to go to sleep, and max shakes his head at you, “drink, schat. non-negotiable, pretty girl.” after slowly draining ¾ of the bottle, you pull away and with a shattered voice, start mumbling, “thank you, thank you, thank you—“

and charles leans over to cut you off with a soft press of lips, “no, thank you for letting us give you that, mon coeur.” you hum, whispering out, “i love you, charlie. i love you, maxy.” 

they both respond with resounding ‘i-love-you’s back, and start soft conversation just checking up on you before they let you fall asleep. 

“i’ve never felt this good before from an orgasm,” you start, “i wanna—i wanna keep being good for you guys. i wanna learn how to feel good like this again, and i want you both to show me how because i trust you. please?”. charles and max both murmur affirmatives to you, and you continue speaking softly, “you guys can take showers now, i’ll probably be asleep before you come back.” after making sure you’re truly comfortable, max and charles head to the en-suite to take the world’s speediest shower so they can cuddle up with you sooner. 

shutting the door, max and charles stare at each other in completely silence. charles starts, “are we sure that we’re the ones corrupting her and she’s not corrupting us? because, i’ve almost came in my pants three times tonight.”

max stares at charles with unseeing eyes, “i will never forgot the way she soaked my fucking leg, charles…i’m pretty sure i did come in my pants.”

taglist: @lorarri | @soph1644 | @jaydensluv | @fanboyluvr | @nissaimmortal | @redgonerogue | @hollie911 @saintwrld | @buendiabebeta | @butterfly-lover | @lana-d3l-rey | @dylan1721 | @spicybagel14 | @dhhdhsiavdhaj

© httpsserene 2023

[homunculus-argument]

About five years ago there used to be some dude in my hometown who consistently kept putting up nazi propaganda stickers, so I made it my job to take them down. It was a hobby for a while, I'd take long walks, with a scraper in my backpack, and kept an eye on every trash can, streetlamp, and wall that accumulated stickers, learning to spot these specific stickers. I even went to their website (which is still up, apparently, but I'm not guiding traffic their way) to see if they had any logos that I would have missed.

This one time I was scraping one sticker off a lamp post - one of their big standard ones, with a fist punching a star of david and the text "against zionism!" - this white guy who wasn't finnish actually walked up to me, and asked in awkward english what exactly I'm doing. And I explained I'm removing these fucking stickers that some other guy keeps putting up. I've never seen the guy but I hate seeing his shit, and I've heard it through the grapevine that he's sworn to kill the guy who keeps taking his stickers down.

He asked me if I knew what zionism is, and to be entirely perfectly honest, no I did not. So he started telling me about all the things that are wrong in the state of Israel, and how being against zionism isn't automatically antisemitism, and I can't just assume that anyone criticising Israel or zionism is a nazi. The semantics of propaganda are insidious and it's easy to be led astray.

I let him talk for long enough to understand what he wanted to say and to believe that he really meant what he was saying. Once we had established that, I told him that while he may know more about the situation in Israel than I do, I know more about my own people than he does. And the finnish national socialists who use this logo right here do not give a shit about the people of Palestine. I'm not taking these things down because I'd think Israel should be an ethnostate. I'm taking them down because I think Finland should not be one.

[simpxxstan]

best friend's older brother wonwoo

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event! find the rest of the members' headcanons in the event too as i post them through this month!

warnings: pg 13+, making out

thinking about best friend's older brother!wonwoo who is just nine months older than your best friend, so he's in the same class as the two of you

you don't even want to figure out how that happened. but it's good for you, because it lets you get an upper hand over wonwoo whenever he tries to bully you.

and bully you he does. he's a massive bully. behind that nerdy, good boy look he charms everyone with, you know that jeon wonwoo is an absolute menace to society.

from stealing your essays, to forcing you to show him your solution of homework, he doesn't spare a chance to irritate you. the worst bit is that he's got everyone convinced that he's the best boy that could ever live and no teacher or parent ever finds a fault in him. if the two of you fight, it's always you who gets scolded. if the teacher spots the two of you talking in class, it's always you who gets punished.

after ten years of facing this, you've come to the conclusion that the universe is unfair. it's a relief that you're in your final year of school and finally, you can count the days until you can get rid of this menace.

thinking about best friend's older brother!wonwoo who knows he's pushing luck every time he annoys you

but he still gets away with it, either through sheer chance or through his good looks and manners.

it's just not fair that he's born in this universe where you're always around him, with your indomitable sarcasm and overperforming tendencies. you seem to be made for him, but in the worst way possible. with you out of the scene, wonwoo would always be first in class, always win quizzes and spellbees, always win the 700 metre sack race. naturally, it can't be his fault for thinking of ways to expel you from school.

and when the two of you hit puberty and wonwoo realises that underneath your acne, you're actually growing up into the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, it makes the entire situation even worse. because now, you're the subject of his annoyance and his desires. and he can't get you out of his head for the best and the worst reasons possible.

so wonwoo is equally relieved as you are to be in the final year of school, with the comfort that as he becomes an adult this year, he will finally live a life free of pests (you).

thinking about best friend's older brother!wonwoo who becomes ill the very week of the midterms

as a result, he misses out on several classes of key revision and even some internal tests that will count towards your final score. you score full in all these tests, getting quite the lead ahead of wonwoo, and yet, you don't feel that rush of joy when you see your perfect score. is it because you don't see the frown on wonwoo's face on seeing you beat him? is it because you don't feel the adrenaline kick in on meeting eyes with wonwoo and seeing the disappointment in his eyes?

at night, you recount about your day's academic successes but it doesn't generate any satisfaction in your heart. for hours you stay awake, trying to make sense of the ache in your chest, wondering what's missing these days that's leaving you feeling high and dry.

it's only at 3 am that you attempt something to cure this worry. you sit up, under your table lamp, writing up your notes on fresh paper, in your best handwriting. you even highlight key portions and add extra information beyond class notes, that you've learnt from the web or from the library.

the next day, you drop the notes with your best friend. "give this to wonwoo asap, hmm?" "notes? he said he'll just use mine-" "well, if his pride isn't too much, he will know what's good for him."

thinking about best friend's older brother!wonwoo who comes back two weeks later

he doesn't talk to you at first, trying to avoid your curious gaze. but you confront him in the corridor after classes are over. you stand right in front of him, your hands on your hips, your eyebrows furrowed. "you still look pretty pale," you tell him. a part in wonwoo wants you to touch him and see if the fever's still there. but he knows you'll not do that.

"you didn't have to send the notes. i would get them anyway." "a thank you would be nice." wonwoo bites his lower lip. is he ready to say thank you to you? is this why you sent the notes? to show your pity towards him? to cast a favour on him? to always be one step ahead of him even on the moral ground?

wonwoo doesn't end up saying thank you. his pride is too large a pill to swallow, and his mind keeps doubting your intentions. after all, ten years of rivalry is not easy to let go of, even if you look even more beautiful after two weeks of not seeing you.

but his attitude towards you changes. consciously or not, he becomes less snarky towards you. and he's surprised to see reciprocation too. you seem more open towards discussing homework with him. you even cooperate with him when your teacher asks you both to organise the annual prom event of the school. and wonwoo's pretty sure this cures his health faster than any medicines the doctor's prescribed to him.

thinking about best friend's older brother!wonwoo who's sitting in his shared bedroom with his sister, playing games on his computer, while she gossips with you about the prom couples of the year

wonwoo doesn't come into the room after that, but when you leave the room to use the washroom in the hall, you see him sitting on the couch and reading a book. "it's rude to listen to other's conversations, wonwoo. haven't you ever learnt that?" wonwoo doesn't look up from his book, so you take a step forward, intending to make yourself heard. "it's also rude to not reply to someone when they are talking to y-"

"guess who asked me today!" "man, i don't know, you tell me. when did they even ask you, i was with you the whole day?" "when we were walking back home and you were fighting with wonwoo in the convenience store about which ramen to buy."

your best friend pouts slightly, which she always does whenever she sees you fight with her brother. "i hate it that even after ten years, my best friend and my brother have not been able to get along. i feel like it's a failure on m-" "okay stop feeling guilty already, and tell me who asked you out for prom!" you squeal, and she giggles too, a high-pitched sound that's so different from her brother's breathy, raspy voice (not that you'd ever prefer his voice over hers). "im changkyun! isn't that so exciting!" you gasp loudly, clapping your hand over your mouth. "girl! i'm so excited for you, he's so dreamy." "i know! i had no idea he liked me!" "oh you're so lucky, love. his voice is so deep, and his eyes are so pretty, and he's so smart! what would i not give to be his prom part-" "im changkyun is a smartass and a teacher's pet. i see birds of a feather do flock together, y/n", wonwoo interrupts your conversation suddenly, giving you a piercing look before he walks out of the room in his haughty manner.

"come with me to prom." wonwoo finally looks up, his book kept on his chest, as he looks straight into your eye. you're standing half a metre away from him, but you can still feel the fire in his gaze.

"sorry, what?" "come with me to prom. be my prom partner." you purse your lips, pretending to consider it. "and why would you ask me?" "because you don't have a partner." "how do you know that?" "you just told me." wonwoo stands up, a smirk on his lips. "why are you asking me, wonwoo? i don't need your pity, i don't need a partner to enjoy prom." "you're right. although it's not pity. i'm just returning the favour. your notes are helping me keep up my academic record in order to get into the colleges i want."

it's a reasonable offer. when he frames it like this, it feels less like a personal affair and more of a professional situation-

"truce." you extend your hand and he shakes it. "truce it is." "for all your big talk, i bet you're asking me only because you're bitchless as fuck." wonwoo laughs at that. "don't be jealous. i'll see you on friday, y/n. be ready at 8."

thinking about best friend's older brother!wonwoo who has all eyes on him at the prom party but his eyes are only on you

"everyone's talking about you, you know." your arm is in his as the two of you lean against a wall, digging into the pastries being circulated. it's a blessing you accepted his offer, because a. if you had refused, he'd never be able to meet your eye confidently again, and b. you're the only one promising him intelligent conversation tonight, and he's glad you're the one talking to him.

"it's my dad's tux. it's what he wore at his prom." wonwoo doesn't miss the way your eyes glaze over his outfit in an appreciative look, and it makes his heart beat faster in his chest. "you look good, but i'm sure he looked better than you in it." "but you think i look good?" your eyes meet his, a tentative look that says more than words will. "i do. does it matter?" "well, a man likes to know that his prom partner approves of him." you laugh, your voice a beautiful tinkle. how has he never noticed how melodious your laugh is? "you're hardly a man, jeon wonwoo. you've got a long way to go."

and he'll go the long way. he'll take risks tonight. something about the perfume you're wearing is making him heady. something about the way you never let go of his arm makes his body warm with something unknown but pleasant. something about the way you're close enough for him to notice how often your eyes stray to his lips when you're talking to him makes him want to take a chance.

when the two of you are alone in a balcony, the fresh air blowing your hair away, revealing your elegant neck and a hint of your collarbones, and you're talking something about how a certain book is helping you study for biology, he zones out and his tunnel vision focuses on your lips. so he leans in and kisses you. it's an extremely short, chaste kiss, but wonwoo's never kissed anyone, so even this shoots electric sparks through his veins.

"what was that for?" this is the first time wonwoo's seen you blush, and his hand instinctively reaches out to touch your warm cheeks, trying to understand if it's for you. "i would ask you to prom even if you did have a partner. i didn't want to go with anyone else apart from you." your eyes are delightfully wide, looking so innocent and so cute. there's a pause, as wonwoo waits for you to give him the green signal or not. when he's going to give up and back off, you tug at his arm and pull him closer. "well, then kiss me again, and let me see if like it."

thinking about best friend's older brother!wonwoo who takes you to his car and gets into the back seat with you

"you look so, so beautiful today." he tells you in between kisses, as he pulls you closer to him. and you let him, your mind foggy, and just one thought rushing through your veins- wonwoo, wonwoo, wonwoo. his kisses are addictive, and you're clinging to him like a drug, letting him bite your lips and kiss your jaw and make a mess of your lipstick.

thank god for the privacy of wonwoo's car, and thank god he's learnt to drive early on. because you'd be so embarrassed of the way you're also equally hungrily touching him, as if you'd waited your entire life for this. but you don't have time to question your thoughts, and frankly speaking, you don't want to. you just know one thing for sure: you've been such a fool for hating wonwoo for so long, when he kisses like this and when you're so attracted to him.

when you're both out of breath and just sitting next to each other, slumped back as he holds you close to his chest and you snuggle your face into his warm body, you finally start confronting your thoughts. when you go silent for a moment too long, wonwoo asks you, "penny for your thoughts?"

you look up at him. why haven't you ever noticed how divine he looks under the moonlight? "i was thinking why we didn't do this sooner." "maybe because you were busy hating me." you sit up, gasping and turning around to face wonwoo. "excuse me? and what were you up to? loving me?" wonwoo smiles. "yes, loving you, i think. because i for sure love this sassy attitude of yours. and your smartass brain. and the way your lips purse into a perfect cupid's bow, but that's not the priority." you laugh. "you can just admit you like me because i'm hot." "yes i could. but that's not the whole truth. i could never like a woman who's not as intelligent as you. i could never like a woman who's not you."

and with every word he utters, you realise how his feelings mirror yours as well. just then, both of your phones ping and you simultaneously take it out to see the notification. "my god- i- wonwoo! i got into my dream college! "me too! wow. congratulations, baby, i knew you would. it'd be their loss to not accept someone as perfect as you." you giggle. "shut up, you're so cheesy." wonwoo grins and you lean in to peck his lips.

"okay, show me your letter. let's see how far we'll be-" you take wonwoo's phone in your hands and read the mail. "f-fuck. you didn't tell me? you bloody-" "what happened?" wonwoo's eyes go wide in alarm and you nearly punch him in shock. "you applied to the same college i did! why didn't you tell me! oh, you sneaky boy."

wonwoo bursts out laughing. "why do you look so ready to beat me up? isn't that a good thing?" you pause, considering it for a second, before the dots connect in your head. you finally break into a smile and hug wonwoo, pulling him into a tight embrace. "i guess it is, baby."

[tadanoningen-fr]

My WH Brick by Brick Notes

(PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS WHOLE POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE 10/2024 WELCOME HOME UPDATE! DO NOT READ IF YOU DID NOT SEE THE UPDATE, YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND ANYWAY!)

Also this is a very large post and there may be some grammatical errors. I recommend watching the video and listening to the audio while reading these notes. If you can't, IWillGetYourSmile! (PROMISE) on YouTube recently put up the videos and audio for anyone who cannot see them on the website.

Sorry for not putting bullet points, I wrote them on a doc and pasted it here and I was lazy to bullet point everything :')

Brick By Brick

Barnaby’s handprints are on the pages and they’re splotched in black like the gunk seen in the exhibition.

Black gunk are on the pages; title, 2, 8, 9, 14, it’s clearly implied they’re from Barnaby turning the pages, but how and why is Barnaby reading this book?

(Probably over-analyzing) Wally’s face on page 4 seems a little too blackened out.

Poppy wanted to make a cozy for her lamp, Coffin referenced this in one of the Q&A posts for Poppy!

Sally is the character with most of her text missing from the book. Maybe it’s because she keeps breaking the 4th wall talking to the narrator?

Page 7 shows all the neighbors except Poppy, even Eddie is here!

Barnaby’s reaction to Poppy refusing to be in the play is rudely lackadaisical…though he delivers truths harshly.

Sally seems to have a close relationship with Poppy; she cares about her more than any other neighbor. Her feelings were hurt realizing that she made Poppy scared.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to call Sally “downright rude”. Damn Eddie, now you’re sharing the resentment? I don’t really blame him…

It’s weird that Sally is now worried that Poppy may hear or see her play, isn’t she supposed to be happy about that?

Barnaby’s black-splotched paw is seen again at the corner left of page 9, I think it was his thumb after he turned the page from page 8.

Julie is afraid of the dark.

Almost every appearance he makes, Barnaby is holding food.

Franks’ advice is logical, in which he suggests making Poppy man up so she can at least see the play.

Barnaby started the idea (possibly unintentionally) of “brick by brick”, and for some reason Sally took it too literally. Wait, wasn’t Frank supposed to take things literally?

Light red watercolor paint surrounds Poppy when she’s worried.

Why did the entire neighborhood think that bricking Poppy’s windows was a good idea? I can’t help but feel as if they weren’t quite themselves when doing this.

The shading in page 15, especially on Poppy, seems oddly realistic and not cartoony unlike the whole book art style.

Although most would raise an eyebrow at Poppy’s excitement understanding why she’s being bricked up, I think it kinda makes sense because Poppy always cares about safety, and knowing that the neighbors are bricking her in for her sake, she is okay with this in a way. (She is confirmed to think of this as well.)

Page 14 doesn’t really look like Barnaby’s black paw, but it kinda looks like fingers instead. Who is this? It’s placed oddly at the top of the page.

When Sally calls them peanuts, Barnaby is surprised. I’m also a little surprised because Barnaby was the one who calls Wally peanuts, but here Sally uses it on them.

The Missing Audio

Who says “No, please sit with me.”? I think it’s probably Wally as he doesn’t perform in Sally’s plays often.

We seem to be in Poppy’s perspective, while the book is in the neighbors’ perspective (or maybe Sally’s) as soon as things get quiet.

The breathing is either Poppy’s or the monster Sally describes, as it was seen getting late in page 14 (or it could be just the spotlight effect).

Wood scratching is heard, this is most likely the monster Sally described scratching Poppy’s barn.

Does Poppy think the monster is a neighbor? Is that why she’s saying “the door’s open”?

The monster seems to try to get into Poppy’s home, but if what Poppy says is true (the door is open), why can’t it come in?

The rattling of the doorknob reminds me of how Home speaks through house onomatopoeias, but it’s probably unlikely that Home is making these noises.

Was Poppy trying to get out of her home in fear of the monster? Why the echos?

Sally is the one who says “A-are you alright?”.

I’m still wondering if it’s daytime or nighttime because if it’s nighttime, this might confirm the monster trying to get to Poppy, but if it’s daytime, it will be unconfirmed.

Is Poppy outside? Why is she confused about where she is?

Frank is the one who says “Y-You’re out! The door’s open, why didn’t you open the door?!”. He sounds confused and angry. Maybe he got frightened.

Aftermath Notes & Questions:

Did this take place before or after Homewarming?

We seem to be approaching a pattern with how Darkness and the neighbors interacted with each other; Eddie Dear was surrounded in darkness at homewarming, leading him to a breakdown and panicking, Julie is afraid of the dark, even if it’s caused by something so simple, and when Poppy was surrounded in darkness, the monster was implied to come after her, making her panic.

This is the second time Sally and Frank appear at the end when someone is in trouble, and their time of appearances are the same as well. This happened with Eddie in Homewarming, but Sally left and Frank stayed, and now with Poppy, both Sally and Frank were there.

If this pattern of darkness and the neighbors keep going, this means that the neighbors may be the prey of something we have yet to understand. The question of Wally and Home’s innocence is still unclear, but now Eddie and Poppy are out of the question for being evil in this story for sure. Perhaps Sally and Frank too, but we don’t have enough evidence at the moment.

A question that just appeared and is still unanswered is why Barnaby’s black paw prints are seen in the book. Another thing I noticed is that Barnaby’s paw blocked out the author and illustrator, and so did the record player too. Could this mean that Barnaby may be helping to hide certain things? If so, why? Barnaby’s paws also had been avoiding the pages of where Poppy appears every time.

A little theory about the black paws; Barnaby somehow got his hands on the Brick by Brick book, and began skimming through it until page 14, where someone takes the book from Barnaby and the book is sent to the restoration team. This theory is just based on the black paw prints and fingers, because after page 14, there were no more black prints. And it’s more oddly suspicious that the last black print we see isn’t Barnaby’s, plus it was in an odd place.

[lovelytsunoda]

proud mary // han lue

summary: now living a quiet life with their daughter, han and y/n reflect on how they got there, and all the good moments that are still yet to come.

pairing: han lue x wife! reader

warnings: this is a big one so listen up: mentions of post pregnancy mental illness, mentions of pregnancy and starting a a family, weddings, ignoring tokyo drift canon because I fucking can, (actually I ignored a lot of canon) han is about to activate a shit ton of daddy issues

I left a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day and I never lost one minute of sleeping, I was worrying 'bout the way the things might've been.

big wheel keeps on turning, proud mary keeps on burning. and we’re rolling, rolling, rolling down the river

2009, tokyo, japan.

the garage was dark, lit only by the moonlight and the small lamps atop the workstations. han lue had closed up hours ago, and everyone was gone save for him and his lover.

“han, what are you doing?” y/n laughed, sitting at a table scattered with nail polish bottles and a shellac brisa light. “it looks like a smudge.”

“it’s a drifting car!” han laughed, staring through the large magnifying glass that was allowing him to see the design he was attempting to paint on his lovers thumbnail. “see, there’s the spoiler and those are the headlights!”

friday night manicures had become somewhat of a tradition. y/n hated painting her nails with her non dominant hand, but she also didn’t speak enough japanese to venture out and get her nails professionally done. when she and han started dating, he offered to do it for her, easing the aggravation that sometimes came with doing mail designs yourself.

“well, now that you’ve pointed it out.” she laughed, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.”

they had been together coming up on two years. two long, wonderful years. she was a mechanic and he was drifter, it was almost meant to be. she stopped him from getting himself killed, and in return, he loved her unconditionally.

they were sympatico like that. she loved his sense of humour, his protectiveness. he loved her smarts and the excited way she talked, animatedly and with hand gestures.

“what do you say we get out of japan for a bit?”

han should have known this question was coming. y/n was a restless spirit, never meant to stay in one place for too long. in a way, han was as well. he could tell that his lover had been more restless than usual, either from missing home or needing a change of scenery.

“a friend of mine, his name is dominic torretto, he’s got this place down in the dominican republic.” han started slowly, unsure of how much he wanted to involved her in. y/n was his whole world, and what dom and mia would be running was far bigger than street racing in shibuya.“he called me the other day wondering if I would run a job with him. but it’s not entirely legal and I don’t blame you if you don’t want any part in it.”

“baby,” she frowned, placing her hand inside the blue light machine. “of course I’ll go with you. I never pass up a chance to go somewhere sunny, and you know that I’d go anywhere with you. what we’re running here with twinkie and sean isn’t exactly legal either, you know. I’m a big girl, seoul-oh. I can handle myself.”

“I know. I just want you to know what you’re getting into. you’re important to me, y/n.”

“I know.” she said softly, running her hand up his arm as she rested her head on his shoulder, gently kissing his neck. “so when does our flight leave?”

“whenever you want it to. I haven’t even bought the tickets yet. are you ready for an adventure?”

“fuck yeah.” y/n smiled, pressing her lips to his. “but you have to paint my other nails first.”

han laughed, the kind of laugh that would always set loose the butterflies in y/n’s chest, the kind that reminded her why she fell in love with him in the first place.

“I don’t think I have it in me to paint another drifting car.”

“then what are you going to paint on my thumbnail?” y/n laughed back, looking down at her nails and realizing that her lover had actually done a very good job painting a drifting car manicure.

“I don’t know,” han shrugged. he would deny it if asked, but he actually loved painting y/n’s nails. he thought it brought them closer together, built up intimacy in their relationship.

they were moments he wouldn’t trade for the world.

“I’ll just do like a checkered flag or something.”

“but you did that on my index finger!”

laughing, y/n turned her head to kiss him. “come on, you big dork. the sooner we get my nails done, she sooner I can model that new lingerie set I bought last weekend.”

“sold!” han laughed, knocking over bottles of gel polish as he searched for the bright pink he had used to paint the car on his girlfriends other hand. “drifting car? f1 car? whatever my gorgeous gorgeous girl wants.”

“I love you, han lue.”

“love you more, pretty girl.”

2010, monte carlo, monaco.

it was set up to be another sleepless night without her lover by her side, and y/n was having none of that as she wandered the deck of the comfortable yacht, looking around at the decorations that the crew had spent the day putting up.

she was just praying that it wasn’t going to rain.

nothing was about to spoil her big day.

she scurried below deck, past a half open door through which she could hear roman pearce’s guttural snores. fingers curled around the door knob, she tried not to make any noise as she eased the door open, slipping into the cabin.

“you couldn’t sleep either?” she laughed, looking at the king size bed where her fiancé lay, phone in his hands as he texted his mother, who the crew was picking up in the harbour in the morning before the ceremony began.

“got a lot on my mind.” han shrugged. “fucking tej won’t shut up about the reception and the playlist and I’ve told him a million times that it’s not going to be some crazy rave kinda thing.” the man sat up, gesturing for his soon-to-be wife to come closer. "it's doing my head in. seriously, he wants to do a club mix of 'i would do anything for love'."

y/n snorted. han thought she looked like an angel in the low cabin light, a halo glowing around her head and shining off her white silk pajamas, the ones with the tiny shorts and 'bride' embroidered on the butt. "how the fuck do you turn the best meat loaf song in existence into a club rave song?"

"the fuck if i know." han shook his head, hands sliding up her thighs as she came to stand in between his legs. "jagi, sarang-hae."

honey, i love you.

"mhm." she hummed, a smile on her lips as she leaned down to kiss him sweetly. "i love it when you speak korean. it's so fucking sexy."

the last year had been stressful. the dominican job had been way more complex than y/n had expected, and it took a while for han's old crew to warm up to her. it took a while, but eventually she managed to crack dom toretto, and two weeks later, han got down on one knee and asked y/n to marry him.

hence why they were on a yacht off the coast of monaco, the entire thing decked out in fairly lights and tulle.

"if you think tej is bad, you try getting in between letty and those large plastic ribbons on the back of the deck chairs." y/n laughed. "who knew letty ortiz was so serious about weddings?"

she was practically sitting on his lap now, head resting comfortably on his shoulder as the boat rocked back and forth.

han seoul-oh was her home. her safe harbour. she always felt safe in his arms, at his side, even when they were plunging into almost certain danger like they had in the dominican.

"i brought you something." y/n hummed, reaching into the pockets of her shorts and withdrawing the small cardboard packet.

"fake nails?"

"help me put them on? for old time's sake." she passed him the glittery white french tips, no doubt chosen to match her dress for the ceremony tomorrow.

"i can't wait to spend my life with you. and believe me, there will be plenty more manicure mondays."

2014, monterrey, california.

"daddy, where's mommy?"

"i don't think she's feeling well, poppy." han lue frowned, looking over at his daughter, who was perched in her little kiddie chair at the kitchen table. "i'm going to go check on her, okay? stay right here."

how do you explain depression to an infant? poppy jae-i han had been one of the best things to have ever happened to han seoul-oh. but in the almost twenty-four months since their bundle of joy had been born, something had felt off about his wife.

everyone hears about the mental health complications that can come with childbirth, but no mother ever thinks it would be her.

every husband fears it, too.

"y/n, jagi?" han tried to keep his voice level as he eased open the bedroom door. the couple had bought a ranch house in monterrey when they learned they were expecting. it was one of the few things they used their ill-gotten gains as a part of dom's crew for. "poppy's asking for you."

it broke his heart to see his wife like this, hair messed and greasy, red splotches under her eyes from where she had been crying.

"am i a bad mother, seoul-oh?" she asked, voice small. she seemed so tiny and fragile underneath the layers of blankets on the queen bed. "she always seems to cry when i'm around, but never with you. poppy loves you more than she loves me."

"what?" it was all han could do to stop himself from crying as he sat on the bed, gently running his fingers through y/n's hair. "sweetheart, what's brought this on? poppy loves you. you're her mom. she needs you."

"mia makes it look so easy." y/n sniffled, pulling herself up to a sitting position. she's lost weight. not a noticeable amount, or even an unhealthy one, but enough that her husband knows. there are many things that you can hide from the man you share your bed with, but han knows. he knows she's not doing well. "and i'm fucking shit at it, han."

"look at me, pretty girl." han encouraged, reaching for her hands. "you are such a good mother. i know you're struggling right now, and i know you're hurting but you need to know that poppy loves you so much. she was asking about you over breakfast, you know."

"i don't know who i am any more. i've lost my sense of self."

han frowned, brushing a few strands of greasy hair away from her forehead before leaning down and gently kissing her hairline.

"listen, i was talking to brian last night-"

"of course you were fucking talking to brian."

"-and he thinks you should talk to mia. they're passing through town today on their way back from dom and letty's, brian and i are going to take the kids out to the zoo or whatever, and you and mia should do something." he suggested, running his hand comfortingly up and down his lover's back. "go to the mall, get a coffee. i think she could really help you. she's been through this before."

y/n inhaled shakily, pulling away from han. "what if something happens to poppy and i'm not there?"

"y/n, everything is going to be okay. i promise. brian will be there, the kids will be in great hands. go do something with mia, darling. find yourself again, yeah?"

"okay." y/n nodded, still clutching his hand like it was her lifeline. "i can do that."

"mommy?" a small voice called. poppy had managed to get herself all the way from the kitchen to the master bedroom, where han had left the door ajar just in case poppy needed them. "are you okay?"

"oh, sweetheart, come here." y/n said, tears beginning to fall.

because how could she ever think that her little bundle of joy didn't love her as much as she did? poppy waddled over to the bed, and han hefted the toddler onto the mattress so that y/n could pull her close.

"you know that mummy loves you, right?"

"yes. i love you too, mommy."

"see." han smiled. "you're going to be okay. we're going to get through this."

2017, monterrey, california.

"i genuinely can't comprehend that roman pearce is getting married."

the family of three was walking down the nail care aisle at walmart, a welcome addition to their weekly shopping trip as y/n scanned the packages on the rack for a set of acrylic nails.

han laughed, one hand around his wife's waist and his chin on her shoulder as he leaned against the shopping cart. "it's not going to last. they may be getting married on saturday but i bet that by christmas roman is going to call and tell us she asked for a divorce."

"don't be so cynical." y/n laughed, kissing her husband softly before holding up a small white box. "do these go with my dress?"

"they'll go with anything, babe." han said, moving to whisper in her ear “they'd look even better wrapped around my c-"

"i want nails like mom's!" poppy han's shout cut him off, the little girl looking at the array of disney princess nails on the lower shelves.

laughing, han knelt down next his daughter, one hand on her shoulder. "which one do you want, princess? do you want frozen, tinker bell? mulan?"

"i want the ariel ones." poppy smiled, reaching for the pack of little mermaid nails. han helped her get them off the hook before lifting her up, carrying the six year old securely against his chest.

"seoul-oh, she's like six, you're spoiling her by carrying her all the time." y/n laughed, dropping both packs of nails in the cart.

"what, she's not heavy, sweetheart." han grins. "besides, i have to stay in shape somehow."

y/n rolls her eyes. "sweetie, it's bold of you to assume that you were ever in shape. but i loved you anyways, didn't i?"

back at home, they settled in the living room, near the large bay window. y/n watched contentedly from the kitchen as han sat at the coffee table across from poppy, delicately brushing nail glue across his daughter's tiny nails, dropping the glittery little mermaid nails on top.

it had taken a while to get to this peaceful, quiet part of their life, but y/n han was so glad that they had made it. that she had seoul-oh and that she had little poppy.

"be careful with your nails, they might come off. now, go get your homework done before we make the pizza, okay?"

poppy scurried off down the hall to her room, and y/n padded across the shag carpet, looping her arms around her husbands neck as she gave him a kiss.

"i'm so lucky, you know that. i'm happy and healthy again, and i have you and poppy. that's everything i could ever ask for." she said softly, resting her head against han's chest as the man tilted his head down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

of course they both missed the good old days. the days of adrenaline and adventure. but brian and mia had left, and then y/n and han, and soon after was letty and dom. they were moving on with their lives, a chapter of glitz and glamour coming to a close.

"i want another one."

y/n froze, pulling back from her husband. "what?"

"i want another baby. and i know what we went through last time, and i fully understand if you're not willing to take that chance again, but god, y/n, i want a big family with you." han explained, holding his wife's hands. "poppy is growing up. soon she's going to be too cool for dear old dad. and then there will be boys-"

"or she'll be like you," y/n cuts him off with a laugh. "in which case there will be lots and lots of girls."

"god help us all. my little girl is going to break a lot of hearts one day."

"and you want another one?"

"honestly? yeah, i do."

"then i guess we'd better start trying. multiplication isn't that hard, so poppy's gonna be looking for us within the next hour." y/n hummed, kissing her lover softly.

han smiled against her lips, hands slipping into her jeans pockets to cop a feel of his wife's ass. "i only need half that."

TAGS:

@libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @mignonricciardo @sidcrosbyspuck @cartierre @monzabee @scuderiamh @daydreamingleclerc @diorleclerc @oconso @cl16version

[avonne-writes]

Leaving

Random angsty HS AU one-shot I typed out in one go because I felt inspired. Set in Year 12, February, four months after Broken Things.

Posted on AO3

Gale takes a deep, calming inhale and closes his eyes. Resting on his bare chest, Bucky's head rises and falls as he breathes. He strokes the back of Bucky’s neck with his thumb swiping slowly back and forth. It’s warm and cozy in his bedroom, only the bedside lamp Georgia bought for him provides some light. The house is quiet and empty, theirs alone tonight.

His right hand lies on the mattress, limp after minutes spent clutching at the sheets. Tonight was the first time they had sex all the way in four months, the first time since Gale almost jumped off that bridge. Their longest break so far. In the past few months, there was always something that didn’t align - either the lack of privacy or the lack of desire. It was difficult to feel such a thing when Gale’s thoughts were consumed by darkness.

It felt nice to experience this again and reconnect with Bucky. Gale missed it. He missed feeling happy and carefree in love. Even now that it's over and they're cuddling in the afterglow, those positive feelings fight back the grey depression creeping in at the sides. It’s nothing but a twinge in his ribs, easy to ignore. He’s getting better.

He traces the shell of Bucky's ear and allows himself a small smile.

Suddenly, Bucky grabs the wrist of his right hand. Frowning, Gale watches as he raises it closer and rubs his thumb over the long, thin scar that runs down the inside of it, right where Gale’s veins run in blue lines under his pale skin. Oh. The implications of that touch are clear. A sense of dread stirs in Gale's chest.

"Did you do this to yourself?" Bucky asks, bluntly, quiet but firm. It’s an old scar and Bucky has seen it before, Gale’s sure. But he never had a reason to ask this, did he, until this year.

"No." Gale says. It’s true - but the question makes the shadows stronger, the taste in his mouth bittersweet. "I was ten, played somewhere I shouldn't have. Some kind of shed at my uncle's place. Fell and slashed my arm on a nail. Didn’t get the artery but it wasn’t pretty. Dad yelled at me for it, but then he took me to the ER himself and -" Gale shrugs. An acidic feeling pools in his stomach. "- it was kind of nice."

He doesn’t see much of Bucky's face, but he can tell that his nostrils flare and his jaw clenches before it relaxes again. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but the silence doesn’t feel tense. Perhaps it's the effect of pleasure lingering or the sleepiness making Gale's eyelids heavy, but he doesn’t feel like he should break it. He lets Bucky take his time.

A few more seconds pass, then Bucky draws Gale’s wrist to his lips and kisses his scar. The tenderness of the gesture pulls at something tight and sensitive in Gale's chest, like stitches tugging the skin closed, and he doesn’t like it. He would rather bleed out in silence than feel this again, but he takes it. He takes it because he wants to get better. Just like he took the past months of kindness and care he received despite the shame. To get better.

When Bucky doesn’t let his arm go but keeps it pressed to his face, he starts to suspect that something is wrong. He doesn’t know what, and the possibility that he caused it scares him. They had such a good night together. Why is happiness always so fleeting?

Gently, he combs the fingers of his left hand through Bucky's curls. "Hey."

Bucky's breathing stutters. It leaves his nose in a shaky rush of air against Gale's wrist. "It’s almost March."

Gale racks his brain to remember the significance of the date until it slams into him - the month when Bucky’s dad left seven years ago. It's been ages since they talked about the man. He hasn’t come up much since Neil entered their lives, but it doesn't take a genius to guess what brought back Bucky's troubled feelings, and Gale has to swallow against the guilt that ties a knot in his throat.

"Darling -" The endearment, so rarely used, falls from his lips before he can think about it.

Bucky reacts with a rattling sob that he chokes immediately back down. Something warm and wet trickles down Gale's forearm, like his blood did all those years ago, but he feels the pain of torn flesh in his chest this time.

"Please don’t leave." Bucky whispers. He sounds like a child.

Gale's heart clenches in sympathy at the same time as his brain blares an alarm coupled with the sense that it should have gone off a long, long time ago, but he always dismissed the signs. "I won’t. I'm staying."

"Mom's gone again." Bucky says as if Gale's words were just a single bucket for an ocean of fears. "What if she doesn’t come home?"

"She’ll come back, I promise." Gale tells him, reaching down with his left to stroke Bucky's broad back. "And I'm here too."

"You’re here now." Bucky replies. The tint of anger in his voice takes Gale aback, but, he supposes, it’s just a reflection of helplessness and unwelcome vulnerability. "But what if you change your mind? You could leave me tomorrow or next week or after graduation."

Bucky puts Gale's arm back on the bed. Smeared tears glisten on his skin. He pushes himself off Gale and sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and face hidden in his palms. He rubs at his eyes in frustration, irritated by the liquid pain escaping his grip no matter how he tries to rein it in. His hands are shaking.

Gale moves to his knees to follow him and hugs him from behind. He lays his head on Bucky’s shoulder, hair falling over Bucky's skin in a soft wave. His palms push warmly against Bucky's naked abdomen. "I'm not breaking up with you."

"I'm scared." Bucky mumbles into his hands, his tone defeated. "You have no idea, Gale." He sniffles. "Everyone I love leaves me. Anytime something changes, I lose someone. No one ever wants to stay in touch with me. Maybe I just suck at it, I don't know. Too much. Too fucking annoying. I wish my dad merry Christmas every year but he leaves me on read. I double and triple and quadruple text my friends like a fucking loser. Never knew when to lie down and give up. I'm just a clown, that's what I am."

It's an abrupt and incredibly melodramatic tirade, in the way only Bucky can make it, but Gale’s heart breaks all the same. He hears all the little things that built up to cause this, starting from the pit of tar that's the absence of Bucky's father to all the ghosting Bucky had to endure from past friends and teammates. Pets dying. His mom working too much, Neil going on road trips. Teachers preparing them to say goodbye to high school. Then Gale went and threw a sparkler into this volatile mix by trying to jump off a bridge, then distancing himself because he couldn’t handle being loved when it felt like he didn’t deserve it.

What a pair they make.

"You’re not a clown." Gale says soothingly, rubbing circles over Bucky's heart. "You just wear your heart on your sleeve. It gets hurt more easily." He presses a kiss to Bucky's shoulder. "You have so much love to give."

"Nobody wants it." Bucky cries, then his muscles tense under Gale’s touch. "Fuck. Fuck it all."

"Calm down."

"I can’t." Bucky jiggles his leg, then tries to pry Gale's hands off himself. "I need to go for a run. Shake this shit off."

Gale sits up and wrestles with him to keep him in place, but it just makes Bucky more agitated. After a moment of this, Gale loses his patience and snaps. He grips Bucky's wrists and yanks him close. "John. Look at me. Look at me."

There's a raw emotion in Bucky’s eyes when they meet his. Gone is the gleam of joy from earlier tonight. All that's left is the look of someone who feels trapped and desperate to get out and run, away from the flood of anxiety he usually keeps at bay. Gale should have known this was coming - all the clinging and the insatiable need to be close since Gale almost killed himself couldn’t have been caused by that near-tragedy only.

Deep down, he knew this. He knew it and yet he let it get to this point, didn’t even try to address it until he wanted his personal space, like some selfish douchebag, and he feels like an ass for it now, because he can see how it all adds up in Bucky's mind. Even the slightest sign or reminder that he and Gale aren't fused together and can, in fact, be separated any time by death or a break-up, triggers Bucky's fear of abandonment.

Gale rubs his thumbs over Bucky's wrists. "I want it." When that seems to placate something in Bucky, he lets go to cup Bucky's tear-stained face instead. "I want it. I love you."

The way Bucky looks at Gale is like someone reaching for his last hope in the dark. It is too much - Gale can’t be consumed by someone else like that, his personality rebels against it - but it's not a time for nuance and compromise. He strokes Bucky's cheeks.

"Breathe."

Bucky takes a deep breath, another, then drops his forehead to Gale's. "I'm too clingy."

Yes, Gale wants to say. He keeps his mouth shut. His hands find Bucky's. He pulls them to his own neck, where he's warm and where his pulse beats, strong and alive.

They stay like that, embracing in silence for the longest time. Bucky's phone buzzes on the nightstand every now and then when he gets a notification, but they both ignore it. Useless noise. They don’t mean anything. Only a fraction of those interactions matter. Gale needs to help Bucky learn this. Protect him from his own too big heart.

He gives Bucky a kiss on the lips, then another one on his cheek when Bucky doesn’t return it.

"Did you really not do it on purpose?" Bucky asks quietly. He doesn’t need to clarify what he means. Gale can tell that he didn’t believe Gale's story for a minute.

"It wasn’t on purpose." Gale replies. He pauses, but he knows he needs to go on. "But I knew I was breaking his rules. He wanted too much from me, so I antagonized him."

Bucky breathes in, breathes out, then cracks a shaky laugh. "My little rebel."

To steal a kiss, Gale nudges his nose. "I won’t follow anyone I don't want to. I'll find a way to resist."

Bucky’s smile gains strength, and the touch of his hands turns flirty. He traces the line of Gale's ribs. "Are you saying you prefer to lead?"

Happy to put all the negative emotions behind them, Gale lays a hand on Bucky’s chest to push him on his back. "What do you think?"

Bucky wipes his right eye one more time, then reaches up to tangle his fingers in Gale's hair. "I think you do. Tonight, at least."

Gale presses his lips to the center of Bucky's chest but doesn’t say anything. Something about that makes Bucky smile. "Okay, Buck. Show me how you like it, baby."

A flash of a grin, then Gale is kissing him, his touch deep and hungry. He ignores the low simmer of trepidation in his chest about the future, about leaving, and just sinks into all the love Bucky wants to give him. He’ll tame it before it gets suffocating. He promises.

[n0ahsebastians]

hello loves!! this is my first post on here EVER!!! that's kinda crazy HAHA this came from a special place in my heart, the first noah fic i've ever written (it's also posted on my ao3 account teehee) but i finally decided to post them on here. i hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think! i'll post more if y'all like this one :D

18+ content; PLEASE DO NO READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!!

warnings: smut (not too much but enough), lots of fluff and lots of love.

sugar on the blood cells, carbon on the brain (title from 'aqua regia' by sleep token)

They arrived late back home. The plane ride felt excruciatingly long and he was so glad to be on solid ground again. The tour was long, long but one of the best they’d done in a long time. One of their favorites, he thinks, as he’s grabbing his luggage from the carousel. The airport’s quiet; an almost ominous humming sounds from the escalators moving up and down and the lights above them. The few people that are flying late are sleeping in the chairs near gates or waiting for their rides to arrive out front. The guys and crew assist in hauling the equipment out to the bus, pulling suitcases of clothes and instruments and whatever else they can grab in the meantime. It’s freezing outside, colder than the weather they just left hours ago. Goddamn East Coast winters.

He can’t wait to get home, to the comfort of his own space again. To his kitchen, his couch, his bed, her. 

He keeps looking at the last text she sent him before he boarded the plane, see you so soon, be safe. i love you ❤️ 

She was asleep hours ago; time differences are a bitch but he replied to her anyways  just landed. on our way home. love you baby 😚

He can’t stop smiling at the message, knowing he would see her again in mere minutes. The thought of holding her again, kissing her, lying next to her for the first time in 3 months, was enough to make this whole tour worth it. 

Years ago when they first met, it was nothing more than a few words here and there between them. He dropped out of high school, she continued her studies. He started a band, she became an event manager. They stayed in touch here and there over the years but nothing was ever serious. They didn’t want to complicate things within their lives, disrupt the process or the flow.

But then the calls became more frequent. The texts became flirty, they were telling each other about their days and making sure to check in on one another. She called him when she was having rough days and he did the same. He was always willing to make the time to talk to her, to calm her down, get her breathing under control again. He was her lifeline you could say, in more ways than one. 

Then there was that time they Facetimed and she told him she missed him. How she missed seeing him everyday. How she missed coming home to him and even the little things like holding his hand and watching movies together. They’d only officially been together three months, but there was something there. Something so much more than just phone calls and long distance texts. It was something real.

It started innocently. Until it wasn’t so much.

“How much do you miss me?”

She could see a gleam in his eye, one she hadn’t seen before but she liked it. A lot.

“So much.” Her voice was soft, her t-shirt was riding up over her thigh; he could see the soft skin of her hip in the glow of the lamp from their bedroom; she was only wearing underwear and all he wanted was to put his mouth there. Fucking hell.

“I fucking miss you so much.” 

His words made her stomach flutter and she hummed softly. She watched as he shifted on the hotel bed, adjusting the laptop to have a better view of her. 

“Can we…do something?” He sounded so nervous, he didn’t know why he was nervous but he was. Maybe because this woman was absolutely sexy and he wanted her so bad. Wanted everything with her. He didn’t know it then but he’d always wanted her.

“Yeah.” 

“I wanna see you,” he said lowly, running his hand through his hair, “all of you.”

She gulped, trying to process his words. They had never done this, any of this. They hadn’t even taken that step yet. It excited her that he wanted this with her. That closeness, that intimacy. Finally.

“Noah…I-“

“Do you trust me?”

She took a deep breath, smiling softly at him. She did. She always had.

“Yes.”

“I got you. Trust me, baby.”

She loved hearing him call her that. It slipped off his tongue so effortlessly. His tongue. She started thinking about the way it would feel on her body then, how he’d kiss her, mouth at her to bring her to the edge. It suddenly made her squeeze her thighs together. Noah noticed, smiling at her from the laptop screen.

“What’re you thinking about right now?” He situated the laptop screen so she could see the length of his body now, his sweats clinging to his long legs and his bare chest in view, tattoos on full display. 

“You. I’m…thinking about you.”

“What about me?”

She was embarrassed. How was she supposed to tell him she was thinking about his tongue inside of her, how she wanted to feel his lips on her skin and his fingers tracing the skin of her hips, her thighs, his teeth nipping at her stomach and everywhere he could, when they hadn’t even made it to that point yet?

“Tell me.” His voice was low, sexy. It made her entire body ignite.

“Your…tongue.” There it was. She felt her cheeks heat at her own words. She couldn’t believe this was happening right now. 

“Fuck. Tell me more.”

“Noah…”

“Baby, there’s no one else here. Just you and me,” he assured her. She took a deep breath and tried to relax herself, tried to think of something that wouldn’t make her want to bail out of this. There was no way she could now; she told him she wanted his tongue on her. She was in too deep now.

“Honey, look at me.” His voice was soft, caring. He was sweet, so sweet, and she adored that about him. He knew she was just as nervous as him, just as vulnerable. This was a big step for them. For her even. She hadn’t been intimate with anyone in years. There had been no one after high school. Until Noah.

When she was finally able to look at him again, he was smiling sweetly. God she wished he was here with her. Wished she could touch him and hold him and kiss him. Lay next to him, inhaling his body wash and hints of cologne that still lingered on his skin.

“Just trust me, okay?” he says finally. She closes her eyes and nods again, keeping eye contact with him as she begins to remove her shirt. He stops her though.

“No, leave that on. Take off your underwear.”

Fuck. Fuck.

She bit her lip, lying back against the headboard. She hooked her fingers into the thin material, slowly sliding it down her legs. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head as she tossed them onto the floor. She folded her legs over one another, pulling her t-shirt down a bit so her lower half was hidden from the camera. 

“Fuck, I wish I could touch you right now. Kiss you.”

She decided to finally play along. She was feeling braver now that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Where would you touch me?” She ran her fingertips over the sheets, looking up at the camera just as she heard him softly whimper. 

“Between your legs. Fuck, you’d be so warm and wet. You’re wet now aren’t you?”

She was. She could feel the heat between her legs and she needed something. Needed a release. 

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

“Mhm.”

She hesitated before slowly parting her legs, making sure he could see her. She heard him gasp when she touched her fingers to herself, laid her head back against the pillows. She started slowly, listening to his breathing become more and more ragged. This was so out of her element, but she was loving the reaction she was getting out of him.

“Fuck, you look so good. I wish I was there with you.”

“Mmm…Noah…”

“What do you need, baby?”

“Talk to me more.” She started moving her fingers faster, not too fast though. She didn’t want to come yet. 

“Does it feel good, you touching yourself?”

She nodded. 

“Tell me how it feels.”

“Mm…s’good…” She moaned, making the fabric of his sweats tighten. Fucking hell.

“What was that you were saying about my tongue? You want me to taste you, don’t you?” 

She whimpered, her legs tensing at his words. Yeah, that’s all she was thinking about. His tongue inside of her. It was making her brain short circuit. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I wanna taste you so bad, you have no idea.” He practically growled as he continued watching her fingers move in and out of herself. It was the fucking dirtiest, but hottest thing he’d seen, probably ever. And it was driving him crazy.

“Fuck, look at you right now. You look incredible.”

That made her sigh softly, a smile forming across her lips and her brow creasing as she continued to touch herself. She needed him to keep talking though, the silence was not helping her.

“Keep going.”

He groaned, palming himself through his sweats. She sounded heavenly, like nothing he’d

ever heard before. Everything about her was unreal. 

“Spread your legs more. So I can see you come.”

She did, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t in the room with her and was thousands of miles away in a hotel, watching her through a laptop screen. She tried to bite her lip to keep quiet but he didn’t want that. He needed her to make more noises. 

“I wanna hear you. Don’t be shy anymore.”

“Fuck, it…feels so good.” Her moans were the sexiest thing he’d ever heard. He could

feel his sweats tightening some more and he wanted to touch himself so fucking badly. So he did. 

“Yeah? You wanna come?”

“Fuck, please,” she whined, her fingers moving faster.

“You’re so sexy like this, Jesus fuck.” He wished he could see the way she looked when she was coming. The moans and whimpers leaving her mouth as she fucked her fingers in and out of herself was the hottest thing he’d ever seen or heard. 

“Noah…I’m…”

“I know, baby. Come for me.” 

That was it. She gasped, her release hitting her harder than she wanted it to. She came on her fingers, her legs shaking and her toes curling. Watching her fall apart from his words was enough for him to finish himself and he wasn’t far behind her. 

She pulled her t-shirt back down over her legs, lying sideways on the bed again so she could see him. Her cheeks were flushed, so were his. She smiled lazily at him and he did the same. 

“Think I need to shower now,” he said, making her giggle. She didn’t even know he was touching himself until she saw him wipe his hand on a towel hanging from the chair next to the dresser. It made her legs squeeze together all over again.

“I wish you were here,” she said, her fingers reaching up to the screen. He smiled at her again.

“I know, me too.” He mirrored her actions, placing his fingers against hers.

“Umm…that was…”

“Hot.”

She giggled again and he wanted to kiss her so badly. He wished he was home with her

now. 

“Yeah. Maybe we could…try it for real. You know…when you…come home.”

He smiled again, his lips curving up in the widest grin, making his eyes crinkle in  

the corners. 

“I am absolutely not taking my hands off of you when I get home.”

And she knew he meant it.

He’s home now and all he can think about is lying down. He’s exhausted and feels like a 200-pound weight has just attached itself to his shoulders. He tells Matt and Jolly they can unload the truck in the morning after they all sleep. It’s almost 2am and he just needs to lie down. That’s all he’s thinking about. And her. 

The three of them enter the house after the rest of the group heads out, saying they’ll see each other in the morning for breakfast and some much needed relaxation outside of a busy tour schedule. 

He unlocks the door, tossing his bag in the corner by the couch, not even bothering to bring it the fifteen extra steps into his bedroom. He doesn’t care, he’ll take care of it later. 

Jolly and Matt go their separate ways as well, hugs and goodnights are traded before Noah makes his way to his room finally. He quietly opens the door so as to not wake her. She’s fast asleep when he squeezes into the room, shutting the door softly and locking it. He doesn’t really need to lock it but it’s been three fucking months since he’s been home and he wants to just spend as much time with her as possible in the confines of their bedroom. 

She stirs gently as he makes his way around the bedroom, opening drawers to grab fresh boxers and a clean t-shirt. A routine he hasn’t been used to in months. She’s wearing one of his shirts, he sees now, the way it hugs the curves of her body so fucking well, it makes his chest tighten and his stomach flip.

It’s been two years now. Two years since they decided to try this thing out. Besides his friends and the band and all the other things he worked endless hours to make his own, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She was everything to him, she was his lifeline. 

He changes into his clean clothes, tossing his traveling wear into the hamper by the bathroom. He rubs his hands over his face, trying to function for a few more minutes to brush his teeth. Turning the water on wakes her up and he swears under his breath as he attempts to crack the door to keep the light out of her eyes. It’s too late though, she’s up now. 

He rinses his mouth out, turning off the water just as the door opens to reveal his very sleepy but incredibly beautiful girlfriend. She smiles lazily at him, reaching up to embrace him in a hug. He laughs gently as he reaches down to wrap his arms under her thighs and hitch them around his waist. The feel of her skin against his after all this time, the warmth of her breath, the goosebumps that raise on her legs as he runs his thumbs over the skin. This. This is all worth it.

“Hi baby,” he kisses her forehead, her cheek, holding her tightly against him. 

“Hi bub,” she says into the skin of his neck. He hears her sniffle and she pulls her face away to rest their foreheads together. He kisses her for the first time in three months, forceful but full of love and everything they missed while they were separated from one another. 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he says against her lips. She presses her hands into his face, holding his jaw and rubbing her thumbs over the smile lines in his cheeks. He feels tears running down her cheeks and he wipes them away with his thumb.

“I missed you so bad.”

“You smell so good,” he says, pulling away from their kiss to press his nose into her neck. She giggles, wrapping her fingers in his hair which he’s cut a bit more since the last time they saw each other.

“You cut your hair.”

“Not much. Just a little bit off the back.” He runs his hand through it, keeping one underneath her legs which are still wrapped around him.

“It looks good,” she smiles, placing another kiss to his lips. She feels him smile against it, turning off the bathroom light and walking them to their bed. He lays her down against the sheets, lifting her shirt to press kisses to her stomach. She giggles again, her fingers in his hair as he continues down her body.

“Noah, it’s 2am,” she says, with no indication that she wants him to stop. He hums, taking one of her hands from his hair and intertwining their fingers. The gesture makes her stomach flutter, she loves when he does that.

“You’re not convincing me of anything.” He kisses her hip, tugging at the material of her underwear to expose more skin. She looks down to watch him, his tongue running the length of her hip bone and she bites her lip.

“You need sleep, bub.” A sigh leaves her lips as he tugs down her underwear. His fingertips against the skin of her thighs raises more goosebumps and she lifts her legs to kick them off. He laughs gently. 

“I know,” another kiss to her hip, “fucking exhausted”, open mouthed kiss to her pelvic bone, “but I just want to be with you for a little bit.” He looks up at her through his eyelashes and she really can’t resist this man no matter how hard she tries. He has her in too deep. He’s drawing circles in the skin of her thigh, she traces her finger over the tattoo on his throat, her favorite, and feels his pulse quicken at her touch. He kisses her wrist, her thumb running over his bottom lip. Touches that they’re trying to memorize again.

“Yeah, okay.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “‘Yeah okay what?’”

“Yeah, okay. Put your mouth on me then.”

He smiles at her. “There she is.” He presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh before bringing her legs to rest over his shoulders. Her fingers find their home in his hair again, tugging gently as he presses his tongue to the skin of her thigh. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” he whispers, moving closer to where she’s needed him the last three months. His breath is warm, icy from his toothpaste. The combination against her center sets her whole body on fire. 

“I missed–unhh!” 

“Sshh, ssh ssh you’re so loud,” he laughs gently against her, the vibration making her gasp softer this time. His hand flies up to cover her mouth. 

“Sorry, shit.” 

He laughs against her thigh. “Be quiet for me.”

She closes her eyes, letting his lips make their way back to her center. He blows against her before pressing his tongue into her, a groan leaving his lips as she presses her heels into his shoulder blades. It feels so good, not just the sex but this. Him. Being with him again. Her hands in his hair, his hands on her legs, everywhere on her skin. He was her home. They both needed this.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growls against her, bringing her back from her thoughts. She moans again, her hips lifting to meet his mouth, his tongue moving against her in the most sensual way, she feels like she might explode from this entire moment. 

“Love…you…” she manages to say between heedy breaths and tugs of his hair.

“Fucking love you.”

“Noah…baby, I–gonna…”

“I know, baby, doing so good for me. Come for me,” he breathed against her. She absolutely hated when he said things like that, it made her come too fast. She wanted to sit on his face, fuck his mouth forever. Besides making love, this was their favorite. 

“Stop…saying that…”

“What, that you’re being so good for me?” He tongued at her again, her legs shaking against his head. She gasped as she came against his mouth, her heels pressing farther into his shoulder blades if that was at all possible. She tugged at his hair again as he coaxed her down from her first orgasm in almost three months (there were several Facetime calls but they weren’t always alone to have phone sex and the release was everything she needed).

He hummed against her before pressing several kisses to the inside of her thighs. She nearly smacked him for getting her off so quickly.

“Fuck off,” she laughed, sitting up to pull him from between her legs. “Get up here and kiss me.”

He did. He smiled against her lips, his tongue pressing into her mouth. She could taste herself on him and she didn’t exactly hate it. He breathed into her mouth, laying back against the headboard and bringing her with him. She laughed gently, reaching down to lift her shirt over her head. Noah’s eyes widened, staring at her naked body in front of him again for the first time in three fucking months. The longest three months of his life. 

“Are you gonna take your clothes off, fool?”

Fuck he loved this woman so much. He leaned forward to bite down gently on her bottom lip, a gentle moan leaving her.

“I can’t when you’re sitting on me, you ass.”

“You started this,” she jabbed at his chest then reached down to drag her fingers along the waistband of his boxers. She started tracing his tattoos again, the letters and the scriptures he had, all his anime characters across his sternum and thighs. She was distracted, he was distracting. His body and his hands and his lips and everything about him. He lifted her chin to look at him. 

“Hi,” she said, smiling. He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her nose. 

“Hi. You went away again.” 

“Yeah, sorry. Just…missed this.” She traced the ink on his chest again, placing a kiss to

the skin there. 

“Me too.” 

She pressed a kiss to his chin, then up to his lips. His hands came to rest on her bare waist, slowly dragging her center across his clothed one. She moaned into his mouth, digging her fingers into his chest. 

“And I missed your mouth but I wanna make love to you before we go to sleep.” 

She hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him forward so he was on top of her again. He kissed her neck, down her arms, across her breasts, her nipples. He swiped his tongue across the nub, earning a low moan from her again. He trailed his lips down to her stomach, open mouthed kisses pressed against her thighs and hips. 

When he reached her ankles, he lifted her leg so he could press one last kiss to her tattoo there, earning another giggle from the beautiful woman beneath him. 

“I love you.”

She smiled up at him as he stood from the bed to remove his boxers. She could feel her body heating up again as he came to rest over her, lifting one of her arms above her head and intertwining their fingers. He spread her legs gently, pressing his fingers against her to open her up again. 

“I love you,” she moaned at the sensation of his fingers and the head of his cock beginning to brush against her. She closed her eyes, her lips falling open as he pressed their foreheads together and rolled his hips forward gently to meet hers. It felt like the whole room went still, their fingers squeezing one anothers above her head and his other hand on her thigh, dragging it up to wrap around his waist. 

“Fuck, I missed this, you feel…so fucking good.” Noah began to move slowly, careful to not hurt her or go too fast. He wanted this to last as long as possible.

“Oh my…Noah…”

“Fuck, baby…can you come for me again?”

“Mhm.” 

She was close again, he could feel it in the way her thighs were starting to shake again and the way she was whimpering into his mouth. Her fingers gripped his shoulder, digging into his skin as he rocked against her gently.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I went this long without you,” he breathes out, a low chuckle coming from her lips. 

“I missed you…so much.”

“Fuck…I missed you.”

“Noah..unhh…”

That sound. That fucking sound. He was absolutely gone for this woman. She was everything to him.

“Come for me, baby. I…I got you.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, she tensed around him and gripped the skin of his shoulder again. The feel of her coming around him was enough for him to lose his fucking mind; he wasn’t far behind her, groaning into the skin of her neck and gripping her hip with the hand that wasn’t holding onto hers still. His hips stilled, rocking against her one last time before releasing a deep breath against her neck. Her fingers petted through his hair, against the nape of his neck, across his back, his shoulders. He could feel her heartbeat starting to slow again, a thin sheen of sweat was settling over their bodies and he didn’t want to move, wanted to stay like this with her forever. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” she finally said as he was lying on top of her. He chuckled, placing a kiss to her cheek. He tried to get up but she pulled him back down on top of her. He smiled at her.

“I’m glad I’m home too.”

“Did you guys have fun though?” Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were flushed, her collarbones glistening and a red mark was forming in the corner of her mouth from where he’d bit down on her lip. Goddamn she was so beautiful. 

“Yeah we did. Always do.”

“I’m proud of you bub,” she whispered, running her fingers over his cheek, pushing his hair back off his forehead. He smiled lazily down at her, pressing his lips to hers gently. She hummed, parting her lips to let his tongue press against hers again.

“I love you so much,” he says, rubbing their noses together. Another hum from her.

“I love you.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: Hellfire night is happening post spring break from hell, it's at the apartment of Steve & Eddie. Steve has an intense migraine & chronic pain flare ups. He can barely make it through the door. Eddie has to bring Steve but Steve is in pain and wants to stay close to Eddie. So they play dnd with Steve essentially curled up on the couch near Eddie.

MY DARLING!!!! STEVE SUFFERING TIME!!! I know I shouldn't make him suffer so much, but it's just that he's so easy to make suffer. But this one is so so soft, and so comforting. Steve is loved so much, it makes the hurt not so hurt-y. As a migraine sufferer myself, there are times when I genuinely consider just laying on the floor and hoping I pass out so I don't have to feel it anymore. I do base a lot of Steve's experiences off of my own (though mine is less head trauma and more genetics), but I hope other people can see themselves in it and get some comfort, too. I also used a new little cute term of endearment inspired by one of my favorite regular customers at my last job who called his wife of 64 years sweet love from the day they met, even when he was talking to other people about her. - Mickala ❤️

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

If he’d gotten his shift covered at work today, he probably wouldn’t be in so much fucking pain.

But he needed the money, and when he first woke up, the pain wasn’t that bad. He’d had worse.

After hours of customers asking him to reach the top shelf, screaming babies and children not getting the ice cream or candy they wanted, and a few too many old men complaining about the prices of bread, Steve’s headache escalated from minor pain to unbearable, and had spread throughout his body.

He’d gotten somewhat used to the aches he sometimes woke up with, the throbbing pains in his joints when he spent too long on his feet or tried to do too much exercising. Some days were less tolerable than others, but today was the worst he’d had in a while.

Every breath stung, his lungs pushing against his ribs, his ribs pushing against his skin, his skin on fire.

And when he arrived at his apartment, he knew it was about to get worse.

He could hear Eddie, his booming voice painting a picture for all of Hellfire. He didn’t need to see him to know he was probably standing on his chair or, more dramatically, the table.

Any other time, Steve would be endeared, would walk in and say hi to everyone, give Eddie a kiss on the cheek before he made his way to the shower and then make snacks for the group.

Tonight, though, Steve didn’t even know if he could make it past the couch.

Or to it, for that matter.

Maybe he could just use the rug at the door as a pillow for the night. Everyone could step over him as they left, or maybe they could all just stay the night so he wouldn’t get woken up.

He was shaking with the effort to make it through the door, the key missing the lock the first couple of tries because his hands kept wobbling.

Eventually, he got inside.

He leaned back against the door, his body screaming at him to be horizontal instead of vertical. He let out a groan, which hurt more than he planned.

The dining room area got quiet.

“Stevie? That you?” Eddie’s voice sounded concerned, even without seeing his face to confirm.

He couldn’t answer. It hurt to even think about answering.

He let his eyes close, the pain in his head dulling for just a moment with the light from the living area being extinguished. It wasn’t even that bright, just one lamp in the corner and one on the table by the couch, but it still felt blinding when he opened his eyes again.

Eddie was standing in front of him now, hands reaching towards him but hesitating to actually touch.

“What’s hurting, sweet love?”

All Steve could do was let out a small whimper, and even that was more pain than it was worth.

“Everything?” Eddie whispered, getting closer, but still not touching. Steve could almost feel the heat coming off of Eddie’s constantly too-hot skin.

“Mm.”

“Alright, you wanna go to the couch?”

Yeah, he did, but he didn’t think he could make it. But as always, Eddie read his mind.

“I’ll carry you if it’s okay to lift you,” he suggested quietly.

“Mm.”

“Okay, assuming that’s a yes,” Eddie responded at the same volume as before, though Steve knew he was smirking, could hear the way his mouth was curled up at the corner, amused.

Before Steve could even try to form a response, Eddie’s arms were under his legs and back, lifting him up and cradling him against his front.

Pain shot through his entire body, but he bit his lip so he wouldn’t make a noise. He didn’t want Eddie to feel bad about something outside of their control.

“‘S okay, angel. Let it out.”

He let out another whimper, louder than the last. He heard footsteps coming into the room and assumed everyone here for Hellfire had decided to check in.

He opened one eye, but immediately regretted it, inhaling sharply as he squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Can someone shut off the lamps?” Eddie asked as he managed to set Steve down slowly, gently on the couch.

Eddie’s fingers were barely brushing along his forehead, moving his hair away from his face with the lightest possible touch.

Steve felt a tiny bit of relief from laying down, though his head decided to start pulsing as it lay flat against the cushion.

“Lap?” Steve asked, forgetting for a moment what he’d walked home to: the weekly D&D campaign.

Eddie needed to be a DM for them, he couldn’t sit out here with Steve.

“Alright, everyone grab the stuff, we’re using the coffee table. I don’t need my notes or screen so leave it, and so help me, if I suspect any of you looked at them, I will kill you all in a trap,” Eddie said from the floor next to Steve.

Steve could hear light footsteps moving out of the room and then Eddie’s whispers in his ear.

“Gonna lift your head for just a minute while I sit. Want you to turn so your face is looking at me, it’ll block out the light when we turn them back on. I can rub your shoulders and back that way too.”

Steve couldn’t really nod, but he tilted his head up just a bit to show he was okay with it, though they both knew it would be painful.

Eddie was fast though, didn’t want him to suffer a single second longer than he absolutely had to.

Before Steve could process the zing of pain through his head and neck, he was already situated as comfortably as possible on Eddie’s lap, face turned into his stomach.

One of Eddie’s hands gently cupped the back of his head, holding him steady so he could completely relax.

He did, or as much as he really could with the level of pain he was at.

“You take anything?” Eddie asked as his other hand started slowly rubbing his shoulder, just a light pressure to ease him into more touch.

“Mhm.”

He’d taken something at lunch, and then again when he got off of work and didn’t think he’d be able to drive home without something in his system.

It seemed like it was actually kicking in now, though that could also be Eddie’s practiced attention to all the worst areas of pain.

The kids were slowly coming into the room, Steve could hear them setting things on the coffee table as quietly as possible, whispering amongst themselves.

It was suddenly extremely hot in the room, and Steve knew that was just part of the crash as the medicine kicked in further. Normally, he was alone or only with Eddie, and could strip and lay on cool sheets with a fan blowing on him, but he couldn’t with the kids here.

He knew if he asked, they would go. They were good kids, and they’d understand, and Eddie could reschedule for the next day since he was off.

But he didn’t want them to have to rearrange everything because of him, not when Eddie was so excited about a new character introduction for tonight.

“Alright guys, gonna have to keep it to a whisper,” Eddie said, the rise and fall of his stomach as he breathed lulling Steve into a calm state, though not quite sleeping.

Eddie continued to run the campaign, everyone being as quiet as possible, only Dustin having to be reminded once to keep his voice down when he got a bit overexcited about getting past the guards surrounding the water they had to dive in to get to some kind of map.

It was all very complicated to Steve, and he couldn’t keep on a good day.

Eddie’s hands rested on his body the entire time, slowly rubbing circles into any part they could reach, fingers running slowly through his hair.

Steve drifted at some point, and when he woke up, the room was pitch black and Eddie’s hands had stilled, resting on his arm and head.

Steve blinked up at him, moving his head only enough to squint up at Eddie’s face.

He was passed out, mouth wide open, head leaned back along the back of the couch.

He had no idea what time it was, or how long they’d been like this, but he wasn’t going to wake him up.

He noticed the pain in his head had dulled to just the occasional sharp pinch in his forehead and most of his joints seemed like he could move them without wanting to crumble to the ground.

He slowly rolled onto his back, but Eddie let out a loud snore and immediately opened his eyes when he felt the movement.

“You okay?” He rasped.

“Better,” Steve smiled up at him, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek. “Thanks for taking care of me, baby.”

“Anytime, sweet love. You wanna move to the bed?”

“Can we take a bath first?”

Eddie looked over at the clock.

“It’s past midnight, are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just wanna relax in a bath with you for a bit.”

Eddie leaned down to kiss him.

Sometimes he did that; Just kissed him instead of using words to reply, showing him instead of telling him in the best way.

These kisses were different from his other kisses. They were softer, less hungry, loving in a way that Steve didn’t think words could even say.

“Let’s go relax in the bath, then.”

“Did the game go okay?” Steve asked as he slowly sat up.

“Yeah. Kids were worried about you.”

“I’m okay. You told them I’m okay, right?”

“I told them you’d be okay. They just love you,” Eddie said, standing up and stretching his arms above his head.

“I love them, too.”

“You’re kind of our north star, Stevie.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. We’re a bit lost without you. That’s why it’s hard to see you hurting like that. Not just for me, but for all of us.”

“I’m fine now.”

Eddie didn’t respond, left a kiss on his forehead, and started walking towards their bathroom.

“Come be fine in the bath with me!” He said over his shoulder.

Steve obliged. He’d be fine anywhere as long as Eddie was there to take care of him.

[milla984]

A Million Reasons

Summary: after a phone call from Penelope, Reader teases Spencer about a potential love interest and things don’t go exactly as planned.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Category: fluff with a little angst

TW/CW: a little bit of angst, brief mentions of food, self-doubt, mentions of anxiety, kissing

Word Count: 1.2k

Thank you @drgenius-reid for taking the time to beta-read this!

The following work is my entry for @andiebeaword's 3,000 Follower Celebration Writing Challenge (prompt n. 12) and is also part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

Spencer scooped out of the paper cup what was left of his ice cream before he finished recounting the events leading to the arrest of the unsub the entire BAU team had been successfully tracking down in Seattle during the past few days. 

“He’ll be charged with ten counts of murder, one attempted murder, and unlawful possession of multiple weapons. He’s facing ten life sentences without parole.”

“Way to go, Justice League!” you cheered, enthusiastic. 

He tucked his hair behind his ear with a cute chuckle. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow so you caught a glimpse of his wristwatch reflecting the light of a lamp post standing along the edge of the walking path; from the bench you were both sitting on you could see the illuminated dome of the US Capitol rising up against the dark mid-summer sky. 

Despite being within walking distance of a major street in the southwest quadrant of Washington, the park was quiet and uncrowded and the nearby gelato shop was one of Spencer’s favorites. 

You took the last sip of your drink, acting very casual. “And that’s all that happened?” 

He shrugged, unsure about which crucial information could have been missing from his story since he was under strict instructions not to fill you in on the most gruesome details of the cases he’d worked.

“Uhm, graphic descriptions of tortures and mutilations are not—”

“I’m talking about a certain homicide detective… the one you gave your number to…?” you explained and his jaw dropped instantly.

“What?!”

You nudged at him with your elbow. “Garcia called me from the Original Starbucks in Pike Place. I couldn’t tell if the hype was about your new admirer or being there.”

“I don't understand how this is such a big deal!” he blurted out in a high-pitched voice. “She showed an interest in what we do so I gave her my card.”

No profiling skills were required to detect his firm intention to avoid discussing the matter, yet the words came out of your mouth like a river in spate. 

“Any chance it wasn’t only a professional interest?”

The way Spencer looked at you, disappointed and hurt, hit you worse than a punch in the liver. 

“What’s with you, guys?! Are– are you all so invested in my personal life because you’re convinced I’m chronically unable to have one without your help?” he snapped, something you’d never seen him do. 

“I’m s—” you tried to reply, even though he was still too angry to let you apologize and cut you off again.

“Or maybe it’s that I’m no Derek Morgan, so why would someone even notice I exist, right?”

“Seriously?! An IQ of 187 and this is the best inference you can come up with?” you snorted, upset by the subtle insult he’d thrown at you - even if you had to admit you deserved it.

His brows furrowed. “Then why did you bring this up?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry, I’m sorry. I truly am,” you admitted, “and the Derek Morgan type is not the one I’d go for, just so you know. I don’t think that people hitting on you is funny or weird, it’s… I’m just surprised it doesn’t happen more often. There, I said it.”

He remained silent for a while, quite aware that Penelope’s inability to keep her mouth shut generated from genuine excitement about what she perceived as good news; sharing such personal information with you meant you had been put to the test over and over and, in the end, deemed worthy of her trust. 

The peaceful atmosphere around you served as an amplifier for the sound of splashing water and Spencer indicated the fountain at the center of the large, round basin in front of you with a jerk of his head. 

“I read a book about the architectural history of D.C. on the way back. This piece was created for the 1876 Centennial International Exhibition in Philadelphia, the US Congress acquired it in 1877 and placed it at the base of Capitol Hill. It was dismantled in 1926, then it remained in storage until 1932 when they moved it here.”

The pedestal held three twin iron-casted sea nymphs wearing wet tunics, with their arms raised above their heads to support a shallow vasque; on top was a group of kneeling child tritons, and the base was decorated with turtle-like aquatic creatures.

“It’s beautiful,” you mumbled.

The fact he’d for sure started and finished said book in less than fifteen minutes was among the 999.999 entries in your list of reasons to crush over SSA Reid.  And so were his three PhDs, his crooked ties, his passion for Star Wars, chess and Halloween.

“I don’t talk much about my private life. Especially outside of work,” he confessed after a pause. “A lot of times I have a hard time discussing personal issues—”

“Spencer… you know you don’t owe me an explanation, right?” you rushed to clarify.

He nodded and you did the same in response, to confirm you had no intention of pressuring him into opening up if he felt uncomfortable yet you were also ready to listen to anything he had to say; even in dim light, you could see the sadness veiling his beautiful hazel eyes.   

“Garcia was being Garcia, with her ‘look at the world through rose-colored glasses’ scenarios. I gave my card to a homicide detective to discuss behavioral sciences, it was just what it sounds like. But I understand where she’s coming from, I never told her…”

Your whole body tensed up, courtesy of a rush of anxiety triggered by the possibility of him being already involved with someone he had never mentioned, not even to his closest friends; you wondered if he could hear the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Luckily for you, Spencer didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m trying to come to terms with something I’ve been feeling, for weeks now. And I’m worried, because of what happened in the past and I can’t let go of…” his voice broke a little, so he swallowed. “Deep down I’m afraid I'm not the type of person who gets to live out happily ever after.” 

Refraining from hugging him on the spot and holding him close to your heart had gotten increasingly difficult lately, so you settled for a peck on his temple in a clumsy attempt at a comforting gesture.

You feared the worst when he looked at you for a moment that seemed to last forever; you certainly didn’t expect him to lean forward to cup your face in his hands - big hands.  With slender, elegant fingers he tenderly brushed over your cheeks.

You both held your breath, waiting for the distance between you to vanish until your foreheads touched and the tips of your noses rubbed together. 

“... are we really doing this?!” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine.

You smiled. “Don’t make me wait for another six months.”

Spencer squinted, an indication he was browsing countless data stored in his memory, then he eventually pinpointed the exact moment you fell for him and squeaked in surprise. 

“Christm—”

You pressed your palm on the nape of his neck, guiding his lips over yours for what you both had been longing for. 

Reason number 1.000.000: Dr. Reid was one hell of a kisser.

@thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid, @pretty-boys-book-club, @spookydrreid, @f-me-reid, @foxy-eva, @scorpiofangirl1109, @a-potato-wearing-plaid, @cynbx, @reidsbookclub, @nagemasstuff, @hotchsdharma, @reidmainbitch, @lizzylynch1, @will-grahams-eyes, @padawancat97

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

[ichorai]

afterlife ; yelena belova.

track eleven of BROKEN MACHINE.

sequel to the scientist & the assassin.

pairing ; yelena belova & gn!reader (platonic), natasha romanoff x spouse!reader

synopsis ; her sister was dead. she’d lost everyone she’d ever known. and she didn’t know you—at least not as well as she’d like to know her sister’s spouse, but yelena wanted to try. that was the least she could do.

words ; 1.9k

themes ; angst, mild fluff

warnings / includes ; talks of death, set after events of endgame and hawkeye series, grief and angst, liho cameo & hawkeye/kate mention, someone pls give yelena a hug rn :( also it isn't mentioned anywhere in the fic but i'm a yelena aroace truther so pls don't read into their relationship as anything but platonic !!

a/n ; sorry i haven't posted anything in sooo long </3 life's been tough :( but i hit 7.8k followers and that's just so crazy to me, thank you for sticking around !! (i still haven't finished my 6k milestone this is sickening)

main masterlist.

There was a ridiculous sort of homeliness to the stout little house Yelena stood in front of. Long plants dangled from the slanted roofs, and the bulbous lamp hanging by the door glowed a merry shade of amber. Even the doormat was endearing, a shoddy brown scratcher with a black imprint of a cat’s paw in the center. Yelena wiped the soles of her combat boots against it, blowing out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. 

Places like this—places that reeked of home and warmth—they weren’t made for people like her. At least, that was what she was conditioned into believing her entire life. People like her didn’t deserve to have a home.

But her sister had broken the cycle. She’d escaped. They were one and the same as children—a statue and its shadow—and yet they’d gone down vastly different paths in life. Natasha found a new family, she’d found love, she’d found a home. What did Yelena have?

And that’s what made it all the stranger for Yelena to be standing in front of this little house. A part of her was afraid that if she stepped inside, it would crumble apart in front of her.

It was her sister’s home, and yet she was afraid to linger. The house that her sister used to live in before she… before…

Yelena screwed her lips off to the side and bit the inside of her cheek. 

Before she could change her mind, she rapped her knuckles against the polished wood of the door thrice. Two more times after that for good measure. The doorbell was right there, Yelena noticed a little too late.

When the entrance creaked open, the blonde had to grit her teeth and keep her feet planted, because a large part of her wanted to turn and run. Yelena Belova had been on the run for a large part of her life. So much of her childhood was lost to the wind of discreet cars and disguises. She couldn’t stomach the idea of facing something real and something true. 

Your face peered out from behind the door, features curious and softened with exhaust. For a moment, she could see the scientist in you: the way your gaze darted all over her, searching for clues as to who she was. Trying to piece together the puzzle that was Yelena Belova. 

Quite a few pieces were missing from that puzzle. Yelena was sure it’d never be complete, really.

“Hello. I’m sorry, who are you?” you asked, brows cinching together. 

You were beautiful, even with the fatigue weighing over your shoulders, even with the tender skin beneath your eyes that darkened with tears and lost sleep. Yelena could see why her sister loved you so much. 

When the blonde in front of you whispered her name, you took a slight step back. From shock or from fear, Yelena couldn’t quite tell. 

A spark of recognition danced over your countenance. You’d seen faded pictures of your wife and her sister when they were children. She had the same eyes as that child. The same hair, the same nose, the same lips. But people change, faces morph, and personalities are discarded. You could never be too careful. After all—your wife was a widow. 

“Prove it,” you murmured. 

Yelena leveled her eyes with you. Then, she let out the shrill, two-toned whistle. The one Natasha would do to signal to you, to Clint, to her loved ones.

A lump formed in your throat, and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You stepped to the side and muttered a quiet apology, inviting her to come into your home. 

Yelena stomped her boots against the welcome mat twice, not wanting to be a rude guest by tracking mud all over the floors, and slipped into the house. Her sister’s home.

There were fragments of Natasha everywhere. In the framed pictures, in her initials embroidered into the handcloths in the kitchen, in the rows of linguistic books lining the bookshelves. 

You were anxiously twisting your hands together, studying the way Yelena took everything in. Noticing that her eyes were lingering on the books, you ventured to tell her, “She was learning Arabic. During the Blip, that is. Got pretty decent at it, actually.”

Before she could think of a reply, maybe a rather petty retort that Yelena already knew Arabic, a curious meow broke her attention away from you, down to the ground. There was a little black cat pattering its way to her, eyes shining and ears pricked.

“You have a cat?” she murmured, lowering herself to her knees so she could reach out and ruffle its small head.

“Liho was Nat’s birthday present. Well, one of her presents,” you said, a faint smile twitching the corner of your lips at the memory of the failed collapsible motorbike. There was a brief moment of silence, all quiet except for Liho’s pleased purring. “You want a cup of tea?” you eventually asked, gesturing to the kitchen.

She gave you a nod, and you whisked away, grateful for something to occupy yourself with. Yelena found herself studying the house more—the pictures, the mirrors, the lights. It all screamed her sister.

Some of the photos had famous Avengers on them, and Yelena couldn’t help but smile. Her sister, the famous Avenger who saved the world. Her eyes flickered over to you as you brought out a teapot and two mugs. A part of her wondered what you were doing when Natasha had died. Were you off saving the world, too? You murmured something under your breath as you scuttled back to the kitchen to fetch some sugar.

“Please, take a seat,” you said kindly, gesturing to the chair across from you. You poured the drink for her and slid it over the table for her to take. Yelena dropped three cubes of sugar into the mug with an appreciative hum. “So, uh… what happened? Were you—were you blipped?”

“Yes,” she sighed out, blowing at the far-too-hot drink over the brim of the mug. “Five years of life, gone in a blink of an eye. You?”

The two of you watched each other for some time. She lifted the cup to drink, finally. It was damn good tea. There was a citrusy, lemony sort of flavor to it.

“I was part of the half that stayed. Nat and I… we were lucky to have each other. She buried herself in her work. I had—I mean, I didn’t really have work to do anymore. Not with most people I used to work for gone.” After a longer pause, you tilted your head. “Natasha searched everywhere for you. Everywhere. She never—she never stopped looking.”

A lump formed in Yelena’s throat.

“Yeah?” she murmured. 

“Yeah.” A tear slipped down your cheek and you didn’t bother to wipe it away. Instead, you smiled. “She loved you so much, Yelena.” 

She sucked a cold breath through her gritted teeth and sniffled. “What was she like?”

There were a few seconds of silence. You pondered on her question for quite some time. How were you supposed to summarize your entire world in just a few sentences?

“She was incredible. In every way, really. Smart, beautiful, funny, level-headed. But most of all, she was kind. I think that’s what threw a lot of people off about her. They know she’s an ex-assassin, and she’s not exactly a trusting person… and I guess it’s easy to make assumptions about her with just that. But she was so kind.” You had to pause to swallow around the lump in your throat. “She was patient and understanding. For her to… to sacrifice everything and leave the universe while saving it—that’s the Natasha I know.”

Yelena blew her nose into a tissue when you pushed a box of Kleenex towards her. “I’m here because of her. She’s… she’s a hero.”

“She is.”

With a watery laugh, Yelena said through her tears, “I tried to kill her friend. Your friend, too, I’m guessing. Clint Barton. I was told that he killed her.”

A grim expression flickered over your face as you pursed your lips. “Yeah. He told me. Didn’t sound too happy over the phone. But… he’s doing alright. Has his own little sidekick now, from what I gathered during the call.”

“Kate Bishop,” Yelena said with a mirthful glint to her eyes. “She hit me in the face, you know.”

You arched a brow. “Did you deserve it?”

Yelena frowned and lifted a shoulder in a sheepish shrug. “Probably.”

The two of you grinned at each other, cheeks damp. 

Then, her beam melted away. “I didn’t want to believe that Natasha was selfish enough to sacrifice herself to save half of the entire world. Ironic, right?”

You traced the rim of your mug with a finger. “I remember the day it happened. They each came back from the past in a blink of an eye. Except the space beside Clint was empty. Steve caught me before I could fall to the ground when I realized what she’d done.”

“All these powerful heroes,” Yelena whispered. Her voice warbled and swayed, like a feather amidst a hurricane. “And the one that saved the universe was my big sister. She had no powers. Just her and her stupidly big heart.”

“And decades of training,” you added on.

“Yeah. That, too.” Yelena’s shoulders began to shake. “I just miss her so much.”

Abandoning your drink, you got up from the table and stepped to Yelena, pulling her into a warm hug. She began to tremble harder under your grip, winding her arms around you, seeking solace in your warmth. 

“She missed you, too,” you murmured. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness washed over you. “I hope you know that you’re always welcome here, Yelena. You’re my sister now, too.”

After a second, Yelena sputtered an apology and slumped back, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “Sorry. I’m so bad at this. Emotions and all that crap.”

“That’s okay,” you told her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

Yelena could see why Natasha loved you so much. You were kind like her.

“I grew up in a fake family. None of it was ever real, even if it felt like it was. But Natasha… she was always real to me. Now that she’s gone, the only real part of my life went with her, as well. And you—you’re real. Real to Natasha. And I… I know we just met, but I want you to be real for me, too. Not only as my sister’s spouse, but… as a friend, a sibling. I’d like to try.”

You gave her a warm smile, and reached out to pat her cheek twice, wiping the dampness away with your thumb. “I’d like that, Yelena.”

The two of you embraced again, and she nearly burst into tears upon realizing that you were the first person she’d hugged since she was blipped away.

“Did Natasha ever tell you how she broke my nose when we were kids?” she asked into the fabric of the hoodie you were wearing. 

You pulled away with a skeptical gaze. “She told me you broke your own nose.”

The blonde laughed, low and chesty. “Man, do I have a lot of stories to tell you.”

[psychotic-nonsense]

Steddie Week Day 6: Drunken Confessions

------ slight warning for SH talk ------

Eddie doesn't expect anything from Steve right now. Just a steady breath, in and out, to prove he's okay.

Well, as okay as he can be, coming down from the night they've had.

It was supposed to be a boy's night, as Robin joked when Steve proposed it. A night out of town to just get some drinks and hang out together, something they rarely get to do without the kids around. Jonathan and Argyle backed out in favor of catching up, the latter visiting for the weekend, so it was just Steve and Eddie.

It was supposed to be fun. And it was, arguably a contender for the best night of Eddie's damn life. Getting absolutely shit faced at some random bar and singing a shitty duet for the bar's karaoke night, living it up the way they never thought they could.

Until some random fucker twice as smashed as them shoved Eddie in the parking lot while they called for a ride from Nancy (at her insistence before they left). Said something Eddie's already grown used to tuning out.

But Steve wasn't. So he retaliated in Eddie's defense. And his fighting reputation was lived up to, the whole thing disarmed only after Eddie swung back at the guy hard enough to knock his drunken ass down.

Seeing Steve gasping and bleeding on the ground struck the wrong cord with Eddie, spiraling him into a panic attack right there on the side of the road. He was lucky Nancy showed up almost immediately after, otherwise the two of them would still be stuck there, Steve concussed and Eddie drowning in his own head.

Now, post cleanup and shower, with ibuprofen and waters downed, all Eddie needs right now is to feel Steve breathe. They haven't talked since coming back to Steve's forever empty house, haven't even turned off the bedside lamp. Just found themselves laying together in Steve's room, Eddie draped across Steve and holding each other as tight as their sore limbs allow.

Eddie rises and falls upon Steve's chest, staring at the light illuminating Steve's swollen face. Nothing has changed since Steve shut his eyes, and Eddie's nearly being lulled to sleep as well, until...

"I want to be in pain."

It's just a crackling whisper, not even enough to make his chest rumble with actual sound. But Eddie's already so tuned to Steve's sounds right now, he still hears it.

But something about the tone, at this time, in this place, makes it feel so much more fragile. So Eddie doesn't dare move.

"I don' like it... but I wan' it..."

Steve's still drunk. He's slurring. But his chest rises and falls and Eddie doesn't dare speak.

"I want it all th' time... I hurt more if 'm not..."

Steve's hand tightens where it's been resting against Eddie's back. Eddie's shirt crumbles in the fist, Steve's hand shaking with the strain.

At this Eddie dares, just a little, because he's drunk too. Not just on alcohol but on love. Pure, real love, stronger than any he's ever known. Hitting him so suddenly like a train, but landing him in a place that feels like the coldest pillow beneath the warmest blanket. He trails his hand up from where it was resting over Steve's stomach, slowly and carefully cupping Steve's face.

It's like Steve falls apart at the touch, his face crumpling into despair and loneliness and longing. His expression twitches with it, his black eye not allowing as much as it clearly wants.

"It made'em all stay... Mom, Nance... I was hurt, 'n they had t' stay..."

A tear slowly climbs over Steve's stolen eye, resting in the cave over his collar. Eddie's too busy watching it travel, misses Steve's arm coming up to his own until they're touching. Steve's hand circles his wrist, holding it almost reverently.

Eddie's glad Steve's eyes are still closed. Saves him the agony of seeing all of these blatant emotions reflected within those gorgeous eyes. Saves Steve the sight of Eddie's own grief, his pain at hearing such a confession.

"My pain made 'em stay... made 'em care..." Steve holds Eddie closer, tighter, everywhere. Begging and pleading, please please please. And then it clicks. "I jus' want someone to care about me..."

Eddie's eyes go wide. Tears prick at the back of his throat, his chest aches with longing, and his fingers tighten on Steve's skull. The anger, the fight, those nights months ago where Steve never left his side, oh, oh, OH...

And Steve's going limp beneath him, sleep finally catching hold to chase away the night. But his chest still rises and falls and the tears leave their marks on his face and Eddie finally dares.

"You have me... No pain needed, ever, not with me... Whatever it is, whenever you want it... time, attention, care... l-love, Steve... It's all yours... It's all yours..."

[shorelinessightlines]

He ended up doing it on a Sunday. Race weekend. Daniel put his fist through the drywall after his first DNF of the season, and Max broke up with him on the spot.

It had felt very 2018, their argument. Max's head fills the blank spots in his memory with old footage from their pre-Renault days. Daniel, for better or for worse, has not changed so much—it makes it easier to substitute the finer details.

Details have always been difficult for Max, which makes him feel shitty. People think he can't remember because he doesn't care, but he does, he swears he does. There's a lingering, near-permanent part of Max that aches for the smell of Daniel's burnt eggs and charred toast late at night, one that hurts more when he wakes up in the morning to the sound of birds and not the smoke alarm going off.

Caring makes no difference. He's unsure if they were still in their racesuits, or if they'd changed out of them in the few hours it had taken for media duties, debriefs, and post-race apologies slash unfollowing-sprees to wrap up.

The particular characteristics of their argument fade away to this: Daniel had said, "Fuck you, Max," innocuous and unsurprising, but it had brought him back to days at the karting track, the other kids flitting around and shouting swears they only just learned how to say.

Max had run them into a barrier, they complained to their parents, but he would already be sprinting over to Jos, holding up his helmet like, Did you see that? I was brave. I didn't back out. I did exactly what you told me to do.

"That is unfair," he had responded, feeling not very much like himself, and Daniel had looked at him like he had two heads.

"You're dumping me."

Daniel, likely, had never been dumped in his life. Why would anyone dump Daniel? Daniel was fucking perfect and this—this was just another thing Max had managed to fuck up.

"I am not dumping you, Daniel, always you use such ugly words, it is—"

"Max, oh my god, shut up. You're dumping me, and I get you're having a rough time right now, but this is—god, this is just crazy."

Max sniffed then, maybe, sad and angry and violent-feeling. Boiling inside. Hating Daniel in the moment and knowing he would miss him in the morning.

"You—Daniel, you know. Fuck you, this is not fair."

Max told Daniel about the karting tracks. Max told Daniel everything, like his crush on Mark Webber growing up and when his dad died. His hands had been shaking from the weight of his phone in the middle of their Monaco apartment and all Max could think to do was tell Daniel, because he told Daniel everything and Daniel would surely know what to do.

"You wanna talk about unfair? I just had one of the shittiest races of my goddamn life and—" Daniel swiped a cheap lamp to the floor. The bulb shattered. "—my boyfriend is breaking up with me at the racetrack not four hours later. Fuck, isn't that unfair, Max?"

Max's voice tembled when he talked. "You punched the wall. You are so violent, Daniel." It comes out wrong, but it's true. Daniel is violent like Max's father. So is Max, most days.

"I am not Jos," Daniel spit; he knew what Max meant, he knew Max better than anyone and it was still so angry. Daniel hated Jos, and god, Max never used to think like this before but it's so easy, these days, to be reminded of his late father. Last names, misplaced shadows, bruises that had purpled unevenly on Daniel's knuckles—familiar and disgusting and angry. This is not fair.

It was a regular spat—Daniel yelled and cussed Max out and punched a wall and broke a lamp and it was all normal. But fuck, all Max could do was be reminded of the karting tracks, of his dad, and that made Max feel even worse because everything reminded him of his dad and racing reminded him of his dad and Daniel reminded him of his dad and the hole in the drywall reminded him of his dad and—

Max remembers (details, details, details—) the distant way he had said, "I will not do this with you anymore."

It's only been a few days since Max and Daniel broke up. He thinks he is already starting to regret it.

---

Max has taken to imagining a life where he is, perhaps, a fish.

It would fit the empty, white nature of his apartment—if it were in reality a fishbowl, and he just swam in circles endlessly. If Daniel were his fish-friend and they lived their fishy lives together. Nothing could be so bad, of course, if there was Daniel.

But, this is not possible. Jimmy and Sassy would simply eat him.

"Nah, mate," Not-Daniel materializes on the couch. Max doesn't question it; Not-Daniel has been showing up on his couch a lot as of late, to fill the vacancy Real-Daniel left behind. "Nah, Sassy wouldn't eat you. Jimmy, now... that's another story."

"You underestimate Sassy."

"Oh no, far from it," Daniel's voice is strange and round because he's gaping his mouth open and shut to imitate a fish. He looks silly. "Sassy's too cunning. She's waiting for Jimmy to eat you so she can tell me what happened and I'll throw Jimmy out the window. Then she'll have the apartment all to herself. It's quite the plan, actually."

Max laughs at that and blows imaginary bubbles to Daniel, which he catches and throws back at him like a baseball. Then Max throws a pillow, and Daniel laughs too.

"I wish we were really fish," says Max. "I don't care if Jimmy would eat me." In the perfect world of his daydream, Daniel responds:

"Yeah, we'd make the best fish couple, don't you think?"

Of course, Max broke up with Daniel two weeks ago, so he has taken to telling these things to Lando instead. Lando has much less interesting responses, like, "Are you sure you don't want to see a therapist?"

Max scowls.

"I do not want to see a therapist. Why would I need a therapist?"

Lando raises an eyebrow, then both eyebrows. A strange habit.

"Your dad died, like, a week and a half ago," Lando ticks off on one finger. "You broke up with Daniel after five years together, you drove possibly the worst race of your life last weekend, and now you think you're a fish." Lando wiggles four fingers in front of the camera. Max wishes Lando were here in real life so he could shove Lando's dumb fingers into Lando's dumb face.

Then he reminds himself that Lando is his friend, and then Max feels shitty and angry and just like his dad. (Everything these days reminds him of his dad.)

"How lovely."

"Nah, I wouldn't say as much." Lando has a strange expression on his face, the grainy quality of the phone camera merging his eyebrows together into a caterpillar. "Mate. Get help."

"I do not need help."

"That's exactly what Daniel would say." Fuck you, Lando.

Max feels a sudden, sharp pang of anger and regret at just the sound of Daniel's name—wrong on Lando's tongue, marred by a British accent and a chaotic friendship that always managed to make Max insecure. Fuck you fuck you fuck you. You don't know him better than me.

"Daniel would not say that," he says instead of screaming. His voice sounds odd and strained. Mean. Angry. "Daniel is—Daniel would not say that."

Lando says, "Maybe not when you knew him, but you two haven't been teammates for five years. That changes more than you might think.”

"Daniel—"

"—didn't tell you when he got fired, did he?" Lando raises his eyebrows again, because he knows he's right and he is a smug dickhead.

No, Daniel didn't tell Max when he got fired. Max found out through Instagram of all places, and it had felt especially strange back then because they lived together and Daniel told him everything.

It was an exchange—Daniel would spill all his insecurities and his break with Michael and the way the car felt more like a death trap than a vehicle most days, and Max would tell Daniel about how much he missed eating breakfast with Victoria on Saturdays, about the dumb photoshoots Red Bull made him do now that he was a world champion, about Jos and the moment he died and the way Max felt shitty and free and so violent.

But Daniel didn't tell Max when he got fired, and he didn't tell him about his eating problems, and he didn't—fuck, Daniel was so kind and so gentle and sometimes he punched walls so hard the plaster crumbled from the power of his fists.

Daniel was one of those things that hurt more that it healed. Soft and tender in the right places—if Max pushed too hard, he would bruise him. If Max touched his shoulder he might scratch himself on Daniel's sharp edges; might break, like the walls did, under the force of Daniel's anger.

He feels like he's breaking, now. He needs Daniel, all the time, bruises and scars and plaster and all. (He needed his dad, too, and he has come to wonder if needing vicious things has been written into code, much like racing has. If his dad taught him brutality with the braking zones, at the karting tracks all those years ago.)

"I can recommend you a therapist," Lando is saying in this coddling kind of tone, the one you would use on a baby.

Max had never been coddled. It feels odd to hear it now, at his grown age, by a friend two years younger than him who probably found out Daniel was fired exactly when Daniel did.

He says, "Fuck you," and doesn't really mean it.

Lando responds, "Can't do that if you're a fish."

---

Jos's funeral is on a Sunday. Race weekend. The Australian Grand Prix.

Max is convinced Jos wrote that specifically in his will just to screw Max over one final time. Unnecessary, really—Max still jumps at his own shadow, when he mistakes the rigidity of his own shoulders for his father's.

Max catches a glimpse of his silhouette on the grass, bulky and stiff next to the thin lines of other attendees. He grimaces.

It's too sunny out, for a funeral. Max feels overheated in his black suit. Victoria stands at his side and wipes sweat from her brow, equally uncomfortable in a black dress and heels. Jos's other children, most of which Max honestly forgets exist some days, stand ramrod straight and look appropriately sad, sweating through their Sunday-best while their perfect blue eyes and slightly chubby faces scrunch up in grief.

Max tries to imagine Jos yelling at these kids and thinks bitterly that to them, Jos was maybe a good father. A good man, husband, citizen. They must miss him so much, they must be so sad he is gone.

Max tries to find an emotion within him that is not confused or afraid, and comes up empty.

His half-sister finishes the eulogy abruptly—it's wet-sounding, something guttural and painful clogging her throat. After that, the rest of the service passes by quickly. He stays behind with Victoria while all the guests file out and his half-siblings get ushered to the car by their mother; it would probably look bad if Max were the first to leave his father's funeral.

When the last guest has disappeared into the parking lot, Max flops down beside his father's freshly-dug grave and puts his head to his knees. Victoria sits down much more gingerly, careful not to ruin her dress.

"He was a weird dad," she says, unprompted. Max supposes this is the part where they are supposed to mourn him. "I don't remember too much of him. He always took you places and left me home with Mom."

"He took me to the karting tracks."

"Yeah, I know." She sighs. "You missed a race for this. He would've hated that."

Max supposes he would have. He can't decide if that makes him sad or angry or—or vindicated, somehow. Max is sure that if Daniel were here, some more prominent emotion would have risen to the top, just to pick a fight with whatever Daniel wanted to say.

They could never seem to settle when it came to Jos Verstappen.

"Do you think Daniel would have missed the race to be here?" The words bubble up, unbidden. Max practically chokes on them. To be with me, lies unspoken between them, solid like a rock in Max's throat.

Victoria looks at him with something like pity. "He had a habit of doing anything for you," she says like it's a bad thing, "if only you would ask."

Max does not say anything to that. He's not sure there is an answer to be had.

Victoria nudges him with her shoulder. "He won today, you know."

"He did?" The fondness cuts its way out of him. Home race. Big deal. "That's good. He deserves it, of course."

"Hm. He wouldn't have, if you'd been there."

Max bristles at that. He used to like being better than Daniel, being compared to Daniel. He used to like it because Jos liked it, and he wanted Jos to like him.

"Daniel is a good driver."

"No championship, though."

"You sound like Dad."

Victoria smiles, wry. "Fuck, don't we all somedays. You know, I yelled at Luka at the karting tracks the other day to brake later. It was like something came over me, you know? It felt like—like this is what we were born to be. And that felt dumb and ugly and I fucking cried in the bathroom when we got home."

Max gets that feeling. "I broke up with Daniel because he punched a wall," he offers, and it's so stupid, the way Jos has wormed his way into the best parts of their lives and rotted there, like a dead dog in the town well.

"Ah. I was wondering why you didn't ask him to be here."

Max shrugs. He is silent for a while, trying to pick out the right thing to say, and then:

"Do you miss him?" Victoria asks. "Despite the violence?" He wonders if she means Daniel or Jos.

He says, "Is it bad, if I do?"

---

Max is not all that surprised when he wakes up on Tuesday morning and finds Daniel on his couch. It used to be their apartment, after all, and Daniel still has the key.

Daniel is awake when Max stumbles into the living room. His stubble makes him look more tired than he actually must be. He says, "Howdy," in an exhausted and sheepish tone, and Max says, "I was going to drop off your things, I promise."

Daniel blinks.

"That's not what I'm here about."

"Oh." Max blinks too. "How was Australia?" He’s pretty sure he’s already had this conversation with Daniel at least four times in the past week since the funeral. Well, there's no harm in trying again.

"It was great. I won."

"That is good, for the team. I knew you could do it, of course, I told them so."

Daniel shakes his head. "You would have won, if you had been there."

"You sound like my dad," Max blurts out. It is true. You do sound like my dad. Victoria sounded like my dad. Everyone sounds like my dad.

Daniel narrows his eyes and doesn't say anything. Please do not look at me this way. It is not my fault he is haunting me.

Max scrambles to find something else to talk about. "I will make us breakfast," he says, already shifting away from the couch. “Cereal is fine, yes?”

"Uh. Sure. Sounds nice."

Max escapes to the kitchen, which is, in reality, only a few feet away. Still, the separation of the counter and the couch enforces a sense of distance—protection.

Daniel, of course, does not obey the invisible boundaries Max has outlined in his head. He rises, takes a few steps, and now he is in Max's space; lingering like he doesn't know what to do with himself, purposeful and aimless and intrusive.

"Do you—do you need help?" Daniel is peering over his shoulder. Max looks at him, their faces close. Then, he looks back at the two bowls he had laid out on the countertop and frowns.

Max's shadow splays itself across the countertop, and the broad line of Jos’s shoulders stares at him, aloof and alone. For a second, he wonders if the silhouette is Daniel’s, and it is Max who is the ghost.

He feels his heart sink, like the other four times Not-Daniel has woken up on Max's couch since Jos's funeral. Not-Daniel is still saying: “I can help, if you want me to.”

Max feels inexplicably angry, at that—wants to scream that of course he needs help, he has always needed Daniel’s help—Daniel used to char the toast and burn the eggs and make coffee that tasted like burning rubber. Max has not yet learned how to make breakfast without Daniel fucking it up.

Jos used to fuck up the breakfast too, a traitorous voice whispers in Max's ear, and he tenses.

It is different, of course, Max knows this. Jos burned the toast because he didn't care if Max ate ashes. Daniel burned the toast because he loved Max, and he couldn't help but ruin some things.

Max remembers to reply, trance-like, “No. I am okay. Sit back down.”

He turns to look at Daniel, and finds he has magically appeared on the couch once more.

The first time this happened, Max had freaked out, had thought he was going crazy. Now, it’s more disappointing than anything.

Logically, Max knows that he dropped off Daniel’s copy of the key a while ago, along with Daniel’s hoodies and knick-knacks and journals. Daniel has not actually been in their apartment in a very long time, and Max knows this because he has not had to replace a dented pan or nicked glassware in a decent amount of time.

He asks Not-Daniel, as he preps two bowls of cereal: “Do you remember what we were wearing, when we broke up?”

Daniel has always remembered little things like that. Small, tiny, minuscule details that Max could never seem to grasp.

“Nah, mate. I forgot.”

Details. Max was never so good at them.

[goldielia]

when jack met cassy

a part of: untouchable au

when cassy entered the mclaren garage on sunday to start getting ready for the canadian grand prix, she firstly found their social media admin and one of her closest friends in the paddock, anne.

mclaren had a close-knit group of girls consisting of cassy, anne, her girlfriend sabrina who was one of two team photographers and charlotte, who was a law student currently doing an internship at mclaren.

it had become a routine for the four of them to sit on the step to the pit wall for a second to chat before any grand prix. it was also usually the time cassy got to ask anne about the vip guests of the weekend which she did first things first ever since she missed when tom holland visited.

“uh, there’s not much going on today. some hockey players should show up though, you know, charlie’s brother and them”, anne looped her in while staring at her ipad. “eh, alright.” cassy murmured, slightly disappointed.

with a last tap of her own papaya-coloured high top converse against anne’s white and orange air force she got up to start getting ready for the race.

jack couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. he was going to see his sister again AND his first f1 race. lottie usually worked for mclaren during the summer break of the academic year, being located in cambridge for her studies, so when she invited him to see both her and the race in canada he instantly said yes.

they agreed to meet just before the entrance to the paddock so she could give him, cole and trevor (who she graciously invited as well) their passes. jack had been jittery the whole way there, not having seen his twin since christmas.

leaning onto a lamp post in front of the gate was a blonde girl, wearing black mom jeans, a mclaren t-shirt tucked into them and orange old school vans. he instantly ran towards her, charlotte barely being able to save the binder she held before jack tackled her into a crushingly tight hug that she returned with equal force.

after she’d given cole and trevor a side hug each and handed each of them a garage pass, the group entered through the gate and lottie talked them through the paddock on the way to the mclaren garage.

after she showed them their spots and told them about the screens and headsets she caught up with jack for a bit before a whirlwind of red curls brushed past them, grabbed her wrist and whisked her away to the steps in front of the pit wall where anne and sabrina had claimed their place already.

“charlotte-i-don’t-know-your-middle-name-hughes! tell me your brother’s not the one in the middle, please” cassy looked at charlotte with wide eyes. “uh, my middle name’s ruby, actually. but yeah, that’s jack. left is cole, right is trevor.” charlotte answered, confusion evident on her face.

cassy only groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “are all your brothers that pretty? your parents must be like greek gods or somethin’” she mumbled into her hands. sabrina smirked, looking at them over her shoulder as she was walking back to the garage with anne, both of them having to work some more before the grand prix. “i think our cass just experienced love at first sight”

charlie gasped and smiled teasingly at that, prying cassy’s hands away from her face. “you gonna make a move?“

“would you like, be okay with that? and are you sure he’s single?” “of course i’m okay with that, cass! i’m not blind you know. also he’s been staring at you like ever since you grabbed me.” cassy tore her eyes away from charlie and towards the garage instead.

the pretty boy from earlier, jack hughes as she now knew, was indeed staring at her. “also, he’s definitely single. i can-” charlie’s sentence and cassy’s staring were interrupted by lando’s voice. “jonesy, hughesy, come on we need to do the rule run down!”

fortunately for jack and less so for cassy, her workspace wasn’t far from the guest area. which meant he could watch her and she couldn’t concentrate because she felt his eyes on her.

the grand prix itself wasn’t too eventful, 11th place for oscar and 13th for lando. both cassy and charlie were needed after the race though, to review the penalty lando had gotten for “unsportsmanlike behaviour”.

charlie’s department handled the rules for each grand prix as well as topics like filing lawsuits over penalties. cassy as one of lando’s engineers was tasked with reviewing all the video material she could get her hands on to find something that could have the penalty taken back, or at least reviewed.

on her way to the conference room though, when cassy passed by jack, she slipped a tiny piece of paper into his hand, catching his eyes quickly to smirk at him.

he wanted to chat her up at least but she was rushed along before his brain could form a single word. instead, he opened the note. it read “you’re really pretty. text me?” with a little heart and a number, presumably her phone number on it.

before he could even try folding the paper back up he was already fighting for balance, both cole and trevor having read the note and started teasingly nudging him with their elbows, matching excited grins on their faces.

“did jacky get himself a girlfrieeeend?” trevor sing-songed into his ear. before he could continue though, charlie apprared in front of them, index finger poking jack’s chest.

“i love you but if you fuck this up i’m not guaranteeing for anything” she warned, serious blue eyes drilling into his identical ones to make sure he understood her. he grabbed her hand, eyes just as serious as hers, and spoke “if i find a way to fuck this up, lottie, please make sure i regret it.”

[daddyy333]

Overworked | CW!Bucky Barnes x y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

word count: 2.5k

warnings: reader isn’t really taking care of themselves properly, exhausted reader, fighting, reader is stabbed, mentions of blood, reader almost dies, reader has surgery, ?

summary: You haven’t been able to catch a break for weeks, and know all the stress has caught up to you and one mistake almost got you killed, putting the man who harbored a massive secret love for you through absolute hell.

doesn’t feel like my best work to be quite honest I’ve just been so busy these last couple weeks so I’m trying to do what I can

You groaned, slamming yourself against a wall to miss the bullet being shot at you. This was the third mission you’d done this week and you were exhausted. Your hearing was slightly muffled in your right ear and you can’t see that clearly, probably from being hit with the handle of a gun twice.

You kept being put on missions so frequently these last couple weeks because of your skill, and you didn’t think you could say no so you had no choice but to do your job. It was killing you though. You were tired, you were hungry, and you were in so much pain.

You yelped as the asshole hydra agent tried to grab you, to be fair you were standing there with your eyes closed completely out in the open like a dumbass but you couldn’t help it. You whimpered and kicked your leg back, making his knee buckle as you turned around and twisted his arm before slamming him against the wall, assuming that knocked him out,

You gasped as you felt his knife enter your stomach, the pain making it hard to even think. That’s what you get for assuming. “God damn it! Seriously??” You said, punching him in the face. Why did he have to do that?

You grabbed the knife and pulled it out, stabbing him in the dick. You groaned as you kept moving, taking down 5 more agents before it was finally clear. You winced, leaning against the wall as you panted harshly. You sniffled, gulping as you reached down to rip part of a man’s pants off and try to stop the bleeding with it.

You covered it up with your vest so no one would be concerned before you rigged the place with bombs and blew it up. You got back on the small ship they sent you on and headed home, finally.

You talked to Steve and Nat for a bit and spoke with Fury briefly before you finally got to go up to your shared floor with Bucky and relax. Bucky was still awake, sitting on the couch with a look of worry on his face.

You didn’t see him, though, because it was almost completely dark except for the lamp in the living room but you were struggling to see in general. You whimpered as you sat down, groaning softly.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice shaky and you gasped, standing up and throwing the remote at him. “Shit! Bucky, what the fuck?” You said, sitting back down and letting out shaky breaths.

You sighed heavily, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What happened?” He asked and you cleared your throat. “That sorry excuse for backup was knocked out in a minute so I had to do the entire mission with no help” you said, realizing that you must’ve bled through your “tourniquet” because he was looking at it.

You took a deep breath and stood up, mumbling something about getting sleep. You breathed shakily as you made your way to your room. You were sweating like crazy, and your heart was thumping in your ears.

You worked your suit off with shaky hands, realizing the tourniquet fell loose. You whimpered and grabbed a towel off the rack pressing to your wound as you took off the tourniquet. You nearly screamed in pain, biting your hand to stop yourself.

You felt dizzy, so you had to trade your hand for your bottom lip if you wanted to keep standing. A tear rolled down your face as stars filled your vision. You blinked a few times as you tried to stay awake, breathing becoming harder.

Everything was going black and you groaned. “God da- mmh” you said before you passed out, falling to the ground.

Bucky was already in the hallway where your bedroom was, paranoid that something was wrong. Your breathing was irregular the entire time and he could hear your erratic heartbeat, not to mention you looked as pale as a ghost and you were sweating buckets.

As soon as he heard that thump he ran inside your bedroom, knocking on the bathroom door furiously. “Y/n! Y/n? Are you alright?” He asked and he got no answer.

He opened the door and was stopped by your foot. “Christ, why didn’t you say something damn it” he mumbled, moving your legs so he could get in. He moved the towel and his eyes widened, he didn’t understand how you were walking and managed to keep talking earlier with a wound like that.

He wrapped the towel around your waist, tying it to try and slow the bleeding before he picked you up and ran to the elevator, willing it to go faster than the speed of light to get to the medical floor.

He’d never admit it but he was totally in love with you. You’ve supported him through everything since he escaped Hydra. You’ve taught him everything that’s new in the modern world and never once made him feel stupid or less than for not knowing. You even moved into the second bedroom on his floor without hesitation and would stay with him when he had nightmares or couldn’t sleep.

You were soft and gentle with him, something he hadn’t experienced in decades. He adored you, and it hurt to see you so weak and so close to death. He would never let himself love you, but that doesn’t mean he can survive without you.

As soon as the doctors started taking care of you and he couldn’t do anything else for you, he felt tears fill his eyes. His throat felt tight and it hurt as well. He didn’t understand what was happening, he doesn’t cry. He’s never been allowed to.

He ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He fell back against it, a whimper escaping his lips. He groaned, the tears falling down his cheeks before he could stop them. He’d seen you overwork yourself these last few weeks, he’d seen how exhausted you were and how you just needed a break. He knew he should’ve stopped you and he should’ve taken care of you like any good person would but his dumbass was too stupid to do what he should’ve done weeks ago.

It took him almost an hour to calm down, he just couldn’t get that image of you on the bathroom floor out of his head. It scared the shit out of him and he knew you already killed the person who did it but he wanted to do it himself. He was so angry and so scared all at the same time.

He asked the nurse what was going on and they had to send you to a hospital because it required surgery. Surgery.

He went back up to your floor, breaths shaky as he saw the blood on the floor and the little bit that got on the couch and he scoffed. He sat down on the couch, letting his head fall back and staring at the ceiling as he tried to get that image of you out of his head.

This was his worst fear, truly. He worried every time you went out on a mission if you were going to come back to him. It never even crossed his mind that he could be the one to find you dying or dead.

He was checking his phone every 5 seconds, begging to get a call from someone telling him you were okay. He felt nauseous thinking about what life would even be like without you.

He let out a shaky breath and stood up, going to your room. His shaky hands cleaned your blood off the bathroom floor, picking up your room for when you got back.

He then showered himself, as there was blood on his arm and on stomach from it leaking through his shirt. He was exhausted by the time he got out so he tried to sleep and instead spent 3 hours watching the alarm clock, willing it to be time for his morning workout.

He couldn’t take it anymore and got up around 4am and headed down to the gym to train. It took him entirely too long to get through his regular workout with him running to check his phone after every set and nearly tripping over his own feet if there was a notification of any kind.

He made himself breakfast, only being able to stomach half of it. He still felt nauseous and it had been hours, he knew the feeling wouldn’t go away until you were back on this floor of the tower, preferably in his arms, safe and sound.

He busied himself with cleaning the house top to bottom. He did all of the laundry, including yours. He didn’t realize so many hours had passed when he passed by the clock in the living room, his heart dropping when he realized he’d been cleaning non stop for 4 hours.

He ran to the couch, quickly feeling through every cushion to find his phone. He groaned when he finally grabbed it and saw no texts saying you were safe or calls from anyone either. He laid down for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

The exhaustion was taking over and he couldn’t help it as he dozed off. Not that he knew it, but he needed the rest. He needed it so bad that even 7 messages and 5 calls couldn't wake him up.

He heard the door slam and instantly shot up, looking around. He cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes and standing up. He yawned as he turned off the T.V, his jaw dropping and eyes widening as he saw you coming into the living room, leaning against Steve mostly as you stumbled into the apartment.

He nearly tripped and ate the floor with how fast his body flung itself to get to you, squeezing you into a hug. You hissed, squeezing his waist. “Bucky- ow!” You said and he instantly backed up which almost made you fall forward.

“I- I’m sorry, I just- I was really worried about you” he said and hugged you again. He couldn’t help it. At least he was gentle this time. “Bucky, I’m fi-” you said before he interrupted you.

“Don’t you dare. I’m the one who found you on that bathroom floor, you certainly weren’t fine” he said and you sighed. You were still so exhausted, but the safety you felt in Bucky’s arms made it better.

Bucky looked over at Steve, who was smirking. “I’m just gonna leave your stuff here. Take it easy, alright?” He said and you hummed. Bucky held onto you for a few more moments before he pulled back. He sighed and brushed your hair out of your face as he asked “can you walk?”

“Yea. I just have a small limp, apparently I sprained my ankle at some point but it’s fine” you said and sighed, disappointment evident in his face. He helped you to your bedroom, sitting you down and quickly checking your stitches.

“You shouldn’t have been out on that mission,” he muttered as he stood up, grabbing your phone for you so you could check it. You took a deep breath, run your hand through your hair before you said “I have a duty to fulfill, I can just say no”

“There’s an entire group of other people who could’ve done it right upstairs” he said, arms folded as he leaned against your dresser. He shook his head and said “I should’ve stopped you,”

“Bucky, what- why do you care so much?!” You said and he groaned. He ran his hand over his face, trying not to snap at you. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I care about you and I have feelings? I’m not blind, y/n, I see the exhaustion in your eyes. You’ve gotten more injuries these past few weeks than you have in years, I checked your file. You’re overworked and it’s going to get you killed. You got really damn lucky this time, who knows how it’ll go next time?” He said, voice shaky and chest heaving.

“God, you sound like you’re in love with me or something-” “maybe I am!” He yelled, throwing his arms up dramatically. Your breath hitched, your head shooting up to look at him.

He closed his eyes with a heavy and regretful sigh, his shoulders dropping. “What did you say?” You asked, your voice shaky. He licked his lips, a nervous habit he had. “I…I am. I have…feelings for you” he said quietly.

You could tell he obviously didn’t mean to say that and wasn’t ready in the slightest to admit this. You stood up with a soft grunt and he looked up, about to make you sit down again but you were already walking towards him.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in close. His heartbeat was fast and his breaths were shaky and uneven. He placed his hands on your waist carefully, not expecting you to hug him at all.

You didn’t care that he wasn’t hugging you back, you needed this from him. He trusted you. He trusted you and he loved you and he just opened up to you and told you something huge. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“F-…For what?” He asked and you sighed. You took a deep breath and said “for trusting me” He chuckled nervously and wrapped his arms around you, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

You could tell he was still really tense, and you wondered if he was uncomfortable. “What’s wrong, Buck?” You asked, looking up at him. He looked down at you and said “it’s just…do you feel the same?”

“Absolutely. I’m sorry- I-I thought I already told you” you said and giggled, of course you were that stupid. He blushed slightly, a small smile creeping onto his face. You’d seen so many emotions from the otherwise stoic Bucky you knew and it made your heart flutter.

He pulled you into his chest again, the tension slowly leaving his body. He closed his eyes, taking in this moment. He felt a warmth in his chest he hadn’t felt in decades, he felt like he was home.

You were ready to spend the rest of your days loving and taking care of Bucky. You’d never felt for anyone else the way you did for Bucky. You knew you’d always love him no matter what happened. You’d always love the subtle ways he shows how he cares for his friends, the way he remembers even the tiniest things about you, the way he tries to pretend he isn’t bursting with joy inside even with rosy pink cheeks.

He pulled away carefully and that smile was still there, you felt like you had butterflies all over. “I love you, Buck” you said softly. He had a new life in his eyes as he said “I- I love you too”

He never thought he’d actually admit his feelings to you, and it’s the scariest thing he’s ever done but he felt so relieved at the same time. You were it for him. Even if he lost everything tomorrow and everyone turned on him, as long as he had you it was all he needed.

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Lo’ak

Neteyam

Sebastian Stan

Bucky Barnes

CW!Bucky Barnes

Chris Evans

Steve Rogers

Ari Levinson

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

[nightghoul381]

Dark If ~Jude Jazza

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Bitter End | Premium End | Epilogue

London, the capital of the United Kingdom, boasted glittering prosperity during the reign of her majesty Queen Victoria.

I’m an ordinary citizen who works as a postman in the city.

I don’t have enough money to buy tickets to the performances I want to see.

(Okay, everything has been delivered for today.)

(If I could work a little more, I would be able to buy tickets to see that performance…)

Kate: “I’m back.”

Director: “Kate! Just in time for…no, but the roads are dangerous at night…”

Kate: “What’s wrong?”

Colleague: “Well, they have a vacancy for a night delivery person, so we’re short-staffed.”

(That’s it!)

Kate: “Please let me go!”

I take on an additional deliver and walk through the townhouse district illuminated by gas lamps.

(All I have to do is deliver a letter addressed to the bookstore manager.)

(Ah, “Kingsley Books”… here it is!)

Kate: “Excuse me, I’m from the post office, the manager…”

(There’s no one here, I guess I’ll just have to come back tomorrow,--Oh, what’s this...)

I picked up the book that had fallen casually at my feet.

As if drawn to something, I opened the untitled book.

Kate: “…!”

The wind whipped up, and I was enveloped in blinding light—

Beautiful man with long hair: “Welcome to the distorted fairy world…”

Beautiful man with long hair: “Our first visitor! Yaaaayyy!”

Beyond my open field of vision, a beautiful long-haired person was waiting for me.

Kate: “H-here… I… I was at the bookstore just now, and…”

I had no idea where I was or who the person in front of me was.

All I know now is that this is not a bookstore, and I still have work to do.

Kate: “Um, I’m in the middle of a delivery. So, I’d like to go back to Kingsly Books.”

Beautiful man with long hair: “I’m afraid that will be difficult.”

Kate: “Huh?”

Beautiful man with long hair: “Actually, I don’t even know how to send you home.”

The man, who introduced himself as Victor, tried to explain things to me and soothe my confused mind.

The place I am in now is between the world of fairy tales and the world in which I live.

Kate: “…Fairy world.”

Victor: “You were led here by an untitled book. Don’t you remember?”

Kate: “Yes. So, does that mean I got lost inside a book?”

Victor: “That’s right. You’re a quick and intelligent young lady.”

(I never thought that the adaptability I had honed as a postman would be put to use in a place like this.)

Kate: “But you… Victor, sir. I’m sure you just talked about a ‘twisted fairy world’.”

Victor: “Alice in Wonderland, Snow White, and Thorn Princess**.”

Victor: “Most fairy tales in the world have a fixed plot, and generally end with a happy ending.”

Victor: “However, in the world of fairy tales, the plot of the story has gone awry, chaos has reached its peak, and the ending is far from happy.”

Kate: “…How can that be?”

Victor: “That’s because…each fairy tale has something missing.”

Kate: “…Something missing. What is that?”

Victor: “Even I don’t know that.”

Victor: “I believe you were called here to look for it.”

(…er, in other words)

Kate: “If I find what’s missing, the distortions in the fairy world will be corrected, and the story will have a happy ending.”

Kate: “Then, I’ll be relieved of my role.”

Victor: “Perhaps then you can return to the world you come from.”

(If that’s the only way, I have no choice but to do it anyway.)

(Find what is missing in the distorted fairy world and correct the distortion. And with my own hands, lead it to a happy ending.)

Then I will return to the world I came from and continue my delivery.

Victor: “Ah, I think it’s almost time to wake up.”

Victor: “Miss Kate. With your hands, create the happiest ending.”

Victor: “—Come now, let’s go to the distorted fairy world.”

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Bitter End | Premium End | Epilogue