#I could talk about this playlist for hours

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Something More

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Since you met Bucky, he's always looked at you with...something more. And you never knew why. One day, you finally find out what he means by it.

Disclaimer: mentions of cheating and swearing, revenge on cheating ex. Bucky deals with said cheating ex. Descriptions of naked/slightly naked Bucky though nothing too explicit. Fluff, found family vibes, Sam and Bucky bickering. Use of nicknames (specifically 'doll'). Not Proof Read.

“What are you still doing here?”

Bucky had just passed your lab. As far as he was aware, you should have left work hours ago. You should have been getting ready, listening to whatever playlist you’d compiled with Wanda, picking your outfit with that perfect smile on your face as you looked in your mirror to fix your lipstick. 

So why were you still here?

You looked up, looking for him and where his voice had travelled from. Your gaze found him standing back in the doorway. The lights behind him were dimer than they usually would be. After the clocks turned six in the evening, they did that to save on energy – even then, they’d only come on if they sensed someone. Before he’d walked down the corridor, the only lights on had been inside your lab with you. 

“Oh, hey.” You turned back to your work. “Just wanted to get some things finished before tomorrow. Hoping Tony might give me half a day.”

Bucky felt himself chuckle as he walked inside. “You do the work of three people. If you asked him, he’d tell you to take a week off.”

You chuckled because you knew it to be true. But you also didn’t like taking too much time away from work. You actually liked your job and the people you worked with. Some more than most. 

“But that still doesn’t answer my question. Shouldn’t you be on your date right about now?”

Bucky looked at his watch. 9:20pm. 

“Oh, uh,” You tried your best to avoid his gaze as you looked away from him. “Yeah…yeah, probably.”

Bucky studied you. And you could feel him doing so. The way he stood there, clipboard loose in his hand and by his side, his eyes fixed on your body, noticing how your shoulders tensed, how you tried your best to hide away from him despite you both being the only two in the room. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

Bucky shook his head and pulled up one of your rolling stools until he was sitting down and facing you. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Yes, it does.”

You forced a smile, still not looking at him but rather at whatever contraption you’d pulled apart only to rebuild again. 

“No, it-”

“It does because you never hide anything from me.”

“Mostly because I can’t,” you muttered to yourself but by the soft chuckle from Bucky, he’d heard you. 

“What is it? What’s going on? Why are you still here?”

It took you a moment but eventually you put down the motherboard and finally looked at him. “If I tell you, it doesn’t leave this room. I don’t need the questions and I don’t need a plethora of super-humans marching or flying down to defend my honour.”

He didn’t like where the conversation was heading but Bucky reluctantly agreed. 

“I’m not on the date, but Matthew is.” 

Matthew was your boyfriend of three years. Bucky had met him a handful of times and he seemed nice enough, but there was always something Bucky didn’t like about him. How he talked, how he walked, how he seemingly didn’t realise how lucky he was to have you. 

“What are you-”

With your hands folded in your lap, you continued to explain. “The date that I told Wanda about, the one that was meant to be for tonight?” 

Bucky nodded. 

“Well, what I thought was meant to be a surprise for me was actually…a surprise for my best friend. Ex-best friend,” you corrected yourself. “Matthew didn’t think I would find out, but when I asked him if I should take any days off work soon, he said no. I thought it was just a fluke, but it wasn’t.”

“Y/n-”

“Matthew broke up with me a week later.”

“What?”

You saw the subtle changes in Bucky’s demeanour as you told him. How his gaze and eyes grew darker, how his shoulders became stiff and alert, how his fists clenched on the table. 

You took a breath. “Matthew broke up with me three weeks ago, but I’m okay.”

“Okay? Okay? I’ll kill him.”

You shot out of your seat and rushed ahead of him, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Bucky Bucky, Bucky, stop. Stop, okay. Look, I’m fine. And I promise, I am okay. Guess finding out that your boyfriend has been sleeping with your supposed best friend for six months kinda softens the aftermath of the break-up.”

“Six months?!”

“Just…sit down? Please?”

It took a little longer than a minute, but eventually he sat back down and you picked up the clipboard that had been dropped to the floor and handed it back to him. 

“How can you be okay?”

You smiled, even if it was still a little sad. “Because I’ve dealt with it.”

“How?”

“Poured glitter into their new washing machine, as well as onto all of their clothes,” you admitted. “Stole the plate out of the microwave, took the hand pumps out of the soap, threw out the car wax from his cleaning kit. You know, just small things that will cause them a nuisance for a lifetime.”

Bucky felt himself laugh. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Don’t have to,” you smiled. “You know better.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You just shrugged, trying to ignore the sting in your heart. “It’s okay.” 

Bucky’s eyes followed you around the table until you sat back down in your seat. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry he didn’t know how good he had it.”

You looked up at him. “Thanks, Buck.”

“I mean it, Y/n. I know you loved him. He didn’t deserve you.”

You felt his words wash over you and settle into your bones. You’d been dealing with the break up on your own. You knew you didn’t have to, but it was easier. Simpler. But hearing him tell you that…it was worth its weight in gold. 

You tried your best to place that familiar look in his eyes as he looked at you. It wasn’t pity, or sadness. Well, maybe a little. But there was something else there. Something…more. You’d noticed it before but even then you couldn’t have given it a name. It was just…

Something More. 

Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was trying to tell you something he didn’t have the courage to say out loud. 

“Want me to take you home?”

You shook your head, “No, it’s okay. I can-”

But then he gave you that smile that always made your stomach do a little flip. The way his lips curved in the corner on his mouth, a slightly sassy but genuine look in his eyes. 

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

With a grateful smile, you smiled and stood up. On the way out, Bucky helped you remove your lab coat before helping put on your actual one. From there, he waited for you to lock up before you finally reached his car and hopped into the passenger seat. 

You’d placed your new address into the car’s GPS and explained to Bucky why you had a new one. 

“Even if she hadn’t moved in, I wouldn’t have wanted to stay there on my own. Knowing everything they’d done together?” You shook your head. “I would have moved, anyway.”

Bucky seemed to adjust himself in his seat, one hand on the wheel as the other rested in between himself and you. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t tell the rest of us.”

You chuckled, already knowing what he was thinking. You knew you’d have to tell them eventually. And you would. Preferably in a place where they couldn’t all suddenly disappear on you or wouldn’t see the masked pain behind your expression which would only lead to more questions. 

You’d become friends with the team not long after you’d joined Shield. Tony had studied your work, produced in Shield labs and instantly had given you an offer to work with him on a permanent basis. Before you could finish spending the day thinking about it, you had orders from Hill telling you, you were to become the new resident Lab Tech at the Compound. 

You’d worked along-side Tony and the rest of his science team, fixed equipment for the team and eventually found a friendship with them all individually. 

Wanda had been the first one; she’d been looking for someone to talk to since Clint was out for the day for Training new recruits. The next had been Tony and Natasha and very soon after had been Clint, Bruce and finally Steve.

Steve had been away on back-to-back missions which resulted in him being one of the last. Within a week of him returning, you’d met everyone else since Tony had decided to throw a party. 

You had asked why, but Pepper had just told you that to Tony it was “just because” but she’d worked on a mission plan. Charity Gala. She’s planned the whole thing with Peter’s Aunt. 

It was at that gala that Bucky had first met your boyfriend. At the time, you’d both only been dating eight months. 

“Did you buy a renovation?”

You dug into your bag for your keys but nodded. “Yeah. It’s kinda been a nice distraction.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

You looked at him, a little offended. “I’m an engineer.”

“I know.” Bucky was still taking in the property. “I’ve met you. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Bucky had seen you build some of the most complicated tech in the world. A handful of times, even Shuri had been shocked and impressed. But he’d also seen you try and build a bookshelf from Ikea on your own. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got some weekends free.” Bucky told you. “I’ll help you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” 

You were taken slightly aback as you saw the smile on his face. But you smiled back anyway. He’d always had that effect on you. 

“Okay.”

The following six weekends were filled with stripping old paint, pulling out and replacing rotten floors and beams, plastering walls and securing the foundations. The building had been with the bank for almost thirty years. Nobody had ever wanted to buy it. 

You’d guessed it had been built in the forties, or thereabouts. A covered porch had been added on to equal the starting point of the front steps, the shutters on the front windows had either been missing or hanging on by a rotten nail so they were soon replaced. There were three matching windows set at equal distance from each other upstairs. One in the middle and one on either side of it – all facing the front of the home. The garden was overgrown to the point where wildflowers had over run themselves and probably created a new breed. 

The back was much in the same way; a covered porch, windows, shutters, and a larger back garden perfect for an allotment and space for kids or dogs to run around. 

Eventually, those six weeks turned into six months. 

You did what you could within the week and Bucky helped with the rest at the weekends. When Sam found out Bucky was helping, he pitched in, too. Though, he was more helpful when placed away from Bucky and at the other side of the house. That had been something you’d learned quickly. They worked well together but the amount of hours they spent arguing about how to paint…

It was safe to say you’d taped out their own spaces in the house and they were not allowed to cross the tape unless they needed a bathroom break or a snack. 

Wanda had been more than helpful on the days where they’d both decided to sneak past the tape and judge each other's work. 

“Hey, hey, hey, would you- Wanda, put me down.”

“Stay in your tape.”

After the first three months, you were finally able to go out and buy new furniture and return the rented ones. 

“Left a bit, left a bit.”

“We need to go right.”

“No, we need to go left.”

Wanda leaned over to you. “How long have they been like this?”

“Two hours. I have tried.”

You sighed and crossed your arms, watching as Sam and Bucky tried to take your new sofa inside. 

“Right, right. Now go up.”

“Up?”

“Yes, up?”

“What are you gonna do? Make it fly?”

Sam just started at Bucky. 

“Oh, for the love of-”

As you threw your arms into the air, Wanda laughed and started walking towards them. Eventually they dropped the furniture and she moved it herself. It fit through your door simply – just as you had expected before the double comedy act decided to take charge. 

Finally, after six long months of stripping, plastering, painting, repainting, rearranging, building, and everything in between, you were finally done. 

You and Bucky lay on the floor together, staring at the ceiling, your beers sweating with condensation onto the placemats. 

“Thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“As much as I love my new kitchen, I think I’m just gonna order in. What do you want?”

“Where are you getting it from?”

After twenty minutes, you and Bucky had decided on a place and ordered two pizzas with a side of fries. “Half an hour. Right.” You stood from the floor. “I’m going for a shower. You can hop in after me.”

Bucky was glad your back was turned from him since he could feel the heat spread across him. 

“Why?”

“Because you stink.”

You heard him laugh. Since day one, you’d never held back from telling him what you thought. It was one of the things he loved about you. 

Upstairs, you turned the shower and stepped inside only to watch the dust and paint flakes fall down with the water and into the drain. Twenty minutes later, your hair was washed for the third time that week – white paint from your skirting boards following the suds of the shampoo. 

And then Bucky walked up the stairs. 

As he reached the top of the staircase and turned his head down the hall, he called out your name. 

“Shower’s free! Just getting dressed!”

“Hey, uh, I-I left you something downstairs. Feel free to open it!”

“Really? Okay.”

Bucky smiled before walking into your bathroom and closing the door but leaving it cracked open slightly. The steam was still leaving the room and he couldn’t open the window just yet. 

However, what he didn’t notice as he carefully got undressed was you walking down the hall. Fresh in your pajamas which consisted of an old t-shirt and shorts, you towel dried your hair except in the defogging mirror in your bathroom, you caught a glimpse of Bucky. 

Naked Bucky. 

His back was turned to the mirror, his muscles lightly flexing as he moved to draw back the shower curtain and step into the shower. You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest or how your legs unconsciously clamped together as you looked at him. 

But as the curtain was drawn back, hiding him from sight, you took in a small breath before hurrying down the hallway, down the stairs and into the living room. 

You were thankful Bucky was in the shower at that moment in fear of him seeing and knowing what the embarrassed and heated look on your face meant. 

The image you’d just witnessed, it was safe to say, was burning into your mind. 

It was the knock on your front door which startled you out from your daydream about Bucky and the way he-

“Hey, two pep- Matthew.” 

What should have been the pizza guy with your pizzas was your ex. 

“What the fuck?”

“Please, please just hear me out,” he begged. “I am so sorry for what I did. I shouldn’t have slept with your best friend but I thought that was what I wanted. But-”

“Goodbye.”

“Wait! Please!”

His hand landed on the door. “Please. I-I thought that was what I wanted but these months apart have made me realise something.”

“Look, I don’t know how you found me but please leave.”

“I’m still in love with you, Y/n. I always was. And I’m ready for more, if that’s what you want.”

Down the hall, you heard your name being called. But Matthew didn’t. 

“I should never have cheated on you, but I promise I never will again. It was good, right? You loved me? I loved you.”

“Please leave.”

“I will spend everyday making it up to you because I realised, I am worthy of you. Please, just give us a chance. I promise-”

In the space of about three seconds, you saw Matthew’s face change from begging to terrified and shocked at the same time before the door you were holding onto tightly opened wider from behind you. 

Then you found yourself met with a freshly showered, completely naked save for the towel wrapped around his waist, Bucky. You felt the heat spread across your entire body as you tried your best to not make it obvious how you were trying to remember the moment for a lifetime. 

The definition of his muscles, the way his arm flexed as it remained on his hip, the metal arm behind you, holding the door securely. The way the beads of water dripped down his neck and tracked down his body and into the top of the towel. The way his eyes burned with a kind of darkness you’d only ever seen in him when he was ready to attack, but somehow still remained soft when they fell on you. 

“Holy-”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I-I-I came to get Y/n back.”

“Oh, really?”

You felt yourself smile up at Bucky, for more than just the reason he was making your ex crap his pants. 

“Y-Yes. I’m worthy of her.”

“You’re not worthy of shit.”

Matthew tried his best to ignore Bucky as he turned back to you. “Please. Y/n. I’m ready. Just come home with me.”

“I have a home. A new home. Very, very far away from you.”

“How did you even find this place?” Bucky asked. 

Matthew had to look at him and eventually spat out that your ex-best friend had seen your car turn down the avenue a few weeks back when she was heading to work. So, he looked out for it and hoped for the best. 

It was in a sudden motion Bucky’s right arm reached out and held Matthew up by the scruff of his collar. “You’re gonna forget you ever learned this address and leave Y/n alone. Do I have to repeat myself, or are we clear?”

A clearing cough came from somewhere behind Matthew. 

The pizza guy. 

“H-hi? S-Sorry about the wait. They’re working on the road at the top of the street so-so I-I had to double back.Two pepperoni?”

You nodded and the guy told you the price that had been exchanged over the phone. 

“Thanks.”

“I hope you resolve…whatever this is. Bye.”

Hopping back on his pizza scooter, he headed towards his next address. 

Matthew finally looked back at Bucky who’s stare hadn’t left him since he picked him up. 

“I don’t like repeating myself, Matthew.”

“But she still loves me.”

“No, she doesn’t.” 

That much had been made clear to Bucky over the last six months. He watched you put whatever anger and sadness you’d bottled up and put away into how you’d pulled out rotting beams and how you stabbed and yanked dead weeds from the ground with all your might. 

He also saw it in your quiet moments after that. How you built yourself a home without any reminiscence of Matthew or your ex-best friend, how you found freedom and love in what was around you and how you let yourself date again. The dates didn’t last too long but they always ended mutually – not one sided. 

“She does.”

You practically rolled your head with your eyes. “I really don’t.”

Bucky just smirked. 

“B-but what about our life together?”

“The one you torched when you fucked my friend? Yeah,” you heard yourself laugh. “That will never exist.”

As you went to walk away, leaving Bucky to deal with Matthew, he called out. 

“You can’t seriously be fucking him?”

Turning on your heel, you looked at both of them. Bucky seemingly didn’t react. Until a sliver of unrecognisable courage came pouring forward. 

“And what if I am?”

Bucky reacted to that. Not that Matthew noticed. 

“Not that it’s any business of yours,” you added. 

“But-”

“Goodbye, Matthew.”

As you walked into the kitchen and laid out the pizzas, it was a few minutes before you heard a cry from Matthew, followed by a crash of plywood from the skip that was ready to be collected the next day. 

Finally, the door closed and Bucky walked back into the kitchen, towel still around his waist. 

Walking out from your laundry room, you took the last mental image of a practically naked Bucky, standing in your home, looking sun-kissed and all kinds of handsome. 

“You left some clothes here the last time you stayed over.” Standing in front of him, you handed him his clothes. 

“Thanks.”

Taking them from you, Bucky smirked as he caught your gaze scanning his entire body. 

“How are you feeling?”

Your gaze flicked back to his, acting as if you hadn’t just been checking him out, but the heat on your face gave you away. 

“Good.” You smiled. “Actually, really good. Kinda shocked me when it was him and not the pizza guy- thank you, by the way. For dealing with him. I’m sure there’s some speech I should give you about threats of violence but it was nice to see him scared after everything he did.”

“Clearly he didn’t get a new washing machine.” Bucky held up his hand, small flecks of glitter on the palm. You laughed. 

“You can’t escape it.”

Bucky chuckled, too. “Guess you can’t.”

It was in the silence that followed, your hand holding onto his from when you moved it to see the glitter, that you saw that look in his eyes again. That something more look. He’d looked at you like that since the beginning. 

For a while you thought that was just how he looked at people. But you saw the way he looked at Steve and Sam and Natasha and Wanda. You saw the way he looked at strangers on the street as they walked past him, you saw the way he looked at kids when they walked up to him and asked for his autograph, you saw the way he looked at reporters when they asked about the 40s or asked a question he didn’t like. 

You saw the way he looked at everyone else. 

And then there was the way he looked at you. 

Something more.

You felt yourself step forward a little as he dropped his hand and held onto yours. It was a subtle difference. The way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way he spoke to you. 

It was his turn to step closer. 

Carefully placing his clothes down on the kitchen island beside you both, his other hand reached out for you, brushing the hair from your eyes. 

And for a rare moment, you shocked him. Usually, he knew everything with you. It was rare you had to actually tell him something. He spent that long looking at you, it was almost as if his gaze could stare directly into your soul and know what you needed. 

But this. 

This he didn’t see coming. 

No matter how long he’d hoped for it. 

You kissed him. 

And for a moment he was still, feeling your lips against his. Then it was like he was brought back to life. Feeling your hand in his, he squeezed your hand and you squeezed back. Finally, he kissed you back. His hands came to hold your face as he stepped into you, his kiss matching yours. 

In a few turns, your back was against the counter of your kitchen island, your hands sending goosebumps throughout him as they trailed down his chest, sides and held him closer by his neck and back. 

It wasn’t long before he lifted you onto the counter and your legs spread open for him to step closer. Slowly, the kisses peppered away until you were both left gasping for breath, feeling his forehead against yours. 

“Shit.” Bucky eventually breathed, a small laugh escaping him. And you giggled, holding him closer. 

“You better get dressed before you give my new neighbours an exclusive.”

Bucky looked behind him, realising you were both in a semi-clear view of the blind-less windows. They were getting delivered and installed on Monday. For now, you just had curtains and the panels on the windows. 

Then he looked down. The towel was slowly coming loose from his hips. Then he swore for a different reason. 

“You might have to give me a minute.”

It took you a second to realise what he was talking and blushing about. Then you tried to hide your laugh. “Either you put on some shorts or you give my neighbours an original welcome to the neighbourhood.”

Bucky gave you a look before looking around. Finally, grabbing his clothes, he surprised you with a quick kiss to your lips which made you smile and distracted you enough to let him go. Behind your kitchen island, he slipped on his shorts before removing the towel. 

“Thought I might get a show.”

Bucky gave you another look. “I’d rather save that for when it’s just you and me, doll.”

You hummed, your arms coming back to his shoulders. “Fair enough.”

A shorter silence came over you both as Bucky looked at you again. 

“What? What is it?”

You just kept looking. 

“You’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads.”

“You always look at me like that.”

“Like you’ve got two heads?”

You shook your head. “No. Like I’m…something more. I’ve noticed it for a while but I don’t know…why do you look at me like that?”

Bucky just smiled, already knowing what you were talking about. “Because you are something more, doll. You’re more than something more to me.”

You searched his face for what felt like hours, trying to decipher his cryptic message until it finally clicked with you. His message hadn’t been cryptic at all. It had been staring at you, quite literally, for years. 

Bucky watched as the expressions changed on your face; trying to find his meaning, wondering if you’d found the right one, convincing yourself it wasn’t possible, coming back to your original conclusion, accepting it though not fully, hoping it was true, not wanting to embarrass yourself if you were wrong, being certain you were right, and then not, until finally you’d found the courage to ask him if you were. 

And he just smiled. Freely, and without hesitation, he answered. 

“I’m in love with you, Y/n. That’s why you’re more than something more to me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You already had someone.” Bucky said, a little defeat in his voice. 

“Had being the key word.” 

He smiled and looked back at you. “I didn’t want to rush things. We…we both needed time.”

Unconsciously, your body moved closer to his touch as his hand traced down your arm before he held onto your hand. Fingers danced around each other before he finally pulled your hand close to his lips and kissed your knuckles, then your palm, and finally your inner wrist. 

Finally, your head touched his. Eyes closed, breaths taking in and let out in sync. 

“I am in love with you, Y/n. I have been for a long time and I don’t wanna rush this.”

You leaned up and looked at him. “Then we won’t. Like you said, we both needed time. And, Bucky?”

He looked at you, again. 

“You’re more than something more to me, too.”

Then he smiled, that genuine if slightly sassy grin. “I know, doll.”

[rosierin]

midnight snack run │atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; you all go for a late-night snack run then talk about your love life in the car park

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The dorm was a disaster zone of notebooks, half-drunk coffee cups, and an open laptop playing a study playlist that no one was actually listening to. The four of them— Atsumu, Osamu, Suna, and (y/n)— were camped out in (y/n)'s tiny dorm room, attempting to cram for an upcoming exam.

Osamu, leaning back in his chair, suddenly sighed dramatically. “I’m hungry.”

Suna, barely looking up from his phone, muttered, “Shocker.”

“No, like starvin’. I need food now.” Osamu groaned, rubbing his stomach. “If I don’t eat in the next ten minutes, I might actually pass out.”

Atsumu, sprawled out on the floor with his notes abandoned beside him, snorted. “Ya just ate a whole bag of chips, fatso.”

“Yeah, and? That was ages ago.”

(Y/n), perched on her bed with a highlighter in hand, glanced at the clock. “The store closes in, like, twenty minutes.”

Silence. Then—

“Get in the car.”

Suna was already grabbing his keys.

The four of them abandoned their so-called study session, scrambling to throw on hoodies and slip into shoes before tumbling out the door. The night air was cool, crisp, buzzing with that particular kind of spontaneous energy.

They piled into Suna’s car, Atsumu calling shotgun before (y/n) could even blink. Osamu slid into the back with her, stretching out comfortably while (y/n) was almost squished between him and the door.

Suna adjusted the mirrors, deadpan. “If I get a ticket for speeding, you’re paying.”

Osamu scoffed. “I literally have no money.”

“Liar,” Atsumu chimed in.

Suna glanced at Osamu in the mirror. “Then I’ll make you do it in community service hours.”

(Y/n) grinned, already feeling lighter than she had all day. “Drive, Rintaro. We have a mission.”

"Yes ma'am."

After that, Suna pulled out of the parking lot, the radio humming low in the background as the streetlights blurred past. The night stretched ahead of them, quiet and endless, filled with nothing but open roads and the kind of laughter that only came with knowing you were exactly where you were meant to be. To anyone else, it was just a snack run. But to them, nights like these were something sacred.

Gazing out the window, (y/n) smiled. I wonder if the store has strawberry shortcake?

The store was quiet, a few last-minute shoppers weaving through the aisles before closing time. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as the four of them scattered in different directions, each with their own mission.

Osamu took approximately fifteen minutes trying to decide what crisp flavour he wanted, standing in front of the shelf like it was a life-altering decision. Eventually, with a dramatic sigh, he shrugged and tossed all of them into the trolley. “Problem solved.”

Atsumu, trailing behind, wrinkled his nose. “Ya gonna eat all that?”

“Not in one night, dumbass.”

“Ya sure? ‘Cause I’d believe it.”

Osamu smirked. “Unlike you, I can actually afford it. Some of us work, y’know.”

(Y/n) glanced over. “Oh yeah, how’s the restaurant job going?”

Osamu shrugged. “Not bad. Pays decent, tips are alright. Plus, I get free food sometimes.”

Atsumu scoffed. “Ya mean ya steal food.”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “No, I just happen to be really good at takin’ home leftovers.”

Meanwhile, Atsumu debated buying an energy drink, picking up a can and inspecting it like it held the answers to his future. “Man, I need somethin’ to keep me awake,” he muttered, turning it in his hands. “But this stuff ain’t good for athletes. Coach would kill me."

Suna, grabbing a bottle of water, deadpanned, “Then don’t drink it.”

Atsumu groaned. “But I need it.”

Suna shrugged. “Then drink it.”

Atsumu scowled. “Yer no help.”

Across the store, (y/n) stood in front of the ready-made cake section, practically drooling over the rows of neatly packaged desserts. There was a small strawberry shortcake in a plastic container that looked perfect— exactly like she had wanted— light, fluffy, and covered in fresh whipped cream. She reached for it, already imagining how good it would taste, but the second she checked her bank balance on her phone, she sighed and put it back down.

Suna, who had seen the whole thing, grabbed the cake without a word and dropped it into the cart.

(Y/n)’s face lit up instantly. She turned to him, beaming, and flung her arms around him in a quick but tight hug. “Rin, you’re the best! Thank you!”

Suna, unbothered, patted her head. “Yeah, yeah. You can do the intro for my dissertation.”

(Y/n) pulled back, narrowing her eyes. “That’s why you did it? Not because you love me?”

Suna pulled a face, considering.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, affectionately swatting his arm.

Suna smirked, amused. “C'mon it's a fair trade.”

"Whatever, Rin. I'll do half— max."

"Deal."

Atsumu, watching from a few feet away, clicked his tongue. “This is favoritism.”

Osamu snorted. “Jealous?”

Atsumu scoffed, crossing his arms. “No.”

(Y/n) turned to him, holding up the cake. “Did you want a piece, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu, suddenly unable to look her in the eye, scratched the back of his head. “I mean… I wouldn't say no..."

Beside them, Osamu and Suna exchanged a knowing glance, barely holding back their smirks. Once (y/n) was out of ear-shot, the latter smirked. "She's talking about the cake, right?"

Atsumu shot them a glare.

Can't they just give it a rest?

After finally paying for their haul, the four of them made their way back to the car. Of course, in true Osamu fashion, he had refused to buy a shopping bag, grumbling about how they “weren’t gonna scam him outta another ten yen.” Instead, he opted to carry his absurdly large stack of crisp bags and snacks in his arms, which, unsurprisingly, obscured his entire line of vision.

“Dude, you can’t even see,” Suna pointed out, unlocking the car with a click.

“I got it,” Osamu shot back, voice slightly strained as he tried to maneuver his way around the parking lot.

(Y/n) snorted, reaching out to steady a teetering bag of chips before it could hit the ground. “You’re doing great, sweetie.”

Atsumu, already munching on a chocolate bar, gave him a pointed look. “Ya look like a human vending machine.”

“Least I got actual snacks. All you got is a sugar rush and regret.”

Atsumu narrowed his eyes, taking an exaggeratedly loud bite just to prove a point.

Suna shook his head, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Hurry up before I leave all of you behind.”

Eventually, after much struggle (and Osamu nearly dropping half of his snacks twice), they managed to pile back into the car.

“Alright,” (y/n) sighed contentedly, cracking open a drink. “Snack time.”

Soon, the scent of junk food filled the space and as the vehicle fell into easy silence, Suna took the opportunity to scroll through his phone and open Spotify. He picked a song, letting it hum low through the speakers.

Next to him, Atsumu took one bite of his sandwich and crumbs exploded onto the seat.

“Dude,” Suna groaned. “Can you eat like a normal human?”

“Shuddap,” the blonde replied between mouthfuls.

Meanwhile, (y/n) was practically inhaling her strawberry shortcake, discussing how the tartness of the jam complemented the sweetness of the cream. Osamu nodded along, making muffled sounds of agreement through his own snack.

Atsumu gave them a blank look. “Nerds.”

(Y/n) just frowned at him.

Osamu flipped him the bird.

Then, Suna leaned back. “You guys got anything goin’ on in your love lives, or what?"

Osamu shrugged. “Talkin’ stage with a girl in my class. She's cute but I ain't feelin' it."

Atsumu swallowed his food, scoffing obnoxiously. “’'S'cause ya got no game.”

At this, everyone turned to him— unblinking— one eyebrow raised accusatorily.

Atsumu suddenly felt oddly small.

“You can talk, Mister One-Shot-Wonder,” (y/n) said accusingly. “Least your brother can secure himself a second date.”

Osamu folded his arms, looking awfully smug as she defended him.

Meanwhile, his brother pulled a face, indignant.

"Eh!? Where's this come from??" Atsumu asked, visibly insulted. "Also, I choose not to go on second dates."

A scoff. "Yeah, 'cause you sleep with them on the first date then never speak to them again."

There was somewhat of an awkward tension in the air as (y/n) scolded him. The world knew it was because she always hated how Atsumu handled women. Even after all her long-winded lectures about his dating life, he still carried on with his frivolous ways, advice falling upon deaf ears.

Osamu and Suna, however, knew better. Atsumu hadn't lied— he really did choose not to go on second dates. Not because he couldn't, not because others would lose interest. The simple, and only, reason for his 'one-shot wonders' was, in fact, sitting right in front of him.

Osamu debated easing the tension by making some sort of half-hearted joke, but just as he opened his mouth, his twin cut in.

“Listen, I'll go on a second date when I find someone worth my time."

And there it was— a perfect opportunity to shift the atmosphere.

"And who would that be?" Osamu probed, a knowing lilt to his otherwise measured voice.

Almost on cue, Atsumu tensed, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

He leaned into his seat, suddenly unable to look anyone in the eye, his face burning as his twin and Suna watched him flounder in real time.

(Y/n), on the other hand, watched him expectantly, not saying a word.

Suna smirked, tilting his head. “What’s wrong, ‘Tsumu? Can’t think of anyone worth your time?”

Osamu feigned a concerned look. “Real shame. Maybe no one’s interestin' enough for ya, huh?”

(Y/n) watched them bicker, blissfully unaware of the real reason behind Atsumu’s silence. With a teasing smile, she nudged his arm. “Oh, c’mon, ‘Tsumu. There’s gotta be someone you like.”

Atsumu’s throat went dry. He swallowed hard, willing his voice to work. “I mean— I—"

The words got stuck.

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, forever waiting.

Osamu and Suna, sensing his absolute distress, exchanged a glance— and then pounced.

“Aww, ya nervous, ‘Tsumu?”

“Wow, he actually can’t talk. That’s a first.”

Osamu nudged (y/n). “Maybe it’s someone real close to home.”

A frown.

Suna smirked. “Yeah, like, really close.”

Atsumu’s brain stalled.

(Y/n) stared at him, her expression shifting from amused to suspicious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She frowned, feeling like an outsider in a conversation she wasn’t privy to. A fleeting thought crossed her mind— were they talking about her? No, that couldn’t be it. They were probably talking about the girl from their shared seminar, the pretty one who always asked Atsumu for his notes. Yeah, that must be it.

“I need some air,” she muttered, opening the car door.

Suna and Osamu exchanged a look— uh oh.

Atsumu shot them a glare— now look what you've done— before quickly slipping out of the car to follow her.

He found her a few steps away, perched on one of the railings where the trolleys were kept, arms crossed as she stared at the deserted parking lot.

“Oi,” he called out, a little softer than usual. "S'cold out here. Want my jacket?"

A hum.

Swiftly pulling his hoodie over his head, he draped it over (y/n).

"Thanks."

Silence.

“So… about earlier," Atsumu began, leaning beside her. He took several glances in her direction, only to find her staring straight ahead— which could mean one of two things:

A. She's pissed off. B. She's thinking.

Both were a reason for concern.

"They were just messin’ around. When are they not?" The latter part of his sentence was delivered with an unintentional scoff.

Finally, (y/n) glanced at him, almost making his heart leap out of his chest.

“Who is she?”

Atsumu hesitated. “Eh?”

“The girl." Her voice carried hints of hesitation, and Atsumu hadn't missed the way her fingers fiddled with the sleeves of her— or rather—his hoodie. "Do I know her?”

Atsumu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… ya do.”

Her stomach twisted slightly. Atsumu always told her everything, but now it felt like he was holding back. Love lives were important. Why wouldn’t he just tell her? He usually did.

Atsumu shifted on his feet, gaze flickering toward hers before settling on the pavement. “I’ll tell ya when the time is right.”

A double meaning lingered in his words, but (y/n) didn’t catch it.

Not yet, at least.

She sighed, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the weight of the conversation. Atsumu watched her closely, then, as if sensing she needed a distraction, his lips curved into a smirk.

“Y’know, if ya wanted to get me alone, sweetheart, ya coulda just asked,” he teased, nudging her side.

(Y/n) scoffed, shoving him lightly. “Oh, please. If I wanted to be alone with you, it wouldn't be somethin' as boring as the middle of some dodgy car park."

Atsumu chuckled as (y/n) gestured towards the dark, empty stretch of tarmac around them. “You sayin' I ain’t excitin’ enough for ya?"

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile creeping onto her lips. “Not even close.”

Atsumu hummed, stepping closer, his voice dipping into something softer. “That so? Guess I gotta work harder then.”

His hand came up suddenly, flicking her nose.

(Y/n) made a small noise, scrunching her face as she swatted at him. “Hey!"

He laughed a little louder this time, dodging her attempts to shove him away. “Has anyone ever told ya how adorable ya are?"

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” She tried to sound annoyed, but the laughter bubbling in her throat betrayed her.

Atsumu grinned. “Nah, ya love me.”

Before she could fire back, a loud honk shattered the moment.

They both turned to see Suna sitting smugly behind the wheel, his hand resting lazily on the horn. Osamu, in the passenger seat, rolled down the window.

"Oi, quit flirtin’, you two. There's a boxed mac and cheese waitin' for me at home,” Osamu called, sounding comically urgent.

(Y/n) groaned, shaking her head at the latter while Atsumu let out an exaggerated sigh. “Can’t get a moment of peace ‘round here.”

Still, neither of them argued as they trudged back to the car, a lingering warmth between them that neither was willing to acknowledge just yet.

As soon as they got in, Suna cranked up the stereo, and (y/n) immediately perked up at the familiar song. Without hesitation, she started singing along, Osamu harmonizing lazily beside her.

Atsumu cleared his throat, eyes ablaze. “Suna, turn this shit up."

Suna wordlessly complied, huffing a laugh through his nose as he watched the trio sing in the rear-view mirror.

And just like that, the tension melted, laughter bubbling up between them as they sped down the empty streets, the city lights stretching endlessly ahead.

[eternallyordinary]

“He Belongs to You” - Part 9

spotify playlist<3

Part 1<3

Part 2<3

Part 3<3

Part 4<3

Part 5<3

Part 6<3

Part 7<3

Part 8<3

*:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ: *✧・ﾟ:* ˚₊· *:✧*:

Summary: You push Homelander to the brink, and yet… you’re the only one who can save him.

Warnings: violence, smut, yandere, control, age gap relationship, self harm, cutting, knifes, guns, aggressive behavior, harassment, foul language (let me know if i forgot any<3)

*:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ: *✧・ﾟ:* ˚₊· *:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ:

Vaught had given you barely twenty-four hours to breathe before forcing you in front of the cameras. You had to remind yourself you weren’t doing it for them, you were doing it for the people. For Mrs. Lieberman, even if her husband was a piece of shit. Was he even a piece of shit? While you may be one of the good supes, you are a diamond in the rough. You’ve heard stories of supes hurting others, taking and never giving. Maybe he was right in what he said. Maybe he had every right to puncture you so deeply, and you’re not even referring to the stab wound-you’re talking about the puncture it left in your chest, the heavy feeling of sadness it left on your heart. Vought on the other hand had its agenda, and it didn’t include your feelings.

“He was a piece of shit,” Homelander reminds you. “He deserved to die.” You snap out of your trance. Does he fucking read minds too? He gives you a “tsk tsk” look, coming up behind you and grabbing your waist. He can’t read minds, he just already knows you so well.

Homelander insisted on taking you up to your bed and taking care of you. You guys settled into bed and watched another dumb reality show. While yes, the shows are dumb, it’s nice to watch normal people being normal and doing normal things. He watched as you fell asleep - stroking your hair and taking in your scent. The next morning, you could tell he didn’t sleep at all, again. While you understood he didn’t really need sleep to function, you couldn’t help but feel bad he was so restless and you were the reason why.

Your makeup was sprawled out on the counter. One thing that hasn’t changed about you since taking compound V is your lack of organization, your messy side. Sometimes putting stuff away neatly felt to overwhelming. Homelander looked at the mess on the counter and couldn’t help but laugh. Moments like these he was reminded of your age, the youth in you that still exists.

“Why don’t you just have them do your makeup?” He asks. “I like doing it,” you say. You loved zoning out to some music or a good podcast and making up your face. “You don’t even need it,” he says. You roll your eyes. “That’s corny”. He pinches your side and tickles you. “I mean it!” You let out a laugh. It feels good to laugh and forget about the events of yesterday, even if it’s just for a second.

You sit on the bathroom counter, your feet in the sink. You slowly put on your makeup, as if slowing down would help you avoid this god forsaken interview. You examine your neck. A faint raised scar sit on top of it. You were still not used to the way your body healed so quickly. When you first were injected, you wanted to try everything, testing yourself to the brink. You slit your wrists so deep you swore it was the end, but marvelously, you lived. You never told anyone this. A lot of things you have kept to yourself - maybe one day you could tell Homelander. You feel like if anyone, he’d understand.

—

Homelander sat next to you in the sterile, white-lit CNN studio, his presence towering even in stillness. The host, Mark Davidson, was the perfect embodiment of corporate news—polished, rehearsed, the kind of man who probably voted against the Equal Rights Amendment but smiled on camera and called female colleagues “kiddo.” You could tell this was true just based on his appearance, but his demeanor was another story. He addressed Homelander immediately, kissing his ass as if they were longtime pals. Does he know who he’s trying to impress? Like Homelander would give a fuck. He eyed you up and down, sizing you up and taking in every inch of your curves, looking at the way your suit squeezes your ass. Maybe you should’ve got longer shorts like Homelander suggested. You find yourself pulling them down. Homelander doesn’t miss a beat, he notices this exchange and his face falls. Here we go.

The segment started smoothly, fake smiles and empty pleasantries. Until it didn’t.

“First off,” Mark began, leaning slightly toward Homelander, “let me just say—what a remarkable display of heroism from you yesterday. The way you handled the shooter, the way you neutralized the threat—truly, an inspiration,” Mark gestures to you, “This one is lucky to be able to shadow you the way she did yesterday. Not a lot of supes, especially women supes can say they’ve had that experience. Truly once in a lifetime, kiddo.” He gives you a fake smile. Ew.

You stiffened.

Oh. Here we go.

Homelander’s face didn’t change at first. A slow blink. A twitch of his jaw. A subtle shift in energy, but you felt it. That coiled thing beneath the surface.

The interviewer kept going, oblivious. “The people of New York—and the country—owe you their thanks. It’s moments like these that remind us why you’re America’s greatest hero, Homelander.”

Ashley, standing just off-camera, was already rubbing her temples.

And then—

“I wasn’t going to do shit.”

A silence so thick it seemed to suck the air from the studio.

Mark Davidson blinked. “…I’m sorry?”

Homelander leaned forward, his voice deceptively smooth. “Come on Marky Mark. You’re not that old… you have a toupee but your hearing is still intact, right? I said, I. wasn’t. going. to. do. shit.”

The words were sharp, like the edge of a blade being slowly pressed to someone’s throat. He gestured toward you. “I’d like you to apologize for treating her like an idiot. Because she’s the one who ran through the crowd. She’s the one who stopped bullets with her hands. I was simply enjoying the show. I got to say, watching my girl in action like that really made my cock hard.” Homelander grabs his junk, and then gives an evil, smile. Your eyes widen. You’re praying to God your dad isn’t watching this at home.

Mark opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“And what’d she get for all the work she did?” Homelander’s voice darkened, the weight of it pressing into the room. “Some incel with a tiny dick shooting her in the chest. And then an ungrateful prick stabbing her in the fucking neck. And then, you, an old geezer with balls that probably hang down to the floor as soon as your pants drop, treating her like nothing. God bless America, am I right?!”

The camera operator hesitated, looking toward the producers. Should they keep rolling?

Ashley, off to the side, looked like she was about to vomit.

“Cut it! Cut the fucking cameras!” She pleads.

Mark forced a chuckle, shifting slightly in his seat. “Well, of course, we—”

“Oh yeah,” Homelander continued, flashing that too-perfect smile, “I killed him too. Both of them. Didn’t I, baby?” Homelander puts a possessive hand on your leg. “And I’d do it again.”

Ashley squeezed her eyes shut.

The host paled. “Right, but—”

“Say you’re sorry.”

A second of pure, suffocating silence.

“Did I fucking stutter? I said, say you’re sorry.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Now say it like you mean it. And I want you to look into the camera while you say it. So the viewers at home, the wonderful citizens of America know how fucking sorry you are.”

“I….. I’m sorry. I am really sorry.” Mark says.

Ashley frantically gestured to the control room, Cut it. Cut it now. The segment’s lead producer hesitated—Vought wouldn’t like this, but ratings. The feed stayed live.

Mark cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

You exhaled, keeping your posture poised, but the moment was spiraling. You needed to smooth this over before Homelander decided to go completely off the rails.

So you leaned in slightly, brushing your fingers against Homelander’s wrist—a tiny touch, barely noticeable, but he felt it. His muscles twitched, but the edge of his rage dulled just a little. You knew he’d appreciate it.

“Look,” you said, keeping your voice calm, even. “At the end of the day, we’re here to protect people. That’s the priority.” You glanced at Mark. “And I think what Homelander is saying—passionately—is that it’s easy to put people like us on a pedestal. But we’re still…” You hesitated for half a second, choosing your words carefully. “We’re still people. We have families and friends and people who love us. Some of us didn’t even choose to be this way. And yet, we continue to fight for all of you.”

Homelander’s lip twitched, amusement flickering through his irritation. How did you pull that out of your ass? Nice save.

Mark forced a tight smile. “Of course. And on that note, let’s take a quick break.”

The second the cameras cut, Ashley grabbed onto her assistant, also Ashley.

“Oh my God,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Does he ever stop talking?”

Homelander grinned, hearing her. “I don’t appreciate the way he spoke to her.”

Ashley closed her eyes briefly, muttering something that sounded a lot like fucking kill me before inhaling sharply. She approaches the two of you with panicked strides.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever. We have another sit-down with Cameron Coleman, and—”

“No.”

Ashley blinked. “No?”

Homelander smiled. “We’re done.”

She opened her mouth—then shut it. Not worth it.

She turned to you instead. “Can you at least—”

“I’d like to take a day to recover after being stabbed in the neck,” you said simply. “If that’s okay with you, Ashley.”

Ashley groaned, throwing her hands up. “Great. Perfect. Fantastic. I hope you two are very happy together.”

—

The second you stepped out into the crisp New York air, Homelander turned to you with a smirk.

“Dinner tonight?”

The shift was so abrupt you almost laughed.

You raised a brow. “We’re just ignoring all of that?”

“What’s there to ignore?” he said smoothly. “I defended my girl on national television. Very romantic, if you ask me.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest.

“And you… you liked it.” Homelander said.

It’s true. Yesterday, you would’ve torn him a part for claiming you on national television. But this time? It was hot the way he defended you, the way he treated you as an equal and made sure the man said sorry. It turned you on, to be honest.

You give an innocent little smile and decide not to say a word. He knows that look, a naughty girl trying to hide how naughty she really is.

—

Dinner felt… normal. Or at least, as normal as things could be.

You both traded in your suits for something more relaxed. Homelander wasn’t good at wearing “normal clothes”. To be honest, he didn’t really own any. Never had a reason to wear them. While you had other clothes, you didn’t love dressing up. You preferred comfort. You threw on a baggy pair of low rise jeans, a cashmere sweater, and some loafers. You hoped this would be good enough for wherever you two were headed. You had a feeling he would appreciate more skin, but that’s just not who you were. It confused him as during the photoshoot, you had no problem wearing a bikini, sexualizing yourself. But that’s different. That was you taking your power back. Right now, you just wanted to be cozy.

The restaurant was intimate, warm candlelight flickering against polished wood.

Paparazzi lurked outside, but neither of you cared. For the first time in days, you let yourself relax. You figured you’d get home to thousands of tweets criticizing the fact you two went on a date after a mass shooting. You didn’t care. For a moment, you felt like you could finally breathe.

You even caught yourself laughing at something stupid he said. The bill came, but you both wanted to Basque in the normalcy a little bit longer.

And then—

“Let’s get another drink,” you mused.

Homelander smirked. “Is that a request or a command?”

You grinned. “Neither. A suggestion.”

“Then I suggest we do it.”

—

The bar was dim, humming with quiet conversation.

He ordered an old fashioned, you ordered a dirty martini. His fingers drum against his glass, slow and methodical, as he watches the amber liquid swirl inside.

You sip your martini, savoring the briny bite of it as you glance around the bar. The low hum of conversation, the clink of ice in glasses, the faint melody of jazz drifting through the air—it all feels normal. Comforting, even.

For the first time in a long time, you feel at ease. The tension in your shoulders loosens, the ever-present hum of anxiety in the back of your mind dulls. You’re not waiting for something to go wrong. Not looking for a fight.

But then, like clockwork, the universe delivers.

“Homelander, oh my god, it’s really you.” Two girls your age swarm him like he’s some kind of messiah. They’re draped in tight dresses, teetering on sky-high heels, cleavage spilling out as if they’re on display. It’s obvious they pregamed before heading to the club—something you’ve never had the slightest interest in.

“Hi, ladies,” Homelander greets them, his voice dripping with amusement. Forty-eight hours ago, he would’ve dragged one of them into the bathroom, fucked her raw, and left Ashley to clean up the PR mess. Now, he actually tries to feel something—lust, arousal, that primal hunger that used to come so naturally. But it’s gone. That doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun, though—just enough to get under your skin.

One of the girls clings to his arm, eyes wide with curiosity. “Where’s your suit?” she asks in that unmistakable Kardashian-esque drawl. Homelander places a hand on her lower back.

You fume. Electricity crackles through your veins, invisible to the naked eye. Jealousy. Fantastic.

“Well, you see, this one here is a little too humble—made me come out in Tom Ford,” he smirks.

You swirl the olives in your martini, forcing a smirk of your own as you glance up at the group. You don’t want him to know this is getting to you, though he doesn’t need to hear your heartbeat twice to know it is.

“Well, this is pretty hot too, I won’t lie.” The girl giggles, flipping her hair, and Homelander humors her with a charming smile, pretending to care.

“Isn’t it?” you chime in, standing from your chair. “Told you it would turn you into a looker. I was right.” You turn to the bartender, raising a finger. “Hey, when you get a minute, how about a round of shots for everyone in the bar? On Homelander. America’s hero!”

The girls cheer, mistaking your pettiness for generosity. Homelander’s smirk falters. He started this to make you jealous, to get you hot and bothered. But in true stubborn fashion, you had to take it a step further, didn’t you?

“Can you take a picture of us?!” the ringleader chirps, holding out her phone.

“Oh my gosh. Of course! I would love to.” You take the phone, pretending to snap a hundred pictures. In reality, you’ve just wiped it clean with a factory reset, just to make her life difficult. I mean, it’s better than lasering her face off.

“Y’all have so much fun,” you say sweetly, handing it back. “I’m gonna see if one of those Columbia boys over there wants to fuck me.”

The glass in Homelander’s hand shatters. One of the girls shrieks.

“We’re leaving,” he growls, grabbing your arm in a vice grip. That’ll leave a bruise.

—

He drags you outside, around the corner, into the shadows. He towers over you, chest heaving, eyes searing into yours. His hand twitches, moving toward your throat—but then he remembers your voice from the other night.

“You choked me,” you had whispered, wide-eyed and fragile.

He clenches his jaw, then slams his fist into the brick beside your head, cracking it. He wouldn’t hurt you. But he has to release the monster somehow. Why did you have to pull it out of him?

“What the fuck was that?” he demands.

You tilt your head, lips curling. “Me playing your game.”

His nostrils flare. “You want to be fucked by some young college kid? Someone your age? They won’t know how to touch you. They won’t know how to make you feel the way I do. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re mine?”

“Oh, come on. I was just trying to piss you off. You knew what you were doing, flirting with those girls in front of me. I thought tonight was supposed to be normal. Just me and you. But there’s always a game. Always some fucking twist.”

His fists loosen against the brick, his gaze softening—just a fraction.

“You’re jealous,” he murmurs.

“No, I’m not. I just think it’s really fucking immature to—”

“You’re jealous. Just admit it.”

“I’m not fucking jealous,” you snap, shoving him with more force than you knew you had. Blame it on the martini.

A low growl rumbles in his chest. His cock throbs. Oh, how he wants to take you—hard, rough, make you feel it. He thought you were too fragile. Maybe you’re not.

You stare at each other, the tension thick enough to snap, and then—you collide.

Mouths crash, hands claw, bodies tangle. Your legs wrap around him as he lifts you effortlessly, lips dragging over your throat, nipping, teasing.

“My sweet, jealous girl,” he taunts against your skin, voice dark and dripping with intent. “Daddy has to punish you now.”

Before you can react, you’re airborne, the wind rushing past you. Minutes later, you crash through the balcony doors, swallowed by the dim glow of the room, breathless, wild.

“Turn around,” he orders, rough, commanding. “Hands and knees.”

You obey without hesitation. Fabric tears. His grip on you tightens.

“I told you I had to punish you,” he murmurs, kneeling behind you. His palm comes down—hard. A sharp gasp escapes you, your body jerking forward at the sting. It hurts. It burns. But fuck, it feels so good.

Then he stills.

His hands remain on you, warm and trembling. His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven movements.

And that’s when it hits him.

You’re innocent. His sweet girl. His delicate thing.

He had forgotten. Again.

A violent war rages inside him. The instinct to take, to claim, to devour you whole—it burns like an inferno. But you—you aren’t meant for that. You’re trusting him with something no one else ever has.

And that trust? It’s both his salvation and his undoing.

His hands, once gripping your hips like a vice, loosen. He exhales sharply, like he’s forcing himself back into his body, back into control.

Then, gently—so gently—he turns you over, onto your back, caging you beneath him. His forehead presses to yours, his fingers trembling as they trace your jaw. His touch is different now. Not punishing. Not possessive. Just… reverent.

“I—” He stops himself, shaking his head, struggling for air. He needs a second. He needs to reel himself in.

Your hands slide up his arms, fingers curling at his shoulders. Your pulse is fast, but not with fear. With something else.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “I can’t.”

You reach up, brushing his hair back from his face, grounding him. Soft. Slow. Steady.

“You won’t,” you whisper.

His chest tightens. His jaw clenches. He wants to believe you, but God help him, he knows himself too well.

“You don’t know that,” he grits out, still hovering over you like he’s afraid to lay his full weight down, afraid to lose himself in you completely. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

Your fingers skim his jaw, tilting his face toward yours. “I know you.”

That stops him cold.

You should be afraid. You should run. He wants you to. It would make this easier.

But you don’t. And you won’t.

“Let me have you,” you whisper, voice shaky but sure.

His breath stutters. His eyes—those impossibly blue, piercing eyes—search yours, looking for hesitation, for uncertainty. But there’s none.

“Baby…” he exhales, shaking his head like he’s still trying to fight it.

“I want you,” you say, firmer now, fingers tightening in his hair.

A low, pained groan rumbles in his throat. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his grip on you ironclad as he breathes through the chaos in his head.

Then—finally—he lets go.

He kisses you slow, deep, like he’s surrendering to something greater than himself. His hands map out your body, skimming your waist, your thighs, treating you like something precious, something he’s never deserved.

And for the first time in his life, he’s careful.

His lips linger on yours, moving with aching slowness, memorizing the taste of you. His touch softens, no longer gripping, no longer taking.

Because this isn’t about him. It’s about you.

His forehead presses to yours as he exhales, trying to settle the wildfire raging inside him. He should be the one in control—he always is. But now? You’re the one keeping him steady.

Your fingers skim up his back, tracing the hard lines of muscle. “I trust you,” you whisper.

Three simple words. But they hit him harder than anything ever has.

His hands still. His breathing stops. He wants to say you shouldn’t. He wants to say he doesn’t deserve it.

But he can’t.

Because he needs to believe you.

His lips brush against your temple, his hands skimming lower, resting on your thighs. He spreads them slowly, carefully, settling between them.

“Tell me you still want this,” he murmurs, voice rough, unsteady.

You nod, but he shakes his head. “No. Say it.”

“I want this,” you breathe, cheeks flushed. “I want you.”

His restraint nearly snaps in half.

A strangled groan escapes his throat, his fingers digging into the sheets instead of your skin. He drops his forehead to your stomach, inhaling sharply before pressing a lingering kiss there.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing to me.”

But you do.

And you love it.

Homelander drags his lips back up your body, trailing slow, soft kisses along your skin. Taking his time. Worshipping you. Letting this be more than just a claim.

His hands frame your face again, his thumbs stroking over your cheeks as he leans in. “I’ll go slow,” he murmurs against your lips.

It’s not a question.

It’s a promise.

You nod, exhaling shakily as he positions himself at your entrance, teasing, just barely pushing inside.

Your body tenses instinctively, nerves curling tight in your stomach. But instead of pushing further, he stops. Waits.

His lips ghost over yours. “Relax, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice warm, steady. “I’ve got you.”

You let out a slow breath, unclenching, willing your body to trust him the way your heart does.

And when he feels you loosen beneath him, he pushes in just a little more, watching your face, searching for any flicker of discomfort.

The stretch is overwhelming. The heat. The way he’s everywhere all at once.

He stills, barely halfway in, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack. “So fucking tight,” he breathes, gripping the sheets beside your head.

You shift slightly, adjusting, and a strangled groan leaves his throat. His hands fly to your hips, holding you still.

“Don’t move,” he grits out.

You bite your lip, looking up at him. His pupils are blown wide, his expression wrecked, desperate.

You lift a hand to his face, brushing your fingers over his cheek, grounding him. “It’s okay. I trust you,” you whisper again.

His breath shudders.

And then, with one slow, deliberate motion, he finally pushes in completely.

A gasp rips from your lips, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, your body stretching to take him. He stills again, pressing kisses to your jaw, your throat, whispering something soft, something only you can hear.

“Are you okay?” His voice is tight, strained.

You nod, swallowing hard as you breathe through the sensation, letting yourself adjust.

Then, after a moment, you shift, a silent invitation.

His fingers tighten on your waist.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dropping his forehead against yours. “You were made for me.”

And then, slowly, carefully, he starts to move.

And for the first time in his life, he doesn’t take.

He gives.

His movements are slow at first—achingly slow—like he’s still holding onto the last thread of his control, afraid to push too hard, afraid to lose himself completely in the heat of you. His hands grip your hips, not to claim, not to take, but to anchor himself, to keep from unraveling.

He watches your face, his eyes searching—always searching—for any flicker of discomfort, any sign of hesitation. But all he sees is you, lips parted, cheeks flushed, your breath coming in soft, uneven pants.

And fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.

A low groan rumbles in his chest, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhales sharply. “You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, his voice strained, wrecked. “I don’t—baby I—I don’t deserve this.”

You whimper softly, shifting beneath him, testing the way he fits, the way your body stretches around him. The sensation is foreign, intense, overwhelming in the best way possible. It aches, but not in a way that makes you want to stop. If anything, it makes you want more.

You reach up, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer. “You can go harder baby,” you whisper, breathless. “Just take me.”

His body shudders against yours, and for a moment, he just looks at you—like he’s trying to burn this into his memory, like he knows he’ll never feel anything as real as this again.

And then, finally, his control snaps.

His hips roll forward, slow but deep, pushing in just a little further, dragging a soft, breathy moan from your lips. He groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he starts to move, a steady rhythm that sends warmth curling deep in your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re so—so wet for daddy.”

Your fingers dig into his back, nails dragging over the hard lines of muscle as you arch into him, inviting him deeper. He obliges, sinking into you fully, groaning at the way you squeeze around him.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your jaw, down to your throat, where he lingers, breathing you in. “Didn’t think I’d be able to do this—be gentle—but fuck—”

He cuts himself off with another roll of his hips, just enough to make your breath hitch. You grip his shoulders, gasping softly, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him, the way he stretches you open, fills you completely.

“You okay?” he rasps, his voice edged with restraint, but there’s something else beneath it—something almost soft.

You nod, swallowing hard, your chest heaving. “Yes,” you whisper. “I—I just… I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

His lips curl into something like a smirk, but there’s no arrogance behind it, only warmth. “Yeah?” he murmurs, rolling his hips again, slower this time, dragging out the friction. “How does it feel, baby?”

You don’t have the words. All you can do is whimper, gasping as pleasure starts to curl through you, replacing the ache, melting the last remnants of tension from your body.

His smirk falters, his breath catching at the sound. “Such a good girl,” he mutters, but he’s barely holding on.

His pace quickens just a fraction, his hips pressing deeper, moving with purpose now, with intent. His mouth finds yours, swallowing your moans as he thrusts into you, each roll of his hips measured, precise.

“You really were made for me,” he groans against your lips. “Look at you—taking me so fucking perfectly. You are such a good girl, waiting for daddy for so long.”

You shudder, back arching, heat coiling tight in your stomach. You don’t know if it’s his words or the way he’s moving inside you, but it’s building, growing stronger, a pleasure so intense you don’t know what to do with it.

He feels it. Sees it. The way your body trembles beneath him, the way your fingers tighten in his hair.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice low, coaxing. “Let me feel it. Cum for me baby.”

And you do.

The pleasure crashes over you like a wave, white-hot and blinding. You cry out, clutching at him as your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper, drowning him in you.

He groans, burying his face in your neck, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own release. His hips snap forward, thrusts turning erratic, desperate, until finally, with a rough, shuddering breath, he breaks.

His body goes taut, a deep growl tearing from his throat as he spills into you, holding you tight, as if letting go would shatter him completely.

For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound in the room is your uneven breathing, the steady pound of your heart in your ears. His weight settles against you, warm, grounding, his forehead still pressed against your shoulder.

Then, slowly, gently, he lifts his head, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip.

His eyes find yours, something unreadable flickering in their depths. He swallows hard, his jaw tightening.

“Mine,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You smile sleepily, still dazed, your fingers brushing over his cheek. “Yours,” you whisper.

His lips press against yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s grounding himself in the feeling of you.

He always thought he was a god—but there must be another one who brought you to him. Maybe he’s human after all.

*:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ: *✧・ﾟ:* ˚₊· *:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ:

[volterran-wine]

𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐦 ― 𝘈 𝘋𝘪𝘥𝘺𝘮𝘦 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

sɪᴅᴇ ᴀ ― ɪɴ ᴠɪᴛᴀ One Summer Day  // Joe Hisashi • Hotel Walls (acoustic) //Smith & Thell • Friedrich Dances With Jo // Alexandre Desplat • Little Talks // Of Monsters and Men • Mystery of Love  // Sufjan Stevens • Crystal  // Fleetwood Mac • Everytime // Ethel Cain • Girls Just Want To Have Fun // Frally ────────────────── sɪᴅᴇ ʙ ― ɪɴ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴇ Ptolemaea // Ethel Cain • Room Of Angel //Akira Yamaoka • #grief2 // Yuki Kajiura • Saturn (instrumental) // Sleeping At Last • It's only the fairytale (instrumental)  // Yuki Kajiura • The Flower Garden  // Joe Hisashi • Asleep // Emily Browning • The Vision Of The Future // Paolo Buonvino

Available on Spotify

[shy-sapphic-ace]

Old Gods of Appalachia gives me the same vibes as listening to music by Lord Huron— it’s just the perfect blend of supernatural and folktales and being so deep in the woods it feels like the light can’t reach you anymore, and I am absolutely in love.

^ I mean, this is exactly what listening to the podcast feels like (at least to me)

[duskgryphon]

i have Got to make more bomb rush cyberfunk art

[dandyleyen]

ZELINK NATION WAKE UP

We are BACK with another song from my zelink playlist. This one is:

“The Ruse & The Caper” by Coyote Theory

—

—

“If you’re a soul I’m your mate

If you’re the past I am fate

If you’ve got time I could stay

If you’re alive I can wait”

[glitter-andgold]

PHANTOM: A VINCENT SINCLAIR INSPIRED PLAYLIST

"Ma would be proud. Yeah she'd be real proud, she always said your talent would make up for what God took away from you."

- Alien Blues (Vundabar) ("My teeth are yellow, hello world, Would you like me a little better if they were white like yours? I need to purge my urges, shame, shame, shame") - Body (Grandmas House) ("I do not know the body I was born with, I do not recognize my face, my face, my face") - I Never Told You What I Do For A Living (My Chemical Romance) ("Another knife in my hands, a stain that never comes off the sheets, clean me off, I'm so dirty babe") - I Am Machine (Three Days Grace) ("I am machine, a part of me wishes I could just feel something, I am machine") - Plagued (We Came As Romans) ("I stare into the reflection of somebody else it's never myself I'm seeing, alone, I feel no connection, this body's a cell") & more! Image Sources: X/X/X/Screenshots from film ------------

Another playlist because I will never shut tf up about this man (or this movie for that matter) and all I seem to do is make character playlists for my favs

[flugame-mp3]

they should NOT let you listen to hozier on your period when u have a significant other. i listened to uiscefhuaraithe and thought about them and nearly cried (i last saw them genuinely about 20 minutes ago and i spent all day hanging out with them and staring at them lovingly)

[vodka-and-ocs]

🎵 Will. Will. Will.

i put it on random and got IDGAF by Shining

pretty obvious stuff, Will doesn't have an ounce of self preservation, and they've been pretty nonchalant about the fact they might all die fighting against Strahd lol. they're ok with it, comes with the business of monster hunting really

they also just really like to be disliked, because they don't want to be a people pleaser, and they burn bridges a lot, they never let anyone close and never stay in the same place long

[viisiond]

🎧

Send "🎧" and I'll give a song that reminds me of my muse with a reason why! // Accepting!

YOUR MONSTER (HALACG)

You're burning me up To soften the pain You've scarred me enough I am what you made me

Where do I even BEGIN with this one on Samael's playlist. Alongside 'Cremate your life' AND 'Down with the world' by the same artist- it just really honestly captures how angry and grief stricken he is over his situation. It just adds fuel to the fire when you factor in his family & siblings.

[bittersweetresilience]

there are twenty seven songs in my félix playlist which means a few more and i can do a monthly writing game. why am i saying this when i have several important wips i am meant to be doing? well, you see

[thepriceofsurvival]

I head your Jean-coded playlist Nora, and I love it, but I will also provide my own. Mostly just because of my own music taste.

A little rock, a little punk, a little grunge, a touch pop, even some indie. And of course, so very very sad.

A few of the songs as well as some of the lyrics, just to convince you:

In My Time of Dying - Led Zeppelin

In my time of dying, want nobody to mourn All I want for you to do is take my body home {...} Oh, Saint Peter at the gates of Heaven Won’t you let me in? {...} I never did no harm, I never did no wrong I must’ve did somebody some good Oh, I believe I did

Brand New City - Mitski

I think my fate is losing its patience I think the ground is pulling me down I think my life is losing momentum I think my ways are wearing me down But if I gave up on being pretty, I wouldn't know how to be alive I should move to a brand new city and teach myself how to die Honey, what'd you take? What'd you take? Honey, look at me Tell me what you took, what'd you take?

Sunlight - Hozier

I would shun the light, share in evening's cool and quiet Who would trade that hum of night? For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight But whose heart would not take flight? Betray the moon as acolyte On first and fierce affirming sight Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

You’d Be Paranoid Too (If Everyone Was Out to Get You) - Waterparks

I learned to live with these eyes in my closet Hands in my pockets Alone, but surrounded I'm breathing, I'm drowning I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?

Wires - The Neighbourhood

We talked about making it I'm sorry that you never made it And it pains me just to hear you have to say it You knew the game and played it It kills to know that you have been defeated I see the wires pulling while you're breathing You knew you had a reason {...} He told me I should take it in Listen to every word he's speaking The wires getting older I can hear the way they're creaking As they're holding him

16, 16, Six - The Drips

Tell me what you wanna know I gotta tell you that I miss your voice Cause everything else I hear is a violent noise And it's breaking through to my soul {...} Take comfort in familiar face Carried me all over the place Fell in love the only way we could No one understood and no one could

Fight or Flight - Conan Grey

Well, fight or flight, I'd rather die Than have to cry in front of you Fight or flight, I'd rather lie Than tell you I'm in love with you

Giver - K.Flay

I'm learning to live I'm trying to be better I'm learning to give But I don't know if I'm a giver {...} I got so much soul in my body But no one keeping me honest And whole days turn into holes in my mind

You Know You're Right - Nirvana

I will never follow you I will never bother you Never speak a word again I will crawl away for good I will move away from here You won't be afraid of fear No thought was put into this I always knew it would come to this Things have never been so swell I have never failed to fail

Exit Music (For A FIlm) - Radiohead

Wake from your sleep The drying of your tears Today we escape, we escape Pack and get dressed Before your father hears us Before all hell breaks loose Breathe, keep breathing Don't lose your nerve Breathe, keep breathing I can't do this alone

Hysteria - Muse

'Cause I want it now I want it now Give me your heart and your soul And I'm breaking out I'm breaking out Last chance to lose control

Aneurism - Nirvana

Come on over, do the twist, aha Overdo it and have a fit, aha Love you so much, it makes me sick, aha Come on over and do the twist, aha Beat me out of me (beat it, beat it) Beat me out of me (beat it, beat it) Beat me out of me (beat it, beat it) {...}

Lydia - Highly Suspect

I've seen better days So unafraid in my youth I can't breathe, much less believe You gave everything you had Every little thing you had A true love unrehearsed I've seen your best and worst And at your worst, you're still the best But at my best, I am the worst It's a curse

Devil In Me 22-20s

I don't live, I just breathe I don't give and I don't recieve And I'll never get the devil Outside of me, outside of me I don't get all the good things You said I'd see, you said I'd see And I don't see the light Surrounding me, surrounding me

Dream On - Aerosmith

Every time that I look in the mirror All these lines on my face getting clearer The past is gone Oh, it went by like dusk to dawn Isn't that the way?

Don't Matter - Kings of Leon

You're not a man everybody says But it don't matter to me Dirty feet on my seat But it don't matter to me Break my heart, tear me apart It don't matter to me no, no I put a shine in your eye It don't matter to me 'Cause it's always the same And I'm always the same

[maxlarens]

just stalked ur spotify and I love ur music taste sm

thank you sweetheart!!!!! i spend half my time on spotify honestly, i love music and i love making playlists soo much. i also love loveee talking about my spotify😭

[essektheylyss]

the war mage

they escaped their self-imposed cage

yes

YES

the bastard is out

[strangersatellites]

top ten favorite bands/musicians tag game

ok ok ok i finally made it back around to doing this!! i submitted my last ever school assignment and it’s also met monday so today was my super bowl but i’m free now! rihanna has finally made her debut and i can rest lol. i LOOOOOOVE talking about music!! so here’s my top ten (and why bc i have a compulsion to share)!

thank u for the tag sweet @outpastthebrakers !!

1. ethel cain (altered something in my brain and i’ve never recovered)

2. djo (if i was a character in a movie, a djo song would play when i first came on screen)

3. fleetwood mac (could raise me from the grave)

4. the band camino (literally my favorite in the world! i’ve seen them twice and it changed my life!)

5. harry styles (wait until y’all find out i have a whole dedicated harry stan account on another platform)

6. rihanna (mother)

7. stevie nicks (independently of fleetwood mac is just as lovely)

8. miley cyrus (also mother)

9. måneskin (vic deangelis and damiano david. need i say more?)

10. novo amor (weather changed my life in high school and still does every time i hear it)

tags if you feel so led: @spinmewriteround @harmonictechnicality @levelofcharm @matchingbatbites also if you see this and want to jump in, do it!!!!