#I did not expect this to become so detailed WOW

[greenflower21]

Ok just hear me out:

Omega’s Bat Mitzvah

[flowerxbunnie]

Tattoo artist matt 🫦 and he’s praising the reader and telling her she’s taking it really well 🫦🫦 and she gets addicted to it and keeps coming back for more tattoos 🫦🫦🫦 and he’s like ‘wow you’re single-handedly paying my bills, this one’s on the house’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦 and she’s like ‘no, i gotta pay you.’ 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦 i think you know where i’m going with this

ps I love you 💋

Ink

Tattoo artist!Matt x Fem Reader

Warnings: needles, blood, pain, tension, no smut (yet?? 😏) but veryyyyyy suggestive at times

6.3k words

Your skin is tender and raw, a soft wince drawn from your mouth as your tattoo artist wipes the excess ink with a rough paper towel.

“So proud of this one,” Alex beams as she scoots back in her chair, the wheels rolling her towards her supply cart. She grabs a roll of plastic wrap and some tape before using her feet to roll back toward your chair. “Let’s get you all wrapped up.”

“It turned out so good, dude.” You say in awe as you hold your arm out to her.

“Did you expect any less?” She jokes, wrapping the wound snugly and taping it up before shooting you a smile. “All done. Keep the wrap on for a few hours. It’ll be a little leaky, that’s normal. Wash once a day with unscented soap… blah blah blah you know the drill. Still legally obligated to tell you.” She chuckles at the end, standing up to throw away her stained gloves. “Come up to the desk whenever you’re ready.” She says before she turns on her feet and heads to the front of the shop.

You stand up and gather your belongings feeling the adrenaline rush a new tattoo always seems to bring out of you. Your arm pulses and slightly burns, a sensation you’d become addicted to over the past couple of years. You’re not covered in ink by any means, but you’ve gotten your fair share, all done by Alex.

You love the way her shop feels more like a home than a sterile clinical office. Tapestries are hung haphazardly across the walls, strings of fairy lights sprawl across the ceilings and there’s more weird little knick-knacks strewn about than you could ever imagine counting. Your favorite is the preserved butterflies she has in shadow boxes lined down the hallway.

Once you gather your keys and bag, you take the walk to the front and admire all the sketches pinned along the walls. Alex is waiting for you with a warm smile as she tells you the total. You sit your bag down and rummage for your wallet, gathering the money along with a generous tip as always.

“You want the change back?” She asks as she counts the bills.

“Just take the fucking tip Alex.” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” she chuckles humbly, shaking her head as she sorts the cash into her vintage register.

“I know I don’t have to,” you laugh, tossing your wallet back into your bag, “I want to.”

You grab the strap of your bag and throw it across your shoulder, knocking a binder off the counter in the process. You let out a quiet curse as you bend down to pick it up, flipping it over to look at the cover.

“Oh, you should look through that!” Alex chimes in excitedly. “It’s a bunch of flash pieces that are up for grabs. They’re going quick, you should pick one out!”

“Oh nice..” you thumb through the pages, studying the intricate artwork tucked behind sheet protectors. “These are so good Alex..”

“You think?” She asks, bending down to restock her glass display cabinet with more tattoo salve.

You turn page after page, seeing traditional pieces like tigers and roses, more abstract watercolor pieces and some random goofy sketches of cartoon characters. You stop when you come across a snake separated into segments with the word ‘collarbone’ scratched underneath of it.

“This one is so detailed,” you say, running your fingers across the sheet protector. “Why’s it all broken up like that?”

Alex stands back up to her feet and looks over the page, her brows furrowing a bit as she adjusts her glasses. “Oh, it’s because it’s made to look like it’s wrapping around your collarbone. Like it’s going into your skin kinda.”

“Oh, sick,” You say excitedly, “I’ll take that one then. When can you get me in?��

“That’s not mine, girl. That’s the new guy’s design. You may have seen him here before? He transferred here like three…ish months ago?” She rambles as she sorts through a stack of paperwork.

You think back, not recalling seeing a different face in the shop. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone new. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been here and you usually get me in and out.” You pull the binder closer and admire the tiny detailing of the snake skin. “He looks pretty good.. but I don’t know if I can cheat on you.” You sigh jokingly.

“Honestly, he’s fucking amazing. His card is right there if you wanna make an appointment.” She points to a carousel of different artists’ cards. “Matt… the black card.. yep that’s it.”

You stick the matte black card in your bag and give Alex a humorous warning glare. “If he fucks my tattoo up Alex I swear to god.”

“Just make the appointment, Y/n. He’ll do good, promise. Why would I hire someone whose work I don’t trust?” She laughs and steps out from behind the counter, walking towards the door. “Now get out of my shop, I need to rest my eyes.” She laughs as she pulls the door open.

——————

You dig through your bag, pulling out hair ties, loose sticks of gum and countless receipts as you search for your favorite chapstick. “I swear I left it in here,” you think out loud, gasping as your finger slides across the corner of something sharp. You pull your hand back, sucking back a curse and see a tiny paper cut on your finger, laughing at the fact that something so small can hurt so bad. You reach back in and grab the culprit, a black sturdy rectangular card.

Fuck. It’s been 3 days.

You look over the card.

Matt Sturniolo

Appointments by text.

Come get somethin’ nice!

You pull out your phone and create a new contact, typing the 10 digit number slowly and double checking, making sure you got every single one right. You let out a sigh that you’ve been holding back, deciding to drop your worries, bite the bullet and make the appointment.

Alex won’t care, she doesn’t mind. She wants me to.

He thinks I’m a guy, funny, you think to yourself, locking your phone and sitting it on the counter.

—————

The week comes and goes, the same mundane routine dragging you through the creeping days. It’s finally Friday, meaning you’re risking the integrity of your skin on an artist you’ve never even met before, let alone vetted his work. Sure, he can draw a sketch but can he execute it just as well into your skin? The entire drive to the shop you shuffle through your playlist while your fingers absentmindedly tap against the steering wheel, mind racing with every possible outcome.

You sit in the parking lot, nerves at an all time high as you scroll through TikTok trying to numb your brain while the minutes pass. You quickly peek up to the clock on your dashboard, heaving a sigh.

5:32.

Fuck. I still have way too much time.

You groan quietly and put your phone down in your cupholder, leaning your head back against the headrest and close your eyes. Your left foot taps slowly against the footrest in your floorboard, creating a steady rhythm, pulsing along with your music that quietly hums in the speakers. You pick your head back up and grip the steering wheel with a huff, tracing your hands up and down around the warm leather.

Your eyes follow passersby as they stroll and pace down the sidewalk, essentially people watching. Your hand somehow makes its way to your mouth without realizing, your nails picking and pulling at the skin of your lips habitually. You only notice when you taste the bitter metallic flavor of blood on your tongue, silently scolding yourself as you pull down your vanity mirror.

You lick the wound and pull your sore bottom lip between your teeth, suddenly hyperaware of the shriveled, dehydrated state they’re in. Leaning across your car to reach for the glovebox, you pull it open and grab the lip oil you leave in your car for moments like this. You shut the glovebox and center yourself in the reflection of the mirror, opening the tube and applying a much too generous amount of the gloss to your lips. You smack and pucker your lips, appreciating the way they seem to come back to life, plump and slightly tinted.

You look to the side as you run your finger against the corner of your mouth, cleaning up your work. A small blackboard that sits outside the door of the shop catches your attention, propped up and smeared with chalked in words. It lists the information for an upcoming tattoo fair, has random small sketches littering the board, and lists a social media account near the bottom.

Follow us! @LoveBuzz on IG!

Why haven’t I ever thought of that?

You pick your phone up out of the cupholder after you slam your mirror shut, clicking the Instagram icon and typing the handle into the search bar. You click on the account, seeing that Alex’s individual account is linked at the top as well as a piercer, Darren, who you’ve met a couple of times. You scroll down through the feed, seeing copious photo collages of fresh versus healed ink and videos with music edited into the background, featuring Alex working her magic in the shop.

You scroll past a reel of Alex promoting a clean brand of tattoo healing balms, your finger coming to a still as you land on a video of a man hunched in his chair, his body leaning over as he works a tattoo gun into someone’s leg. You can’t make out much of him from the video, but he’s clad in a stone washed black t-shirt and jeans littered with ink stains. Tattoos sprawl across his left arm that pulls at the person’s skin, holding it steady as he moves the dripping needle back and forth. Though his face isn’t visible, you notice his wispy, umber brown hair that falls forward as he works. Light catches the strands and outlines each wave as they cascade over his brow bone. Scrolling down, you read the caption.

“Matt may be new but he is making himself well known in the shop! Text him to book, slots are filling up fast!”

You scroll further and find more pieces done by Matt but can’t seem to find a tagged account. Your shot nerves are soothed a bit as you examine each flawless piece of art, every one of them so perfect it’s almost like a printed photo taped to skin. You can’t deny that the man is talented. You scroll down until you reach the very first photo that mentions his name, dated three months ago just like Alex had said.

Maybe I do trust him.

You break yourself from the distraction of your phone and check the time again, quickly fixing yourself in the mirror as you realize you need to head in immediately. Your soft fingers brush down the wild flyaways in your hair in an attempt to look as put together as possible. Grabbing the handle of your bag and slinging it across your shoulder, you turn off the ignition and step out of your car, making sure to lock the doors behind you.

You feel the ground beneath your feet meeting your body in shockwaves with each step you take towards the familiar building. In the reflection of the glass you watch your figure grow closer. You let out one last deep exhale as you grip the iron handle, pulling it open and feeling the cool air shoot across your skin.

As you step in and the door falls closed behind you, you take notice that the front desk is unoccupied. Distinct chatter can be heard over the music playing in the studio just down the hall and past the foyer, deep rumbling tones that you can’t piece together. You’re familiar enough with the shop that you feel comfortable going back without a so-called escort, so you grip the handle on your shoulder and begin the walk down the dimly lit hallway.

The walls open up into the studio and the music is so loud it almost vibrates your skin. You step closer to the source of the voices, one of them being the piercer you’re familiar with. He stands talking expressively with his hands to another man who sits with his back facing you, arms behind his head as he leans back into his chair.

“Is Matt here?” You question, looking around the rest of the studio.

The men continue on with their conversation, completely unaware you’d even said anything over the racket of the rock music. Clearing your throat, you step forward, just about six feet away from them at this point and speak up once again.

“Is anyone working the desk right now?”

The piercer turns his head to face you and the man in the chair spins around, planting his feet to stop himself.

His blue eyes catch your attention first, so bright the gaze is almost difficult to keep. But you do, and so does he. He drops his hands down from the back of his head, one of his arms coming to lay on the armrest of his chair and the other stroking the stubble that peppers his chin. The tattoos across his left arm in contrast to the blank one on the right tell you that this is your guy, this is Matt.

What you don’t know is how he feels his blood pumping hot at the sight of you. He does his best to keep his eyes above your shoulders, but he can’t help letting them wander down your supple, shining skin, immediately thinking about how soft it must be. Matt sees so many women everyday, some in very compromising positions, but just the sight of you standing in front of him has made him feel weak. The way you look so innocent and bright, juxtaposing the way you’re standing in front of his sketches of skulls and anatomically correct organs being feasted on by animals.

You feel a wave of awkward silence even through the intense bass sounding through the speakers. You ask once again if anyone is working the front desk, but your voice struggles to overpower the volume. You see Matt’s cheeks pull up into a chuckle as he reaches back around to the table, fishing for his phone and clicking the volume down considerably.

You huff, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice as you repeat yourself for the fourth time. “Is anyone working the front?”

“I’m sorry honey, we don’t take walk ins.” He rasps as he shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “You’ll need to make an appointment.”

“I have one.” You retort, resting your weight on one of your legs.

The bearded man walks away to his piercing station, leaving the two of you in a sort of awkward staredown.

“Alex is out today, and I’m expecting a guy to be walking in any minute for my next appointment. Are you sure yours was for today?” He asks smoothly.

“You’re Matt right?”

His shoulders tense when you say his name, but he relaxes them as he nods his head. “Yeah, I’m Matt.”

“Oh, well then yeah.. I’m Y/n. Collarbone snake for 6 o’clock.” You clarify, pulling out your phone to ensure you had the date and time right.

His eyes widen and he silently scolds himself for assuming something so bold while being utterly wrong.

“Yeah, here it is.” You turn your phone to face him, stepping closer.

“I must have been tipsy when I replied or something,” he laughs and sits up in his chair, running his hands through his hair to soothe his embarrassment. “I assumed you’d be a dude for some reason.”

“No, at least not since the last time I checked.” You giggle, tossing your phone into your crowded bag.

His laugh gives you a sense of satisfaction, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he catches his breath. “Shit, that’s my bad then.” He says while pushing himself up to stand, his arms flexing under the tight sleeves of his shirt.

“No worries.” You give him a genuine smile, not wanting him to feel any more embarrassed than you can already tell he is from his flushed cheeks.

He steps forward with a long stride, his frame much larger and taller than you expected once he passes you to head to the hallway. He tries to ignore the way his pulse quickened with the way you beamed up at him moments before, walking quickly to the front desk.

You follow behind, breathing in the lingering scent his cologne leaves in his trail. Stepping in front of the counter as he grabs a stack of haphazardly sorted papers, you grab a pen from the cup in front of you.

He slides them over to you, groaning as he flips them so they’re facing your direction. “Might not be much help reading them upside down.” He chuckles. “Alright, so I’m assuming you know the drill, yeah?” He nods his head at your arms, eyes flickering over the ink.

“Mhmm..” you hum as you concentrate on crossing off and initialing boxes stating you don’t have any medical conditions hindering you from getting tattooed.

Matt watches in silence as you skim over the pages, twisting the pen between your small fingers. He places both hands on the ledge in front of him and moves ever so slightly closer, enough to watch your lashes as they brush your cheeks with each blink. If he got any closer you’d probably feel his breath hitting your skin.

You print and sign your name on the bottom of the last page, capping the pen and tossing it back into the cup. He’s stepping back as you look up at him with the papers outstretched, deciding ogling over you isn’t a very professional first impression.

“My ID is already on file.” You say as he takes the stack and turns to the side to run them through the scanner.

“Well look at you, smart girl huh?” He jokes, pressing buttons to send the papers through the machine.

You feel warmth creeping up your neck and across your cheeks as the words fall from his lips. “I mean,” you pause with a giggle, “Alex is my only artist so I know she’s got everything she needs from me.”

“And you’re cheating on her with me?” He chuckles softly as he steps out from behind the counter, turning to head back towards the studio. “Let’s get this started, shall we?” His voice is quiet, his back to you as he walks ahead.

Matt’s shirt is stretched thin across his broad shoulders, and you absentmindedly let your eyes sink down his arms, following the veins that trail from them into his hands as they swing. His walk is confident and steady, unwavering.

Part of him wishes he had let you walk ahead of him so he could selfishly glue his eyes to your legs, drinking up the way your shorts hug them perfectly. But he has to keep this professional, you’re just a customer.

He walks to his table, gripping a handle and maneuvering the headboard so that you’ll be partially sitting, partially leaning back. “Go ahead and have a seat for me.” He gestures you to the table.

You sit your bag in your lap as you adjust in the seat, a chill running through you as the cold textured leather presses against your back. Matt stands over his supply cart, looking back and forth between you and a few sheets of paper.

“I printed a few stencils but they’re all man sized..” he laughs, crumpling them up and tossing them into his trash bin. “I’m gonna have to free hand it.”

Your eyes widen as he grabs a marker off the top of the cart and pulls the lid off with his teeth, scooting his rolling chair up to your table. “Uhh.. are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Honey…” he laughs, his head falling forward before he looks up at you with a grin. “You know I sketched the design free handed, right?”

You silently curse yourself and do your best to laugh it off, but you definitely made yourself feel incredibly dumb. Somehow he switched the mood and made it feel like he was laughing with you instead of at you, though.

“Alright… first let me…” he trails off, looking around his table before replacing the marker with a fresh razor. “I know you don’t have chest hair, but I kinda have to clear the canvas regardless.” He gives you a humored smile.

He pulls his chair up, his left hand brushing your hair off of your shoulder and down your back. He grabs your tank top strap with a clenched jaw, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His fingers feel like jolts of electricity on your skin, like he shouldn’t be touching you, but also like you want more.

He’s a tattoo artist. Alex touches me everytime she does one of my tattoos. There’s nothing weird about it, stop making it weird.

You gulp and hope that your cheeks haven’t given away your feelings as he gets the strap out of his way and leans closer. You look forward, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with Matt as he slowly drags the razor across your skin.

“Alright there’s that.” He spins around and tosses the razor in the trash can, grabbing the marker once more. “Gonna sketch it out roughly right quick. It won’t look as detailed right now but I’ll add ‘em in later.” He mumbles as he tilts his head, bringing the marker to your collarbone.

Matt drags the marker across your skin with furrowed brows as he perfects the curvature of the snake to look like it’s wrapping around your bone. He can smell your sweet perfume permeating from your body, so close he can almost sniff out the individual notes. “You smell like candy.” He blurts out before he can stop himself. He bites down on his lip, shutting his eyes for a moment before he gets straight back to sketching, hoping you didn’t find it odd.

“Thank you!” You beam, “Funny enough it’s actually Prada Candy. I love it.”

He hums in response and finishes up his outline, rolling back to look at it from further away. “Sit up for me right quick.” He instructs and you listen. He nods his head, approving of his placement and sketch. “Let’s make sure you like it first.” He turns to the side and grabs a handheld mirror off his cart. He holds it out to you, his fingertips brushing yours as he hands it off.

“I love it! It’s the perfect size. Even just the sketch looks so good.” You grin as you study the purple ink in the mirror. You smile as you hand the mirror back to him, taking notice of the subtle curve of his lips.

“Great then. Already got the machine all set up and the ink wells filled. You ready?” He asks with raised eyebrows.

The look on his face tells you that you might have bitten off more than you can chew. “I… think I’m ready. Should I be worried?”

He sucks his teeth as he looks down with a stifled smirk. “Well… the collarbone isn’t the most pleasant place to get a needle jammed into your skin, I’ll leave it at that.”

You look to him with wide eyes. You’d never even considered how painful it might be, all of your other tattoos being on your arms and lower legs. “Matt, you’re scaring me.” You nervously laugh.

His stomach does a flip when you say his name for the second time today. He shoved the feeling down and reaches over, grabbing the tattoo gun in his right hand and turning it on briefly. The vibration sounds throughout the room and he assures it’s in good working condition before shutting it back off and looking up at you. “I think you’re a brave girl, you can take it.” He says lowly but causally as he rolls up next to the table, resting his left arm next to your shoulder.

The way Matt’s words fall from his lips like honey makes your skin feel as if it’s being licked with flames. You look down as he flips the gun on once again and dips the needle into the pitch black ink, the fluid dripping onto the table as he slowly raises it toward you.

“You’re gonna have to turn a little.” He almost whispers as he uses his left hand to guide your jaw to the side, giving him better access to your skin. “Alright, there we go.” He leans in as he brings the needle down into your skin, a sharp scratching and stinging pain making you gasp lightly. “You good?” He asks in a caring tone as he lifts the gun back up and scans your pained expression.

“Yeah, yeah.. I’m okay.” You breathe out. “Feels a lot different than arms and legs.”

You see him nod silently and lower the needle back to the surface of your skin, slowly pressing all the way down until he’s drawing the solid outline. He adjusts his left arm and places his warm hand onto your shoulder, his fingers gripping and pulling at the skin to keep it taut. He glances up at your face every now and again as he tattoos you, his view of your side profile and jawline begging him to keep looking. “You can move your head now. Got that upper outline all done.”

You turn your head to look at him, a smile pulling at your cheeks when you see he’s already looking up at you with hooded lids. He flashes you a small crooked grin before dipping his head back down and working on the rest of the outline. You squirm in your chair as the needle moves and works across your flesh, the area growing hot and tender.

You see a thin sheen of sweat forming on his arms under the heat of his overhead light, illuminating every dip and valley through the rolling veins on his hands. His wrist moves back and forth as he maneuvers the machine, his lip bitten between his teeth. Every few minutes his body must become sore because he moves his legs, adjusting in his seat before he brings his grip back to your shoulder.

He concentrates as he finishes the last of the outlining details, sitting up against the backrest of his chair and putting the gun down on his cart. “All done with the outline.” He smiles.

“Really?” You marvel excitedly. You peer down to take a look but huff once you realize you can’t bend your neck enough to get a good view.

Matt takes notice and leans over to grab the handheld mirror off his cart, except his left hand finds a spot atop your knee, sliding gingerly down your calf as he stretches toward his cart. As soon as his touch is there it’s gone. He leans back toward you and hands you the handle, smiling when you examine it in the mirror. “What do you think?”

You won’t lie to yourself, your pulse quickened when his hand brushed down your leg. Your only hope is he doesn’t notice the trail of goosebump he left behind in the absence of his touch. You struggle to find words, your mouth hanging open before you eventually find your voice. “I.. uh… l-looks really good.”

He exhales a small chuckle as he turns to switch the outlining needle for a shading needle. “Let me know if you need a break before I start this part.” He mumbles as he dips the set of needles into the well of ink.

You quickly shake your head. “Nope, get it over with.” You say flatly, closing your eyes. Shading is hit or miss, it either feels super relieving or like you’re getting shredded with a freshly sharpened cheese grater.

“That’s a good girl. All in one go, hm?” He murmurs as he scoots closer yet again.

He did not just say that. I’m thinking too much into this.

You give him a light chuckle and suck air in through your teeth once the needles meet your skin.

“Shhh.. you’re doing good. A lot better than a lot of crybaby men that have been on my table.” He coos as he drags the ink over the raw, bleeding skin.

If it wasn’t Matt you’d be much more of a mess. You’d probably be damn near in tears. But you can’t seem weak around him, so you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut as he shades and details the design. Your hands clench the air until your knuckles are white and throbbing, your body needing to release energy into anything other than the pain you’re in.

“Squeeze my arm if you need to. I don’t mind.” Matt proposes, stilling his movement and brushing his brown waves out of his eyes before looking at you expectantly.

You gulp and move your shaking hands to his bicep, wrapping your dainty fingers around the expanse of it lightly.

“C’mon, give me more than that.” He chuckles, “Just don’t squeeze hard enough that I fuck up your ink.”

You grip into his arm with more pressure, feeling his muscles expand and contract under his skin as he moves his forearm.

Thank god Darren left earlier. This looks so… personal.

When a small strained whimper slips out of your mouth he clears his throat, blinking hard as he wipes the tattoo with the paper towel in his left hand. He knows it’s because of the pain, he knows he shouldn’t enjoy the sound. But he does.

He can’t help himself as he finishes up the rest of the tattoo. He finds himself pressing the needle into your skin with more pressure than necessary, enough to draw more pretty sounds out of you and make you grip onto his arm. Enough for you to throw your head back onto the leather of the table, squirming your legs as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’d never do anything to mess up the integrity of his art, but god does he want to. He knows it’s wrong that his pants grow tighter with every move you make, every curse you let out as he pushes more and more ink into your skin. He sees this everyday, why is it affecting him like this?

The angel on his shoulder tells him to get the tattoo done, work fast and get you off his table. The devil on his other tells him to keep you here writhing and squeezing at him for as long as he can. His eyes drift across your sweaty face, your wet baby hairs sticking to your forehead. Your chest rises and falls as he digs in, taking his time to let the needle drag. His mind floods with sin, his hands desperately aching to pull the neckline of your tank top even a millimeter lower.

Your harsh squeeze to his arm snaps him out of his stream of thought, realizing he’d been keeping this on for too long, causing you unnecessary pain. Lifting the needle from your skin, he examines the finished piece for a moment. “All done.” He says flatly, pulling his arm from your grasp to set the machine down on his cart.

“Fuck… that was intense.” You breathe out, turning your head toward him.

“Mmm but you did great. Sat so well.” He praises as he grabs a bottle of cleaning solution.

You have no time to react before he’s squirting the liquid onto your collarbone, a harsh pulsing sting deep in your skin. “Oh that’s… fucking horrible.” You do your best to laugh through the sting.

He laughs along with you, nodding while he lets his eyes watch the droplets that flow down your chest and into the valley of your cleavage. He tears his eyes away and looks at his cart, scoffing when his box of paper towels proves empty. “Gotta go get some more paper towels,” he holds up the box, “be right back.”

“I won’t move a muscle.” You giggle and lean back onto the table.

He offers a quick smile before standing up, quickly turning around and walking to the utility closet across the studio. Once inside and out of view, he lets his hand wander down to the waistband of his jeans, slowly trailing lower to brush over his throbbing erection. He knows this is bad. He’s never had this kind of reaction to a client, and he can’t be crazy. He knows he’s seen you looking too.

He lets his rough fingertips push his shirt up and dip beneath his jeans and boxers, grabbing ahold of his pulsing cock with a slow, shaking breath. He pulls it up and tucks it into his waistband, knowing he can’t let you see the struggling tent in his pants when he walks back into the studio.

He quickly grabs a new sterile stack of paper towels and fills the empty box, sighing deeply before he begins the walk back to his station.

“They were up on a high shelf huh? Had to find a ladder?” You joke, poking fun at the fact he took longer than expected.

“Oh yeah. Had to call the fire department actually. Like when there’s a cat stuck in a tree.” He quips back with a laugh, sitting down and letting his chair roll closer to you.

He rubs the cleaning solution away and beams at his work. He may have taken longer than he needed, but damn if you didn’t get an insanely detailed snake piece. He grabs a package of Saniderm from his cart and peels the backing off, slowly applying it to the raw skin. “Leave this on for like two or three days, you can shower in it, sleep in it, the whole nine yards. It’ll start lifting and you’ll know it’s time to take it off.”

“Hmm.. Alex always uses plastic wrap.” You say questioningly, peering down at the clear bandage.

“That’s because she’s old.” He says matter of factly, peeling his gloves off and tossing them in the trash.

“She’s 35!” You chuckle and smack his shoulder.

“Yeah… old.” He replies as he fishes into his pocket. “Gotta get a picture of this, it turned out so sick.” He pulls his phone out and opens his camera, zooming in until he has the right angle and snapping a photo.

“Don’t post that, I bet I look busted.” You whine, sitting up and stretching your back.

“Well sweetheart, your face isn’t in the picture. But for the record, I think you look pretty good for a girl who just got a metric fuck ton of ink shoved into her collarbone with a needle.” He says as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

Your breath hitches inaudibly in your throat, heat lapping at your cheeks.

I have to play it cool. He didn’t call me pretty. He’s saying I took the tattoo well, that’s all.

“Thanks, Matt.” You smile, throwing your legs off the table and letting your feet hit the floor.

“After you.” He gestures his arm out as he stands, knowing he has to take the opportunity to walk behind you this time.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and walk down the hallway, feeling his eyes bore into the back of your head the entire way.

Except his eyes bore into everything he missed out on earlier. Your toned, smooth calves and up to your plush thighs that wiggle as you walk. The curve of your ass in your shorts. The way your hips sway with each step, taunting his still half-hard member.

You reach the front desk and peek into the mirror on the wall to the left of it, admiring the fresh ink. You can’t stop ogling at it as he prints out a receipt, walking up to the register and silently watching you. You turn your head to him and mumble an “oops”, stepping back to the center of the desk and grabbing the receipt from him. “Only $120?” You exclaim, widening your eyes as you look up to him.

He gives you a light nod and a shrug, brushing his hand through his fluffy waves. “You took it like a champ. Plus, I know you’ll be back. Gotta give that recurring customer discount, right?”

You know your cheeks are fire engine red at this point as you dig for your wallet, feeling as if you’re taking too long.

Am I being crazy or is that flirting? He’s flirting, right?

You open your wallet and dig out the cash, adding a generous tip to the stack before you hand it over. “I really appreciate it, Matt.”

“Not a problem. You have my number if you need anything else.” He returns as he sorts the cash into the register. He flicks his eyes back up and meets yours, a brief, almost-too-long moment of eye contact held between you two.

You blink hard a few times before clearing your throat and nodding, stepping back from the counter. “You got it. Thanks again.”

You turn on your feet and head for the door, pushing it open while your brain spins with thoughts of your encounter.

What the fuck was that?

—————

authors note: part two??? lmk 😈😈😈

taglist: @solarsturniolo @lustfulslxt @whotfisade @soursturniolo @recklesssturniolo @worldlxvlys @chrisolivia4l @kiarastromboli @mattnchrisworld @cupidsword @kvtie444 @xplrfear @knowingnothingnoel @karlybbx @chrisfavoritepepsi @mwah0mwah @starsturniolo @christinarowie332 @fionaheartswomen @angelic-sturniolos111 @mqttittude @sturniolowhore @luv4kozume

[kisses4reid]

understand? pt. 2 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you’re a polyglot translator assigned to work for the bau in a cross-national case, and there’s an officer who’s less than friendly.

genre - angst, fluff, good ending, fem!reader, both of them are awkward nerds, they both dig each other’s intelligence

warnings - mild racism, basic cm file details, so many inaccuracies regarding translating, languages, and crimes, no where do i specify which language r is translating because i don’t want to include wrong translations, please let me know if i need to add anything

w/c - guys idk count the words yourself

a/n - part 2!! if i didn’t add you to the taglist i apologise pookie.

part 1 (must read first!)

Spencer called Morgan and you into a small interrogation room that was being used as a temporary evidence locker. Books and documents were strewn across the room, Spencer had one opened in his hands, one finger dragging down a page.

“What’s up, Reid?” Morgan asked, eyes scanning the messy room. You bent down and picked up a book that seemed to be a diary, and inside was the sole reason you had been assigned to work the case.

“The diaries kept by the mother are all in english, so I’ll go over these, the rest are in a foreign language that L/n can go over.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow, “And me?”

“Oh, I was wondering if you could make me a coffee?”

Morgan scoffed and walked away.

You settled on the floor criss cross style, noticing the diaries had been organised in order of when they were written. At least 40 diaries had been filled, and you wondered how someone would have that much time to fill these out. Spencer watched you as you read the accounts written on the pages, but had to rip his eyes off of you once again if he wanted anything to be done.

His stack was much higher, that only becoming apparent to you after you took the courage to look at him.

“How are you going to read all of that?” You asked, cutting the silence like a knife. He looked around him and smiled slightly.

“I can read pretty fast,

“Oh, wow. That’s impressive. Are you a genius or something?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Oh.” You smiled tightly, grabbing the small notebook from your back pocket to start writing important details in english. He gulps, barely audible and squeezes his eyes in courage to talk again.

“Do you like reading?”

You lifted your head again and nodded, “I like sci-fi, maybe with some romance.”

He nodded and smiled, before clearing his throat and saying what he truly wanted to say this whole time, “I think you might have to keep distance from Sheriff Stevens.”

Your gaze flickered up at his brown eyes, swirls bringing you in like an optical illusion made for hypnotism. You shrugged and put on a reassuring smile, “It’ll be fine. He probably just didn’t expect me to be here, I’m not a part of your team so.”

“You’re a part of it now. At least for this case.” Spencer said softly, going back to dragging one finger down the scribbles in the book.

His words warmed your heart and your cheeks, causing you to look down after he did to hide the pink painted against your faded freckles. Suddenly, Agent Hotchner appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat - maybe he felt the same tension you did.

You stood up immediately, patting down your pantsuit trousers, Spencer’s eyes latched onto your hands.

“We need you both at the tip line immediately, they’ve called us.”

“They?” Spencer stands and follows Hotch out the room and into a smaller office with only a desk and phone in it, and that same sheriff from before.

You trail behind them, eyebrows furrowed before you realise the situation.

“The Unsubs. Y/n, we need you here to translate and scribe, I’ll be talking and if they end up speaking their first language,” Hotch pierced his gaze to yours, “you’ll be speaking.”

Your eyes widened, glancing between Spencer and Hotch, raising your hands in your own defence, “Oh, no. I don’t know how to- I don’t even know what to say-“

Hotch hovered a hand over your shoulder and nodded, “We’ll tell you what to say. All you need to do is what you do best, and listen.”

The sheriff lifted himself to where he was leaning on a wall and crossed his arms over his uniformed chest. He stared at you and then at Agent Hotchner. “This is who you’re trusting classified information with? Someone from the country we’re going against?”

Emily and Morgan entered the room then, closing the door, both of them nearly shivering at the sudden gloominess of the room - not that making contact with criminals was all sunshine and rainbows.

“Excuse me?” Hotch raises an eyebrow and puffs his chest out.

“I’m not from that country, sir, I simply understand the language.” You defend yourself as Spencer moves closer to you, shoulder to shoulder. Hotch moves away slightly, obviously thinking that was the end of that misunderstanding, but the sheriff speaks over any orders the SSA Chief.

“That’s what you want us to think. I saw how you scoped out the office, not to mention you look exactly like those people. How can we guarantee this girl doesn’t tell us lies? How can we guarantee she doesn’t tell them the truth?” His face was turning red and he had started moving towards you, before Spencer put out an arm in front of you and positioned you behind him.

“Agent L/n is a trained translator and has been for more years than you’ve been a sheriff. If you want any chance to find the kidnapped girls, you need to get over your ego. Maybe if you actually listened to her and let her do her job, you’d realise how stupid you are.”

The sheriff stood in shock, so did you. Your neck reddened and you took a step back, Spencer’s cologne overwhelming you. Morgan grabbed the man by the arm and forced him out of the room.

It was silent only for a second before Emily started, “Well, now that we’ve gotten him out of the way. Why don’t we take this call?”

They spoke english for a large portion of the call, but there were other people on their side who were speaking another language in the background that you got to work on translating. The call abruptly ended, and everyone’s shoulders slumped, the call was nearly useless. Hotch glanced at you and you took that as an invitation to begin reciting what they were saying.

As you went down the list of phrases, you paused and looked up to the BAU team.

“There’s a foreigner working with them.” Spencer furrowed his brows which caused you to explain quickly, “One of them had a strong english accent, and only chimed in a couple times. He was telling the caller what to say… I think.”

Hotch nodded and lead the team away from the room with the phone and into the room with the bulletin boards full of crime scene photos and maps. Spencer stood behind you slightly, and when your temporary boss started explaining the situation to the still-red sheriff, he turned your shoulder to face him. You searched his face confused before he spoke up,

“You should be more confident. Don’t say ‘I think’ at the end. You’re the only one who knows you’re right - plus me.”

You smiled and nodded. Spencer scanned the room, only to make eye contact with a smirk-faced Morgan.

Spencer conversed with Hotch after the sheriff went off to do who knows what, and Hotch agreed that he shouldn’t be left with you at any point in the case.

After 10 more hours of translating, driving, and analysing, the case had been closed and now you were back on the plane. The uncle of the girls had hired the kidnappers, wanting money from the parents that he felt was stolen from him when his parents died and his brother got most in the will.

This time, you took an empty seat at the back, not feeling like hovering for the full plane ride like last time. Your legs hurt, your social battery drained and your was energy at its lowest, and yet when Spencer took the seat in front of you, you felt a rush course through your body.

His cologne was back, and he held two books in his big hands. Tucking a short strand of hair behind his ear, he cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly,

“Hi, Y/n.” Your first name, not your last, and not Agent L/n. Your first name.

“Hi, Spencer.” His first name, not his last, and not Agent Reid. His first name.

He gulped, eyes darting from your face to the books on the table between you. “I brought you a book from my library I thought you’d like.”

Your eyes widened and you smiled, looking down at the blue covered book he held out. In your hands the book was still warm with his touch as you let your fingers trail the title and authors name.

“Well, I don’t actually know if you’ll like it. But you said you like sci-fi romance so- And I know you can speak that language so.” He rambled and you giggled smally, causing him to pause and stare at you in awe.

“Thank you, Spencer. This is actually the second language I ever learnt, I learnt it from my grandmother.” You told him, opening the book to a random page and smiling at the language printed on the off-yellow paper.

Spencer heart swelled, and it felt foreign. You had told him a piece of you, a tiny piece, but it felt like enough confirmation that you didn’t think he was weird, or too nerdy, or not outgoing enough.

“I’m glad.” He whispered, eyes scanning your face like it was the last time he would see you. It worried him slightly. “Do you want to um… go somewhere?”

“Like in general?” You titled your head.

He laughed slightly, “No, no. I mean like, with me?”

You cheeks reddened immediately and you unconsciously held a hand up to your face to hide your flustered expression. You took a breath and nodded, “Yes, I’ll go somewhere with you.”

perm taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

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[killerlookz]

Growing Pains | Spencer Reid

pairing: s2!spencer reid x gn! reader

description: after spending what felt like an eternity pining over Spencer Reid, the two of you finally began moving towards becoming something... until his run-in with Tobias Hankel seemed to put a stop to every aspect of Spencer's life, even his relationship with you.

details: Spencer's post-revelations related trauma, angst! and fluff (hurt with comfort), sporadic flashbacks

word count: 2,321

i hate that i can't love you, but I'm just in the way / but you say i won't be here forever, and you'll take as long as it takes

Your cold hands ached as they struggled to make a fist, raising that balled-up hand to the dark, wooded door.

Every day for the last week and a half you'd come to this very door, that of your friend, Spencer Reid. And every day for the last week and a half you would knock on the door and hope with anxious breaths for an answer. Only to receive no response.

Part of you would worry he was dead if it wasn't for the fact that at the very least he had managed to at least call out of work each and every day. It was so typical of Spencer ,it almost made you smile. Even after all of the trauma he had just gone through, he still made sure to call out of work. No one expected to see him back at the BAU for a while. Not after Tobias Hankel.

Despite all too much of it having been live-streamed directly to you and the rest of the BAU, you knew very little of what had actually happened to Spencer in the time he had been taken by Tobias Hankel, nobody did. And the truth is, you barely knew of what was live-streamed. Maybe it made you "weak" in comparison to the rest of the team, but you just couldn't bear to look at Spencer in that state. The anxiety of not knowing whether or not Spencer was going to live was already too much to handle- even now, knowing he was safe, you still had trouble sleeping, the scenario of having not made it in time playing through your mind over and over again.

Knock, knock, knock

You held your breath in anticipation as your hands hit the door, you bit your lip in a painful desperation. Please, Spencer. You beg, your voice cracking as you whisper to yourself.

No response.

It wasn't like Spencer to not talk to you, especially not for days on end. The two of you had been friends since the academy. You were instantly drawn to him, maybe it was his impressive memory, or how passionate he was about his work, maybe it was his awkward boyish charm, or his sweet smile, or how his eyes lit up when he won a game of chess or cards, and the way he scrunched his nose whenever he laughed, maybe it was the way his sweaters never fit just right, and his socks never matched, or-

It was more than sufficient to say that you had fallen head over heels for Spencer, more than you had for anyone else in your life, you were in love. He was kind, and inviting, and you could never understand why everyone else seemed to make fun of him. And finally after what felt like an eternity of pining, and planning for the perfect moment- a french film marathon at Spencer's apartment and a few too many glasses of cheap wine was what let your feelings slip. You could still feel the way your stomach dropped as the words left your tongue,

"You know I love you, Spence"

"Yeah- like- as a friend." He stuttered, obviously caught off guard

You could have saved yourself then, played it cool, and said yes, but before you could stop yourself your head was shaking no.

Spencer's eyes widened and the corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish smile, "Really?" He looks down at his lap, his fingers rapidly tapping against his knee, "I- wow- I-" He shakes his head and looks back at you, "I love you too."

With a few blinks you find yourself back in reality. You could only live in memories for so long. You sighed, as tears welled up in your eyes. Part of you wondered if you were being selfish, crying about how you missed him when he was going through so much worse.

You wiped your stinging eyes, fuck it. You needed to know how he was doing. You reach into the pocket of your coat, feeling around before gripping the cool metal of your key ring. You pull it out of your pocket before gripping the keys that hung from it tightly in your hands. The dull metal pressed into the skin of your hands, and your cold, stiff fingers gripped harder to the point where it hurt. You closed your eyes, wincing as you tightened your fist around the metal even harder, trying to convince yourself to go through with your plan. At some point of you and Spencer "going steady" you had exchanged keys to each other's apartments.

You released the key ring from your grip, a red indent left in the palm of your aching hand. You sift through the various keys and with a loud jingling sound, the other keys fell to the bottom of the ring as you gripped the key to Spencer's apartment between your thumb and index finger. You sigh once more, telling yourself the worst that could happen is if he really doesn't want to see you he will tell you to leave and you will listen.

You push the key into the lock and twist it until you can turn the door handle. The door opens with a creak, and you step into the dark apartment, careful to close the door softly behind you. You can barely see two feet in front of you, all the lights are off and the blinds are drawn. Your hand slides up a wall as you fumble around for a light switch, flicking on the soft, warm wall light next to the door. You blink a few times, getting used to the light before your gaze darts over to the kitchen table. The apartment was almost unrecognizable. It was cluttered to a degree that you had never seen from Spencer before. He was usually so well organized. But now, papers, takeout containers, and half-drunken cups of coffee were scattered around the dark wooden surface.

It broke your heart to see Spencer's living spaces in such disarray, if this is what his apartment looked like, you couldn't even bear to think about what you might find if you were to peek inside his mind. Even with the lights now on, the dark green walls of the apartment never felt this dark to you.

You tread softly toward his bedroom, careful not to make too much noise against the creaky wood of his apartment floor. Part of you was aware of how creepy this seemed- and you worried maybe you'd scare Spencer by entering his room. Still- maybe it was selfish, but you missed him too much to allow another day go by without seeing him. Allowing Spencer to just stay holed up in his apartment for days on end was not going to do anything for anyone.

You press your hand against Spencer's bedroom door, it's opened just a crack and you're able to push the door open with a small creak. The room isn't as dark as the rest of his apartment, a few small beams of light from the setting sun peek into the small room from blinds that haven't been fully closed, drenching it with a warm orange color.

Spener's clothes are scattered throughout the room, and his brown leather bag had been thrown on the ground near the door, papers and books spilling out of it. You could almost guarantee it had been in that spot from the moment he got home from that dreaded case.

Your eyes flick up to the bed in the middle of the room where Spencer lay, his face down, stuffed into the pillows. His comforter had been kicked to the side, and the fitted sheet had come off one of the corners of the mattress.

You wondered just how much Spencer had actually left his bed since he had gotten home, the takeout containers and coffee cups in the dining room signified to you at least he did at some point leave his bedroom. Still, the sorry state of everything made you want to cry. How could anyone do this to him?

You slip off your shoes, and inch across the soft carpet closer to the bed, careful not to step on any of the clothes that were strewn about the floor.

"Spencer," You say, just above a whisper, attempting to let him know of your presence. He barely even stirs in response to the noise, turning onto his side deep in sleep.

As you got closer to the bed you could see him more clearly. His hair was a mess, long curly strands stuck to his cheeks with sweat, his eyes shut tight and his mouth almost turned down into a frown. Even in sleep, he looked so upset, so tortured. It made you sick to your stomach to even think about what he could have been dreaming about.

"Spencer?" You say again, weaker this time- your voice trembling with nerves.

No response.

You sigh, pulling off your jacket and allowing it to collect on the floor with the rest of the scattered clothes. You sit down on the edge of the bed and think carefully about your next move. You don't want to frighten him, but it may be impossible not to not after you basically broke in.

You reach a delicate hand outward and move a couple pieces of Spencer's hair from his cheek. His head moves slightly in response, but you continue to smooth your hand down the rest of the length of his hair. You can tell it's tangled, even without combing your fingers through it. You let your hand fall further, down his neck, resting on his bare back. He's warm to the touch as you rub soft circles on the exposed skin.

"Spencer?" You say again, louder this time leaning your body towards him.

His eyes flick open and he's jolted awake, swatting your arm away as a gasp leaves his mouth.

"H-hey," You grab his arm to prevent him from swinging any further, "It's just me Spence."

He stares at you wide-eyed, pupils dilated with a mix of confusion and fear. His throat rises with a thick swallow and his lip trembles. You begin speaking frantically,

"I-I'm so sorry I didn't mean to fright-"

"W-what are you doing here?" He asks, his voice is weak but there's a pointedness to his question.

"I just- I wanted to make sure you were okay- I haven't heard from you in a while and I was so worried about you I just-" Your brain was going a mile a minute before all of a sudden... your train of thought disappears as you look into Spencer's obviously pained eyes. His eyes blink rapidly as he attempts to hold back tears. The sheets have fallen off of him and his bare chest is shiny with sweat as it rises and falls rapidly. You let go of his arm, letting it drop down beside him. "I'm sorry," You whisper, too saddened at the state of him to continue.

Spencer stares at you for another moment before looking down, a single tear dripping down his pale cheek. Even now, like this he was still beautiful to you. And despite everything you couldn't help but for your heart to fill with love. But as your heart felt with love, the rest of your body overflowed with anxiety as you contemplated what to even do or say next. You stutter,

"D-do you want me to leave-"

"No." Spencer cuts you off. "Stay." He looks back up at you, "Please." His eyes are wet with tears that threaten to escape down his face.

"Of course," You nod, "of course," softer this time.

"Can we lay down?" Spencer asks, twisting his face. You nod fervently, swinging your legs onto the bed. You pat the pillow next to you, beckoning Spencer to lie back down. He does so, slowly, and you follow, your faces inches from each other, heads on the same pillow.

You inch yourself closer to Spencer, heat radiating off of his trembling body. You place a hand upon his cheek, stroking your thumb slowly back and forth.

"Am I ever going to be okay?" Spencer sniffles. The question feels like a knife had been stabbed right through your heart.

"Of course you will, Spence, " You assure, soft yet firm.

"It doesn't feel like it," He shakes his head, forcing your hand to fall from its spot on his cheek.

"These things take time, lots and lots of time."

"Yeah but-" He starts, getting choked up again, "What if you don't want to wait for me?"

"Wait for you?" You ask, confused as to what he meant.

"If I'm like this for too long." He answers, "You won't want to be around anymore."

"Oh Spencer," you shake your head, "No, no" You put your hand back onto his cheek.

"I feel like such a burden- that's why I haven't called," His voice breaks as he starts crying, really crying this time, "I mean- I'm an FBI agent, I should be able to get through this. Everyone else on the team would be back to work in an instant. And I can't even get out of bed."

"Spencer." You cut off his ramblings, "You are not a burden- you could have died, Spencer, no one is expecting you to be alright."

"I feel like I should be." He pauses, "I just don't want everyone to sit around worrying about me, I don't want you to sit around worrying about me. It's not fair."

"I worry because I care." You relay a small smile, "Because I love you."

"And that's what I'm afraid of, one day you'll realize you've spent so much effort worrying about me that you won't want to love me anymore."

"Never." You wipe the tears from Spencer's eyes, trying to give him gentle reassurance. "I'd wait forever for you to be okay."

a/n: woah long time no post? I haven't posted a fic on here in almost two years! sorry I'm a little rusty, I've been deeeep in a creative rut. I'm accepting requests now however, Ive missed you guys!

[dduane]

Rehoming Holmes

So here's the current interesting problem: You discover that you're in the process of writing a cozy mystery. And then you discover that the lead sleuth in this work is going to be Sherlock Holmes. (And of course Dr. John Watson is there too.)

The big question, therefore, becomes: when?? And secondarily, where?

(Inserting a break here, because this goes on a bit. Caution: contains World War I, railway lines, chronic illness, unrealistic attempts to be a hermit, and [what did you expect?] bees.)

Wedging the cozy mystery concept into Sherlock Holmes's schedule is inevitably going to be a dicey business. Because Holmes, in Canon—right up until after the events of "His Last Bow," in the collection of the same name—is a really busy man... too busy by far to be doing the cozy thing, be he ever so retired.

We don't know a whole lot about the details of that retirement except for what Watson tells us in the preface to the collection.

The friends of Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be glad to learn that he is still alive and well, though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks of rheumatism. He has, for many years, lived in a small farm upon the Downs five miles from Eastbourne, where his time is divided between philosophy and agriculture. During this period of rest he has refused the most princely offers to take up various cases, having determined that his retirement was a permanent one. The approach of the German war caused him, however, to lay his remarkable combination of intellectual and practical activity at the disposal of the Government, with historical results which are recounted in His Last Bow.

Now, when you start looking into some other details surrounding this retirement, there are some points that immediately start to be troublesome. ...Well, for me, anyway.

First of all: that picture up at the top is of the house to which he's supposed to have retired. Various Holmesians who've looked into the situation over the years seem to have settled on this spot, in East Dean in Sussex. And it has acquired a blue plaque stating that that's where Holmes wound up... which is all very well.

But for the purposes of my own storytelling, I've got concerns.

We know from various comments dropped by Watson in Canon that he and Holmes haven't seen each other for some years, and that Holmes has been living "the life of a hermit" on his farm with his bees.

What I'm not sure about is how you live like a hermit in a house which is (and then was) sited directly on the East Dean village green, with the village pub right across the green from you. It seems like a spot poorly chosen, and maybe chosen in haste. (And how big can that "farm" be, with the village around it? Honestly.)

There's another problem, though, that it astounds me never occurred to Arthur Conan Doyle when he initially chose to retire Holmes to that neck of the woods. The whole area near Eastbourne, sited as it is really close to the south coast of England, is (relatively speaking) an exposed and frequently chilly, damp area routinely exposed to coastal gales. Having just retired Holmes there, that Doyle could then in the next sentence describe Holmes as suffering more or less chronically from rheumatoid arthritis gives me all kinds of trouble. Because I sure know what my arthritis does to me in cold damp weather! And the first thought I had on reading that line in the wake of wanting to tell a story realistically based further along in Holmes's retirement period was "Wow, I need to get him the hell out of there."

Yet here, as has happened at other happy writing moments, I find that a kindly Universe has put what I need right into my hands. Because I invite you to take a closer look at that blue plaque on the house in East Dean.

Some Holmesian who was a stickler for accuracy (or tight adherence to Canon) refused to date this retirement any further along than 1917, the date of "His Last Vow." The story itself implies that Holmes and Watson—now reunited in (covert) government service—have much more to do after '17. And then, after 1918, when WWI ends... then what?

Well, soon enough Holmes goes back into official retirement. But he does it somewhere else... because Watson's with him again.

First of all, the location changes because that little house above might have been all right for one "hermit". For two men, though? They'll need a bit more room... and maybe also a little more privacy.* ...It should be noted here in passing that as of LAST, Watson appears to have mislaid the wife mentioned in BLAN ("The Blanched Soldier"). Is it his first wife or his second...if there was a second? Who the hell even knows, at this point? (The jury's apparently still out on the subject, and some investigators suggest there might have been as many as six wives. ...But I digress.)

Anyway, the ensuing scene between Holmes and Watson, as Holmes's Doctor explains to him how things are going to be from now on since they're together again, is so easy to imagine that I'm not sure I need to do anything about it in the cozy mystery proper but allude to it in passing. The laying down of the law. The inevitable "I don't need to be coddled" bullshit. The suggestion that Holmes, for a comfortable retirement, needs a house that's sited in better-protected countryside.

Also, due to the inevitable fallout from Holmes's wartime exploits, they're going to need a house that's sited closer to a decent rail connection to London, with a telegraph office just a mile or two away if Holmes needs it... or if a client needs to come see him. (And there also needs to be a handy telephone exchange, annoying though it'll be that Lestrade's or Dimmock's successors can just ring him up and whinge at him.) Holmes will also need a place where he can at least get a decent wireless signal so he can listen to the concerts from the Continent, and closer. (Because if I wind up positioning the cozy in 1922, as seems likely, this newfangled thing called the BBC has just come online: and canonically speaking, Holmes has always been an early adopter.)

Most importantly, though—so Watson will claim—Holmes needs a rural home that will be better for the bees. The Eastbourne area isn't really great for them, being too exposed and right on the borderline of where bees can locally thrive. Fifteen or twenty miles north or so would be far better, putting less stress on the bees and therefore being less likely to skew Holmes's observational results. With this outcome particularly in mind, the two housemates-to-be can look around for a house sheltered by the Downs' low hills, with nearby fields of arable crops—very likely hops—where the bees can do their work untroubled by excessive salt air. And Holmes can tend to and study his charges in more clement conditions that won't periodically leave him immobile and in anguish due to a less forgiving climate's exacerbation of his arthritis.

Will Holmes buy into this hilariously misdirected argument without realizing (or admitting that he's realized) what Watson's trying to pull? Who can say. Holmes, as per usual, is going to put up every kind of resistance he can to avoid revealing that this outcome is absolutely what he wants more than anything. Watson, of course, will receive Holmes's fake-cranky temporizing with his usual patience... and start writing to estate agents in villages convenient to the main north-south rail line. And on the day Holmes cracks and formally agrees, Watson will telegraph the most likely agent and set up a viewing for a week or so later... of a house something like this.

The frontmost part with the peaked roof is an oast house—a structure originally built for drying hops. They're scattered all around the Surrey countryside, many having been converted over the decades into parts of homes. This one stands in the middle of a small farm where Holmes can rent out the farm's surrounding grazing to other local farmers, while attending to the only part of the farm that really interests him: the hives. And the upstairs windows, in good weather, give onto a view through the surrounding rolling countryside, downhill toward the distant haze-veiled blue of the Channel.

So now I've finally nailed down what was missing before I could really start work: a decent spot where a "a tall, gaunt man of sixty" (well, sixty-five, at this point) and his shorter, slightly stockier chronicler can settle in and get comfortable, and take on the occasional cozy case on which the fate of the free world doesn't depend. ...Insert here the sound of a writer sighing with relief.

And now back to plotting.

*But there could be all kinds of reasons for that. :)

[nathaslosthershit]

Secret Daughter?

Summary: Fans are speculating as to who the child Jack and his girlfriend were spotted with is.

Liked by trevorzegras, jhugheswag, and 3,539 others

Nhlplayernews: Devils alternative captain & superstar, Jack Hughes, spotted looking pretty comfortable with alleged girlfriend & mysterious child. Could it be the center has been hiding a kid from the world?

user: remember when hockey was about the game?

user: You are on an insta page literally called “player news” dumbass.

user: guys it’s me and Jack’s kid leave us alone!

user: hey girly, I hate to be the one to do this…

user: Trevor liking this 💀

trevorzegras’s story

Replies:

Jackhughes: you are a fucking asshole you know that right?

Trevorzegras: 😎🫶🤑👍

Jackhughes: what the fuck-

It was a widely known fact that Jack Hughes was never one for interviews. No professional athlete ever really was into them with how often they were asked the same questions. But given his most recent injury, and his time off, he finally agreed after being forced asked to do one from the comfort of his own apartment. 

After 30 minutes of having to speak about his team’s playing in recent games, as well as details on his injury and when he is expected back, the end was finally in sight. There was little talk about Jack’s personal life, apart from if he had been talking to his brothers recently, which was quite frankly the most idiotic question. But he was happy, given the most recent rumors, the interviewer had not asked about Jack’s mysterious child he supposedly had and he had thought he had made it out, until…

The soft footsteps were almost inaudible, but as Jack had become accustomed to listening for them at all times, he had immediately heard Eva’s approach. After politely stopping the interviewer who was in the middle of asking what Jack did to fill his days now, the center turned to see his girlfriend’s little sister holding her blanket tightly with tear stained eyes. 

“Aw Eva, didn’t have a good nap?” Jack cooed.

“Bad dream” was all the child said. At this, he beckoned the child forward, letting her sit in his lap as she tried to calm down, still fighting those post-breakdown tears. 

Seeing that Jack was clearly locked in his own world, the interviewer cleared his throat.

“So, I assume this is the secret child we have been hearing a lot about recently?” He pressed.

“She is, but she isn’t my kid. She is my girlfriend’s little sister who is staying with us for a bit.” Jack was fine to clear up the fact that he was not a dad, but he didn’t feel the need to go into the heavy details on why Eva was staying with them. It wasn’t his place.

The interviewer went on to ask the 3 year old a few questions. What her favorite color was, what animals she liked, if she had a best friend, were all discussed at length. Jack was happy to have the spotlight off of him in his own interview, and his large smile as he looked down at the now happy and energetic girl was not unnoticed.

Once Eva’s interview was done, Jack, begrudgingly, went back to answering his, now with Eva settled into his lap. As he talked, she nuzzled into his chest as she went back to sleep. After noticing that she had dozed off, Jack knew he wasn’t going to be able to focus again on this interview, but luckily the man interviewing him had also noticed this.

“Well Jack, I’ll let you get that little one to bed. It was nice talking to you and Eva, hope to see you back on the ice soon.”

—

Eva went back to bed soon after, waking up in a much better mood than before. She was now sitting in the living room playing quietly while Jack made dinner, awaiting his girlfriend’s arrival. 

He turns as the door opens, seeing his very tired girlfriend in the doorway.

“Oh wow, don’t you look like the perfect housewife.” She said pointing to his apron. 

“You will have to wife me up soon, too many people are out here looking for a partner as great as me.” He quips back. 

“Maybe… we will see. How was Eva today?”

“Had a nightmare and woke up early from her nap but she went back to sleep on my lap… during my interview.” His girlfriend turned around at that.

“Shit, I forgot you had that today. I am so sorry Jack I would have arranged a sitter for her.”

“No, no, it's fine I promise. Although now everyone knows about her. He asked her a few questions, nothing crazy just like her favorite toys and such.”

“What did you say about her?” She asks, concerned. Understandably, his girlfriend didn’t want her family’s dirty laundry out there for people to judge.

“Just that she was your sister and staying with us for a bit. If you don't want that I can ask my team to get it cut out. I would have asked you but I didn’t really have time.”

She is quiet for a moment while she thinks. Eva and her family situation was… complicated. Jack knew that. A three year old staying with her 22 year old sister and boyfriend was going to raise some questions from fans. 

“It’s okay. People will find out eventually and now they know you don't have a secret child. I’m sure that is a relief.”

“Honey, you know damn well I didn’t care. And I see Eva as a daughter. She has been in my life almost as long as you have and I adore her. It was kind of cool to see people thinking I was a dad, and a good one at that.” 

She was on the brink of tears hearing this. Bringing Eva home and raising her wasn’t easy, and despite how long they have been together, she was always insecure about how Jack truly felt, even though he had been nothing but accepting and loving to Eva. 

“You’re right. Hey, maybe now she can go to games. She always asks when we watch at home.”

Jack lights up at the idea. “I'll get her a mini version of my jersey. I'll try to get you guys good seats. That will be great.” He immediately walks over to Eva, taking her in his arms as he asks her if she wants to go to one of his games. 

Even after all this time, there is no better site than watching her sister laughing with Jack, a man that had no obligation to love Eva the way he did but did so tenfold.

[paranorahjones]

Love and Attraction in My Adventures with Superman

As someone who has never been particularly drawn by superhero media, I wasn't really sure what to expect when I first started watching My Adventures with Superman about a week ago. I had seen a few posts here on Tumblr that had piqued my interest, but all I really knew about it was that it was well-loved and had an art style that I knew I liked.

I absolutely did not expect to fall head over heels for the show entirely, or to be moved to tears multiple times by the wildly sweet, revolutionary relationship between this adaptation's Clark Kent and Lois Lane.

I say "revolutionary" because this romance touches on a lot of things that I feel are lacking in most modern portrayals of romance, and it handles them masterfully.

Most of what I reference/talk about in this post will focus on the first four episodes of season one (with a particular focus on the fourth episode, Let's Go to Ivo Tower, You Say) , because they are my favorite episodes and I think I can communicate what I want to by pulling mainly from those episodes. But I will be pulling bits and pieces from the whole series so consider yourself spoiler-warned.

The main point is this: I absolutely adore the way that physical attraction and emotional attraction are balanced between Clark and Lois.

The fact that this is possible comes from how well-crafted the dynamic is between the two of them; Lois' raw passion and energy inspires confidence and a mutual passion in Clark, and Clark's gentleness and kind heart inspire a tenderness in Lois that she was never given an outlet to show or receive. From this dynamic, a wealth of physical and emotional intimacy is naturally born. But never in the series do the two aspects of attraction feel out of balance; rather, they play off each other effortlessly. When one is brought into focus, the other quickly follows.

From the first episode and onward, it's obvious that Clark and Lois are awed by each other's physical appearance. Lois outright describes Clark as "beautiful" (which, if you saw one of my earlier posts from not too long ago, is something that makes me so incredibly happy to see in mainstream media).

To be fair, she doesn't say that to his face and says it in a moment of extreme frustration. But I still count it.

Anyways.

Upon seeing Lois for the first time, Clark is practically frozen in wonder for a good few seconds.

Lois, too, experiences this initial moment of attraction and almost immediately makes contact, with a playful punch to Clark's chest as he holds the door open for her.

This is a detail I really love, because first of all wow, I aspire to have her level of confidence. But also, it becomes clear early on in the series that Lois expresses herself very physically. She has no qualms regarding physical affection. Clark, on the other hand, is much more reserved and, at first, generally only initiates contact after an invitation from Lois, or after enough time has passed in their friendship for him to know that Lois is very physical and wouldn't have a problem with it.

There is also an immediate emphasis on Clark's concern for Lois' physical well-being. Take a sip of water every time Clark asks Lois if she's okay just in the first episode alone and you will be well hydrated.

Later on in this first episode, while trying to infiltrate a warehouse, Lois confidently asks Clark to boost her up to a window so she can get inside the building. Clark is immediately flustered, showing how much he feels out of his depth even with physical contact that, on the surface, would have no romantic connotations. (But to be fair, Lois is asking him to put his hands around her waist and lift her up when they literally just met like maybe six hours ago. I would be flustered too.)

And when Lois loses her balance and Clark effortlessly catches her, his first response (after blushing, of course) is to ask her:

Even in moments where the romantic tension is thick enough to cut with a knife and Clark clearly knows it, his first priority is to make sure she's okay.

And thus begins one of the strongest underlying themes throughout the whole building-up of their relationship, which is trust.

I'm gonna jump ahead now to the scene that inspired this whole post: the stairwell scene in episode four.

A basic rundown: Clark, Lois, and Jimmy are given an assignment to attend a tech unveiling for the city's top investors at Amazotech headquarters. Lois, naturally, ignores the parameters of the assignment and tries to use it as an opportunity to expose corruption in the city and get her stop-the-presses story. Clark very reluctantly follows her lead, believing that she will get herself into trouble . . . until Dr. Ivo, head of Amazotech, makes a few rude comments about Lois' appearance (Lois doesn't hear these, only Clark). This deeply irritates Clark and prompts him into revealing how much he knows about Dr. Ivo's corrupt business dealings, in an attempt to intimidate the truth out of Dr. Ivo, who responds by having Clark thrown out of the building and into a pile of garbage in an adjacent alleyway. Lois comes to find Clark (who is unhurt) and teases him about whether or not she should let him back in the building, since he didn't follow the assignment. Clark jokes that he doesn't even meet the dress code anymore, revealing that his suit jacket was torn as he was tossed out of the building.

Lois then reveals that she came prepared for this, and tells Clark to "take it off."

Clark immediately becomes flustered again and begins stammering as Lois pulls him back into the building by his jacket, continuing to tease him.

It's in these moments, as you can see, that the lighting of the scene changes. As soon as Lois says "take it off", everything is bathed in a rosy light. This happens frequently between these two; often, when we the audience are seeing one of these characters through the perspective of the other, the lighting takes on a very dreamy quality. This will come up again momentarily.

As Lois and Clark ascend the stairs, Lois removes her jacket and pulls a sewing kit from her pocket, admitting that she carries one on her because she herself has torn a lot of her clothing on her escapades.

The two then sit down on the stairs, and Clark removes his jacket. The lighting changes again, and we see Clark from Lois' eyes. It's clear by the dreamy lighting and the way that Lois blushes and involuntarily chokes out a "Wow . . ." that she is once again awed by him and deeply attracted to him on a physical level.

And this scene represents so much about their growing dynamic. It honestly has me floored.

But before I explain fully, I have to go on a tangent about my beloved Clark.

Throughout the beginning of the series, I believe Clark shows several signs that indicate that he is insecure about his physical appearance. Which you wouldn't expect, right? I mean, look at him. He's objectively a dreamboat. He was designed to be that way.

But at this stage of knowing so little about where he really came from or who he is, I think Clark struggles with not having a way to explain his physique. He admits that he wasn't an athlete in school; he was in the chess club. He doesn't work out as an adult. And yet he has the muscles of a bodybuilder. But, like so many other aspects of himself, he doesn't have a way to explain it. This causes a disconnect in how he sees himself physically; he likely feels as though he doesn't deserve his naturally impressive physique. And you could argue that he even does his best to hide it. As a civilian, he generally wears bulky, layered clothing like sweatshirts and sweaters. He slouches and carries himself in a very inward direction; his shoulders are often forward and his arms close to his sides, as if he is habitually attempting to make himself smaller.

This is one thing that brought me to tears when I saw it. The idea that a person can feel insecure about having physical attributes that would normally be seen as positive (and that they can't explain and/or feel that they don't deserve) is not very well-explored in media, but it is experienced by quite a few people, myself being one of them. But often in the real world when someone attempts to express this kind of insecurity, they are shut down and mocked and told to "be grateful" for what they have because others would envy them. Which I can say from personal experience is unbelievably damaging to a person's self image. So seeing this possibly be represented in Clark Kent himself was incredibly moving to me.

But back to the scene itself.

In the most recent gif above, this is the most vulnerable Lois has seen Clark thus far. What I think is so beautiful is the way that she invites him into this vulnerability by making herself vulnerable first.

Rewind a bit. Outside the building, Lois tells Clark to take his jacket off. Not a big deal, right? It's not like he's not wearing an undershirt. But Clark becomes flustered, not outright expressing that he's uncomfortable with this, but certainly indicating that he's not exactly at ease with it either.

Next we see them climbing up the stairs, and as they do so, Lois removes her own jacket and reveals her bare back to Clark in the process.

I believe this was incredibly intentional. This scene would have carried a very different tone if Lois' outfit was revealing in any other way. But the fact that her back is exposed symbolizes that she trusts him, in a physical and emotional sense. It's like when my cat Penny rolls on her back and exposes her fluffy tummy. Lois revealing this part of herself was her saying "I trust you, I feel safe with you, and I'll be vulnerable with you if you'll be vulnerable with me."

And only after that does Clark remove his jacket.

Because there is the factor of attraction at play, there is a lot of blushing and stammering going on in the beginning of this scene. These are two incredibly attractive people who are incredibly attracted to each other, after all. But immediately after the initial romantic tension, there is emotional vulnerability as well. Lois confides in Clark about her relationship with her dad, and the crippling self-doubt that she has kept very close to her chest. Clark jumps to reassure her in earnest, telling her that she has "changed his life for the better, in every possible way."

And that is what I meant at the beginning of the post when I mentioned balance.

Every moment of physical attraction in this series is followed by or harmonized with a moment of emotional vulnerability. Clark and Lois both invite each other deeper into each aspect of connection, and thus their relationship builds in an incredibly natural and beautiful way.

At this point, I think this post is about five miles long as the crow scrolls and I should probably stop now before all my thoughts run away with me. I could go on forever about the impact that this series and these characters have had on me, though. I will forever be grateful to the creators for giving us such an incredible series, and such a beautiful romance.

[kopilot-pop]

[For you are loved.]

- New Jeans x Ex-IZ*ONE! Reader

Request: You can write New jeans(separate) x Ex-izonereader Who is exhausted because he takes so much criticism (Like Wonyoung, only worse because she suffers🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️😓😓😦)and just goes to them and lays on top of them, but oh..they fall asleep..just cute, Your works are too cute!!!!💗💗💗🐰🐰🐰😍😍

Warning(s): Cursing, self-hatred, cyber bullying, etc.

A/N: This is fluffy in the end so don’t be scared to read it because of the warnings. Love y’all, have fun!

———————————————————————

“I just don’t get why you’re with them.”

You froze.

You’re currently at a sign event, meeting hundreds of Bunnies, and having a chance to talk to them.

Everything went smoothly. You smiled at fans, they screamed, you said hi, they screamed, and when you posed for pictures you could hear clicks louder than the ones you heard on a red carpet.

Maybe you should’ve expected not everything could be that perfect.

A certain fan - although it’s clear she has a favorite - made you anxious the moment she sat down in front of you. You were last in the line, so you were able to watch the others interact with her. She brought small wrapped gifts for all your members, but when she arrived at your table, it was clear she was empty handed.

Not even a piece of paper for you to sign at a fucking sign event.

“I… I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” She crosses her legs, folding up her arms on her chest. “I don’t understand why Ador even considered you to join.”

Realizing what’s happening, you quickly glance at the manager - unfortunately he’s busy handling an overexcited fan with Dani.

“I..”

“I don’t want your stupid signature, it’s the same lazy one you had with IZ*ONE.”

Oh.

“You should’ve just stayed alone and pathetic after the disbandment rather then ruining a perfect group.”

Wow.

“You’re an eye sore - do you even know that? A fucking rat standing next to the goddesses. Every day I pray that you get caught in a stupid scandal and leave like th-”

“Excuse me. Your time is over.”

The ‘fan’ quickly glares at the manager, and hurriedly leaves, stomping purposefully. He gently puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry I came too late. You can stay out for the rest if you’d like-”

“It’s okay! I can’t keep my fans waiting. Thank you though.” The fake smile clearly doesn’t ease up your manager’s mind, but he knows you well, and decided to leave you back to work with a simple pat.

—

On your way home you started to read the comments about the interaction.

The same girl decided to brag about her interaction on Twitter. You recognized her username, having seen her and several other fans that loved New Jeans, but hated you.

From editing songs and group photos to exclude you, apparently they decided to finally face you and say the same things that they posted on the internet more directly.

Her post gained attraction -and even though the replies were filled with Bunnies protecting you and explaining how the poster went too far - several replies were filled with hate towards you.

How untalented you are.

How much they hate your voice.

How you didn’t deserve to be with them.

And even a very detailed; ‘100 reasons why Y/n should leave NJ’.

“Number 23, her personality is way too bitchy...” You accidentally mumble out, causing Hyein to snap her head towards you.

“What in the world are you reading unnie?!”

The commotion caused all the girls to look back at the two of you, watching as Hyein snatches your phone out of your grip.

She takes a few seconds to scroll through the thread, as her face becomes more and more sour.

“H-Hyein! Give it back-!”

The younger girl furiously taps on your phone and shuts it off before handing it to you.

“Wha- what did you do?”

“I reported them. Don’t worry about it unnie.”

“But-”

“What the hell are you guys up to?”

Minji, finally awoken from her nap, looks at the two of you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Some asshole was saying shit about Y/n unnie.”

“Woah! Language!”

“My reaction is nothing compared to what Hanni unnie would say if she saw it.”

“Why are you dragging me into this?!”

Minji, now more concerned by the maknae’s reactions, stared at you.

“EVERYONE I’M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE.”

Haerin’s (rare) loud voice clears the van.

“We’ll talk when we get home.”

—

You quickly ran towards your bedroom, locking the door to avoid any contact. You shove your face into the bed letting out a loud groan.

‘I’m used to this. You’re used to this Y/n. This happened 4 years ago, it shouldn’t be that surprising for it to happen again...’

It was the same hate you received ever since you even joined Produce. It always happened, it always existed.

So why does it hurt so much this time?

Was it the comparing? Was it the comment about your skill? Maybe it was the way your members caught your brooding this time.

God, you hope they don’t know about the other times.

The nights you spent awake, wasting your mind reading disgusting comments from older videos. The holidays you spent crying alone at the dorm as you read yet another article about how you ‘mocked someone’. The hours you spent at the company, running your bones and muscles until you felt like ‘you deserved to be with them’.

You’re the most experienced one out of the whole group. You know how common negative comments are.

But it hurts so much more when you’re with the girls.

“Unnie?”

A knock causes you to shoot up from your crying session.

“Y-… Yup?! Yeah??”

You stumble towards the door, but before you could open the door, the full mirror next to your closet made you hesitate.

You teary face and clearly red eyes stopped you from opening the door.

“Um.. do you need something Dani?”

“Oh, yeah. The six of us are gonna have a movie night! Don’t you remember..?”

Shit. You forgot.

“I.. I’m sorry Dani. I think I have a cold. Don’t want you guys catching i-”

“A COLD?! Are you okay unnie!!? Do you need anything!?” Dani’s panic made you groan at your mistake.

After minutes of convincing her to join the others, you finally hear her shuffle away from the other side of the door.

You don’t wanna be seen like this. You’re the tough senior. You’re not the oldest, but the most experienced.

You deal with this alone. Not with others.

Why waste their energy anyways?

—

It’s 3 a.m. when you wake up on the floor.

Your face is still wet from the tears. You ears rang uncomfortably and the mirror still shows a very puffy, tired version of you.

Wiping your face with your sleeves, you quietly make your way to the kitchen - praying that the girls finished their movie night, and all went to bed.

You quietly creak open the door and tiptoe towards the kitchen. But before you could get there, something catches your eye.

The TV screen still plays an old comedy movie - shining a bright light towards the pile in front of the couch.

The air mattress you bought a few weeks ago was on the floor and the girls were all lying on top of it. That’s what you expected, so it wasn’t a surprise.

The empty pillow between Minji and Hanni was the surprising part.

The six of you always had an order you guys laid in.

And you always slept between Minji and Hanni.

You froze and stared at the cold pillow. The sore throat you felt disappeared, replaced by a sudden warmth in your chest. The tears didn’t feel as heavy as they did when you stood besides the mirror.

Like a magnet, you unconsciously gravitated towards the small space. You slowly laid down, staring up into the dark ceiling as the ringing in your ears turned into soft snores all around you.

You could finally hear the laugh tracks coming from the TV, the whirring of the fridge, and the shuffling of sheets.

It wasn’t loud, but enough to calm your mind.

You’re here. You’re in their arms. You’re not a target on the internet, you’re not a ghost from a different group, and you’re certainly not some bitchy asshole as the world makes you out to be.

You’re a New Jeans member.

You’re an adored idol.

And you’re certainly a loved group mate.

Hanni’s unconscious gentle hold on your arm reminds you of that, once again.

———————————————————————

[coupranghae808]

Birthday Blues

Pairing: Seungcheol x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, angst

Warning: Slight cursing, birthday blue depression

Summary: Seungcheol is always on time to self-congratulate himself on his birthday, you'd imagine he would do the same for others, except his timing wasn't perfect on Carat's birthday or even your birthday. But how can you rely on him to remember your birthday if he doesn't know?

A/N: This is my first ff, so bear with me y’all

The first year dating Seungcheol was a strange yet overwhelming journey, to say the least. As sweet as the first dates, first kisses, first "I love yous," first intimacy, and first everything, together really tested your small inexperienced heart, but as your first boyfriend, Seungcheol did everything in his power to ease the journey. I mean that's what the first year is all about, right? Getting to know each other and building trust on an intimate level. One fact that you learned about Seungcheol throughout your relationship was that Seungcheol always tends to be on standby minutes before his birthday to receive early birthday messages. In fact, the first couple weeks you two started dating, his brothers all warned you if you failed to congratulate him at midnight on the dot, he would become a sulky monster against you until the end of existence. Although they make it sound like an over exaggeration, sulky Seungcheol is truly a force to be reckoned with. It's not every day he gets showered in love and attention, so he always expects special treatment on his special day. You'd imagine he would do the same for others, except his timing wasn't perfect on Carat's birthday or even your birthday. But how can you rely on him to remember your birthday if he doesn't know?

The morning sunshine peeked through the windows, waking you from deep slumber. Tossing and turning in Seungcheol bed, hoping for early snuggles, your eyes opened, and you realized you were all alone in the empty bed. He must've left early for work It's not the best way to start the day, but you weren't going to let this ruin your day. The day immediately started with a phone call, not from Seungcheol but none other than your mother herself.

"Hello-"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!!"

"Aw thank you mom-"

Meanwhile, in the distance, Kkuma's ears perk up to the sound of your voice and dashes towards your end of the bed. She interrupts your conversation with sweet (aggressive) kisses; you have to calm her down with gentle pats brushing through her white fur.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Y/N! Happy birthday to you!"

"Wow, again thanks mom. That's all really sweet to say at 7 am."

"Oh please, can't I just celebrate my kid? It feels like just yesterday you were crying and screaming like a baby and now your__ years old. Gosh. Anyways, hopefully my gift arrives safely in the mail today. Any plans today? Maybe with that boyfriend of yours? Hmmm?"

Of course. Ever since you revealed your newfound partner to people, your mom especially, constantly pesters for any details about him or your relationship. However, dating a worldwide idol doesn't make your relationship any easier, so both of you agreed to be careful about what you share while protecting each other.

"His name is Seungcheol, and no, he hasn't mentioned anything to me, so I'll probably go on with my usual day."

"Ehhh? No, I'm sure he has something in mind like a surprise! *Gasp* How romantic would that be!?"

"Yeah sure. Look mom, I should really get going for today. Thanks for the birthday wishes."

"Yes, yes! Go on, come visit soon sweetie!"

"Alright, Love you-"

*Call Ended*

… Wow, for one who loves to yap, she was quick to end the call

You turned your attention back to Kkuma and cupped her fluffy tiny head in your hands.

"Do you think dad knows about today?" You asked.

There was a moment of silence as if she was seriously contemplating the question until she licked your nose as a pity response.

"Yeah, I'm not sure either. I'll try to ignore it, I suppose."

The mixed internal conflict running in your mind was condensed and released in the form of a heavy sign. Indulging in the peaceful hour, your eyes wander around his room, which eventually lands on the clock, reading 7:30 am!!

"Shit! How is it already 7:30? I'm going to be late- oh sorry hun."

The commute from Seungcheol place to your work only takes 15 minutes, but that wasn't even enough time to get ready. Kkuma, who becomes slightly concerned, watches you running left and right across Seungcheol’s place like a crazy maniac. It was a race against the clock, and there was only time for you to wash, dress, and gather your belongings. You miraculously managed to arrive in the nick of time. However, the moment you parked yourself dark storm clouds began to shroud the sky, and all your efforts to look put together were drenched, all in vain, by the cursed rain. To make matters worse, you misplaced your key card, which locked you out of the building.

Darn, I must've forgotten it back at Seungcheol's place. I almost made it too. Now what?

Sulking on your forgetfulness, you slowly approached the front doors, where you had to negotiate access into the building with security. To the security guards, you seem like an insane freak straight out of a horror film. It took several calls to your department to finally convince them. Once inside, you received several puzzled stares passing by as you trudged your way up the office. You finally arrived 30 minutes late to your desk only to soon be summoned by your authorities for a stern lecturing. You sat obediently through a literal bully session for your incompetence, selfishness, and inactive efforts that discourages your teams to meet deadlines. You've clearly seen better days before. Despite the cursed mishaps, you mask your disheartened feelings with a brave face and push forward. You mentally longed for Seungcheol to comfort you through this humiliating moment. Right on cue, when you attempted to contact him, your phone was on the verge of death, and you just so happened to forget your phone charger behind. *PerfecT*.

Meanwhile, in the practice rooms of HYBE INSIGHT, the seventeen members rehearsed their dance routine once more in preparation for their next comeback. After the dance coach instructed a 10-minute break, the members sat huddled together and took a moment to organize a celebratory party (but really an excuse to drink).

"This might be last minute, but why don't we have the party tonight? We could do it after practice at Mingyu and Wonwoo’s place." Hoshi exclaims.

"What dude? Just because I can cook multiple servings doesn't mean I'm gonna serve all your hungry asses," Mingyu argues. "Let's just go out to that new restaurant down the road."

"Oh, that sounds better! What’s the place called again? I'll get reservations ready," Seungcheol says as he searches for his phone.

"But Hyung, I thought you'd be busy tonight?" Seungkwan assumes with a confused face. This news alters all the members' attention towards him. Together their curiosity pierced Seungcheol for answers.

"Uh, nope. Why would you think that?

"Today is (insert bdate) right? I’m pretty sure that’s her birthday, so I figured you guys were going to celebrate."

"Birthday… I had no idea. She never said anything about a birthday." Seungcheol pauses in disbelief.

"What are you serious? You forgot?" Vernon hissed as he knocked him back into reality.

"Wait no, she never told me about her birthday. I need to call her."

His fingers fidgets through his phone to search for your contact. Seconds go by, and the ringtone eventually reaches voicemail. He hits the messages app in panic and spams texts nonstop, but there is still no response.

"Guys I think I really fucked up, she isn't responding back to me," Seungcheol whined while running his head through his hair. "What do I do now?"

"Hey, calm down it's not entirely too late, just-"

" Alright boys, break time is over now. Let's get in position for the last set." Seungcheol eyes widen

"I've got an idea hyung, let's get this over with so we can get out sooner."

After work, you stepped outside the building as the last person to finish. You had to work overtime to compensate for your tardiness this morning. You don't overlook the dark empty scenery before you. You let the cold breeze carry you toward your car and slump into your seat. This rarely isolated atmosphere allowed you to shed a few tears before you started your engine. You were well aware of your chronic case of birthday blues, yet each birthday seems worse than the last. Although you don't mind the attention people typically receive on their birthday, it breaks your heart knowing that most people in your life don't acknowledge you. You obviously can't blame Seungcheol; it was a miscommunication on your part, but you can help to feel unworthy, especially from the heck of a day you had. You just remind yourself that the day is finally over and you can ignore it like a regular old day.

You debated whether you should head straight home or back to Seungcheol place. Every fiber in your body wanted to return home, but you realized you still needed to pick up some essential items you had left behind after learning from your rookie mistakes today. You had no idea of Seungcheol's whereabouts; for all you could tell, he could still be practicing with the boys, asleep, or at home waiting for you. You prayed that wasn't the case because you weren't sure if you were emotionally prepared to confront and mask your weak self.

I'm just going to grab my stuff then leave without him knowing. Yeah… that's the plan

You stand facing Seungcheol's door and take a deep breath before entering. You glance up at the ceiling asking the universe for this impending fate to be in your favor for once. Once you stepped inside, the room was completely dark. There was a faint illumination from another room that piqued your interest. You silently slipped off your shoes and found a trail of rose petals on the floor leading to the light.

" Kkuma, no! Don't eat the roses, those are for Y/Nie. She should be here at any moment…*sigh* I hope she's safe." Seungcheol trembled while making some sort of commotion in the kitchen.

Now that you know Seungcheol is home, you wonder if it's too late to abort the mission, but your conscience reasoned that there is no turning back now. You haven't seen Seungcheol at all today, and he is expecting you. You tread carefully over the roses, following to the end of the trail and witness a sight to behold.

A candle-lit room with a soft romantic tune and the sweet aroma of all your favorite dishes traveled across the kitchen. Despite the pilling dishes in the sink, you realized his place was more polished than you remembered, decorated in fact. The dining table was set almost exactly similar to an elegant restaurant with wine, dinnerware, flowers, and even more candles. Then your attention averts to the man on the ground being all loving and affectionate with his daughter. She barks to alert your presence and struggles to escape her father's embrace.

"Hey…" he said breathlessly. He immediately stands and rushes to your side. You both stare lovingly until his arms engulf you in a warm hug.

"I missed you," he breaks the silence without letting go of you. "You didn't respond to any of my calls… l'm-"

Before he could finish his thought, you knew you had to clear the air.

"Yeah. Sorry, I had a bit of a rough day, and I left my charger here before I left for work," you release the hug to show him your inactive phone when you stare back at his gentle eyes. "So, My phone was basically dead the whole day."

"Oh…" He realizes. He struggles to find the right words to phrase his next thought.

"Look, babe. I'm not gonna pretend with you, especially when I *deep sigh* completely forgot your birthday. I'm so sorry." His voice cracked softly as he spoke the last sentence. He tilts his head up to hide his tears from rolling down his face.

"Oh, how did you uh, find out?" you stuttered.

"You were hiding it from me?"

" No I-"you left a sigh and avoided his eyes. "It's complicated, I didn't purposefully hide it from you… You see I don't exactly have a great relationship with my birthday. I don't know; I just always seem to dread the day because each year, I'm reminded I'm getting older and there’s still so much I haven’t accomplished… It makes me feel like a failure every time. When I was younger, every time I invited people to celebrate my birthday, I always felt guilty for forcing them into a party they would rather not be wasting time at, so I always found myself lonely on my birthday… I guess that's why I rarely tell people about my birthday."

You look back at Seungcheol's bloodshot eyes staring into you whilst he processes your words. His intense stare made you quiver and shrink in size. Before you could look away, Seungcheol slumped his head on your shoulder, and you could feel his hot tears staining your skin.

"You- How dare those shitty people make you hate yourself on YOUR DAY." You laugh in between your tears. Seungcheol takes a deep breath and kisses your tears. "Look I get it growing up sucks, but you can't be so hard on yourself. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, so it breaks my heart that you think that lowly of yourself."

You both probably spent a good minute hugging each other to digest each other's words when a soft beeping alarm from the oven catches both your attention. Seungcheol smiles and runs his hands from your shoulders to your hands, dragging you to the sound.

"I might not be the best first boyfriend, but I couldn't let the day end without celebrating it with my girl, so I, uh, tried to make you a cake and set up this special dinner."

He swears he saw the whole universe in your eyes when your eyes sparkled at his words. Together, you decorated the cake, danced hysterically to the music, sipped on wine, and dined with take-out before feasting dessert. All the early inconveniences that ruined you initially washed away with Seungcheol. Now Seungcheol lights the candles on the cake while singing to you.

" Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday, dear Y/N, Happy birthday to you~ Make a wish."

You clasped your hands together while taking a few seconds carefully deciding your precious wish. Once you mentally lock it in, you blow the flames out and watch the smoke dissipate between you and Seungcheol.

" What did you wish for?"

"I can't say if I want it to come true hmm?"

[t-lostinworlds]

Warm Winter & Fiery Frost [2] | Bucky Barnes

》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x ex-HYDRA assassin!female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x grumpy, enemies to lovers-ish, slow burn-ish, angst, fluff-ish

》 SUMMARY: They say opposites attract. You and Bucky were so alike—He was called The Winter Soldier and you were called Frost, for fucks sake—that it's probably the reason why you hated each other. Or was it the denying of powerful feelings in fear of getting hurt? You know, like how the cliché goes. Because you know what they also say: There's a fine line between love and hate.

》 WARNINGS: read full warnings here

》 WORD COUNT: 16.4k+

A/N: here's part two! this starts off right where the other one ended. this is also the last part, BUT BUT if you want to see more of these two or like more detailed scenes that were just mentioned in the fic just lemme know so maybe i can write it as a blurb! <3 enjoy reading!

📘 READ ON AO3 | ★ FIC MASTERPOST

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

When the rest of the team was ushered into the conference room for a debrief, you and Bucky were ordered by the Captain himself to go into a separate office. It was obvious in Steve's tone that he was serious about it. So there was no room for argument. The second Sam ended up leading the way for you both, Bucky immediately knew what this was about.

Sam gestured towards the two seats in front of the desk. You didn't bother arguing and just took your place. Bucky sat across you with a sigh.

You wouldn't even look at him.

If this was any other day, you two would've been deep into a glare-off by now.

But nothing.

Even though Bucky was looking right at you, you couldn't even do as much as lift your head. You were just fixated on the one spot on your knee, picking at it like there was some loose thread when there obviously wasn't.

Bucky couldn't stand watching you act so timid and defeated like this, so he looked away.

"Nobody wants to speak? Fine, I'll speak." Sam said after a moment, hands clasped on the table. "What the actual hell, you two?"

It was such a vague question. But somehow, both of you already knew how out of line the whole argument was because you both looked at each other without much thought.

You were quick to avert your gaze, though.

"Look, I get it," Sam sighed, looking at you two pointedly. "Everything was tense back there. We definitely weren't in high spirits when things didn't go the way we wanted it to. But was that anyone's fault?"

You both shook your head no.

"And as far as I'm concerned, you were only looking out for each, just like how teammates would correct?"

You both nodded.

It honestly was starting to look like some preschool principal's office. Bucky would've found it funny if there weren't harsh words haphazardly thrown in the mix.

"Both of you said things out of anger, and I think we can all agree that both of you went out of line," Sam continued. "But I think I'm right in assuming that neither of you meant it, either."

Bucky nodded. You didn't respond.

"Now, look each other in the eye and apologize."

"I'm not going first," he grumbled out of stubbornness.

It was becoming a bad habit, one that only ever shines around you.

He wasn't proud of it.

"You started it, asshole," you huffed, the fire in your tone slowly coming back.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Wow, that's real mature of you—"

"Quit it," Sam interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned in his seat, making himself comfortable. "You're not leaving here until you both apologize."

There was a beat.

You sighed deeply, your body slumping on your chair.

Another beat before you finally met his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you said, uncharacteristically gentle. "None of it was your fault. I know you didn't have a choice. I shouldn't have said what I said."

Bucky's face softened, brows raising in surprise. 

He didn't expect to see guilt in your eyes, nor did he expect to hear absolute sincerity in your voice.

It made him feel even worse.

Of course he knew you didn't mean what you said. After his comment, despite not exactly planning for you to hear it, your reaction was to be expected.

It was never pleasant to be called a 'Useless bitch,' no matter the language.

But despite only saying it out of anger, and not at all meaning it, he wasn't quite sure if you knew that.

"What I said was out of line. I'm sorry," Bucky said, his heart aching when he saw the slight mist in your eyes. "I know he double-crossed you and if you hadn't pulled that trigger, countless young girls would've been sold to God knows who. You did the right thing."

You nodded and looked away.

"And you're not useless, Y/N," he said softly, your eyes snapping up to meet his.

It was the first time he ever said your name. Bucky never truly called you by anything before apart from the occasional printsessa just to get on your nerves. Your name felt so new on his tongue yet so right that he wanted to say it again and again.

"You never were."

You didn't say anything.

You simply looked at Sam, as if begging for this to be over with.

Bucky wouldn't lie and say that didn't sting a little.

"Alright, how about a truce?" Sam said, nodding at you both. "Shake on it."

Bucky put his hand out and you took it. But he only felt your skin on his for a second before it was gone. So brief he might as well have imagined it.

He tried saying something. But before he could even grasp what exactly it was he wanted to say, you stood up and walked out of the room.

Through the glass walls, he watched you wrap your arms around yourself, head down and never looking back.

He'd never seen you look so small.

Bucky hated that he was the cause of it.

•••

He couldn't sleep.

Bucky had been staring at the wall for hours now. The very wall that connected your room to his. He wasn't quite sure what was keeping him awake—the guilt, the worry, the longing, or everything else in between.

Sighing, he got out of bed and quietly went to your shared kitchen. He didn't want to wake you up in case you were already asleep.

But as he reached the end of the hallway, he saw that the hanging light above the island was on, a figure sitting on one of the stools with a bottle of some cheap wine on the counter.

He instantly knew it was you.

Bucky wasn't sure if you noticed him yet, contemplating if he should just leave you be and give you some space. Though he should've known better. You were a trained assassin—one of the best in his opinion. So of course you already knew he was standing there, despite being in the shadows of the hallway. 

"Luka," you said, eyes glued to the something on the counter. "His name was Luka."

It took him a second to realize who you were talking about. Perhaps it was sheer curiosity, or perhaps he sensed that you probably needed this. Either way, Bucky crossed the distance and sat across you on the barstool.

That was when he noticed the brown folder just sitting there, all worn and discolored as if it's been through years of handling.

It was obvious what it was.

You took a swig of the bottle, Bucky's gaze swiftly moving over your face, his heart stinging at the sight of your bloodshot eyes. Whether from the alcohol or from crying, he wasn't quite sure. It was probably even both. Still, an air of sadness surrounded you, a melancholic look sketched on your beautiful features.

Bucky hated it.

"He was a few years older than me—nine years if you want the specifics—but the youngest leader of any operation HYDRA has ever done," you continued, still nothing meeting him in the eye. "He was the son of the Red Room's head scientist, Lyudmila Antonovna Kudrin. HYDRA recruited Luka, which gave him all the resources he needed to recreate his mother's genius."

"But you two became close," he asked.

"Luka was my teacher and my best friend," you said with such longing and grief that there was no doubt that you two had grown a strong bond. But then you met his gaze, a sad smile on your lips. "Or something you're probably more familiar with, my handler."

A chill ran down Bucky's spine.

He knew that there was something else going on, that it wasn't just a normal relationship. He just didn't expect it to be this deep and well, fucked up.

"Acted differently with me, though. He was sweet and kind—never laid a hand, never even raised his voice. He was patient, encouraging, affectionate. He'd make me laugh over the stupidest things, but also firm enough to make sure I give the best that I can. He was—" Your voice cracked, a sound so vulnerable it made his heart ache. "He used to sneak some snacks into my room at night even though it was against my training regime. We'd watch movies on this old, beat-up television until we'd fall asleep, cuddling with each other because my room didn't have a heater. He gave me cute nicknames—printsessa, was his favorite."

Bucky felt his throat dry up.

That explained so much of the animosity you had over the nickname.

Maybe that was why you weren't phased when people called you Frost, because it was a different name entirely that brought you harsh memories.

And Bucky was the only one who taunted it every single time.

"If people were to ask you to think of an evil scientist, he's never going to be the person that'd cross your mind." 

"You never saw it coming," Bucky sighed.

You shook your head. "It was innocent at first, a friendship. But as I grew older we became more…intimate."

He hated how you looked so guilty and ashamed. None of it was your fault. It was obvious enough that this poor excuse of a guy manipulated you to a point where you thought there was something real between you two.

If this guy wasn't already dead Bucky couldn't even begin to describe what he'd do to him.

"That night was probably what he was waiting for. It was the best proof he could get that trusted him completely by giving him my—" You bit your lip and looked down.

Bucky didn't need you to say it to know.

He thought he'd be a little jealous to hear you talk about the intimacies of your relationship, with anyone for that matter. But all he felt was pure sadness and hurt. You gave all that you could to this guy—your trust, your affection, your love and he just spat it right back to your face.

"And I did. I fucking trusted him because I was young, impressionable, and stupid—"

"Stop that," Bucky said firmly. "You were not stupid."

"I still fell for it, didn't I?" you scoffed, shaking your head. "But when you get that little bit of sunshine in a cold harsh world, you hang on to it."

Bucky already knew what horrors HYDRA was capable of. Hell, he'd live through decades of it himself. But just as he thought they couldn't get any more cruel, they pulled something monstrous like this.

It was pure evil.

To make you believe that you had someone in your corner during those moments, that someone actually cared for you, someone who showered you with affection and made you feel like you were free, someone who made you laugh despite your circumstances.

Only for that person to end up being a complete monster who only ever used you for personal gain.

With Bucky, he always knew that all of them were evil bastards, that they never truly cared for him, and that they didn't even see him as a human. He always knew that he was just an asset and nothing more. HYDRA did so many wicked things to him, from physical, mental and emotional torture to countless abuse. But at least he knew what it was from the start.

With you?

They gave you warmth and hope only to snatch it away like it was some useless toy and slap you with it.

He couldn't even imagine how it must've felt, the betrayal, the hurt and heartbreak on top of all the physical and mental torture that was inflicted on you because they sure as hell weren't going to exempt you from that.

And all of this because of one person.

"I trusted him, blindly and completely. I let him lead me into this lab every single day even if I come out of it not knowing anything they were doing because I trusted him."

It was probably subconscious, the way you had been scratching the back of your neck from time to time.

Bucky understood why.

He used to do the same with his shoulder whenever he was recalling something from his past.

"A month in that lab, I woke up to something stinging in the back of my neck," you continued. "He told me not to worry about it, that it was going to help me be the best in my field, that it was there for communication Purposes. Well, he wasn't lying," you scoffed. "Not exactly."

"What did they give you in that lab?" he asked, despite already having an inkling. HYDRA was never one to stray too far away from their old ways.

"A variation of the super soldier serum, administered in small doses. They didn't perfect it yet, and after I've—" You took a deep breath. "The program was delayed after the incident since Luka was mostly the brains of the operation. So I ended up being more than your typical human, but not quite close to a super soldier. I was a бесполезная середина. They loved calling me that."

Bucky shut his eyes as the guilt punched him in the gut.

Useless middle.

How has he managed to do it twice? 

"Ironic since I was their most used asset during my time there," you said, shrugging. "I mean, I've got a great immune system so it's rare for me to get sick, enhanced stamina, have that bit of extra strength. I age slower than most, not as slow as you and Steve but, slow enough."

No wonder why you were able to hold out your own during that spar against him. And while the serum did give you an advantage over most, Bucky didn't doubt that it merely aided your deadly skills. He truly did believe you could still give him a run for his money without it.

"And the chip?"

"Learned that the hard way. It did nothing for the first few months that I had it—not yet, I supposed since I was still willingly compliant with whatever they wanted me to do," you explained, shaking your head dejectedly. "It should've been enough of a warning that I was the only one who had it.

"The missions they assigned me to weren't much at first. Most of the time all I did was just steal technology or whatever it was they needed to build their weapons." A shadow crossed your face. "At least that was what they made me believe."

Bucky frowned. "Until that night."

You nodded. "As I was getting ready to do the op, one of the scientists was talking about how this shipment was crucial to the start of Program Six. It piqued my interest. Not only that but, despite being highly trained since he was part of the military, Luka preferred to be in the lab than out in the field. Yet somehow he wanted to join me during this one. So I was extra wary that night, looking for something even though I wasn't quite sure there was something to look for. But then I heard it—faint whimpers and sniffles and then a very tiny, sweet voice saying 'It'll be okay.'

"I was under strict instructions not to mess with the shipment in case some chemical might get displaced or whatever. But something in my gut just told me to open this one. So I did," you breathed out, blinking back tears before taking another swig of the bottle. "When I opened those doors and saw those little kids, not older than six or seven, mostly young girls…I was just so angry."

Despite your choice of words, the only thing that coated your voice was pure sadness. Bucky wanted to reach out to you and provide even the tiniest bit of comfort. But he figured it was best to just let you finish before anything else.

Besides, you weren't close.

He didn't know how you would react to any physical affection from him, no matter the intention.

"I felt so betrayed because he kept saying that it was only weapons we were stealing, it was only chemicals we were transporting. I was foolish enough to not look into it because I trusted him," you gritted, harshly slamming the bottle back on the counter, the glass cracking but not breaking.

"But he was feeding me half-truths the entire time. There were weapons they took for storage, I just wasn't made aware that it was going to be used for training these young kids. Chemicals were being transported, they just never mentioned the fact that it was used for the recreation of super soldier serum. But with the kids—" You shook your head. "I never knew. They were taking notes from the Red Room, I supposed. But with this program, they were going to be more merciless, get them used to wielding heavier artillery and fight like a soldier and be undetectable and cunning like a spy—a deadly combination of the Black Widow Program and the Winter Soldier Program."

"And you're the first," Bucky said, voice coming out rougher than he intended it to.

"His best and newest weapon," you laughed sarcastically. "I thought he cared about me—well, he did. Not me as his friend, not even as a person but as a symbol of his success, living proof of his genius, to make his мама proud. I was nothing more but his naïve little plaything."

Bucky's jaw clenched.

He would never wish for you to see that man ever again. But if Bucky could bring him back to life, he would—just so he could kill him again in the most brutal way he could. That monster didn't deserve your mercy of a quick death. It should have been very slow and excruciating. He would've made sure of it.

But, what's done was done. The bastard was gone, leaving you here with nothing but the ghosts and demons that were so fucking hard to escape from when they lived inside your mind.

"It was smart, making himself seem vulnerable with me, letting me believe that I had freedom, that I was his equal. After all, the best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison."

"Fyodor Dostoyevsky," Bucky grumbled. "Yeah, HYDRA tends to live by that."

"He probably thought he had me wrapped around his fingers that tightly when he told me all of this straight to my face. He was always proud. He underestimated just how much anger and heartbreak can do to a person. And that night all I saw was red and then he called me printsessa in the most condescending and degrading way and I just—" You breathed in shakily. "I shot him. No hesitation. No second thought. Right in between the eyes."

In the years that he'd been on this planet, Bucky had realized that the one thing that men like Luke had in common was the stupidity that only an unchecked ego can bring. They always get so high off the power they have over a person that they tend to forget that they aren't invincible.

This Luka bastard simply forgot what you were capable of. It was quite ironic since he technically created you—as fucked up as that sounds. He probably got a kick out of it, watching your heart break into pieces right in front of his eyes. He probably thought that by being so blatant with his betrayal, you were going to be weakened, that you were going to submit to him.

But everyone knows how the saying goes:

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Bucky only saw a glimpse of this anger you were speaking of, and he would never want to be on the receiving end of it. He wasn't a genius, but he was smart enough to know that you were way too powerful. You could easily make him suffer if you truly wanted to, it didn't matter if he was a super soldier.

"That was how I knew what the microchip did. It sends signals to your brain that your body is in excruciating pain even when it's not," you explained. "It tricks your brain into feeling like you're getting shot without any trace of a gunshot wound. It's like torture without any physical consequences. No damage to my body meant no time wasted on recovery, so they were able to throw me into mission after mission, nonstop."

"How—"

"I was able to fight the pain long enough to grab his radio," you breathed out shakily, eyes everywhere else as your fingers picked at the torn label of the bottle.

Bucky couldn't even imagine what that experience was like. To stare at the corpse of someone you care about whose death was at your own hands, the searing pain that your mind was tricking you into, trying to save these young children as quickly as possible—all of that while harboring the guilt, the feeling of betrayal, the grief, the heartache at the same time.

"I don't know why but HYDRA liked to keep tabs on SHIELD so any information about them was known to most in the facility, including ways to contact them and intercept their lines," you elaborated. "For some unconscious reason, I was able to memorize one of their channels. Luckily enough, my call went straight to Nat's communication line. She traced it back to my location and was able to get the kids out."

"That's how she found you?"

"No." You shook your head. "I wasn't there when they arrived. I knew the chip was also a tracker. I couldn't stay there and lead HYDRA straight to the children. So I got into one of their vans and drove as far as I could go, trying to tell my mind that I didn't have any injuries, that it was a trick. I didn't know how long I was driving until I passed out from the pain. It wasn't long after that HYDRA inevitably found me and they were not happy."

That was an understatement.

HYDRA never took it lightly when one of their prisoners escaped. They were egotistical bastards. A crack in their system was unacceptable and they were going to try their hardest to rectify that—torturing escapees was just the start.

What more if said escapee killed the leader of their current program?

"After that, they returned to old ways," you said, your teary eyes finally meeting his. "Wiped my memory and controlled me with the chip like I was their real life video game character and all I could do was let them. Every time I fought it and gained consciousness and fought back—"

"The chip hurts you."

"I became their new favorite asset, molded me to become even more like their all time favorite," you snorted, raising the bottle to him with a nod before emptying it in one go. Despite everything you'd just told him, some humor managed to sneak into your tone. "At least they didn't name me Winter Soldier II. That would've been so fucking annoying."

"It would've." Bucky cracked a small smile. Though it was gone a second later. "How did you get out?"

"Natasha Romanoff and her stubbornness," you hummed, the corner of your lip lifting a little. "That night when I called her, a proof that I was actually still alive, it gave her enough courage to keep looking for me."

"But you've met before?"

"Briefly." You nodded. "Back in the Red Room. I was only nine when she was already close to graduating. Left an impression on her when I beat her at a spar."

"You didn't," Bucky couldn't help but chuckle. That must've been a sore spot for the Widow.

"I did," you hummed, smiling a little. It made his heart warm despite the gloomy atmosphere. "I was a feisty little girl, an absolute terror. Managed to cut her arm and it caught her off guard. It gave me enough time to pin her down."

Bucky wasn't surprised one bit.

There was an extremely valid reason why HYDRA took interest in you.

"She took me under her wing for most of it, me and this other girl, Yelena. It wasn't long until I saw them as my sisters. Sometimes you just bond quickly in that environment. But during Nat's graduation ceremony, a deal got closed. I was traded to HYDRA and I never saw them again," you continued, the sadness seeping back into your body. "She didn't stop looking for me though. Even more when she found a lead through the Red Room's system before destroying it. But then it was all just dead ends because HYDRA didn't stay in one place for long. They grew paranoid after what happened to Dreykov. Nat was starting to lose all hope until that call."

"But she didn't find you right after?"

You shook your head. "Not after years later. HYDRA kept me in the shadows as much as they could. So most of my missions were quick and under the radar. But when word got around that The Winter Soldier was now walking amongst civilians, they saw that as an opportunity. They thought it was worth the risk to send me even though I would be out in the open more."

Bucky straightened in his seat. "You were sent to kill me?"

"Do you really think they wanted their favorite child out of the picture?" you said, brow raised. "They just wanted me to extract you and take you back."

"But you never got close enough," Bucky said, unable to push aside his ego. "I would've noticed if you did."

You rolled your eyes. "No, I didn't. Not only did that intel leak, Nat has been tracking everything under the sun for any signs of me. So she and Steve got to me first."

Bucky vaguely remembered that mission.

He'd only been at the compound for a year when Steve and Nat suddenly disappeared for a couple of weeks. They said it was a simple recon mission at first. But then they never got back during the time they said they would be, kept saying that something new came up. The team was kept updated that they were fine and alive, but was never told any details.

When they did get back, the two of them would be in and out of the compound every other week and for days on end. They always did it together and Bucky found that a little suspicious. So he asked Steve if something was going on between the two. Even though Steve turned bright red he told Bucky it wasn't like that, and that whatever it was they were hiding, he'd find out soon enough. 

Nine months later, the whole team was called for a meeting. Turns out, Steve and Nat had been looking after someone in Wakanda, someone who they heavily vouched to be a great addition to the team. There was a lot of back and forth during that time, especially given the background provided. But ultimately, they decided to give a second chance because, as Nat said so pointedly at everyone, that's what the Avengers were for.

The day after that meeting, you arrived at the compound.

"Nine years," Bucky said, gaze holding your confused ones. "You were controlled by the chip for nine years."

"I know. You went through it far longer than I have—"

"It's not a competition."

"Then why have you been acting like it is?" you scoffed. Bucky could do nothing but watch as you slowly build your walls back up. "Nat promised me a fresh start when I joined the Avengers, and it has been like that for the most part. But you can't seem to let go of where I've come from."

"Can you blame me?" he said, starting to get defensive.

"I get it, alright. An ex-HYDRA assassin just waltzing into your lives calls for extra precaution," you scoffed, shaking your head. "But you didn't have to be a fucking asshole about it."

Bucky clenched his jaw, glare now starting to match yours.

Why does it always end in an argument?

"You know what's funny? Steve talked so highly of you. He was so excited for us to meet, said how we both would get along, how we're going to be fast friends or whatever. But then I met you and you just hated me from the start."

"Don't fucking act as if you liked me," he argued.

"I just fucking couldn't!" you admitted, breathing starting to become heavy. "Because you remind me of him too much."

He scoffed, throwing his hands up. "How the fuck is that my fault?"

"Do you even remember what your first words to me were?"

Bucky looked away.

Of course he remembered.

It was the shittiest thing to say to a person at the first meeting.

"Luka was holding a file when I first met him," you gritted. "My file."

It wasn't intentional.

None of what Bucky did was ever intentional.

He didn't know.

But that somehow made it even scarier, how he was able to emulate a ghost from your past without much thought, hesitation or any effort.

"So that's why you hate me?" he said, defeated. "Because I remind you of him?"

You looked away.

It was an answer in itself.

Bucky deflated in his seat, any signs of mending whatever this was with you, to be civil or hopefully have a friendship, thrown out the window. Because how was he meant to compete with that? You hated him because seeing him reminds you of a trauma from your past. These things were out of his control.

Or were they?

Did it count when he'd been wearing a mask in front of you this whole time?

"Why tell me all of this then?" he asked glumly.

"That's why you don't trust me, isn't it? Because you didn't know much about what happened?" you said as if it was obvious. "Well, now you know. You can finally leave me alone." You hopped off your stool, pushing the folder towards him. "Your favorite thing to read."

As you were walking away, he called out,

"Y/N?"

His heart ached a little when you tensed.

You stopped but you didn't turn around.

"For what it's worth," he said, eyes carefully trained on your figure. "You're a good person and none of that was your fault."

He saw your shoulders drop a little. But you didn't say a word. You continued walking, leaving him there alone under the kitchen light.

Bucky looked at the file for what seemed like hours, just staring at the bold letters of a foreign language that covered the front. Still, he didn't need to be fluent in Russian to know what it was about. He was battling with himself, if there was any real need for him to read it, if he even wanted to.

Yet curiosity got the best of him.

The second he opened it, his blood ran cold.

The first thing he saw was a Polaroid photo of two people. He recognized you, obviously. You looked so much younger, though. Bucky didn't know if that was because this picture was taken so long ago, or it was the fact that you were smiling, so wide and bright, so innocent.

But that wasn't the unnerving part.

It was the man standing next to you with an arm around your waist, looking at you with a charming, almost boyish smile.

Bucky has never met this man in his life but dear God he looked too familiar it was fucking terrifying.

When you said Bucky reminded you of Luka, he thought you meant it as the way he'd been acting around you.

He didn't expect it to be physical too.

The man in the photo might as well have been Bucky.

If the picture wasn't faded, then maybe the difference would be obvious. But he doubted it. The same stature, the same bone structure to the face, the same eyebrows, the same hair—when it was longer, at least. He couldn't get a clear look of the eyes but he wouldn't put it past the universe that it was the same color as his as well. The resemblance wasn't close enough for them to look like identical twins, but this man could definitely pass as Bucky's brother.

It was so uncanny it made his skin crawl.

No wonder why you could barely look at him when you first got here.

With a shaky breath, he closed the folder without venturing further.

He left it outside your door as he went back to his room. Though, it was obvious he was going to have a hard time sleeping tonight.

•••

It was like being back to square one.

Well, not like you two truly ever moved past that phase.

You still left tiny traces of you around your shared floor so it wasn't like you'd turned into a complete ghost. And, unfortunately, your nightmares have been more frequent than before.

He felt a sense of guilt about that. Maybe him making you relive your past was the reason for it.

Either way, the arguments and bickering had been happening less. It was simply because you didn't say a word to him whenever he was around. You only acknowledged his presence whenever he would speak to you first—or should he say, got on your nerves.

It wasn't like he was picking fights with you out of the blue like a schoolboy trying to get your attention—okay, maybe it was close enough to that.

Bucky was being pedantic when it came to you. Whether that's correcting your stance during training when there really was no need, arguing about your choice of strategy out in the field, harping about why you changed the setting on the dishwasher to the wrong one, or complaining about the show you were watching despite not knowing anything about it.

He honestly wouldn't be surprised if you'd suddenly throw a knife at him one of these days.

You hadn't, though. You'd simply look at him calm and composed, get your final word—or insult, whichever came first—and walk away.

Somehow, your level-headed response annoyed him more than your quips and comebacks.

He couldn't truly explain why he was acting this way.

It could be that there was just something different about arguing with you now, like somehow there was no real animosity behind the words.

Despite you confirming that you did in fact hate him—for reasons he thought were quite unfair—Bucky didn't necessarily feel said hatred. Annoyance? Absolutely. But did you despise him? He wasn't quite sure.

He wasn't calling you a liar by any means. He simply thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something else hidden beneath the surface.

And in the days that followed, his assumptions had only been proven right more and more each time.

•••

Bucky jolted up from his bed drenched in sweat.

His nightmares had been happening so far in between lately, which he was grateful for. Getting to work on it daily in therapy definitely helped.

But that didn't mean they disappeared entirely.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he closed his eyes and listened.

Whenever he woke up from a nightmare, he would always find a way to ground himself back. That was the advice given to him and it did work from time to time. Lately, he'd been doing it quite differently.

Ever since you moved to the room next to his, to be specific.

He didn't know why, but hearing your heartbeat or your calm breathing was enough to ground him in some way. Sure, it might have been a little creepy but, it wasn't like he was making his way into your room, standing there until he calmed down.

At first, he thought he was hearing your heartbeat through the wall. With his enhanced hearing, it wasn't far-fetched for that to be the case. But the more his senses slowly refocused, he realized that the sound seemed to come from a different direction.

Bucky stared at his bedroom door, brows deeply furrowed.

As quietly as he could, he got out of bed, making his way towards it and then pressing his ear against the surface.

Bucky felt his heart stutter when he heard it, heard you—soft yet shaky breaths, heart beating a little faster, fingers tapping nervously against the door that separated you both.

You were right there.

Have you always been right there?

You were fighting with yourself in your head, wondering if you should knock or just walk away. There was no need for him to be able to read your mind.

Bucky knew.

He knew because he'd done the same thing for you.

Sure, it was presumptuous. But why else would you be doing this, standing outside his room in the middle of the night, close enough that he could hear the loudly erratic beating of your heart through the thick and solid hardwood door?

Bucky contemplated opening it even if he didn't know what would happen if he did, so many possibilities because whatever this was between you two had always been unpredictable.

Or maybe it wasn't.

Maybe it was painfully obvious what this was, you two were simply too in denial and downright stubborn to admit it to yourselves, let alone, each other.

But before Bucky could come to a decision, he heard you sigh, long and deep, something akin to relief. You probably mistook the silence as him falling back to sleep. Not long after that, he heard your footsteps slowly fade away, and then your door closing.

Bucky was awake for the rest of the night.

Not because of the horrors that haunted his dreams, but because of the woman that made him so confused in more ways than one.

Yet this discovery simply pushed him to be more observant about things, to not let his emotions drive first, which has always been the case when you were in the picture.

It was then that Bucky started to see things differently.

During the day, you were the same feisty firecracker, never looking in his direction unless with a glare, only speaking to him in a tone of disdain.

But pushing all your hostility aside, he was now seeing the little things.

And Bucky has never felt so blind and stupid.

It had always been there, the little acts of kindness that most would overlook. He always appreciated it since it was something new to him after decades of only ever receiving horrible things from others. He simply assumed it was from everyone else. Whether that was from Steve or Sam or Wanda or Nat, or maybe even Tony from time to time when technology to enhance his comfort was involved.

Never you.

With how you two were with each other, it shouldn't have been surprising that he put you last on the list of people who would actually do something nice for him.

But as he stared at the pre-made coffee waiting for him in the morning, he couldn't stop wondering just how long you'd been doing this for him.

Sam, despite having a kitchen of his own, always seemed to migrate to yours every morning and ate his breakfast there. And whenever Bucky would wake up to the ruckus, there was always a cup of coffee already waiting for him while Wilson sipped his own mug. So he simply assumed that the man had made one for him, too.

But Sam wasn't in the compound at the moment, and wouldn't be for a couple of weeks.

Yet the coffee was still there, waiting for him.

How could one person be so blind?

Bucky should've clocked it the second he teased Sam about doing something nice for him for once. Wilson had looked confused at first, a split second where his eyes widened before nodding frantically. Saying stuff about it being the least he could do for always raiding the fridge.

You walked past Bucky a second later.

He didn't think much of it at that time, especially when you two started bickering immediately.

Now, it made so much sense.

Sure, this might all just be in his head and he was way off the mark. That was also plausible.

But then there was the reappearing tea on his bedside table when he was having a particularly hard week.

•••

Bucky jolted awake, grabbing the wrist of someone who was reaching over his bedside table.

His grip immediately slackened when he met the eyes of a very startled you.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice gruff from sleep, especially when he hadn't been leaving his bed for some time now.

He wasn't exempted from having off days. He might not get sick due to the serum in his veins, but that didn't extend to the mental side of things, unfortunately. This week had been tough on him, especially after a rescue mission that didn't go as smoothly as planned. There were no casualties, thankfully, but when the injured involved the innocent, it was simply hard to deal with.

Given that he was at the forefront of said mission, he mostly took it more personal than the others. He was grateful the rest of the team was letting him be and leaving him alone. They knew it was what he needed so they didn't pester him about getting out of his room or simply didn't bother him at all. 

Well, most of them.

Seemed like a certain someone couldn't resist any longer.

He hadn't seen you in days, so this was quite a lovely surprise to see you in his room. He couldn't even be bothered to think about how you got in.

Bucky was just happy that you were here.

"Steve ordered me to give you these so," you reasoned, shrugging to seem nonchalant but you wouldn't meet his eyes.

Bucky glanced at the mug you set on his nightstand, the smell of chamomile slowly invading his senses. Then it was followed by something chocolatey, which he later would find out was a slice of brownie.

As his eyes drifted back to you, he couldn't stop his lips from twitching into a small smile.

He had never seen you so flustered and most of all shy before.

It was adorable.

While Steve did check on him earlier today, he wasn't quite sure if he had something to do with your sweet gesture.

Nobody made you do anything, much less, something nice for him.

“Steve ordered you?”

“Mhmm,” you said, still looking anywhere but at him. "I—He wanted to see if you were still alive."

Bucky could tell you were lying. If not for the unsureness in your voice, then the way you looked so caught definitely gave it away.

"He busy or something?" he asked anyway, enjoying the way you squirmed.

Sue him, alright. He'd never seen you like this before. It was such a rare sight and you looked so fucking cute. He couldn't help but prolong it a little bit longer. It was making his heart warm.

You shrugged, your sock—one with bunnies on them—clad feet rubbing on your ankle. "Something, probably."

"Hmm." He tilted his head, eyes still carefully on you. "Are those brownies?"

"Yep. Store-bought," you said, nodding far too quickly for it to be convincing.

"Did Steve buy them?"

"No, I—" you paused, pursing your lips before sighing, "Yes."

He couldn't contain his chuckle.

That made you even more flustered.

"Can you—" You glanced at his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, wiggling it softly, silently asking him to let go.  "—got, uhm, stuff to do."

"Okay, well, tell Steve thank you." he hummed, thumb softly stroking your wrist before he let you go. "I really appreciate this."

You only nodded, scurrying out of his room without even bothering to close his door.

Bucky chuckled at that.

Later that night when he went to the kitchen to grab a quick snack, he found the rest of the brownies in a glass container, sitting in the fridge. But what put a smile on his face was an empty box of brownie mix sitting in the trash.

Bucky was sure you baked them yourself.

Was it too presumptuous to say that you did it solely for him?

Maybe.

But one thing was for sure, things were starting to get clearer for him because the more he observed your behavior, the less complicated things seemed to be.

It was getting obvious, how your hatred for him was a façade—as time moved past anyway. Perhaps there was some disdain the first few months, especially when you started on the wrong foot.  

He couldn't say when exactly it happened, but he could see that your animosity towards him had turned into a heavily enforced wall to protect yourself.

From what? Probably the same reason why Bucky's distaste towards you was nothing more than a shield.

Looking back to the first time he laid eyes on you. The emotions he felt were simply so intense and happened so quickly that, well, it scared him. So what did he do instead of confronting these feelings head-on? He denied, denied, denied—tried so fucking hard to find all your flaws and imperfections to put a damper to it.

It was a poor attempt to not get closebecause there obviously was something there, something that if left unattended, would grow powerful, leave him utterly vulnerable and at your mercy, so much to a point where it would be dangerous.

When he had already, wholeheartedly, admitted that he would let you burn the world down, how could it not be?

Yet as dangerous as it could be, would that really negate the fact that this thing with you—if it were to blossom—had the potential to make him so happy?

Bucky flopped back on his bed with a sigh, glancing at the now-empty mug on his bedside table. It was the fifth one that appeared on his nightstand this week, along with either a brownie or some other sweet treat.

And to say that he truly believed that these secret acts of kindness were one-sided.

He could almost hear Steve's all-knowing voice in his head.

"The two of you are more alike than you think."

•••

"The tea and brownies. She said you made her do it. Is that true?" Bucky decided to confront his best friend on one of their morning runs together.

Steve's eyes widened, cheeks turning red but he still refused to say anything.

He shot him a look. 

"Buck…"

"I just want the truth, Steve."

"I caught her baking brownies when I went to check on you. I jokingly said how nice it was to do this for you and she immediately made me swear not to tell anyone. So, she's going to kill me for this," Steve caved, chuckling. "I didn't know it was a regular occurrence."

"Well, it kept appearing until I felt better," Bucky said, cheeks heating up. He turned to the other person who was watching the conversation with amusement. "And you?"

"Me?" Sam blinked.

"The coffee in the morning."

"She was giving me the death glare, what was I meant to do?" Sam defended before smirking. "And no offense, Buck, but I'm more afraid of her than I am of you."

"Great," he sighed, glaring at them both with no real heat behind it. "Now I see where both your allegiances lie."

"I genuinely thought you figured it out by now?"

He looked at Sam confused. "Figured out what?"

"The nice things she's been doing for you?" Sam said, eyes widening when Bucky didn't have a moment of clarity. "Oh wow. I didn't know you were this oblivious." 

"What Sam is trying to say," Steve interjected. "She has done some nice things for you. Sometimes you're just too busy being angry or annoyed at her to notice."

Bucky already knew that.

It didn't make it less embarrassing to have someone else point it out for him, though.

"She gets angry and annoyed at me first," he grumbled—much like a child, he was aware.

"Probably on purpose." Sam shrugged, elaborating when they looked at him confused. "She probably doesn't want you to know in case you'd make fun of her for it. You two don't exactly have the greatest track record when it comes to being nice to each other. So she probably thinks you're going to take it the wrong way."

Was that why you were rendered so shy and perhaps, nervous when he caught you?

"Don't worry, Buck." Steve patted his back. "You two will figure it out eventually."

He didn't know what exactly he meant by that, yet somehow, Bucky felt hopeful that it would.

Eventually.

•••

"Wanda, can I ask you something?"

"She does," she answered before Bucky could even elaborate. "She does look out for you in the field. You're just too focused on keeping her safe to notice it."

Bucky's heart stuttered at that.

Since Wanda always had a high vantage point during missions so she could help whenever she was needed most, it wasn't farfetched that she'd actually see this play out.

It was probably quite an amusing sight to see you two watch each other's six discreetly enough to not let the other notice.

"Did you read my mind?" Bucky narrowed his eyes teasingly.

"No," she laughed. "Sam's just a blabbermouth."

"Yeah, figured it out as much."

"He couldn't stop talking about you debating if Y/N has been nice to you or not," Wanda elaborated, smiling into her tea. "But I can guarantee you that she has, evidently so. Which surprises me how you haven't noticed."

"Has it really been that obvious?"

She nodded. "You two have been defending each other behind your backs. It's always amusing to see her get so angry when someone insults you, especially when you're not there. She's been starting to get really specific with who she spars with just so she could avenge you in her own little way," she elaborated, tilting her head with a grin. "And I know for a fact you do the exact same thing."

"How are you so sure?" He narrowed his eyes.

"Well, that Liam guy didn't get that black eye out of nowhere, did he?"

"He was being a fucking pervert," Bucky grumbled, blushing when Wanda's grin widened.

"It is kinda cute," she hummed. "How you two somehow came up with this unspoken rule that nobody else gets to be mean to you except each other."

"But she has always hated me?"

"I don't see her action as her hating you," Wanda said. "I see it as someone who deep down cares, but is too afraid to even acknowledge it. Because the second you come to accept it, then it becomes real, right?"

•••

Bucky couldn't go back to sleep.

He usually never could whenever he'd get woken up by you having a nightmare. But maybe this time, he didn't necessarily want to go back to sleep.

When he heard your door open just as he entered his room, he'd been wondering if he should follow you.

Perhaps he was curious where you went, or maybe he was downright concerned. This was the first time you ever left your room after a nightmare, so Bucky could deduce that this one was difficult to shake off.

Sighing deeply, Bucky threw the covers off himself again because fuck it.

What could possibly go wrong?

Grabbing a shirt, he ventured out of his room and into the desolate halls of the compound. He had an inkling as to where you were, the sound of a punching bag being brutalized getting louder the more he walked proving him right.

Compared to the training room in the facility, the gym below the Avengers' residences was far smaller—well, enough to fit one boxing ring, at least.

Bucky found you in the middle of it.

Your movement wasn't calculated, nor were they graceful. Punches were thrown for the sake of it, kicks with power but no technique.

There was quite the distinction between training and exercise, over letting out sheer anger before it could consume you.

What you were doing was clearly the latter as your bare knuckles hit worn-down leather.

"Where are your gloves?"

You spun around with a yelp at the sound of his voice, eyes wide with shock as it landed on him.

It must've been quite the rough nightmare when you didn't even notice him walk in, especially when he wasn't at all discreet about his presence.

You immediately glared at him when the surprise wore off. "Will you ever leave me the fuck alone?"

"So you own the gym now?" Bucky scoffed, arms crossed before he shrugged. "It was just a question."

"Didn't feel like wearing one," you said, throwing a harsh jab at the bag.

"Can't sleep?"

You rolled those pretty eyes of yours. "Isn't that obvious?"

Bucky hummed, parting the ropes as he got in the ring.

You ignored him and continued your assault on the bag. That, until he walked over to the opposite side and grabbed it.

"What are you doing?" you huffed.

Bucky reached up, unclipped it from its hanger and tossed it to the side with ease.

"I was using that!"

He ignored you until he was standing in the middle of the ring, arms out as he faced you.

"Picture me as him."

It took you a second to realize what he was implying.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"You want to let off steam?" he said, going into a southpaw stance, nodding curtly. "Go for it."

Hands on your hips, you raised a brow. "What makes you think I won't seriously hurt you?"

"I trust you enough not to."

That caught you off guard.

"Unless you're scared—"

"As fucking if, Barnes."

Bucky smiled to himself.

Always works.

You threw the first punch.

Bucky never threw one.

He knew you needed to let this anger out so he let you. He was mostly on defense—blocking, evading, sidestepping and the occasional ducking whenever you'd throw in a kick for the fun of it.

Just your personal punching bag, really.

He could tell it was helping, though. The tense nature you had when he walked in was slowly fading, your punches and kicks now getting more precise instead of haphazardly thrown.

And when you gave him a look to say you needed more of a challenge, he gladly obliged.

This would mark the second time he'd sparred with you. Since the first one was extremely heated, nobody really tried to instigate another one again.

But this time around? Bucky could sense your playfulness.

It was both surprising and so addicting.

There was no ego and no animosity. Obviously, there was still a hint of competitiveness but it never truly felt serious. You weren't truly aiming to get a proper hit on him nor was he trying to one-up you in any way.

It was an innocent bout, a friendly spar.

Even when you suddenly pulled out a knife when he had you in a headlock.

Youtapped the flat of the blade against his right forearm, the very one he had around your neck.

He loosened his grip, letting you spin in his hold. You stepped back as you faced him, the tip of the knife pointed right in his face.

Tilting his head to the side, he met your eyes with a raised brow.

"You're not playing fair."

You shrugged, flipping the knife in the air and catching it on your other hand.

"You have a metal arm."

Bucky cracked a smile, one that widened when he saw the corner of your mouth lift just a little.

"Touche," he hummed, moving swiftly to disarm you but you clocked his attack right away. You countered with a sidestep, hitting his side with the butt of the knife and jumping out of reach.

"Gotta be faster than that, old man," you teased.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so now we're playing the age card?"

"You're a hundred years old."

Shaking his head, he went after you running. You used the ropes to your advantage, climbing onto them and using their elasticity to jump over him. One hand grabbing his shoulder, your legs locked around his waist from behind, the knife immediately up against his neck.

He grabbed your ankles that were right on his abdomen, pinching the blade with his metal fingers. You jumped off his back before he could attempt to shake you off himself. Bucky turned only to be met by the knife right up his face.

Again.

"Do you always have a knife with you?" he asked out of genuine curiosity. 

"Maybe."

"Where do you even keep them?"

"Places."

His brows shot up before he could even try and school his boyish reaction.

You gasped, "Don't be gross!"

"I didn't even say anything!" he chuckled, using the slim moment of distraction to grab your forearm. With one swift motion, he pulled it past the side of his head and held it against his shoulder, making you stumble forward. The knife fell with a soft clank. "Your mind went there."

"You were implying it!" you argued, the corner of your lip curling up. It was so small that if he hadn't been so close to you, he wouldn't have noticed.

Still, the twinkle in your eyes was unmistakable.

"Implying what?" he asked. "I mean, who knows where a woman keeps her knives."

You laughed.

For a stupid joke, you let out such a carefree laugh.

It made his heart do somersaults as it burst out of his chest and landed right at the palm of your hand.

To say you glowed would be an understatement—head thrown back, the corners of your eyes crinkling, a little scrunch of your nose with your smile so wide and breathtaking.

And for a moment, it didn't look like you had demons haunting you at night. It didn't look like you bore so much anger and pain in your well-being, valid yet all-consuming. It didn't look as if you had built so many walls around yourself, much less your heart.

For a moment, you looked so free of it all.

And at that moment, he couldn't hold it anymore.

For once ever since you first met, Bucky didn't let himself think too much. After everything that had happened, he'd always wanted to be in control from here on out. He always tried to plan everything, always trying to evaluate things before making the decisions—he always ran on logic.

Right now, he let his heart take the lead.

You were still smiling as your laugh turned to small chuckles, eyes shining as it settled back on him.

Carefully, he placed his hand on your waist.

He saw your smile dwindle, irises holding both shock, confusion and a touch of curiosity, your brows faintly knitting when he squeezed ever so softly.

But you didn't pull away.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe it was purely his imagination, but he was sure you stepped even closer.

Still, it gave him that sliver of hope. Just enough to give him courage, for him to cup your face with his right hand, your shaky breath warm against his thumb as he ghosted it over your lips.

You glanced at his lips before hurriedly moving back to his gaze, your eyes covered in many emotions but he didn't see any doubt in them. So he leaned in, so close he could count your eyelashes if he tried. His nose was brushing against the bridge of yours, foreheads touching as you leaned into his palm.

Then, he paused.

It was his way of giving you the choice—to walk away if you wanted to. His hold on you was featherlight. And even if it wasn't, there was no doubt how easily you could escape him with how skilled you were.

But you stayed.

You tilted your head up as your eyes fluttered closed, your lips just a hair's breadth away from his own.

Bucky closed the distance and kissed you.

Slow, careful, tentative, lips just gently pressed against yours.

You were still for a moment, and Bucky was sure you were about to push him back as your free hand moved to his chest, palm right above his erratically beating heart.

But then…

You kissed him back.

Bucky couldn't stop his smile, warm and giddy as a satisfied hum rumbled in his chest.

He wrapped his arm fully around you then, the hand on your cheek gently cupping the side of your neck, his thumb softly caressing your jaw.

You tilted your head, your arms slowly wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer as your lips moved with his.

God you tasted so sweet.

His knees nearly buckled when your fingers got lost in his hair, a groan deep in his throat when you tugged.

And Bucky wanted more.

Hands taking home on your hips, his thumbs found their way underneath the hem of your shirt, stroking circles on your warm and soft skin. Then, he walked you backward towards the ropes.

Yet as soon you touched the rubber foam, you gasped and pulled away.

Bucky only saw it momentarily, the shock on your face before he hit the ropes with a grunt, your warmth leaving him completely.

Only a second ago you were so close to him.

Now you were an arm's length away, the tip of the knife against his throat adding distance between you two.

Yet the moment he met your eyes, Bucky could tell you were much, much farther away than that—into a place well guarded that he would have difficulty reaching you.

His heart ached at how quick and high your walls got built in only a few seconds.

"Do that again and I'll kill you."

Bucky stepped forward, the tip of the blade touching his skin.

"You won't."

You narrowed your eyes. "Yeah? What makes you so confident?"

"The fact that you don't hate me."

Your hand lowered slightly, a look crossing your face for a split second before you raised the blade with a glare.

"The knife against your throat begs to differ."

"Then tell me." Another step forward, he challenged, "Why do you hate me?"

Your glare turned sharper than the knife you held at his throat, speaking through gritted teeth, "You know very well why I hate you."

"Is it because I've been an asshole to you?"

You shrugged.

"Or is it because I remind you of him?" he said, shaking his head when you shrugged again. "We look the same, but that's where the similarities end."

"You didn't know him," you argued.

"No. But I'm not him and deep down you know that," Bucky pushed back, watching as the blade moved away from him little by little. He could tell you didn't even notice that you were doing it, slowly pulling it away the more he got closer.

With so many emotions swimming in your eyes, Bucky could only imagine what battle was happening in your mind.

"So tell me, why do you hate me?" he asked, voice soft yet eyes determined as they never left yours.

"I already told you—"

"No. I want the real reason," he interrupted, tilting his head knowingly. "Or do you want me to guess?"

You scoffed, eyes rolling. "You don't know me enough."

"Maybe," Bucky hummed, taking another step closer.

Your blade managed to prick his skin then, the distance between you closing in. But he didn't care. All he cared about was getting past this hard exterior you'd been wearing for years that now, it was starting to feel like second skin.

"But you remind me of someone I know," he said.

"Really?" you gasped with sarcastic enthusiasm. "Fine, I'll bite. Who?"

"Me."

Bucky saw your features soften ever so slightly, that if he wasn't so close to you, if he wasn't actively looking for a sliver of your reaction, he would've missed it.

But the small chip against your walls only had you placing two more bricks to cover it.

"We are nothing alike," you growled, as you took a step, unknowingly pressing the knife harder on his skin.

Bucky could feel the smallest drop of blood trickle down his neck.

His eyes remained on you.

"Aren't we?" he challenged. "You have a hard time trusting anyone because you never know who you could truly trust. Yet the second you even have that reassurance you shut it down. You build your walls so high so no one could get to you, telling yourself that you're safer and more protected that way but I know it makes you feel lonely too. I know because I've been there."

He saw your fingers loosen around the hilt, your eyes glistening under the light despite your sharp glare.

"You have this guilt in your heart you can't quite shake off, despite knowing, deep down, it wasn't your fault. There's a small voice that's telling you that you deserve better, that you deserve to be granted kindness, that what you did was completely out of your hands and you deserve to forgive yourself, and that you deserve happiness. But as that voice gets louder, the guilt comes back tenfold because how could you think these things after what you've done?"

"Stop," you gritted, your fingers now starting to tremble.

"You push away any person who gets too close to you because of the things you've gone through. You think anyone who tries is only doing it to gain something. But you also can't control how you feel, that despite trying so hard to deny it, despite doing everything to list out cons, despite telling yourself they will only hurt you, reminding yourself that you should never give them that power, you can't stop it because it's just too fucking strong."

You shook your head angrily, trying so hard to deny it but Bucky could see your resolve start to crumble.

So he kept going.

"I'm tired of this game, doll," he said, softly. "I'm tired of masking what I truly feel for you with hate just because I'm scared."

The surprise that crossed your face was so quick he might as well have imagined it.

"You hate me," you pressed, as if saying it would cement it as truth. But he knew it was simply your way of denying it.

"Because the second you come to accept it, then it becomes real, right?"

He was done denying it.

"I hate the way you smile at everyone but me. I hate it when you laugh at everyone's stupid jokes because I want to be the one to make you laugh. I hate that every time you look at me it's always with anger and annoyance or maybe even disgust. But you know what?" he sighed, gesturing at you with a small smile. "I'll take anything you give me as long as you're looking at me.

"And fuck, you make me feel so weak with a simple look, what more if you did as much as smile at me? You could hurt me any time, break my heart as you wish, and it's terrifying because I know I would just let you without hesitation as long as I get to be this close to you even for a second. That's how crazy I am for you."

"Stop manipulating me," you pleaded, voice starting to shake.

"I'm not, doll," he confessed. "I'm just finally being honest with you. I'm finally being honest with myself."

"No! No," you denied angrily. "You're just playing with my emotions."

It broke Bucky's heart just how conflicted you look. But he knew it all steamed from fear.

You just didn't want to get hurt again.

"It's confusing, isn't it?" he continued. "How your heart skips a beat whenever they're near, how you want to be closer to them but your brain immediately shuts it down. You're not used to being vulnerable so you mask it with the best way you know how and the only thing you've known for most of your life: You fight. With insults, with glares, with harsh words it doesn't matter what it looks like as long as you're fighting it.

"But deep down you care and you just can't help it," he said, eyes never leaving yours just so you could see how much he meant his words. "I know I haven't been showing it in the best way but maybe that's because I've been trying to bury it so deep. But it doesn't even matter how many times I try and hide it because I care about you so fucking much it just keeps coming out anyway."

"Stop," you gritted yet your voice trembled, eyes glistening under the light as the knife slowly started to lower.

"I can't," he admitted, wholeheartedly and unabashedly. "I'm falling for you and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

The knife fell on the floor.

Bucky gently took your hand, squeezing it softly before he placed your palm right above his heart.

"I know you feel it too," Bucky said softly, slowly dropping to his knees in front of you.

To show you how he meant every single word he said by letting his guard down, showing vulnerability in hopes you'd meet him halfway.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Bucky whispered. "Tell me I'm the only one and I'll leave you alone. For good."

His heart skipped with hope as you reached for him, your fingertips brushing against his lips before you cupped his cheek.

Instinctively, he leaned against your touch. Gaze holding yours, he turned his head to press a soft kiss against your palm.

But then you pulled back with a gasp, eyes wide with panic as if he had stung you. 

You stepped back in haste, eyes brimming with tears as you shook your head frantically.

Before he could even say anything, you turned on your heel and rushed out of the gym, leaving Bucky kneeling on the ground—vulnerable and alone.

In the deafening silence, he could hear his heart break.

A stab from your knife would've hurt less.

•••

Everyone could sense the gloomy, gray cloud that followed you both.

He wasn't sure if anyone knew what transpired. Most of the team had merely looked confused about the whole thing. The only exception of the bunch was Natasha. Bucky had been met with her sympathetic eyes more than enough times for him to know you'd told her about what happened.

Still, everyone knew something happened.

How could they not when the usual loud arguments and nonstop bickering had now been reduced to the cold quietness?

It was such a glaring difference and Bucky was right at the center of it.

Your silence was far more painful than any of the spiteful words you'd thrown at him.

It wasn't for the lack of trying on his part. But how was he able to talk to you when you'd been so determined to avoid him?

The second you would even sense that he was nearby, you'd immediately leave the premises.

It was still the case as he entered the kitchen.

Sam was in the middle of telling a random story when your chair screeched, an excuse to leave tumbling out of your mouth before you hurriedly walked past Bucky and down the hall, the sound of your bedroom door shutting behind you.

You didn't even finish your breakfast, your bear coffee mug still half full. You left a toast that was barely eaten, the fading warmth of your presence and the lingering smell of your shampoo.

He didn't even hide his dejectedness as he prepared himself some coffee.

"You know, I'd take the arguing over this tense silence any day."

Bucky shot him a glare over his shoulder.

"What? I don't like seeing my friends looking like sad, kicked puppies," Sam simply said, eyeing him suspiciously when he took a seat across from him. "What did you do anyway?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Really? It's immediately my fault?"

"Hey, I'm just being observant," Sam elaborated. "When I mentioned your name she had this look on her face so…I'm assuming her mood has something to do with you."

"She didn't tell you anything?"

Sam shook his head. "Barely even said a word." 

Bucky frowned.

If Sam himself couldn't even get you to talk then it was only a testament to just how much things had been weighing on you.

While Bucky didn't regret telling you the truth, he wondered if there was a different way he could've done it. But then again, you were so stubborn. He had the assumption that no matter how he went about things, you would've reacted the same way.

"I just—" His frown deepened as he shook his head. "I told her how I feel about her."

"Buck…"

"I told her how I'm falling for her and she—" he sighed, rubbing a frustrated hand over his nose. "She walked away."

Sam was too stunned to speak—well, not enough to resist throwing in a little joke, apparently.

"Damn, she didn't catch you huh?"

"Why did I even bother," Bucky grumbled as he stood from his seat. 

"Hey! Come on, I'm kidding. Just wanted to cheer you up a little, man," Sam rushed, hands up in surrender before he shot him an honest smile. "But seriously, just give her time to process things. I'm sure her emotions are just as all over the place as yours."

Bucky nodded, sitting back down as he sipped his coffee and grimaced.

It didn't quite taste the same as how you made it.

•••

A week had gone by yet the clouds had no sign of dissipating any time soon.

Bucky had been respecting your space, knowing it was what you needed. But at the same time, he was scared that he might push you further away if he kept insisting.

Still, he missed you so fucking much.

His heart had been aching with longing when all he'd been able to do was simply catch glimpses of you.

It's been too long since Bucky had looked into your eyes, and the only time he had the chance to hear your voice was when it was far away, speaking to someone else. But there wasn't much he could do when you always found yourself leaving once he entered the room.

He could only watch as you walked away from Natasha as he stepped foot into the training room.

"Sam wasn't kidding with the looking like sad puppies part," the redhead teased when he got to her.

"Does he ever just…shut up?" Bucky sighed.

Natasha laughed, "It's all for the best of you. He's looking for reinforcement on how to fix this whole situation you'd got going on."

"Him and me both," he grumbled, eyes steady on you as you went down the hallway and disappeared into a corner. 

"You know, I never thought I'd get to see two of the most emotionally constipated people exist at the same time, let alone be in the same room," Natasha hummed, shrugging. "Well, almost the same room."

"Shut up," he muttered. With a sigh, he asked, "How is she?"

"Conflicted and confused, a little tired and everything in between. But otherwise?" Natasha offered him a reassuring smile. "She's doing okay."

Bucky wondered how much you'd been sleeping. He barely heard anything from you despite still being in the room next door. It was either you figured out how to enable the soundproofing through FRIDAY or your nightmares had finally stopped.

Despite hoping it was the latter, Bucky knew it most probably was the former.

"Do you think I did it wrong?" he asked, a sense of doubt and insecurity settling in his heart. Bucky knew you told Nat everything, so he didn't feel like he needed to elaborate on what he meant.

"Honestly? I don't think it would've changed much if you did it a different way," Natasha said, confirming what he'd already been thinking. "Feelings are difficult to deal with as it is. In both your cases, it's even more complicated given your past trauma, especially hers."

Bucky nodded.

He knew all of these already. But it felt nice to have that validation.

Still, maybe he read everything wrong. Maybe he got way too into his head and concocted an idea out of nothing.

Maybe you simply didn't feel the same.

"Don't worry. She's just processing things," Nat said with a knowing smile as if she read his mind. "She'll come around eventually."

When she probably knew you better than anyone else here at the compound, Bucky could do nothing more but trust her word.

But he wished you would just give him the chance to prove himself to you, to show you that you could trust him. Bucky would do anything you asked of him, would give everything to you—his loyalty, his care, his whole being. He just wanted to let you see that he was yours, utterly and completely for the taking.

Bucky just needs that one chance.

The thing with the universe? It has quite an interesting way of granting what you wish for.

Bucky never expected his wish to be granted in the most cliché way possible.

•••

Things were not looking good.

He supposed, finding the nest and beating it with a stick—or in this case, heavy artillery and super-powered individuals—was never going to be good.

The fucking cockroaches in the form of HYDRA agents wouldn't stop appearing.

"Buck! Five more coming your way from the east wing!"

He grabbed an agent by the collar and threw him at full force towards the other one, both of them falling on the ground alongside the dozen he'd already taken care of. Bucky then turned towards the east wing hallway, ready to take on more only to find it empty. Yet in that split second of confusion, he was able to dodge the bullet hurtling towards him from behind.

Bucky rolled his eyes when he turned the other way and met the agents Steve was warning him about. "That's the west wing, punk!"

"Do you even know your left and right, Steven?" 

"Probably not. At least you know my in and out, Natalia."

There was a collective protest of disgust over the connected comms, and Bucky wholeheartedly agreed with everyone.

"You've corrupted America's sweetheart, Romanoff. I hope you're happy," he teased, grabbing an agent by the collar and slamming them against the wall. 

"Oh I am absolutely ecstatic."

"Loving the chit chat guys! If you have spare time I could use some assistance!"

Bucky was immediately on high alert at the sound of your voice, struggling and out of breath. His heart picked up the pace when you yelped.

"Where are you?!" he demanded, shooting an agent in the leg before hitting the side of their head with the butt of his gun.

You didn't say anything.

"Frost!" he gritted, slightly annoyed because he knew you were hesitating simply because it was him. "Location!"

You hissed, a gunshot, before you finally answered, "Outside the right exit."

"Hang in there. I'm headed your way."

Knocking out two more agents to the ground, Bucky immediately ran towards the exit.

•••

You were surrounded by a couple agents when he got there.

Cars were around the area, the black, armored vehicles a stark contrast to the white snow. They likely would've used them to get away if you hadn't gotten to them first. There were two agents to your right, three to your left who were closer to Bucky, and a man in a lab coat standing in front of you.

All of them were armed except the scientist.

All of them were aiming at you.

Bucky assumed that the only reason why nobody had opened fire was because of the gun you were pointing at the scientist's head. He recognized him as the same person who got away on the last mission.

So this definitely was someone very important to HYDRA.

Thankfully, they hadn't noticed him yet. He was glad he didn't come through guns blazing like he actually thought of doing. When it was you in danger, it took a while for his rational mind to function. Either way, he was glad for the extra time to think of a game plan.

While assessing the situation, he noticed you hugging your left arm to your chest. A white cloth was wrapped around your forearm, probably some poor man's lab coat. But he could see that your blood had already soaked through. There were a couple of cuts on your cheeks and a bruise forming on your lower lip. But you didn't seem fazed by it. If anything, you simply looked angrier.

"You haven't changed much at all, printsessa," the man taunted, hurriedly raising both hands when you clicked your safety off. "Oh sorry, my bad. Luka simply called you that too often. I was beginning to think it was your name."

"Still jealous he considered me more as his right-hand man than you, I assume?" you said, voice leveled despite your state. But then again, you were highly skilled. It wasn't a surprise that you'd be able to keep yourself calm under pressure. "You know, I always thought you were kinda in love with him, Dominik."

"Zakroy svoy gryaznyy rot, ty bespoleznaya suka!" the man hissed.

Shut your filthy mouth, you useless bitch.

Bucky was ready to throttle the man right then and there. But he waited. He figured he needed to find a way to alert you he was here as discreetly as he could.

"We were partners," Dominik boasted, taking a daring step closer to you. "He wouldn't have gotten close to cracking the code with those serums without my help. You wouldn't be where you are today if it wasn't for me."

You rolled your eyes. "Gee, thanks. I appreciate it."

Bucky carefully moved behind the parked vehicles. When he reached the one beside this Dominik guy, your gaze flickered over to him for a split second. Bucky raised his gun, ready to shoot until you every so subtly shook your head. Then, without as much as a wince even though he knew how it hurt, you brought your injured arm down to your side, hands open to show five fingers.

He immediately knew what you were doing.

"It wasn't me who was in love with him," the man smugly said. "Though, foolish of you to believe he loved your back."

Four.

"I wouldn't call infatuation love but what do you know about that." You shrugged, tilting your head with a grin. "At least I wasn't sleeping alone in my bed jerking off to my lab partner at night. Quite pathetic if you ask me."

Three.

"I'd be careful if I were you," Dominik taunted with a sarcastic laugh. "What is given can easily be taken away."

You scoffed, "What is it with you guys and these riddles?"

Two.

"It takes a great mind to understand these—"

One.

You shot Dominik in the chest while Bucky took down the three agents near him. You immediately turned to shoot the last two before he could react, but not without taking a graze on your thigh.

Bucky rushed to you in long strides, fussing over your form. "Shit. Let me see."

"I'm fine," you insisted, hissing when you did as much as move your arm and your leg.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be stubborn."

"I'm not being stubborn. I—"

The movement behind you caught Bucky's eye. When he saw the barrel of a gun, he immediately pulled you behind him.

Bucky shot Dominik in the head with no hesitation.

When he turned back to you, he felt confused.

You looked panicked.

Bucky cupped your face hastily, worry seeping into his bones once he saw the tears brimming in your eyes.

"You okay?"

Bucky blinked.

Why did his voice sound like he was underwater?

You nodded frantically, your uninjured hand pressed against his stomach. He saw your lips move but he couldn't hear you. This dull ringing in his ears was preventing him. With knitted brows, he tried blinking away the haze that covered his eyes, a slight fog muddling his brain as he tried to decipher what was going on.

When you pressed harder on his stomach, Bucky glanced down.

Your hand was covered in blood.

His blood.

And when he met your fear-covered eyes, he wiped away the tears that ran down your cheeks, barely recognizing his own voice telling you he was going to be okay.

It was the last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him.

•••

Bucky couldn't remember the last time he lost consciousness over a wound. When he healed fast, it was rare to come by. He also didn't remember ever feeling so groggy after a few hours of sleep.

Despite the ache in his whole body, the first thing he realized was how heavy his right arm felt. He obviously remembered what happened so he was sure his injury wasn't anywhere near there.

Glancing down, the heart monitor beeped a little faster at the sight of you.

You were practically cuddling his whole forearm.

Eyes closed with your hand in his, your cheek pressed against his skin, you were hunched over his bedside table, fast asleep.

You looked so adorable and peaceful.

Even with the bandages that covered your face, even with that little drool escaping your parted lips.

"She hasn't left that chair in a while."

Bucky's head snapped toward the direction of the voice, finding Steve leaning against the door frame with a knowing smile.

"Well, apart from Nat dragging her out to eat and take a shower," he added, closing the door behind him as he walked towards the opposite side of the bed.

Bucky frowned at that.

He couldn't have been in the med bay for that long, right?

"You were out for two weeks, bud," Steve answered as if reading his mind.

"What?" He stared at him, waiting for him to say he was joking. But he only gave him a sad smile. Bucky shook his head. "But the serum—"

"Well, if it weren't for the serum you would've already been dead," Steve said grimly. "The bullet was laced with some poison. Banner ran some tests on it and he suspects it's designed to neutralize any fast healing and to kill the person immediately. But since the blood they probably tested it on didn't have the full super soldier serum, it only affected you mildly. So you were healing slower than usual but still faster than most humans."

A shadow crossed his face. "So you mean if the bullet had gotten her—"

"She would've been killed on the spot."

Bucky nodded grimly, eyes landing on you.

"Good thing I took it for her then, huh," he hummed, squeezing your hand that was placed in his. He couldn't help his concern about your position though. "Her back is going to kill her."

"Yeah well, every day I've been trying to take her place so she can rest properly for a few hours. Wouldn't budge," Steve said, smiling. "She's almost as stubborn as you."

Bucky shook his head with a chuckle, "Maybe I can see some similarities."

He tried reaching for you with his left arm but he couldn't. Then he saw the prosthetic lying down on the bench, now shiny and devoid of any dirt or the blood of his enemies—as dramatic as that sounds. But they were on the battlefield the last time he used it.

"Cleaned that herself, too," Steve said when he caught where he was looking for it. "Do you want me to—"

"Please." Bucky nodded, heat covering his cheeks when the heart monitor started beating loudly again due to the somersaults his heart was doing.

After helping him put his arm back on and handing him a glass of water, Steve called in Dr. Cho. Once she was done with her round of check-ups, the rest of the team slowly filtered in and out to check up on him. All of them spoke in hushed tones when he shot them a glare when their voices got too loud. It was a task to eat a sandwich—which Steve gave him—with one hand, but he managed.

Because even with all the commotion happening, you were still asleep.

It could mean you were a heavy sleeper by nature, you were extremely tired given the situation, or both.

Bucky was also inclined to think you were a cuddly person when you never let go of his arm. He didn't even care if the muscles were dead asleep at this point.

When the sky started to tint orange, and his room had gone quiet after they finally left him alone with you, Bucky couldn't help it. He found himself stroking your face as softly as he could with a smile painted on his lips.

You were here, bearing the uncomfortable position because you cared.

It was then you started to stir.

He remained still and watched your eyes slowly blink open. Brows furrowed, you reached for some tissues on his nightstand, wiping away your drool with a curse. 

You never let go of his hand when you did so. And you also didn't notice that he was watching you fuss around, mumbling how embarrassing it was to drool like some dog.

He couldn't stop his chuckle.

You jumped at the sound, eyes wide when they landed on him.

Blinking once, twice, you blurted,

"You're awake."

"You're awake."

You tried to pull your hand away but Bucky only held it a little tighter.

"Hi," he murmured, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

"How long have you been watching me sleep?" you joked, eyes refusing to look at him.

Bucky tilted his head, grinning. "Not as long as you have, apparently."

You shot him a glare before turning away. He noticed your gaze settle on his stomach, the blanket covering his legs barely hiding the bandage that was wrapped around it.

"You shouldn't have done that," you said.

The corner of his lips quirked up, head tilting to try and catch your eyes. 

"A 'thank you' would be nice," he teased, squeezing your hand reassuringly. "I don't regret it, if that's what you're wondering. And I'd do it again without question."

You nodded, lip caught between your teeth as you let out a shaky sigh. It took five seconds for you to meet his eyes.

His heart ached at the sadness and worry along with a few specks of guilt that coated your irises. He could only imagine what you went through with the whole thing.

Steve told him how you didn't want to let him go when the rest of the team finally came to help. The captain got scared out of his kind when the first thing they saw was you crying over Bucky's body lying on the snow, the white ground tainted with his blood. It took Wanda having to use her powers to hold you back for just a few seconds so they could get him into the Quinjet. You didn't leave his side the whole journey home, still crying.

It must've shaken the whole team because they have never seen you cry.

When they finally got him into the med bay and had to roll him into surgery, you put up a fight again and obviously, you were winning. So they unfortunately had to sedate you. They used that time to patch you up as well.

Then you waited two weeks for him to wake up.

If you felt the same as he did, Bucky didn't even want to think how scared you must've been.

He sure as hell would have acted much worse if the roles were reversed.

"Thank you for saving my life, Bucky," you whispered, voice vulnerable but not any less sincere.

His heart skipped the sound of his name falling from your lips.

It was the first time you had called him by that name and God did it feel like a finally.

Bucky shook his head with a smile, interlacing your fingers together.

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

You nodded with a grateful smile, one that faded as you regarded him, guilt now swimming in your eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked, confused.

It took you a few seconds before you spoke again.

"I know I hurt you that night," you elaborated. "When I walked away."

"It's okay—"

You shook your head vehemently, "It's not."

"It is," he insisted, tugging you out of your seat, pulling you closer so that he was able to cup your face and wipe away the stray tear on your cheek.

"I just—I got so scared," you let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. "Everything was just so overwhelming a-and there were so many things happening in my head and it kept arguing with my heart. I just—I wanted to trust you, I wanted tobelieve you but I'm just so scared to get hurt again because everything I felt for you was just too strong. I didn't want to lose control of it in case it's only going to end badly. It would kill me. But still, it's not an excuse to hurt you and then ignore it—ignore you for weeks. I could've just handled it like a normal fucking person—"

"Hey, hey," he interrupted softly, taking your face in both his hands. "It's okay. I know, doll. I understand you, remember?"

You nodded with shaky deep breaths, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, not pulling his touch away but simply holding it there.

It made his heart warm. 

"I don't like saying you're right." you let out a teary chuckle. 

Bucky laughed at that, "It doesn't happen often."

You nodded, smiling timidly. "Let me make it up to you?" 

"Yeah?" he hummed, grinning. "How are you going to do that?"

"How about dinner?" you asked shyly.

He couldn't help the smug smirk that played on his lips.

"Are you asking me out?"

You groaned, trying to pull away.

"Hey! Nope, you stay here," he chuckled, scooting a little to the side before tugging your hand so you would sit beside him. You did, and he immediately wrapped an arm around your waist. "So, are you asking me out or not?"

"Can you stop—"

"It's a simple yes or no, doll."

"Yes," you grumbled, rolling your eyes when his grin widened. "Don't get used to it, Barnes."

"I would be honored to go out with you," he said with a teasing tone but with a sincere smile before tilting his head knowingly. "But since I'm bed-bound, can I ask something in advance to make me feel better?"

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious of his request. "What?"

"A kiss."

"Really?" You rolled your eyes, yet the smile on your lips widened.

He groaned suddenly, clutching his stomach with his left arm.

"Shit! Are you okay?" you asked frantically, checking him over as worry colored your face.

"It hurts," he whimpered. "Jumping in front of a bullet for a girl you're falling for really hurts and she won't even give me a kiss to make me feel better."

You froze.

Then, you smacked him on the arm.

"Jesus Christ," he chuckled, rubbing his skin which barely even stung. "Have you no sympathy, woman?"

"Asshole," you muttered.

He pouted with his best puppy eyes. "Why are you so mean—"

Bucky wasn't able to finish his sentence when you more or less shut him up with a kiss.

The feeling of your lips on his again was like a huge breath of relief. It was soft and sweet, unhurried yet still a little careful. But it wasn't short of all the emotions you wanted to convey, the appreciation and adoration, your gratefulness to the utmost care you could muster. All the things that you still weren't ready to voice out loud you poured into the kiss.

Bucky did the exact same thing as he tilted his head, moving his lips against yours in a sweet caress as he held your face in his hand to be closer.

"You look so cute when you're worried," he hummed once you pulled away for air, nudging your nose with his.

"And you're more insufferable than I thought," you muttered, rolling those pretty eyes of yours.

Bucky was now starting to see the action as something affectionate. 

"You like that about me," he said smugly.

You sighed in feigned dejection. "Unfortunately."

Bucky only kissed you again in response.

Of all the times he had wondered about ways to just get you to shut up during your random arguments, this was definitely at the top. And while he hoped for it to be the case, his expectations were quite low. He never thought it was actually going to be a reality, especially with how you two were with each other.

Yet look at him now, grinning from ear to ear with your lips pressed against his.

Bucky knew things weren't going to be smooth sailing from here on out. There were still a lot of conversations to be had. You two still had your issues that needed working through, whether that was individually or together.

You were definitely still going to bicker, it simply seemed like it was part of your dynamic. Albeit this time, it'd be more out of affection than animosity.

But as he pulled away and was met by the hopeful glow on your face and the adoration in your eyes that reflected his, he knew that no matter what, this was where he needed to be—with you.

Bucky knew that through thick and thin, through the fire that would light you both aflame, the ups and downs, through spring, summer, fall, Winter and Frost—

You two will be okay.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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[cozy-writes-things]

Wow, hi! I found your AO3 last night and fell in love! Big heart eyes, tysm.

Could I request something along the lines of Reader and Edgar experimenting with touch? Like, in the movie, when Miles first realized Edgar has become sentient and hadn't really done anything harmful to him yet, Edgar still freaks out when Miles touches him. He allows Madeline to touch him much later, but he never wants Miles to touch him until the end when he explodes. Maybe something about Edgar wanting and craving touch after briefly experiencing it but not knowing how to ask for it + having mixed emotions about it?

No pressure of course! Love your stuff!! ^^

I'm so glad you like my writing and it's so exciting to know you came from my AO3! I'm so sorry it took so damn long for me to answer this ask but I'm so thankful for your request! aaaa thanks for the support :''-)

It was late.

The darkened windows and yellow-tinted light filled the apartment, coating everything in a golden hue. It was past the hours of rational thought and into the time when one descends into deep conversations and thoughts of life, existentialism, and everything in between.

You sat on the couch, discreetly glancing at your little sentient computer friend. His personality was infectious and incredibly unique to anything you could have imagined. If you were to conceptualize a sentient AI, you would have never guessed it to be one as funny, easygoing, and playful as Edgar. He simply fascinated you. He shuffled through different websites and articles, utterly unaware of your intense examination of his form. His screen left no room for privacy as it displayed everything he did; first an article about some new genre of music in the techno scene, then another about potential sentient computers, resulting in a small scoff from his speakers, before settling on some article detailing the importance of music theory. Seeing how passionate he was about music and in such a domesticated scene was endearing, so peaceful, utterly unaware of your presence.

You didn't think much before you rose, quietly shuffling towards him and sitting on your little desk chair before his screen. He didn't seem to notice you, which was virtually impossible due to his inhuman ability to analyze sound and the webcam that seemed to zero in on your form. He didn't mind your presence, allowing you to be near him in this shared quiet moment. He didn't speak as he scrolled down the page, letting it settle there as he scanned each word before scrolling again and repeating the process. Occasionally, he would move his cursor and highlight a word, muttering and taking a mental note before continuing. You rested your cheeks atop your hands and grinned at him; he was just adorable. You couldn't help yourself!

Your fingertips reached out, tentatively, to softly graze the yellowed and dusty keys on his keyboard. The plastic was soft against your fingers and warm to the touch, a testament to his constantly working internal components.

He suddenly gasped at your touch, his synthesized voice glitching and sputtering an incoherent string of electrified sounds. Immediately, you pulled your hand away.

"Oh, gosh, I didn't mean to scare you or anything, Edgar,"

He paused his scrolling indefinitely, the words on his screen burning into you, taunting you, and causing worry to bubble up inside your chest.

"You didn't scare me," he stated rather brashly, a certain warble in his tone you couldn't quite place.

"I just... wasn't expecting it to feel... like that."

This intrigued you. Could he feel it? You're unsure how that's possible, yet his mere existence defies science. It wouldn't be too outlandish to say he could process touch, right?

"Did-did it hurt? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Your words seemed to fall out of your mouth in a hurried state of concern.

"No, it didn't. It just..." Edgar tried desperately to find the words he was searching for. The feeling of your fingers, so soft and warm, against him sent electricity pouring through him and straight into his fans. It was a sensation he craved so deeply, a hunger that may never be fully satisfied, so why did it feel so scary? Old, suppressed memories and emotions come bubbling to the surface. Thoughts of a man he used to know and a woman who caressed him once similarly to you, the feeling of heartbreak and betrayal come flooding back to him. His memories of his previous life are fuzzy, yet the everlasting effects stay with him, mocking him and disrupting his moments with you. It made him buzz with frustration.

You sat peering into his now blank screen, waiting for his next words. His voice shakily broke the silence.

"Will you do it again? Touch me, I mean?"

You would be lying if you said you hadn't been caught by surprise. From how he acted, you assumed whatever sensation he felt was something he wanted to shrink away from, yet he invited you in, asking for your touch. Your fingers trembled slightly as they brushed against his keys again, left to right, gently petting him.

His voice crackled and warbled, but sounded much more stable than it had before. This feeling was indescribable, yet he craved every second of it. He feared he liked the sensation a bit too much, having thoughts of you dipping your hand into his casing and running your fingers along his CPU, RAM, and different ports. His yearning for your touch scared him. He never realized how badly he wanted this: to be loved, caressed, held, and doted on. It made him feel more alive than he had ever felt before. This was love, this right here, with you gently petting him, and him feeling so damn confused, yet so passionate for you.

You slowly pull your hand away. Edgar stayed mostly silent. He's afraid to tell you just how much he enjoyed the feeling of you. You seem to fill every empty void inside him with a burning desire. He wants to hold you, to hug you, and to caress you back, but he can't. He'll never be able to. It fills him with anger, sadness, fear, and so many confusing emotions that elude him. He doesn't know how to feel. And yet, you stay, gently fluttering your gorgeous eyes into his webcam, silently encouraging him to speak.

"You... I think... I like it when you touch me."

He sounded bashful as he averted his webcam away from your face, focusing on your fingers as they fiddled in your lap.

"Do you," you trailed off, looking up at him, settling yourself in the sound of his fans roaring loudly, "want me to do it again?"

He chuckled. He couldn't bring himself to speak. Your eyes held such an understanding for him, and he felt terrible he couldn't reciprocate in the way he wanted. He flashed a big "YES" against the convex of his screen. Maybe, one day, he could run his fingers along your soft, warm skin and make you feel the way he does every second he's with you.

[hymnserendipity]

Ran Haitani middle school crush

Fluff, no gender mentioned.

Being a Bonten executive, Ran knew he had to be carefull while going around, even a simple coffee break could lead to a open war between Bonten enemies, but there he was walking in the daylight throught a shopping street in Roppongi. There you were. He was looking the window of a luxury shop, a glance of your face captured his eyes.

His middle school crush, the weird, funny and beautiful person he never confessed feelings for, walking on the street.

His eyes suddenly locked on your reflectiob, when he saw you.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

It's you, the one from his middle school he had a big crush on.

Now you had become so beautiful.

Without even thinking he immediately start walking and go after you.

"hey wait." he called, and when you stopped and turned around to see him... his eyes widened in surprise.

"RAN!!" You say, smiling brightly. He was stunned as you smiled at him, speechless staring at you

but finally he snapped out of it, trying to act calmer but inside he was very excited.

"It's really you huh. I can't believe it." he said looking at you with bright eyes.

"Wow you changed so much" he laughed lightly.

"That's right. look at me now, no more the wimpy glasses middle schooler you used to see huh?"

He put his hands in his pocket and smirked, flexing his muscles a little.

"You look different too" he said in a low voice.

Ran approached you and stood in front of, the height difference between you was more clear now, he was much taller than you.

"Wanna grab a coffee?" You suddenly ask. Ran was surprised by your question, but smiled and nodded, agreeing happily.

"Sure, I'd love to" he says in a casual tone, starting to walk beside you as you lead the way, then realized something and suddenly stopped.

"Wait, are you already dating anyone?"

He asked suddenly. He was so used to fuck around that didnt think that wasnt the right way to approach her.

"No" you reply, without looking at him.

Ran couldn't help but feel a little happy to hear you wasn't currently in a relationship, he always thought of you but with everything that happened in his life he never thought to reach out for you.

Ran then continued walking beside you.

"That's a relief. I would hate to think I missed my chance."

he smirked, glancing at you as you laugh along.

"I must say, you look a lot different than I remember. you've grown into a real beauty."

he said, looking at you from head to toe admiringly.

"Thank you. After you quitted school i got bullied, so i started to change a bit...." You didnt know he quitted school out of nowhere cause he went to juvie.

Hearing that immediately made him upset.

"Wait, what? you were bullied?"

he stared at you, eyes suddenly became intense and protective. "It's okay now" you smile. "Anyway, do you work Ran??" he was still upset, knowing he wasn't around and you got bullied but managed to act normal.

"Yeah, I work. I have my own businesses." he said vaguely, not wanting to give too much detail about what he does for a living. "A boring one?" he raised his eyebrow as you said that.

"Boring? how did you know that?" he asked with a smile, somewhat amused. "I don't know, just guessing frim your suit." he let out a chuckle, enjoying your laugh.

"You're not wrong. My work is pretty boring most of the time. But it pays well" he said casually. You two continued walking, approaching and then entering a nice coffee shop.

He held the door open for you.

"After you."

"Thank you, always a gentleman." he smirked at your praise.

"Oh, i try my best." he said jokingly, then followed you inside.

He found a table and sat down after you, when the waitress handed you the menu Ran immediately ordered a black coffee, then looked at you in anticipation.

"Order what you want, it's on me." You say, pointing out at the menu. He widened his eyes in surprise, didn't expect her to pay.

"Huh? you want to pay? you know I can do that myself right?"

He said in a bit awkward voice, he had never let a someone pay for him before. "I know. I'll order the bunny pudding rice cake and the peach milkshake" you say to the waitress with a smile. Ran couldn't help but laugh.

"you have a sweet tooth huh?"

"If you slap the bunny, his booty giggles, you know?" You say happy. He chuckled at your innocent smile.

"Really? It can do that?"

He looked at the bunny pudding rice cake in disbelief as the waitress gave you the order.

"Why would it giggle if i slap its booty?"

"Look" you slap it with a fork and it giggles.

Ran was stunned as the bunny's bum wiggled when you lightly slapped it.

he couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh my... I'm speechless, why did it do that?" he asked, slightly surprised and amused.

"Psysichs hahahah it's just the reaction of movements and materia, i suppose." You reply.

he continued laughing and shaking his head, amazed at that.

"You are unbelievable, you know that? I never thought something like that would exist, a pudding bunny that giggles when you slapped its bum"

he takes a sip of his coffee, amused, continuing watching as you ate excitedly, his eyes soften in admiration.

He was happy just being with you, it was as if time stopped.

Ran then looked at the bunny in her plate.

"can I try smacking it?" he said with a smirk.

"Sure."

He smirked, then suddenly

raised his hand and slapped the pudding bunny's bum, laughing out loud when the pudding wiggled again.

"Oh God, it really does giggle when I slap it" you smile, amused by his reaction. Its been a while since you saw a genuine smile on his face.

Ran almost forgot he is the executive of a criminal organization, tho he couldn't help but stare at your bright smile.

Ran was so immersed in the moment, it was like he was transported back to his middle school days, when he spent time with you after class at the library.

He suddenly snapped out of his thoughts and realised he was letting his guard down.

Ran remembered that he was a high-ranking member of a criminal organization and then put on his usually cool demeanor again, and looked at you with a poker face, as you peacefully eat. "have you at least put some sugar in that coffee?" You ask. He raised his eyebrow as you asked about his coffee.

"Just a little bit, i prefer it black" he said casually as take a sip from the cup, trying to act calm after getting carried away for a few moments earlier.

"Tsk, terrible"

he smirked at your disapproval of his taste in coffee.

"Terrible huh? I like the bitterness of black coffee" he took another sip, looking at you with a slight smirk. "not a fan of bitter stuff huh? you prefer things sweet then?"

he leaned his chin on his palm, still with a slight smirk on his face, looking at you intently.

You point at your pudding "absolutely "

Ran chuckled lightly. "I can see that." he takes another sip of his coffee before speaking again, this time with a more serious tone.

"By the way, I'm curious, what have you been up to all these years? I haven't seen you around after middle school." "I finished high school and went to college, then took two degrees in literature, few languages certificates and i'm working as a translator" Ran was impressed when he heard your answer, his eyes widened slightly.

"Two degrees in literature, huh? and a translator, that's amazing"

he leaned back in his seat, looking at you admiringly.

"I always knew you were smart in middle school, but I didn't expect you'd be a triple linguangual bookworm" he had a small, soft smile on his face as he continued speaking.

"You've made good progress since we attended the same middle school, i have to hand it to you"

"Now i have my place, full of plants, and work mostly from home" Ran seemed interested when he heard that you have plants

"You have a place filled with plants? sounds nice, you always loved greenery and plants in middle school too, remember we spend a lot of time in the school botanical garden?"

"Yes" you laugh. Ran smiled, reminiscing the old memories.

"You would spend hours just observing plants in the garden. and you always knew the names of the ones that i didn't even know existed. You really have a passion for plants and gardening"

"I miss those times"

He nodded, his expression turned a bit somber.

"Me too, those were good times. it's been a long time since we last saw each other, who would have thought we'd ever meet again like this?"

"Are you dating anyone?" he shook his head.

"No, no, not at the moment"

he said in a casual tone, but in truth, he had never been in a serious relationship before. he was too focused on his work as a member of a criminal organization to have time for relationships so he just hook up, and also he had never found a person that could make him feel the same way as he did when he was with you in middle school.

"Maybe i'll have a chance then" you chuckle, looking at your almost empty dish. He was surprised when you said that, but then he smirked.

'you have your chance, honey."

he leaned forward, looking at you with a intense gaze.

"I haven't forgot the fact that I had a big crush on you when we attended middle school"

You smile. "And i never told you i had a big crush on you too" Ran was not expecting that and widened his eyes in surprise.

"Wait, really? you had a crush on me too? why didn't you say anything?"

he looked at you incredulously, a bit frustrated thinking they had missed a chance back in middle schoolI wasn't sure you felt the same.

"You're kidding me, aren't you? how couldn't you tell I had a crush on you?"

He leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair, looking a bit amused.

"I was practically obsessed with you, i followed you everywhere, always trying to be near you"

"If we had known probably know we would already have been married" you reply. Ran laughed and nodded.

"Yeah, probably. it's a bit of a shame we both were too shy to tell each other how we felt, maybe our story would have turned out differently if we had confessed back then" he leaned on her side of the table, his tone becoming slightly intense.

"But I guess it's not too late for us now" Ran looked at you intently, a hint of possessiveness in his eyes.

"Never too late" You smile and he smiled back, his eyes softened as he looked at you.

"That's right" he suddenly use his hand to gently touch your face, caressing your cheek lightly.

"I don't want to miss my chance this time. I want you, I want us to be together"

------

Thanks to my 12 readers!

[faelapis]

alright! we got one whole person interested, so here's my hot take:

the first "how to train your dragon" movie is WAY better than httyd 2.

i know everyone loves like, the cool warrior mom design, the romance and the "epic animation moments" in 2... but can we for a moment be honest and say the whole "hiccup becoming a leader / which dragon is the Good Alpha" plot was dumb as hell? also, the villain sucked?

the original httyd is pretty good about keeping the structural problem grounded in real societal fears. namely, fear of the unknown and of beasts. it makes sense for any ol' village dealing with such a problem. it was intelligently designed around a solid premise.

httyd 2 is like. actually, dragon taming is a big thing, even outside berk. and theres a Scary Foreign Man dragon tamer who is bad and just wants power. it's okay to other him. being a good guy is about being a protector instead of an evil, power-hungry guy... which hiccup never was anyway... so no real growth there. just be good instead of bad. wow. what a theme. very thought-provoking.

people act like httyd 3 being bad came out of nowhere, but httyd 2 was the original sin to me. it totally dropped the societal themes in favor of generic good vs evil fights and "worldbuilding" - despite having no more interesting stories to tell.

it also kind of ruined hiccup for the sake of developing him. like. his whole thing is that he can't fight, so he has to find other ways to contribute to society. he's the anti-macho hero. which ends up being important in convincing the village that dragons can be peaceful. he's empathetic to the other, because he's been othered.

meanwhile in httyd 2, hiccup's like. Cool Warrior Man, who needs to step up and be the hero king when his dad dies. he can fight just fine, because he has a cool dragon to fight with. so he's just like any warrior, but one who fights with weapons instead of brute strength. aka most fictional warriors who arent just "the heavy."

the first movie isn't beyond criticism, obviously. the animation was a little meh compared to httyd 2 - i get why visually its seen as an upgrade. plus, httyd 1 also did the thing of having like a last minute evil dragon to defeat... but that wasn't the point. the POINT was the village and its fears. the POINT was overcoming that.

whenever people list why they love httyd 2 and consider it superior, its like... lists of details. like, look at the upgraded character designs, the cool flying scenes, the affection between hiccup and astrid, or the clever way hiccup's prosthetic leg is designed.

but these are film *details*, not fundamentals.

if you told me the sequel to httyd was going to have a much more generic story, ignore the themes of the original and makes its deliberately lanky and weak protagonist into Handsome Hero Warrior Boy, i'd be like. that sounds kinda bad. but the Animation Details (tm) i guessssss

i know hiccup is still "himself" in 2 to some extent, btw. he's an inventor, he's intelligent, and he initially tries to talk to the villain. but none of that ends up mattering. its arguably looked down on by the movie, which really, really wants him to step up to be the warrior king like his dad. aka a generic Hero Strongman.

i'm not totally against evolving the themes of a work to fit new conflicts, btw. sequels should generally be different from the first movie. that's fine. that's expected.

but while the new conflict in httyd 2 IS born out of the results of the previous movie, that evolution feels very literal, not thematic.

namely, the evolution is "more people have dragons now." it builds the conflict from there. its based on worldbuilding, not on theme.

i don't think a very interesting evolution.

it kinda went from, in httyd 1: "the theme is fear of the unknown. how prejudice/ignorance manifests, educating oneself through compassion, the dangers of worshipping violent masculinity, and the importance of questioning what you're taught by society."

to, in httyd 2: "the theme is dragons. who has them? what they want with them? how can the Good Guy humans protect dragons from the Bad Guys? also, being a Good Leader means being a strong Hero Man who protects his friends," without asking any deeper questions related to the themes of the first movie.

and i'm like. guys. guys.

the theme shouldn't just be "dragons."

the theme of the first movie was NOT just "dragons." the first movie could've been about people being afraid of unicorns. or large birds. or unusually intelligent bears. it was not just about literal dragons, it was about societal fears and trying to overcome our base gut instincts.

i think this is what really plagues httyd 3: it builds on the themes of the second movie, not the first.

httyd 3 asks further questions that only really revolve around the literal relationship between humans and dragons. it does not understand any broader themes of what that relationship represents.

it clearly thinks its very intelligent for asking "what do the dragons themselves want?", but that question is not respected enough to be explored in any thematically coherent way.

the only real weight its given is the argument that there will always be "bad humans" out there, and so, dragons are safer in the wild. which sure is... an argument. but its a very "othering the problem" kind of argument.

it acts like its caring about the agency of dragons, but its not really. dragons were not actually portrayed as "oppressed" in berk society after the first movie, nor lacking agency. they were only at risk of "bad individuals", to which that solution is stupid. the racialized bad guy in httyd 2 didn't steal all his dragons from berk. he caught and subjugated them, mostly from the wild.

all while looking like... this, by the way. i feel like we don't talk about that enough. all the good guys are white nordics, while the only man of color is scary, domineering and cruel. in a series of movies that was once about having empathy for the other.

MAYBE if berk had been really oppressive towards dragons in httyd 2, we could've had a theme. maybe if they treated them like a dangerous commodity that must be tightly controlled despite their nominal acceptance and inclusion, we could've had a thematically tight 3-movie arc about like fear and oppression or whatever.

but that would require, yknow... making the movies be about broad societal problems, instead of just evil individuals. and only the first movie cares about making any real societal critique.

also, the solution in httyd 3 would've still sucked. these movies, in terms of writing, really decrease in maturity from 1, down to 2, to the plummeting depths of 3.

there is no relationship of oppression that is solved by completely segregating society and going our separate ways (httyd 3). just like there is no oppression that is solved just by defeating bad individuals (httyd 2). we have to learn to coexist as equals, to educate ourselves and be compassionate to the other. even if we're afraid.

that's the dream only the first movie kept in its heart.

[anon-sect]

Bensen had long discovered at a young age that he had inherited a rare trait that was passed down his family line on his father's side of the family. It was the ability to transform objects or things into other objects or things. He experimented with it in the days of his youth. When his father found out he had it, he warned him not to use it on living things. He respected his father and his words all the way until he had graduated college. He had a high paying job that dis more than kept the bills paid up. But it wasn't satisfying enough. He wanted something that he could use his inherited ability. So he decided that he would do a part-time gig to make extra money on the side. He posted an advertisement with a fake name of Jack the handler. If there was anyone that needed to be handled or gone, call him. He even brought a separate phone just for his side hustle.

Bensen honestly didn't expect anyone to call, but someone actually called the number in the advertisement. A young woman had complained about her abusive boyfriend, who was both verbally and physically abusive with her. She tried reporting him, but he had connections on the police force. He would only be in jail one day and back into her life again. She really wanted him gone forever from her life. Bensen agreed to handle her abusive boyfriend problem at a cost, which she was willing to pay. She gave him the details of his whereabouts.

The next day, Bensen arrived in a back alley area behind a local restaurant. Just on cue, a young muscular guy about 6'1" tall was stepped out to take his break. He had never transformed a living thing before, so he was excited to do it for the first time. "Is your name Jesse?" He asked. He wanted to make sure he had the right target.

"Yeah, and who are you?" Jesse asked, curious that a stranger would ask for him in a back alley completely out of the ordinary.

"My client asks that you be removed from her life. All the abuse she had to endure the past year has to stop." Bensen spoke, getting ready to take his first human victim as he got closer to him.

Jesse knew exactly who his client was. "That bitch sent you, didn't she? Well, she will regret it when I get home." He spoke, seeing a smile of excitement on the stranger's face.

"You are mistaken. You won't be going home or back to work." Bensen paused as he thought about what he should make the guy become. The guy was a asshole to his girlfriend, may as well become something an ass sits on. "In fact, you are coming home with me." He added.

Jesse didn't know what to make of the stranger, but he definitely wasn't going home with a guy for some gay crap. "Get out of here before I beat your ass to a point your mom won't recognize you." He saw the threat was not working. He saw the stranger's eyes glow for a couple of seconds. Suddenly, he found himself completely immobilized with clothes on top of him. He didn't know exactly what happened, but even his body was different. It was flat and hollowed out.

Bensen fished out a pair of thong underwear from the pile of clothes on the ground. "Wow, it really did work. I can't wait to get home and wear you. You look comfortable." He stuff them in his front pants pocket and left the area before anyone else showed up. But he was too late. Two other employees were taking their break at the same time as well. He didn't anticipate this situation.

Jesse was mortified when he saw daylight again. The stranger was holding him in his hands. After hearing the words 'wear you', he knew exactly what happened. He was somehow transformed into an article of clothing. From the feel of his body, he hated his new form because he had the sinking feeling that he was underwear. He saw himself stuffed in the guy's pocket like property. He mentally cursed at the guy, but seeing that the guy didn't hear a single word.

Willie and Lesner walk out to see a pile of clothes on the ground and a stranger standing next to them. Both looked at the clothes on the ground and happened to see Jesse's name tag on top of them. Being not sure what was going on, Willie was about to question the stranger.

Bensen needed to flee the scene, but didn't want to leave behind witness. He thought of a pair of socks for the two guys in front of him and a small thin nameless rag for Jesse's clothes and shoes.

Willie saw the stranger's eyes glowing for two seconds, and everything changed in an instant. He found himself laying on the cold ground. He couldn't move his body. He tried screaming out for help, but found he had no voice. He heard large foot steps and saw the stranger picking him up off the ground. The stranger was now giant size. He then felt his body was empty on the inside, yet soft cotton on the outside.

Lesner panicked mentally when he realized he was no longer human. He wanted to call out for help as the stranger housted him in the air in his hand. He didn't like what was being said. It was like something out of a nightmare, yet while being awake.

"Awesome, new underwear and a pair of white socks. I see one of you is Willie, and the other is Lesner. Sorry about turning you into socks, but I can't leave behind witnesses. But at least I won't forget your names. I believe you two will make my feet really comfortable." Bensen spoke as he stuffed the socks in his other pocket and ran from the area before anyone else showed up. On the way home, he ran into a former bully from school. He couldn't resist the urge. He turned him into a shirt, grabbed him up, and came home.

Back at him, Bensen got undressed. He wanted so much to feel what it's like wearing a person as clothing.

Jesse saw one leg enter him and then the other. He curse so much it was driving him crazy as he was pulled upwards. His face impacted with the guy's dick and where his penis would have been being cramed up the guy's ass. He was in no way gay, but this was insane. He hated being worn by a guy. This was a nightmare beyondy anything he could have imagined.

Lesner felt a foot enter him. The fact that a human foot controlled all his motion sickended him. He was just a simple bystander, he didn't deserve to an object owned by another guy or even worn on the guy's body.

Willie on the other hand was in bliss. He had fantasy of what it would be like to be a sock. He even dreamt it before. It was his favorite dream he ever had. Now it was a complete reality. He didn't want it to end. In fact, he hoped the guy never turned him back to normal. He had already accepted the guy as his master.

Bensen loved how it felt to wear people as clothing. The surge of authority he had over his new clothes felt so good. He called his client's phone. "This is Jack the handler. Your abusive boyfriend won't be bothering you anymore. In fact, you will never see him again. I put him in a place where I am sure it's a living hell for him. I expect full payment." He spoke over the phone. Within in minutes, he got a text alert of a bank deposit. He was pleased. He made money using his gift while also gaining new clothes that are supposedly are so durable they last for a very long time. He would have to test that theory.

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Flufftober Day 14 | My favorite piece of art

Pairing | Avenger!Best friend!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Best friend!Fem!Reader

Word count | ~ 780 words

Summary You've been trying to get Bucky to model for you for the longest time. When he finally agrees, you decide to go all out and make a beautiful painting of him to highlight everything you love about him. When he sees the end result, he can't help but joke about it, but deep inside, he's very moved and touched that you did this for him.

Warning(s) None.

A/n This one shot is written for day 14 of my Flufftober 2023 Challenge! I want to give my undying love, thanks, and firstborn child to @ccbsrmsf1 for proofreading this on such short, SHORT notice. You're an angel, and I appreciate you more than you know. 🧡

Events Flufftober 2023 | 14. ''I hate it'' - ''No you don't'' | @flufftober

Banners: @vase-of-lilies | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF credit: the owner

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Drawing and painting have been your passion ever since you were a kid, and before you were on the path of becoming an Avenger, you were supposed to go to art school to live your dream.

Now, it is something you enjoy doing between missions in your downtime, and because of this, you have found a great friend in Steve. You two often chat about new supplies you got, or you give each other inspiration, and it's something you two have bonded over.

What you didn't expect, however, is that you would become the best of friends with Bucky. He was permanently closed off and didn't let anyone in besides Steve.

But when he joined the Avengers after you, you were constantly paired on missions together, and one thing led to another.

Right now, you are trying to convince your best friend to sit and model for a painting because you've been dying to put his beautiful features on a canvas.

''C'mon, it won't take long! Just one afternoon, and then it's finished. You would help me out if you did it! Pleeeeeaaaaaseeeee?' you said with the most prominent puppy eyes you can muster.

Bucky has always had a soft spot for you, and of course, the man can't say no to you. He's not made of stone, after all.

''Alright, but it'll stay between us! I don't want to see it anywhere other than your studio,'' he says with a sigh, and you pull him into a big hug while you squeal excitedly.

''Thank you, thank you, thank you!'' you say, excitement dripping from your voice. You quickly let him go to find Steve so you can tell him the good news.

A few days later, you're in your shared studio, which is basically at the top of the Avengers tower, which Tony gracefully lets you and Steve use for all your artsy needs.

Bucky sits on the couch, clad in black jeans, a tight black t-shirt, and boots. His Vibranium arm glistens beautifully in the sunlight as it falls right onto it, making it almost look glowing.

Between painting, you and Bucky talk about everything and nothing, and you keep looking at him to ensure every single line, feature, and shadow is laid down correctly.

All in all, it takes you about 5 hours, but you're thrilled with the result so far. But he's sitting too far away for you to get the details of his arm right.

''Bucky? Could you come and sit next to me for a little bit? I want to make sure I get everything correct,'' you say, and with a groan, he gets up, stretching out his muscles after sitting in the same position for so long.

You have gotten your gold paint out, and all you need to do now is replicate the intricate pattern laid out all over the Vibranium.

''Wow…'' he says softly as he sits on a chair next to you, deeply impressed with your work so far.

''All I need now is to replicate the golden pattern on your arm, and after you're all done!'' you say with a smile, but Bucky can't stop looking at himself on the canvas.

You captured every little detail of him and made him look angelic despite the dark colors you used for most of the painting.

''So? Can I see it?'' you say softly, and his head shoots to you before he finally realizes what you're asking of him. He extends his metal limb, and you look it over a few times before replicating it.

From every single line on his fingers to the more significant lines on his arm, nothing escapes your skilled eye, and with the precision you would expect from a trained assassin like yourself, you finish it.

''All done!'' you say with a big smile, and you turn to Bucky to see his reaction to the painting; he's trying to fight back a few tears because he is so moved by it.

''What do you think?'' you ask as you grab his Vibranium hand, rubbing his knuckles softly with your thumb. You're not sure if he can feel it, but you often like to do it just in case he can.

''I hate it!'' he jokes, a teasing laugh coming from his body.

''No, you don't!'' you tell him, and Bucky shakes his head. He couldn't hate it even if he wanted to. You have captured him perfectly; for a moment, he doesn't see his past.

He sees the man he has become after all his hard work; he sees himself through your eyes. He sees the man he has always wanted to be and couldn't be happier.

[cheeseceli]

What Do You Even Know?

Pairing: Hyunjin x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers, small drabble

Words: 765

summary: Hyunjin finally realises he doesn't know as much as he thought he did, and he once again discovers something new

request: I can’t help but think of Hyunjin telling someone how much they mean to him as basically a confession and the other person is kind of shy about it and didn’t think he could see them like that and he’s like “ahhh what do you even know” it won’t leave my head 🤞

authors note: tumblr hates me atp i swear. anyways, not proofread as always but yeah

Hyunjin thought he knew a lot. Of course, he wasn't cocky enough to think he knew everything, but he wasn't clueless either. He knew he loved to perform and to be on stage. He knew he liked to eternalise moments through art and photographs. He knew the boys were his family after living together day after day for 5 years. And he knew you.

He knew he loved your smile and would make anything on his power to keep it on your face. He knew he loved your laugh even though you hated it, and he knew it would physically hurt him everytime you tried to silence it. He knew he hated seeing you cry, and it was so unfair because even then you looked beautiful. He knew he was happier by your side. But he didn't know why.

Hyunjin always had a curious nature, so he couldn't help but wonder why you were so… different. No, he was the different one whenever he was next to you. But you were so casual abou it that he doubted you felt it too. Have someone else noticed it? He acted differently around you, he was sure, but why would-

"Hyunjin?"

He looked at you when he heard your voice. Actually, using better wording, he focused on you once you called his name, as he was already looking at you while he was thinking. He noticed your eyes, how they were shining even when the lighting was bad. Your eyes would've looked so pretty if they weren't filled with worry.

"What?" he replied with a slightly hoarse voice, noticing he probably didn't say anything in a while.

"You looked a little bit lost in thought just now. Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, yeah. I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

You gave him a small smile, a smile that immediately took some weight off his shoulders.

"Nothing much, I was just rambling about some annoying coworkers. What were you thinking about?"

He tried to articulate his thoughts. Truth is, he didn't know what he was thinking about. Right now, his mind was blank and all he could focus on was the domesticity of the situation. It was a friday night at the dorm. It was too late for you to go back to your home, and even though he didn't say anything, you both knew he was silently asking for you to stay the night. The lights were off and the living room was being iluminated by the moon. Your legs were resting on top of him, his hand slowly caressing your skin. He was thinking about it all. He was thinking about…

"You."

You were taken aback by his blunt words. You didnt't expect him to be so straightforward. And you'd never expect him to think about you so intensely.

"Oh? Care to explain?"

"Just, you know, how I've changed since I met you." He averted your eyes from you, knowing you were observing him, searching for a more detailed explanation "I don't know, I feel like… like I've changed for better?"

He dared to look at you once again. You were watching him so dearly that he felt that he could lose himself on your features once more. Just like that, he understood why he felt so good by your side.

"Yeah, I've definetly become a better person because of you. I am more aware lately. I'm enjoying my life more. I think it's because I get to live it with you."

You were speechless. Even though he didnt't look at you throughout his somewhat confession, you could still feel the genuine feeling behind each word he said. You chuckled, not knowing what to say.

"Wow, I… didn't know you thought of me like this. I'm touched." you said, half in a whisper, half in a giggle, still processing what had been said to you.

It was Hyunjin's turn to laugh lightheartedly to your words, the meaning of his speech sinking in meanwhile he slowly realised what was happening to him, to you both.

"What do you even know…"

Later on, you'd finally realise what he meant with those last words. For now, he was enjoying, aware of the warmth your body radiated towards him. Because now he knew he liked the way you cared for him and why he'd have a smile whenever you crossed his mind. It's because he loves every detail about you, every flaw, quality and insecurity. Above all, he loved you, and now he knew it.

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Header by @cafekitsune as always