#I hope he chokes on a grape

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eleven

Steve watches as Eddie positions himself at the breakfast bar. He easily swings up the end of his tail, the final couple of feet laid out on the chopping board.

He slices a thick piece, turning it and cutting it into neat chunks. It looks like raw steak inside. He cuts a thicker slice, making more chunks, then he does it again.

Next to him, Robin picks up the chunks and slides them onto metal skewers, “thanks Eddie, these will go great on the grill.”

“Yeah, well, we need to get rid of it at some point, might as well use it up now-”

Steve wakes up choking. He doesn’t make a noise, or at least, he doesn’t think he has. He just lies there, heart beating frantically, eyes wet, telling himself again and again, just a dream, just a dream, just a dream.

Steve lies there, waiting for his heart to calm and his breathing to even out, the sweaty flush on his skin slowly cools. He really needs to go back to sleep, but he knows already that he probably won’t be able to settle.

He wants to talk to Eddie. Wants to see him. Doesn’t think he’ll be able to go back to sleep without reassuring himself that Eddie actually is okay which – okay, that’s a bit ridiculous, but he just...needs to. For his own sanity.

Steve blinks gritty eyes at the clock, nearly half three in the morning. His parents are down the hall in their room, and Eddie is at Hopper’s cabin, hopefully asleep on the couch, and there’s not much Steve can do about that.

He lies there, staring at the ceiling in the dark, willing himself to relax. The more he tries, the less likely it becomes, until it hits him; the walkie.

He rolls out of bed, and feeling a little bad for waking Eddie up, makes sure it’s on their channel and the volume is down low before holding down the trigger to speak, “Eddie?”

Nothing. Silence. God Steve is an absolute shit for doing this, and he hopes it’s not so loud that he wakes Hopper or El. He resolves to try one more, if this doesn’t work he will just have to make himself leave it alone and go back to bed, “Eddie?”

There’s a few seconds of silence this time, before a quiet crackle of static, “Stee?”

“Sorry to wake you up buddy, are you okay?”

“Eddidie fine. Pear and grape for din-ner. El Eddidie dance. Mus-ic. Movie on TV. Clean teeth. Couch sleep. Blanket. Stee good?”

“That’s...really good Buddy. Yeah, I’m fine, just had a bad dream,” Steve wants to ask about the dancing and the music and what the movie was and everything else Eddie has been up to today, but it’s the middle of the night, and it would be selfish to keep Eddie talking, “you should sleep.”

“Stee bad dream tell Eddidie? Dark TV tell?”

Steve thinks for a second, “I dreamed you got hurt. Eddie ow. Many ow, really bad. I was...scared.”

There’s a few seconds silence before Eddie replies, “Eddidie no ow.”

“No, I know buddy, but thank you for telling me, we should get some sleep. Night.”

“Stee perfect.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

Steve’s been lying in bed for a full minute before he realizes what he’s just said. It doesn’t really matter; Eddie doesn’t know what it means.

Stupid brunch. Stupid brunch that stopped Steve visiting Eddie before work. Stupid parents. Stupid Keith and his stupid duty rosta so stupid Robin is at stupid work and she couldn’t come to stupid brunch. His parents are so much nicer when she’s there; something to do with keeping up appearances in front of strangers or whatever, Steve knows why they do it. It’s not because they actually like Robin or anything. Steve's pretty sure his parents don;t actually like anyone, not even each other.

Steve sits in his car and sighs. Watches as the door cracks open and the light spills out. Eddie sitting there in his blue sweater. As Steve watches, he lifts his hand and gives a little wave. Steve shouldn’t be visiting this late really, but he couldn’t miss a day. It’s not fair on Eddie, for one thing, being left here like this, when he doesn’t really understand why.

Steve gets out of the car and jogs over to the house, Eddie letting him in. El’s not there, Steve figures she’s already in bed. Hopper’s putting dishes in the kitchen when Steve comes in, “sorry I’m so late Hop.”

Hopper shrugs, “doesn’t matter. I’m going to bed anyway, Eddie, get the lights and lock up before sleep, okay?”

Eddie nods, “make dark. Key lock make safe.”

“You got it. Night kids.”

“Night Hop.”

“Night Hopper.”

Steve throws himself down on the couch; today has just sucked all the way through, Eddie climbs up next to Steve, muttering, “Eddidie not kid,” under his breath.

Steve snorts a laugh, Eddie clearly does not want to be lumped into the same category as the, ‘mongrels,’ “if you’re not a kid, what are you?”

Eddie thinks for a second, the points past Steve, “book please,” Steve hands it over, leaning close to watch Eddie as he thumbs his way with fair accuracy to the page he wants; Steve really should get him some more books. He’s also got to thank El for working on Eddie’s manners.

It’s the frog page again.

Eddie points to the ‘froglet’, “Eddidie.”

“So...like a teenager?” Steve hazards vaguely. Steve figured Eddie is the same age as him, more or less, just because the human parts look the same and are roughly the same size; it’s not really anything to go on though. Steve points, “when do you grow into a frog?”

“Later.”

“What?”

Eddie nods, “later.”

“Eddie...are you going to get legs?” Steve has to be sure. Has to understand what Eddie is saying.

“Legs?”

Steve lifts his feet off the floor, waving his legs up and down a little, trying not to get too excited before he's sure, pointing, “legs.”

“Yes. Eddidie legs later.”

All of the worry Steve's been harboring about what to do with Eddie just...lifts. He knows Eddie couldn't live with him, hidden away, forever...but the thought of releasing Eddie somewhere. Leaving him alone, worrying about what would happen if people found him. Never seeing him again, all of it was tearing at Steve inside, a burden he didn't know how to answer, “Eddie! Why didn’t you tell me! This is awesome-”

“Legs bad.”

“What…why?”

Eddie closes the book, looking sad again, he takes Steve’s hand, “called?”

“That’s my hand buddy...and those parts are fingers,” Steve lets Eddie link their fingers together, the webbing preventing them locking together fully, “Eddie, why are legs bad?”

Eddie shuffles closer, turning his body into Steve’s, “called?” Eddie uses his free hand to point to Steve’s eyes.

“Eyes, buddy,” Eddie’s finger makes contact as he shifts in the seat to lean ever closer, tail pressed tight to Steve’s thigh, he traces Steve’s brow, “eye brows.” Eddie’s finger, his black, rounded claw traces along Steve’s nose, “nose.” Steve can’t move, doesn’t feel like he can breathe really as he waits for what comes next. Eddie’s fingertip traces Steve’s bottom lip, ever so gently he touches, leaving a tingling on Steve's skin, “lips. Lips and...mouth.”

Eddie nods, satisfied, taking his hand away, and Steve can finally take another breath, even with the distraction of Eddie's touch, he can’t avoid the sense of mounting horror, “Eddie, why are legs bad?”

Eddie has to drop Steve’s hand to bring both up to his face, he gets as far as pressing his palms to his cheeks before Steve grabs his wrists, dragging his hands away from his face, “no,” Steve says, horrified, “no, that’s not what happens. You’re wrong, that can’t be what happens.”

Eddie nods, sad but sure.

“No. Eddie no, that’s not- I won’t let you,” and Steve knows as he says it he has no fucking control over this whatsoever.

Eddie takes Steve hand again, pushes it against the back of his head. Steve’s fingers worm their way in, feeling that familiar starburst of ridges. They’re familiar as the rest of Eddie now, Steve’s been washing Eddie’s hair pretty much every other day for weeks and weeks now. Steve fingers find the place where they meet in the middle, right at the back of Eddie’s head, “mouth.”

Steve fights the instinct to pull his hand away in horror. He forces himself to keep it there; it won’t hurt him, Steve can feel the ridges of Eddie’s fucking skull, hard and unforgiving under his skin and hair. That can’t be right, it just doesn’t make any sense but...Steve can imagine it, the petals of a Demogorgon’s mouth unfolding.

“Stee?”

Steve’s voice breaks when he speaks, and he can feel the first tear break free, rolling down his cheek, “yeah buddy?”

“El tell Eddidie...Stee tell Eddidie I love you. El tell Eddidie love...Eddidie love Stee too. Stee perfect.”

“Oh buddy," Steve's voice cracks, "...yeah. Yeah, I love you too,” Eddie wipes away Steve’s tears with his knuckle, licking the water off his finger. Eddie half climbs and Steve half pulls Eddie into his lap. They hold each other tight, Eddie gently nuzzling his face back and forth against Steve's cheek, against his neck, breathing in Steve's hair and skin.

Steve does the same to Eddie, hands tight on Eddie's tail, on his back, in his hair, wherever he can reach to touch, committing Eddie to memory.

Steve doesn’t go home, he can’t. He just sleeps, fully clothed, on the couch, pulling Eddie down on top of him, and holding him close.

Steve and El sit on the stoop, all bundled up. Steve’s got a coffee and El’s got a hot chocolate. They watch as Eddie moves along the tree line; he’s collecting pine cones and burying them. Planting seeds. He uses his hard, blunt claws to dig; the earth is maybe a little harder because of the cold, but it doesn’t seem to bother or hinder Eddie at all.

It feels precious now, watching Eddie. It feels like the time he has with him is suddenly short; that he needs to make the most of every single second. Steve tries to absorb all of it, the way Eddie moves. The look on his face as he examines his finds, his fingers, the dark nails. The way the light is absorbed by the dark matte black of his tail. The way his hair gets blown around in the fresh breeze, shining a little in the light, thanks to Steve’s hair care regimen.

How he smiles at Steve when he catches him watching.

Steve tries not to think about last night; it’s too much to absorb. Too strange; surely Eddie cannot be right. But then Steve reminds himself of where Eddie came from, and the fact that the girl he’s sitting next too can move shit with her mind, and figures he has to adjust his expectations around what could be normal.

“He does this a lot,” El says.

“Huh, maybe he does this back home too; always wondered what he gets up to when I’m not there.”

“He does,” El says with certainty.

“Oh have you...have you looked. Inside his head?”

“Only a little. Just to check if he’s alright and...when he’s struggling to find the words.”

“Oh. Yeah. Is it...is it very different?”

“Yes.” El seems to think for a moment, “he thinks in...pictures. People think in words a lot. And he pretty much only thinks about now. People think about a lot of things at once, the past, the future. Eddie doesn’t do that, there’s mostly only now.”

“Huh...I guess that...makes sense.”

Eddie comes back to the foot of the steps, brushing loose things from the woods off the sweater of the day, “Hopper now,” he informs them.

“Oh yeah Buddy? Can you hear his car?” Steve touches his ear.

“Hopper car yes, Eddidie hear. Hopper inied work.”

Steve can’t help but smile, even though it feels like he wants so cry at the same time, “what is Hopper’s job, do you know?”

Eddie nods, “Hopper Hawkins Indiana safe.”

“Yeah buddy, that’s exactly right.”

Part Thirteen

[riizeberries]

Grape Juice - L.CY

!brothers best friend anton x !fem reader

Content Warnings: Smut (18+ MDNI), dry humping, oral (f. receiving), fingering, degradation, choking

WC: 2.3k

It was no secret.

Your brother's best friend was hot.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, you slowly pushed the grape through your lips, your eyes never leaving the boy.

"You cheated, Anton!", you heard your brother yell, pushing said boy aggressively.

"Admit it, you're just shit at this game. Quit being a sore loser, Sungchan.", Anton snorted, as you heard Sungchan demand for a rematch.

Did you feel like a creep, watching him play Mario Kart with your brother in the living room?

No.

Not really.

What did you really have to be ashamed of? It's not like he knew you were doing so. Besides, could anyone really blame you? You couldn't take your eyes off his arms, not when his veins deliciously showed up everytime he gripped the controller tight. You just couldn't help but wonder how his veiny hands would feel against your throat.

You've never really spoken to Anton, despite him being at your home literally 24/7 due to his friendship with your brother. He was also somehow in majority of your classes, given the fact you were the same age, yet you sat on completely different sides of the class and shared completely different friendship circles. There was nothing for the two of you to speak about, nor did you have anything in common, an unsettling awkwardness lingering between you every time you were left alone. You just found no reason to talk to him.

That, however, didn't stop your hand from burying itself between your thighs every other night, wishing your fingers were his.

You didn't know what it was about him that had you pressing your thighs together, even with the mere mention of his name. Maybe it was his soft, yet deep voice, wondering how he'd sound whimpering and moaning into your ears, or maybe it was his athletic build that you often caught yourself sneaking glances at whenever he played basketball with your brother, wondering what it'd be like to leave your marks all over him. Or was it simply the thrill of wanting someone off-limits that had you so excited? Finally finding something you couldn't have, after years of everything being just handed to you, receiving princess treatment from your whole family your whole life. You just didn't know.

"Earth to Y/N.", Sungchan waved his hand in front of your face, trying to catch your attention, before walking past you to grab a bag of chips from the pantry.

"Huh?", you muttered, shaking your thoughts away.

"I said what do you want for dinner? Mom said she's working overtime, so we should just order food.", Sungchan explained, as Anton awkwardly leaned against the pantry door, waiting for your brother to be done.

"Oh, just order for yourselves.", You brushed off, causing him to snap his head towards you.

"Why? Aren't you eating? Are you dieting again? I told you, you don't need to diet. You're perfect just the way you are. Wait, are you sick? Are you not feeling well?", Sungchan rushed, making his way towards you, placing his hand on our forehead to check your temperature. Your eyes flickered towards Anton, his eyes looking everywhere but you, as you let out a groan of embarrassment, hating how overprotective your brother was of you.

"Chill. I'm fine.", you swatted his hands away, "I have a date.", you shrugged, ignoring how steam came out of Sungchan's ears at the mention of a date.

You also tried to ignore how Anton's eyes snap towards you, noticing it from the corner of your eyes, trying to convincing yourself not to get your hopes high, as it was just another one of your delusions.

"Are you serious? A date this late? You wish.", Sungchan scoffed, glaring at you, "You're not going."

"But it's-"

"I said, you're not going.", Sungchan sternly pointed, as you stomped your foot onto his, making him yelp in pain.

"But mom-"

"Mom would've said no, too! It's literally 7:30pm, and your curfew is 8, so when do you think this date's happening? Because it's certainly not happening after that.", He continued, cutting you off, as you let out a loud groan, hating how stubborn he was.

"You're literally so annoying, maybe if you let me spe-", you huffed, before you were cut off by his phone ringing. He gave you a pointed look, letting you know the conversation was over, as he left to his room to take his call.

You let out a shriek of frustration, shoving multiple grapes in your mouth, grumbling about how annoying your brother was.

"A date?", you heard someone ask, as you choke on the grapes, forgetting the extra presence. Your face grew warm, embarrassed by the fact he had just witnessed your small disagreement with your brother.

"Yeah. What about it?", you mumbled, leaning onto the counter to grab some more grapes, looking towards him.

Your eyes widened slightly, noticing a different look on his face, completely different to the warm, bright smile he always had on. His jaw was clenched, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you with a look you unrecognised.

He looked extra hot.

You watched as his eyes slowly travelled from your face, downwards, lingering on your chest. Scrunching your eyebrows, you look down to see what he was looking at, before your eyes widened even more. Your boobs were practically hanging out of your pink cami top, looking extra plump from being pressed onto the counter. Clearing your throat, you looked away, noticing him push himself off the wall from where he initially was, walking towards you. You could feel your heart jump from your chest, the closer he got. Not knowing what to do, you just allowed your inner self to panic, but plastering a stoic expression on your face, eating your grapes.

You let out a soft gasp, feeling his body heat radiating from behind you, feeling his presence so near. You've never been this close to him, your mind going haywire as you try to figure out what was going on.

"With who?", Anton leaned down, muttering near your ear as you bit your lip, trying not to react to both his proximity, and the way his voice had dropped an octave.

"I said with who, princess?", he pushed his body closer against yours, making you whimper, feeling the tent in his shorts press against your backside, as he caged you against the counter. You hated that nickname, something that was given to you by Sungchan's friends for being a 'princess'; in better words, a spoilt brat. Yet, something about the way Anton said it had your pussy throbbing.

"What's it to you?", you rolled your eyes, feigning composure, hearing him scoff behind you.

"Are you really that fuckin dense?", Anton seethed, clenching his jaw even more when he felt you press your ass back into him, wanting to feel more, "Or was I just stupid to think your brainless head could actually work for once.", he muttered, rutting his clothed length against you, as you bit your lip harder, trying not to make any noise.

"Get on the counter, or do you need me to do that for you too? Since you're that fuckin stupid.", he snapped, pushing you up, his large palm on your stomach, pushing your back down onto the counter. You were too needy to even think straight, letting out desperate whines, every degrading word he spoke going straight to your pussy. This was exactly what you dreamed of every night, your desires finally coming true as you feel him push open your legs.

Not even sparing a second to even remove your clothes, his hands pushed into your shorts, two fingers circling over your clit as you let out a silent sigh of relief.

"Such a slut. You're already soaked and I barely even touched you.", he scoffed, tracing small circles over your clit faster, the whimpers from your lips escaping more frequently. The way your body twitched, he knew you were already close, rolling his eyes from how quickly you were able to reach your high. Just as the knot in your stomach was about to release, Anton removed his fingers from your shorts, making you whine from being denied your pleasure, grinding your hips against nothing, seeking some sort of friction to ease your needs.

"Please.", you whine out, frustrated from the lack of attention on your throbbing pussy, hating the way he pulled back to look at your desperate state, condescendingly.

"Look at you begging for me when you were supposed to be going out with another dude. What? Did you plan of fucking him tonight?", he snarled, pulling down your shorts to get a better view of your pussy, groaning at the sight of you clenching around nothing.

"No, only you.", you blabbered, not thinking straight. You hadn't even thought of the implications of your words, nor did you notice the way his eyes lit up when you said so, focused solely on your pleasure.

Anton wasted no time, as he dove straight into your pussy, his mouth latching onto your core. You threw your head back onto the counter immediately, your fingers burying themselves into his hair at the sensation, tugging it roughly. He moaned onto your cunt, sending vibrations up your body as you let out a loud moan.

"Shut up.", he snapped, releasing you from his mouth, as he reached up to put pressure on your throat, choking you. You eyes rolled back from the feeling of his hands restricting your airways, your mouth hanging loose, his cock throbbing at the sight.

He went straight back in, his tongue eagerly flicking your bud, lapping at your folds, while his hands roughly squeezed your thighs, pushing his face deeper into you. He couldn't stop, even if he wanted to, infatuated with how you taste, humming in satisfaction.

"How do you think your brother would react if he found out his sweet little pretty princess likes her pussy eaten by his best friend?", he laughed, condescendingly, smirking as he pulled back to look at your swollen clit, placing harsh slaps against your pussy, before diving right back in with his tongue. Your hands quickly rushed to your mouth, trying to suppress the sounds escaping your mouth, not wanting to be caught by your brother, as Anton increased the pace of his laps, sucking harshly on your clit.

"F-Fuck, i'm close.", you cried out, as you felt his nose brush against your clit every time he lapped at your folds, the pressure in your stomach building. He smirked, picking up his pace as his head ruthlessly moved back and forth, licking and sucking your core, his tongue teasing your entrance while his free hand moved to your bud, flicking it to stimulate you more. Before you knew it, the knot in your stomach snapped, as you let out a high pitched whine of his name, releasing into his mouth.

He continued his work on your pussy, even after you had come down, as you tried to close your legs on him, only for him to push them back open.

"Just fuckin take it.", he mumbled, slipping two fingers in, as his tongue continued swirling around your bud, immediately pumping them faster, curling them perfectly to hit your g-spot every thrust.

"I-I can't.", you cried from overstimulation, trying to push him away, as his hand pressed against your stomach, forcing you down.

"Yes you can.", Anton insisted, his entire attention on your cunt as he worked his fingers through your hole, groaning at the feeling of your spongy walls. His fingers thrust in and out of you, finding your sweet spot as he repeatedly abused the spot, loud mewls escaping your lips as he continued sucking on your clit while working his fingers. Your legs were shaking from the intensity of his thrusts, his fingers diving deep into you as you felt another wave of orgasm approach you. Chanting his name repeatedly, your grip on his hair tightened as you reach your high. Your mind went blank as your eyes rolled back, the pressure in your stomach suddenly released as you let out a loud cry.

Exhausted, you open your eyes, looking down at him, your eyes widening at the sight of him, realising he had just made you squirt.

"That was so fuckin hot.", Anton whispered in a daze, leaning forward to slurp some of your juices, only for you to kick him away from overstimulation, "Didn't know you had it in you to squirt like that, princess.", he smirked, pinching your pussy before helping you up.

"You're cancelling that date. Fuck that, you're blocking him.", Anton glared, handing you your shorts as you put them on.

"I don't think so.", you shrugged, ignoring his sigh of frustration, walking away from the mess you had just made, bumping into Sungchan as he returned to the kitchen to join you two.

"Why didn't you just say it was a girl's date? I didn't know you were having a sleepover at Yujin's.", Sungchan huffed, tired from hearing their mom lecture him over the phone.

"I did try to. Not my fault you kept cutting me off.", you rolled your eyes, stomping up the stairs to your bedroom, as you slammed the door behind you.

"Damn, what's gotten into her pants?", Sungchan muttered, rolling his eyes, as he turned to look at his bestfriend, "Why are you smiling like tha- What the fuck happened here?", he jumped, looking at the mess on the floor.

Anton tried wiping the shit-eating grin off his face, horribly failing to do so.

A girl's date...

"Just spilt some grape juice.", Anton shrugged.

"You like grape juice?", Sungchan asked, confused.

"Love it.", he smirked, grabbing a cloth to wipe the mess.

"Let me help you.", Sungchan offered, making the younger snort.

"Trust me, you don't want to.", he laughed to himself, leaving the older confused.

"Okay...", Sungchan muttered, walking away from his giggling friend.

I guess grape juice was his favourite after all.

first smut i've written in 4 years, yeah the quality's lacking, ended up rushing the end too, but i hope you enjoyed !! feedback is appreciated!! :3

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could have a Emperor Caracalla x reader where because of his disease he doesn't recognise her for a moment when they're about to make love and she has to calm him down

I am here and no one else

Emperor Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, choking and using knife, cuddling, crying

Summary : They had been together many times, they saw and felt each other. It reassured her that he was aware of her, that Caracalla was not lost in madness, but on the night of the full moon when they were in bed together, madness crept into his mind and next to him was no longer the woman he loved and had married.

info : Thank you very much for the request dear anon it is a pleasure to get another request for Caracalla, enjoy reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His blue eyes had been so clear a few years ago, when the sun was above them and the people had cheered them both and his smile was sincere and honest.

The wedding of the emperor Caracalla and his wife the sun roms was cheered and no shadow had settled over the imperial family, it was a dream, a beautiful dream that seemed so far away when she looked at her beloved husband now.

His eyes clouded with madness, bloodied when he saw the battles in the colloseum and his temper erratic, she loved him, loved him through it all but with each passing day she feared for him, for his brother and herself. Because if madness prevailed, Caracalla himself would not stop at her and Geta, they were sure of that.

The whole day, however, he seemed like a miracle, but clear from breakfast he remembered what appointments were coming up today, ,,The ring is especially flattering to my sun” he had wooed her at noon on the way to the Senate.

Even in that he not only supported his brother but also ignored the lies of the senators, he seemed to clearly recognize what Geta was pursuing and stood up for his values. It was moments that brought tears to her eyes as she seemed to wander back into the past dream.

A ring he had bought her, it was small things, but it was these small moments that gave her and Geta hope that things would get better, even in the coliseum Caracalla remained relatively calm.

,,The credit goes to the victor!” he extended a rare moment of grace when even Geta would have decided otherwise and she saw in the older man's gaze that he was proud of his brother.

The day had been blessed by the gods it seemed from the moment the sun rose until now but such protection can be deceiving.

After dinner the three of them planned to keep to themselves, but keeping to themselves ended in togetherness for Caracala and her.

Kisses exchanged in the hallway, hands holding each other and clothes removed, ,,Such beauty,” he said, searching her lips a second time as they both changed from their tunics into those for the night.

Naked skin disappeared under silken fabric, gazes resting on each other, bright eyes looking at their bodies and seeing only pure beauty, ,,You are so beautiful,” he heard a giggle as she turned in her clothes and came towards him in another kiss that led them to the bed.

Soft fur and pillows caught her and she ran them through blonde curls, she loved him, loved his art, his laugh and giggle, his pretty eyes and golden curls, ,,You're more beautiful” she murmured and tapped the tip of his nose as they both let go of each other for a moment.

Reaching to the side table next to the table wine had been provided and grapes he held the goblet out to her and she placed the grape to his lips, it was a quiet moment, a moment between adults, a moment that was not possible in his madness, ,,Your flattery is both amusing and sweetening” he said eating the grape and savoring the sweetness on his tongue.

She put the goblet aside after a sip and ran her hands over his pale torso, the small scars and inconsistencies of his illness were not ugly to her.

She smiled at his words, circling his skin as he leaned over her, his lips searching her face, but in the darkened room where the torches provided light, his eyes saw the wine on her lips.

Dark...dark red...blood red.

A color that made him pause kisses that he continued to return but his fingers that touched her, from her neck where he heard her pulse to her soft breast became more and more strange.

Stranger and stranger with each blink her appearance became more distant, with each kiss she smelled and tasted less like his wife and he caught the scent of her blood.

Blood like at a birth, blood that no longer threatened to flow through him and blood of a madness that he had to stop in her, ,,You-you're not her!” he cried out, interrupting the kiss and his fingers wrapped around her neck, fingernails clawing into her skin and her eyes opened in shock.

Air that was drastically and quickly no longer inflicted on her his name came broken from her lips, her hands clutching at his wrist trying to gently reassure him at first.

,,It's me...it's your wife” she rattled fluttering eyes trying to find his gaze, to find her husband. Instead, he only squeezed harder, seeming neither to hear nor recognize her...and in that moment she realized that her nightmare that his madness would kill her had come true.

Her legs kicked, trying to throw him off her, but there was a power in him that she didn't know he had, a power that made her slowly see black spots.

Fear and adrenaline flowed through her body, ,,Cara-Caracalla” she gasped trying unsuccessfully to calm him, she looked around the flash of the knife caught her eye, tears ran down her eyes as he pushed her harder into the pillows the giggles were replaced by screams as she cut his arm with the knife.

Her fingers just managed to grab it, she would never have wanted to hurt him but if blood was what made him run away, maybe it was blood that brought him back.

His scream continued to echo through the chamber as he held his arm away from her as if he had been burned and she took a deep coughing breath, tears streaming from her eyes.

Caracalla rolled off the bed screaming and crying as he hit the floor and pressed himself against the wall as his gaze lifted and he began to scream again, ,,I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I'm sorry...what have I done!” he said over and over again as the sticky blood ran down his arm, staining it and he realized when he saw the desaturated state she was in.

Coughing and struggling to get air back into her lungs, she slowly got up from the bed, swaying, her voice failing as she tried to speak and coughing a gesture that only made him cry more.

She came slowly towards him, he pushed himself further away from her, ,,Stupid, a monster...a delusional one" he reproached himself as his face settled in his hands and she hugged him, holding him trembling as she slowly began to breathe regularly again, stroking his head.

She shook her head and took a piece of her robe to wipe the blood off his arm, ,,Not-it's not your fault. I'm alive you see I'm alive my king” she replied and clasped his hands, forcing him to look at her as she kissed his hands and looked at his reddish neck and saw his face, his hideous work.

Before he could cry again, she pressed him to her, kissed his forehead and his fingers clutched at her body, ,,You're still alive?” he asked the question so obviously that she laughed and nodded, ,,Yes! Yes, it's me here,” she said, putting his hand on her chest, his hand feeling her heartbeat, and he breathed shakily.

His smile just as pleased as hers as he engaged her in a kiss, holding onto her and the other way around as the two of them sat there on the floor bloody kissing, reassuring each other that they were still alive.

As he held her hand he told her, ,,Never again...I will never lose control like this again” he promised her, tapping the tip of her nose as she had gestured as the imperial couple remained sitting there holding and loving each other.

That despite the strangulation marks on her body and the blood on his, they loved each other no less than before and no madness would change such love and care.

They were bound by blood and love and they would be until the end of madness if they loved each other forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @k-yurieee , @sigiismunda , @somepallings , @naysha140 , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs

[thetalkoftheton]

Y/N: *Goes to visit Anthony after he's been injured*

Anthony: What are these?

Y/N: Grapes.

Anthony: What did you bring grapes for?

Y/N: Perhaps I was hoping you would choke on the seeds.

Anthony: They are seedless.

Y/N: Do not be a smartarse.

[magicalrocketships]

Oh, Mog. I often think of you and hope you have energy enough to do the things you want to do, and if that happens to be writing amazing fic, what a cherry on the top of the cake.

HOWEVER! It is hard to be so altruistic when you dangle a little nugget of fic that is Sugar Baby Daniel au. I neeeeeeed it like Max needs sim racing, like Daniel needs his emotional support athletes. I am never going to get over this idea - I hope you manage to write it one day!

Thank you, my lovely. Fatigue is the worst. It's the worst. I'm so exhausted all the time, so thank you for thinking of me <3

I do have more energy to think about fic than I do to write it, but I did write a LITTLE bit of sugar baby Daniel fic, and here's what I have (it might never be more than this, but I plan on thinking about it a lot). it's 2022, Daniel never got to F1 - backstory available upon application - and Daniel and Max met on holiday in Ibiza during at the start of Max's summer break.

&&&

"What do you want for Christmas?" Max asks, seven minutes into a phone call on Daniel's lunch break, where he's eaten half of a Sainsbury's meal deal sandwich he doesn't want and spent the other five minutes complaining to Max about how he fucking hates his fucking job. 

"Not to work here anymore," Daniel complains, opening a too-small box of tiny bits of chopped melon and squishy grapes and wishing he could afford the fancy packs of chopped mango from M&S. 

"Okay," Max says. "Where would you be instead?"

"Partying with you," Daniel grumbles, because the grape isn't nice and he's sick of working through his lunch and all the late nights in the factory and all for a racing team he's starting to hate. 

"Okay," Max says again. "What time do you finish on Friday?"

"It's supposed to be five," Daniel says, "but, like, it never fucking is anymore. You know it's supposed to be shorter hours when it isn't a fucking race weekend but if I'm out of here by seven then I'll be fucking lucky." He stabs a bit of melon with a wooden chopstick because the kitchen never has any forks and he doesn't like sticky fingers. He's cold and bad-tempered and he's had his Christmas extended leave turned down so he can't even go back to fucking Australia and see his parents. Fuck. The melon's on the turn too. It's not his fucking day. How can it be this fucking rainy in fucking August? This is supposed to be summer. 

"I'll send the car to pick you up at five," Max says, as if Daniel isn't midway through a whine. "It can wait until seven if you're still working. The jet will of course wait for you."

"Wait," Daniel says. "What?"

"You're coming to Monaco for the weekend," Max says. "And I'm going to fuck you in every room in my flat."

Daniel chokes on a going-off grape. "What the fuck."

"You didn't think we were not going to be fucking just because we're not in Ibiza anymore, did you?" Max asks. 

That's exactly what Daniel did think. One week in Ibiza fucking a partying racing driver and a few texts and two phone calls afterwards and he'd assumed this was one incredible, heady dream and not something that was ever going to continue beyond a holiday romance. Even this phone call seems improbable and made up. He's been limiting himself to a dream of just being a name Max remembers. 

"That's very stupid, Daniel," Max says, as if Daniel's the ridiculous one here. "I'll fly you back in time for work on Monday. Okay?"

"Okay," Daniel says, with a slightly embarrassing squeak. 

"Good," Max says in satisfaction. "I've missed being fucked by you."

&&&

Not only is there a car waiting for him on Friday after work, there's a private jet, there's fancy fucking snacks and nice gin and when he lands in Nice, there's a fucking helicopter waiting to fly him to Monte Fucking Carlo. Then there is World fucking Champion Max Verstappen waiting by a car that probably costs more than five times Daniel's annual fucking salary, followed by World fucking Champion Max Verstappen kissing him in the front seat of a supercar and depositing a gift bag in Daniel's lap like it's nothing but a bag of pickled onion Monster Munch. 

"We're going for dinner," Max says, starting the engine. "You can wear that."

Inside is a dark blue Tag Heuer watch. Daniel looks at it. "Are you lending me it?"

"I bought it for you," Max says, as the engine roars and Daniel gets hard. "I jerked off thinking about you in it."

"Fuck," Daniel says succinctly. He puts it on.

[sleepyangelkami]

PLAY PRETEND j.todd

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 3.1K

JASON TODD X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - jason needs someone to act as his girlfriend to the gala, which you decide to go along with but jealousy and alcohol get the better of you leading to one too many drunken confessions.

 ☆ WARNINGS - drinking, alcohol, bad descriptions of being drunk, jealousy, angst, pining, manipulation, skinny love, crying, slight panic attack, use of good girl (non-sexual), comfort, petnames, use of y/n, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

you stood with your back against the drinks table, sighing through your pouted lips as you glanced around the room, hoping for some type of entertainment to catch your eye. you didn't even wish to be here, in fact, you would have done just about anything to be snuggled up in your bed reading a book right about now.

jason was the reason you were here in the first place and yet, he was nowhere to be seen.

you’d heard of the wayne gala’s a lot before, it wasn’t exactly new to you. you’d been to a couple of them yourself too but there was a reason you didn’t come to them often and one could guess it was because this is how it always ended, you sat up against the drinks table with expensive alcohol swirling in your expensive glass and dressed in your expensive dress. it was so… not you.

you were the type of girl that dragged your friends to junk yards and bought the cheapest clothes that you saw hidden in thrift stores. 

not the type of girl that attended wayne gala’s. 

and yet, here you stood all because you were so helplessly smitten with your all time best friend, jason todd, the son of bruce wayne, the redhood, the gentleman, the many, many things. he’d asked you to go to the wayne gala’s with him before, offering it up yet you always politely declined, stating it wasn’t your scene but this time was simply different.

you’d sat up on your bed, flicking through your magazines while jason rambled on as he began tearing his tie from around his throat. it was late, too late but jason never did care for the time when it came to seeing you.

you swallowed, nodding along and humming. it was just so late and you’d only woken up so your mind was all fuzzy and for some reason you couldn’t stop thinking about how nice some grapes would taste right about now. “are you listening to me?” the question from jason was rhetorical but you’d be lying if you said your undivided attention as on him. “i’m a dead man!” 

“it’s not that big of a deal.” you uttered, closing your magazine and sighing, you really wanted some grapes. “really, you’re only stressing yourself out. you’re an… attractive guy, i’m sure you’ll get a girlfriend between now and the next gala.”

“but thats the thing… i don’t want a girlfriend!” sheesh, your head was too clouded for his yelling. “i shouldn’t have opened my mouth.”

you could only shrug your shoulders, nodding. “true.”

he took a seat on the pink quilts that surrounded your bed, his head falling into his hands and groaning. “you’re not helping.” 

jason had made the idiotic choice of lying to bruce when asked if he had a girlfriend. he was just so tired of him asking and asking and asking so he decided to lie, telling him that he did in fact have a girlfriend and that they’d been together for quite a while now, he’d just been saving the announcement for a more special day.

so what did bruce do? announce it at his next gala, stating that jason would surely be bringing her along for the next.

and jason almost choked on his bourbon. 

he was dressed in his suit from before, his hair all messed and teased while his clothes just looked out of it, his shirt untucked, his jacket discarded on the ground and he had pulled the tie from his neck, unbuttoning the first two or three buttons, he felt like he was going to collapse.

“i’m sorry.” you spoke softly, feeling sympathetic for your ‘best friend’. you turned to him, clad in your pretty pink pijama’s and softening your gaze on him. “how can i help?” 

the way you looked at him should have told him everything. what your gaze should have said was that you were in love with him, you had been since the very first day you’d laid your eyes on him, gaze never leaving and your jaw falling slack. okay, perhaps you hadn’t loved him during your first encounter but there was definitely… something, something that told you this wasn’t just any boy but he was something much much more.

it should have told him a lot of things, should have spilled your feelings right then and there but jason was as oblivious as they come, he hadn’t a notion of what your gaze meant. in fact, he blamed the diluted pupils on the fact that he’d woken you up, banging on your door at all hours of the night. 

“you could help in one way but… nevermind, it’s stupid.” shaking his head and turning away. the master of manipulation.

and you looked almost concerned then, the victim of that very manipulation. “no, what is it? i wanna help.” 

and he knew you did, it’s why he said anything in the first place. sweet old you, always willing to do anything he said, just to please him.

“you could… you know, pretend to be my girlfriend, it would just be for the night, for the gala. you know, to get everyone off my back?” his eyes stared back at you, big and hopeful.

how could you, in your right mind, say no when you were so utterly full of love for the boy. “wha… i don’t even have a dress.” an excuse, a terrible one because something in you was downright shocked. you? of all people? first, you could barely go to that gala as it was let alone pretend to be his girlfriend.

besides, you began to get a little worried. perhaps you’d like the pretend game a little too much. 

“i’ll buy you a dress.” he insisted almost instantly. lord knew he had the money.

but you frowned a little at that. “i’m not a charity case, jay…” sure, your apartment was a little small but it was homely, it was you. though you were sure it didn’t much live up to jasons standards.

“not a charity case, i know.” he came a little closer, pressing his hand against your thigh and rubbing it gently. “i just want you to feel your best for the night, angel, it’s just one night.” 

you bit down on your lip, knowing you’d regret it. “fine.” 

but for jason, you’d face just about any guilt. 

and after his many thank you’s and squishing hugs that had your face smushed against your chest you finally sighed out. “I can’t believe i’m doing this for you.” sending him a playful glare though there was a pit in your stomach.

“please.” he couldn’t help but smirk. “you love me.” 

and you couldn’t possibly tear your eyes away from him. without playfulness or a smile, you spoke the words, “I’d have to be a fool.” before quickly shaking your head and changing the subject. “you have to wear a pink tie to match my dress.” 

he had the audacity to laugh in your face. “I will not.” 

“yes you will.” you folded your arms over your chest. “you will or i’m not going.” 

jason couldn’t help but shake his head with a chuckle. “fine.” 

“fine.” you repeated. “now go get me grapes from the fridge.” 

brat. 

you’d been announced as his girlfriend, he’d held your waist for the entire night, grinned and beamed over at you as his brothers watched sceptically. 

now, you sat alone at a table, downing what felt like your hundredth glass.

you didn’t drink often so you gave yourself a little lean for this time, seeing as you never did it, now was your chance to get absolutely… shitfaced, did damian call it? 

but it wasn’t as if you didn’t have a good reason. 

jason, your best friend, your first and last love, was standing speaking to some blonde girl, she was giggling away, obviously pleased with herself as if she didn’t have a lipgloss smudge on her teeth. and you? you couldn’t have been more ashamed with yourself. 

your head was placed on your arm that was slinked across the white tablecloth, just watching the pair as the alcohol swirled in your cup. you wondered how you went from eating the white grapes to downing the white wine in your hands.

then your eyes glanced back to jason, in his pretty pink tie, and it all made sense. 

he was your best friend, you had no right to be jealous, no reason to be but for some reason you thought by him bringing you here, introducing you as his girlfriend meant something. 

but it was all just play pretend. 

you knew this, you knew it as well as anyone and yet you still couldn’t help but feel so utterly… hurt.

your eyes burned but you weren’t crying, your throat burned but that was only because of the alcohol that didn’t even taste nice.

they should really have grapejuice here, the non-alcoholic kind. 

it was dick grayson who’d laid his hands on your shoulders that adverted your gaze from jason. your pupils were wide, the rims of your eyes red though you weren’t sure if that was due to the alcohol or the fact that you were holding your own tears at bay. 

“hey, y/n, how you feeling?” his tone was soft, understanding. he really was one of your best friends. he was crouched down to your level as you sat in the chair.

you glanced down to the cup in your hands. “think ‘m drunk, dickie.” because suddenly the entire room was spinning. 

“yeah.” he pressed his lips into a thin line. “think maybe you’re done for tonight, huh?” taking the glass from your hands before you could so much as protest.

with heavy eyes and an even heavier heart, you nodded your head. “think ‘m… ‘m gonna go home.” home was where your bed is, they say. but saying you were going home and directing it towards your house didn’t even sound right. home was that curly, raven haired boy with a pretty smile.

“don’t go home.” his eyes glanced towards jason, sighing. “don’t go before you’ve talked to him.” 

dick was one of your best friends. with that being said, he knew everything about you down to where your birthmarks were, that meant he knew all about these hidden feelings for your supposed best friend jason todd, his dear little brother. 

but you could only shake your head. even thinking about jason right now was enough to make you queasy. “no, he’s talkin�� to blondie.” blondie, the pretty girl who you couldn’t even judge if you wanted to. she had a dark black dress on, she was much taller than you, large heels and standing with her shoulders drawn back, obviously much more confident too. 

was she everything that you lacked? 

as if summoning him, you could feel the dark shadow that loomed over you, even with your head pressed against that damned tabelcloth, even that was expensive. 

“is she alright?” 

that voice, that pretty, deep, and almost mysterious voice yet as perplexing as it was, you were sure that you’d recognise that voice amiss any crowd, through any drink that entered your system. jason still roamed your mind, always and when his voice was spoken, you were sure to hear it. 

“she’s drunk.” dick answered for you, as though you weren’t sitting right next to him. “i think you should bring her upstairs, get her cleaned up and put to bed.” dick was doing you a favour in the long run, even if it didn’t feel like it.

but your head had finally risen from the table, big doey eyes staring up at the two large men above you. “n-no i can… i can bring myself home.” your words slurring.

jason couldn’t help but laugh down at you, glossy lips turned into a pout. “yeah, cause i’d let you ride your little bicycle through gotham alone, at this hour of the night, in the state that you’re in.” of course, you were the only one in the entire world that would ride one of those pretty pink bikes with a woven basket in gotham. “come on, let me put you to bed.” 

you don’t remember bidding goodbye to dick but you were sure you had. you didn’t remember moving from the table to the door, practically being pushed by jason. however, you did vaguely remember uttering the words, “you need’a say g’night to blondie.” to which he responded with. “who?” 

that confused you because he genuinely seemed confused, as though he hadn’t even remembered the colour of the hair belonging to the girl he’d just spoken to. had he really been that uninterested or was he just putting on a show?

you did remember, however, sitting on the cold tiles of jason’s bathroom floor after he’d undressed you, stripping you to your undergarments and placing a long tee over you. you remembered the way his hands gently did it, soothing you as he went, uttering soft words and assuring you that it was okay.

in no way did he make anything sexual, instead, he was merely caring for his ‘best friend’. 

you remembered the way the tears began rolling down your cheeks as you dry sobbed pathetically, the drink getting the better of you.

jason had been tending to your face, a cotton pad covered in micellar water gently cleansing your skin, softly dancing it across the makeup that covered your face and wiping it clean. he wasn’t used to taking off makeup, obviously, so this was a little difficult for him. but he got used to it.

it wasn’t the first time he’d done it for you.

only difference was this time he was comforting your cries at the same time. “shh, shh, c’mon, tell me wh’s the matter, baby?” all soft and gentle with you as you couldn’t do anything but let the liquidy tears fall down your face, trying to avoid his gaze. “c’mon, tell jay wh’s wrong so he can fix it.” 

but how were you to tell him that the reason you were crying was because you loved him? 

you couldn’t, so instead you opted for shaking your head, words practically heaving out of you as your breaths became laboured and uneven. 

jason could tell where this was going. 

he’d comforted you on multiple occasions, some worse than others but that didn’t change the fact that he knew you from the inside and out. “hey, hey, breathe, pretty girl, breathe.” 

he’d taken your head in the palm of his hand, gently placing it against his chest so that you could feel the way his own chest rose and fell and hear the way his heart beated against his ribcage. he knew this was a good thing to do when it came to you, this was a reminder that he was alive and by the way you could hear and feel it too, surely, you were alive as well. 

it was grounding. 

“in with me, c’mon, angel.” breathing in and you followed, trying to take as much air into your lungs as you possibly could. “‘n out, good girl.” he praised, hearing the shaky breath that you still let out.

when your breathing had regulated back to normal, there were still tears streaming down your face and you couldn’t help but cry and whimper pathetically. you could blame the alcohol or you could blame the fact that you’d gotten so caught up in play pretend that you’d forgotten yourself, who you were and what you really meant to jason. 

“s-shouldn’t have come.” you muttered through your desperate cries. “shouldn’t have come here.” while the messy tears coated your perfect skin. 

it broke jason’s heart. you were his bubbly girl, always grinning and smiling, laughing at jokes you didn’t understand, grinning at people you didn’t even particularly like, you were nothing but good. you were gold, if the colour was a person, it was you. your heart was as big as a heart could get yet you know what they say, the bigger the person, the harder they fall.

and sometimes your poor golden heart simply couldn’t take the mean world. 

“what?” suddenly, his own heart began to shatter. he suddenly felt as though it was his fault. you were acting like this because you didn’t want to be here, because either something had happened or simply you were too overstimulated due to the gala itself (poor oblivious jason still hadn’t got it right.) whatever the case, he’d been the one to drag you along here and now he felt guilt pang his heart heavily. “no, no everyone loved you, what are you talking about?” 

your teary, broken eyes glanced up at him, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

perhaps it was the too much alcohol that had entered your lightweight system or perhaps it was the way he looked so… dreamy, even through your blurred vision. his pretty sapphire eyes gazed down at you, so full of concern and worry. he cared so deeply about you, you could tell from his eyes. the slope of his nose, his pretty lips drawn into a frown, his sharp jaw line and the little curls of his hair, white streaks at the front on wide display.

“i’m a fool.” you uttered, so pathetically, full of realisation.

once again, his black brows furrowed in confusion yet also so full of concern. he wanted to understand, to help you but you were proving it awfully difficult, not that he blamed you. “what? you’re not a fool, what are you talking about?” 

you sniffled, practically blubbering. “i told you i’d have to be a fool to love you ‘n if that’s true then i’m a fool.” you hadn’t a notion of what possessed your mouth to move, possessed you to speak. “‘m the biggest fool in the world because i love you so much ‘n im scared i’ll never be able to stop loving you.” 

and the biggest problem was that you were sure he’d never feel the same. 

“is that what all of this is about?” he had to stop himself from chuckling at you, otherwise you’d take it the wrong way and the tears would begin again. instead, his eyes softened and his hand came down to move the hair from your face. “you should have just told me, princess, all of this could have been avoided.” 

you stared up at him with those dazed, confused eyes. 

“when i told you i didn’t want a girlfriend.” he confessed. “it wasn’t because i didn’t want one it was because i didn’t want one that’s not you.” you had to blink at him, thinking it was all merely a dream. “i love you too, sweet girl, always have, always will.” 

and you were sure it was a dream. 

“jay?” 

“yeah?” 

“will you tell me this again when i’m sober?” 

a chuckle. 

“of course, angel.” 

“promise?” 

“i promise.” 

main masterlist/jason's masterlist

[cherryblossom-heart]

Could you love me one last time? (B.B ModernAU!)

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Masterlist

Summary: It was inevitable, everyone else around you could see it. You and Bucky Barnes were meant to fall for each other. Unfortunately you were also meant to break each others hearts. You left, he stayed and you thought that was it, until a wedding made you come back to face the past you left behind.

13.1 k words

Content warning: ANGST, toxic 'situationship' between Reader and Bucky, heartbreak, alcohol comsumption, +18 SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT Bucky and Reader sleeping with other people while they have their situationship going on.

A/N: It's been a long time since I posted. Ik I teased this a long time ago but life got in the way and I forgot about it but now I'm back with this so I hope you guys like it. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this 😊

Post dividers by @firefly-graphics

Peggy’s dress was surprisingly beautiful. The first time you had seen it in pictures, the dress up in a hanger, you had thought of it a bit ugly to your liking. The long, slight puffy sleeves, the plain A skirt, and the square neckline made for an overall boring piece of fabric, and when she had asked you over FaceTime what your thoughts were, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. But now, as she walked with a smile on her face to her soon-to-be husband, you were happy you kept your mouth shut. It wasn’t the dress or the makeup or the hairstyle that made her stunning, it was the love and care in her eyes. It was the happiness in her face whenever she looked at Steve.

Just as she reached the end of the aisle, taking her place next to you and the rest of the bridesmaids, a pair of familiar blue icy eyes caught your attention. Bucky looked good, you could admit to yourself, even after not seeing him for the past almost six years, it seemed that time had just made him even more attractive. He no longer was the youthful, long haired and clean shaved guy that had once dared you to see who could fit more grapes in your mouth, accidentally spitting one to your face as he tried not to choke with them. The traces of his fuckboyish persona were long gone too, instead replaced by a seriousness you had only seen on certain occasions. This Bucky was no longer a boy that enjoyed playing with feelings and breaking hearts; this was a man. A man that looked slightly older had light wrinkles and shorter hair that came with a slight beard. This was a Bucky changed, mature.

This Bucky wasn’t the one you had left behind when you moved away.

His eyes stayed on you during the whole ceremony, and you couldn’t help but stare back at him.  For years you had wondered what you would do if you ever saw him again, you wondered if things would be awkward, or perhaps he would act as if nothing had happened, as if both of you hadn’t ended up with a broken heart that night. A part of you thought it would still hurt as it did almost six years ago, maybe the anger would still be there and it would end up with both of you avoiding each other as much as you could. You saw a hundred scenarios running through your head all through your seven hour flight, but you never considered this one.

You never expected he would be so direct, or to look at you with such intensity. You were sure that after all this time he would have already forgotten about you, leaving your memory buried in the back of his mind as he easily replaced you with some other girl. Yet the way his eyes screamed for your attention made you think otherwise, a deep-rooted desperation washed over them, and you understood what he said.

“I’ve missed you.”

You weren’t the only one to notice it. Once the party started and the bride and groom were going around tables greeting everyone, Natasha, Wanda, and Pepper dragged you to the venue's private dressing room to drill you with every question they could think of. You were thankful Peggy was too busy with her new husband, or else the interrogatory would’ve been ten times more exhausting.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Have you guys talked?”

“Are you going to talk to him?”

“Why is he looking at you like that?”

“Do you still love him?”

And that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Did your heart still belong to James Buchannan Barnes? Was your heart still yearning for the tumultuous yet passionate and ultimately toxic relationship that had ensued between both of you?

The answer to all of that was yes and no. You didn’t miss the person you had become at the end of your "relationship," if you could even call it that; you didn’t miss the fights, the crying, and the resentment. You didn’t miss the uncertainty that came with being with young Bucky Barnes or the hole in your chest that you felt whenever he would leave.

However, you did miss his company. Not the bullshit, flirtatious, overly confident, and emotionally distant persona he would often put out. No, that dickhead was one of the reasons you never worked out. Instead, you missed the Bucky that would buy you a coffee every morning, the one that would make you laugh until your stomach hurt, the one that would invite you over to have a movie night and buy your favorite snacks.

You missed Bucky, who used to be your friend.

Natasha, the ever-observant of your group of friends, had warned you before it started. She had seen the way you eyed each other at a party one drunken night, both your eyes burning with desire as a product of the growing sexual tension you have had ever since you met for the first time.

As it turned out, Natasha was not only beautiful but also intuitive.

“Nat, please—” you drunkenly argued. Your red cup filled with liquor spilled as you tried to walk away from the redhead, but her hand stopped you.

“Listen to me. I know you want to fuck him, but you have to promise me you won’t do it.” The seriousness behind her voice didn’t register in your intoxicated brain, though, and you kept rolling your eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You half slurred, half laughed.

“I see the way you look at him; I also see the way he looks at you. Maybe one day you guys could be a good couple, great even, but right now the only thing that could come out of you two hooking up is one of you getting hurt, if not both.” Her hands grabbed your face, and green eyes met yours. “You will break each other's hearts. You already love each other; we can all see it, but neither of you is ready to be in a relationship or to compromise yet. So please, for the love of God, do not sleep with him.”

Natasha’s words were wise, and with time, they turned out to be true. The next morning you had woken up in bed alone; the only memory of him was the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and the cologne he always wore.

That was the first time Bucky had broken your heart.

Truth be told, as much as you had blamed Bucky for the downfall of your situationship, you were as equally guilty as he had been. The loneliness, the anger, and the resentment you felt throughout the relationship were probably reciprocated because, as Nat had said, you weren’t ready to be together.

Both of you loved each other deeply, but you didn’t know how to do it. Not in a healthy way.

So you tore yourselves apart, sleeping with one another but never brave enough to define things. You acted as if you were a couple, but neither of you would admit your feelings, not even to each other. It was a cycle of stability and sex that always crashed down with one of you being scared, perhaps both of you at the same time, of giving your heart away.

“Hey”

Your heart drummed against your chest, and a warmth spread over your cheeks. You had missed his voice, the sweet baritone of his voice had always made your body react like that. And now, after years of not hearing it, you finally realized how much you had craved for it.

He carried two flutes filled with champagne and passed one to you, which you gladly took.

“Thanks.” you said with a smile.

Both of you took a sip from your drinks, unsure of how to start the so needed conversation. Fortunately, Bucky decided to take the first step.

“They seem happy, huh?”

You chuckled mentally at his opening line, but you admitted to yourself you couldn’t do better.

“Yeah.” You took a second sip of your drink. “The happiest I’ve ever seen them.”

“You must be proud.” he pointed out. You looked at him, confused at what he meant. “Of your matchmaking skills. This wouldn’t have happened without you convincing Peggy to let Steve show her around the city when she first moved here.”

Ah, of course. A sweet smile placed on your lips as you remembered Steve’s adoration showing on his face the first time he saw Peggy after coming to visit you. She, on the other hand, thought nothing more of him than just a pretty guy, but you could see that behind the tough façade she always displayed towards men that tried to flirt with her, she was interested in him, his character, and the kindness he always displayed.

So naturally, you intervened. And you got the perfect opportunity when Peggy got offered a job in New York.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You smirked at him.

“Sure,” he chuckled.

A heartbeat passed, and blue eyes connected with yours once again. The more you looked at them, the more you could feel all the things he wanted to say—a storm of words locked behind them and almost ready to spill. But above all, you could see a bit of sadness, and he found himself finding the same in yours.

His hand twitched in instinct, wanting to caress your face to comfort you, as he had done for so many years, but he caught himself before doing it. It was too late though; you caught it the moment you saw his eyes tense up.

“Do you—” his words died on his mouth, the rushed beating of his heart stopping them. He cleared his throat, trying to push out more confidence than he actually felt. “Wanna go take a walk?”

You didn’t answer immediately. You couldn’t. Every rational part of you was screaming at you, scolding you for even thinking of going with him. You couldn't do it, you couldn’t fall for the same cycle you had run away from in the first place. You weren’t the same person as you were before, you matured, and you learned from your mistakes. Going out with the man that always seem to bring your deepest, darkest, and most unwanted feelings was something you couldn't do.

You couldn't.

You shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.”

You were convinced that whoever planned Steve and Peggy’s wedding was into sorcery, or at the very least a clairvoyant. When Peggy and Steve chose this place along with a terrace to host the ceremony, everyone had been skeptical of it, as having a wedding outside in the middle of April wasn’t a good choice. As the day of the ceremony closed in, the rainy days did too, and five days before it wouldn’t stop raining all day. Steve and Peggy had expressed their concerns to the wedding planner, but they only got a confident response that nothing would ruin their day. And the wedding planner had been right, not a single drop fell that day in the middle of April; instead, a cool, warm day had welcomed the newlyweds.

As you walked the chilly but comfortable night streets of New York, you thanked the wedding planner and their perfect timing. Even walking in silence along him brought your heart back to the many times you had done the same thing back then, back when you were just two college students without any idea what the future held for you.

“So... how you’ve been?” He asked, unsure of what else to say.

“I’ve been alright. Work has really taken over my life.”

He chuckled. “You? A workaholic?”

It wasn't that you had been irresponsible or a mess back in college, but you had always been more of an adventurer, and you had always pointed out your desire to never lose your freedom.

He had been the same.

“Look who’s talking, Mr. ‘I have my own firm’,” you teased.

Steve had told you a couple of years ago about their idea of opening his own firm, alongside Bucky and Sam. You remember your heart stopping at the mention of his name, but you didn’t tell Steve to not mention him; instead, you asked more about it. It was the first time in years you got any updates on his life, and you allowed yourself to dwell in it. That call stayed on your mind for weeks.

“Shut up,” he smirked.

That was all he needed to open up about what had happened to him. He told you about his old firm and how he hated to work there. How he wanted to have a place where working pro bono wasn’t such an impossible thing to do, he wanted to do more than just defend white collar rich people that seemed to think the law was always above them. He told you how scared he was of leaving somewhere where he had stability but was ultimately convinced by Steve to make a big move, follow what he wanted to do.

In return, you told him about how scared you had been of building a new life in a different country and how you thought your job would suffer from it, as you had thought that as a journalist with a lack of connections and knowledge of the place would put you in a thought position. You told him how you had met Peggy when you were interviewing a couple of government officers for alleged corruption practices, and out of everyone there, Peggy seemed to be the only one that had taken any concern in it. You told him about the job offer you had gotten for a company right in New York that you weren’t taken so seriously but you still wanted to see what it was.

The more you heard him speak, the more happiness grew inside you. Sometimes you wondered whether you had made the right choice or not when you left him behind, but hearing everything he had accomplished, both of you, you were confident you had done what was right for you both.

You turned to him, both of you stopping in your tracks, your hand moved before you could stop it and found it’s place in his, and he reacted on pure instinct, his fingers intertwining with yours.

Bucky’s touch had always brought you warmth on cold days. Ever since the first time you shook hands, there had been an invisible force that made you crave his touch, your hands prickling wherever he had touch. With Bucky, you had always felt safe, even when he was breaking your heart.

You searched in his eyes for any signs of uncomfortableness or rejection at your touch, your heart aching in your chest at the thought of it, but there was only surprise and vulnerability in them. The corner of his eyes lowered as his eyebrows furrowed and his thumb swept over your skin, sending sparkles all over your body.

He had missed this, more than he would ever admit.

“I’m proud of you, Jamie.” His face lit up, a happy smile spreading over his face. “I always knew you would do great things.”

Bucky’s hand leaves yours, a sudden ache installing in your chest, but it didn’t stay there long as he engulfed you in a tight hug, one of his arms surrounding your waist and the other one going behind your neck.

Your head found its place in the crook of his neck, and his hand held the back of your head. His eyes closed as he smelled your lavender shampoo.

“I’m so proud of you too, my beautiful angel,” he whispered next to your ear, making your eyes prickle with the treat of tears spilling from them. “Peggy told me how hard you’ve worked for your position. You have the job of your dreams, you deserve every promotion you’ve gotten, every award, and every adventure you’ve had. I’m proud of the life you have built for yourself.”

The hug became tighter as you both relished in each other's touch and smell, a memory of the past that still ached but also brought you the sweetest of comfort.

Even after all that had happened, the love and care, no matter how tainted it had ended up as, still remained there. Deep down, in the bittersweet memories of how good things had been and the old promises that were never kept, the feelings were still there.

After a few minutes, the embrace was cut short, both of you now slightly embarrassed for the sudden display of affection. The heat in your cheeks made you cringe inwards, and you forced yourself to look away. You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn't have enjoyed it as much as you did. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this, you wouldn't feel so deeply for him.

As it turned out, stopping loving Bucky Barnes wasn’t as easy as you had thought.

His hand wrapped yours, taking you by surprise. A charming smile showed his white teeth, and the little wrinkles around his eyes made your heart melt. You smiled back at him, the butterflies in your stomach growing stronger and stronger; perhaps they never left.

“Remember that old bar with the arcade inside?” he asked out of nowhere.

“The one where we found after the whole John Walker thing?” He nodded. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Let’s go grab a drink there.”

Electricity ran through your veins at his words, and you felt like you were a freshman in college again.

“Aren’t we a little too overdressed to go to a bar?” You question. Bucky’s navy blue suit that was paired with an expensive-looking pair of black shoes and your lilac flowy long dress were definitely too much for a dinky little bar.

Bucky’s eyes shone with a youthful spark you had seen so long ago as he squeezed your hand.

“Who cares?”

When you got accepted into your first college choice, you thought you might have been dreaming. The chances you got accepted were the lowest of every place that you had applied to, but by some miracle you got it. You had dreamed of what college life would be—the classes you would take, the new and interesting people you would meet, and even the parties you would attend. You had prepared yourself for a life full of work and perhaps adventure.

But not even a lifetime of daydreaming could’ve prepared you for Bucky Barnes.

Life is filled with an ocean of coincidences, but the ones that always lingered in your mind were the ones that brought you to him. If Natasha’s phone had not died the night before, she would’ve woken up in time to get to class, and she would’ve taken her preferred spot in the middle of the class. If she had woken up in time, she wouldn’t have ended up sitting in the only available seat, which coincidentally was next to you.

If Natasha had woken up earlier, you would’ve never ended up talking to her and subsequently going to go grab something to eat; she would’ve never introduced you to her roommate Wanda or her longtime friend Steve. Also, she would’ve never invited you to hang out with the rest of her friend group in the exact same bar that you would adopt for a weekly Friday reunion for the rest of college.

And perhaps you would’ve never had met Bucky Barnes, or you would’ve ended up being one of many nightstands. Or maybe life would’ve ended up bringing you to him no matter what, because after meeting him you started to believe in soulmates. Not in the typical type of soulmates that, with just one glance, you weren’t that naive, but you did believe in the type of soulmates that would understand you unlike anyone else. There had always been an emptiness in your heart that you never noticed, not until he held you for the first time after a bad day.

Bucky was your soulmate because things had never been complicated with him, not even the first time you met each other. Talking to him, opening up, and letting him see the ugliest parts of yourself was almost second nature to you. You were convinced that the only person who could see the world the same as you was him. He saw the good and the bad in you because, in the end, the same parts in you that were broken were already broken in himself.

Maybe this was why you didn’t work out.

At the time you didn’t care, the only thing you cared about was the fact that being with Bucky made you feel good. That’s why it wasn’t so hard to convince you to go with him to do things that weren’t necessarily smart, wise... or legal. Things like breaking into a party that was hosted by Bucky’s college nemesis and spray painting in his room the words “You are nothing without Daddy’s money.” Bucky had always been talented at hitting where it hurt, especially when it came to someone who had jeopardized his scholarship.

John Walker had been furious later that night when he had brought a girl upstairs only to fund the stench of the spray pain nauseatingly filling his room. The black letters still dripped from the freshness of it, and Walker had gone in what could only be described as a temper tantrum at the age of twenty, at least that’s what everyone had said next Monday when you went back to class.

That night you had decided to celebrate, roaming the streets of New York in search of a bar that would take your fake ID’s and wouldn’t think twice about it but could also drink in peace without having to fight for a beer. Unfortunately, everywhere seemed to be either packed or the bartender would intensely check everyone's ID, driving you away from there. You had already paid a good amount for them, you didn’t want to risk losing it.

Almost close to giving up and just going back to Bucky’s apartment, a neon light caught your attention. Big, bright cyan letters read “Blue Circuit,"  a lonely bar in the middle of town that not a lot of people seemed to go to. A bar that would become a place just for you and Bucky, away from everyone else, from people’s expectations, and above all, away from the real world. As long as you were there with him, nothing mattered, and no one else could break apart what this place meant.

But if things had gone the way they were supposed to, then you wouldn’t have left, and even after all these years, this place would still be yours, and his eyes wouldn’t have looked at you with such hatred when he had caught you in the bathroom with a random guy you met at a party.

“C’mon!” Bucky yelled once your character had gotten the last winning hit on his. The animation of the pixelated woman with steel fans using them to cut his character's head officially proclaimed your victory.

With a cocky smile, you took a step back, winking at him as you took a sip of your drink, and the taste of rum filled your taste buds. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised, I’ve always been better at this than you.”

His body came close to you, close enough to smell the beers he had been taking, and with a seamless swing he took your glass away from your lips and brought it to his, his body ever so slightly trapping you against a table.

“That’s because you always cheat.” He said, with a playfulness in his eyes that made your heart pound against your chest. “You do your little cheat codes that I’ve never learned.”

“You mean learning the combos and using them?” You questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure, if that’s what you call them.”

You took back your drink, placing it on the table behind you, before grabbing his hand and guiding him through the other machines, scanning them with your eyes as you passed the few that still remained there. The classics were still there: Pacman, Space Invaders, MK, Tetris, etc; but those were still games that Bucky still struggled with. You remembered you used to tell him he had an old soul, and that’s why he always struggled to play any videogames, no matter how old they were.

“So, what do you want to get your ass beaten on now?”

His eyes swept through the room until they finally landed in a new addition to the bar, a brand new air hockey table. He didn’t even have to say a word, once his eyes had reached yours, you knew it.

With a happy smile, you rushed to the table. The way you both laughed reminded you of the way you would run hand in hand to your next class when you were late, the rushing in your veins and the tingling sensation of his touch in your skin being the only thing that mattered once you caught a glance of his face. A silly crush, you had deemed it. As if his smile wouldn’t warm up your inside, as if his presence wasn’t the only one that you could tolerate sometimes. As if he hadn’t managed to become one of the most important people in your life in just six months.

As if he wasn’t your first actual love.

College me was so naive, you thought amused with yourself. What you weren’t expecting was the speckles of bitterness that lingered in your mouth moments after it.

“You wanna make this more interesting?” Bucky broke you from your thoughts.

Right, air hockey.

“I’m listening.” A smooth tone filled every letter you said, making his skin filled with goosebumps.

He dug into his pockets, pulling out the change he had previously gotten from the bartender so you could use it and putting it in the side of the machine. One flat hockey disc fell, and he placed it on his side.

“Let’s make it a challenge.”

“What do you mean?”

James, the man whore seductress he always was, began uncuffing his sleeves off, folding them up until they reached right below his elbow. At first you would’ve thought of it as a way to get himself comfortable for the game, but the way he leaned over the table, his muscles popping discreetly against his shirt and his eyes burning you with something you were familiar with, you knew it was intentional.

“If any of us score a point, we get to ask a question to the other person , whatever it is, and we have to answer it, no bullshit allowed.”

Bucky was tempting you the same way he used to do it. He had something in mind he wanted to ask, and he was fishing for an in. He knew how to sweet-talk to you to give in, he knew how attractive he was, and he had learned what worked on you to the tea. James knew what he was doing just as much as you knew it, and that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was how much you wanted to give in.

“No bullshit, huh?” You asked, downing the rest of your drink before grabbing the mallet in your hand. If James Buchanan Barnes knew something was how to bring excitement to your life. You missed that. “Alright, ready to tell me your deepest, darkest secrets?”

He chuckled at your words, an ever so attractive smirk placing in his lips as he moved medium length hair away from his face. “Overconfidence is going to be your downfall, angel.”

Ah, there it was again. Angel.

He was trying, you could give him that. He really was trying. He knew that nickname always made your heart race faster. Sure, it wasn’t the most original one, people had called you that before, but it the way he said it that made it special.

He always made you feel special.

“It’s not overconfidence, old man. It’s just a fact.”

“Hey, fuck you. I’m only a year older than you.” You gave him a blank stare, knowing fully aware that wasn’t what you meant. “Besides, people say I have an old soul.”

And with that, the game started.

He took you by surprise, the little shit. A hard swipe, and the disk went zigzagging through the table until it got past your guard. The sound of the disk falling back for you to pick it up finally reached your ears before you could even process what was going on.

“That was cheating!” You argued, picking the disc back up.

James shrugged. “What? Now that I score a point, you're going to call it cheating?” He started to shake his head. “Such a sore loser.”

Ok, alright. He wanted to play like that, you could play the same.

“Fine.” You grunted. “Ask away.”

He took his time, a couple of seconds in, and you could see the question forming in his mind. Your heart pumped against your chest so rapidly, anticipation building up at what he was going to say.

“What was the first thing you thought when you saw me again?"

“Uh,” you stammered, You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to ask, but it still took you aback. “That’s your first question?”

James shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, I thought you looked more mature.”

“You mean old?” He questioned, half offended.

"No,” you chuckled. “Mature in the sense that I can’t see that same childishness I used to see all over your face ever since I met you.” You threw back the disk in the table and shot it with your mallet, the disk zigzagging all over the table. Bucky’s reflexes were good though, he blocked it right as it was about to go through and the next round began. “A part of me expected to see the same smug, cocky smile that followed me all through college but with a couple of wrinkles, maybe even a few gray hairs.” He chuckled. “But it’s not there. Well, it’s still there, but not in the same ‘I’m Bucky Barnes, I’m a total 10 and I know it and I definitely think I’m the hottest shit around’ type of way” You paused for a second, before almost whispering. “I was glad it isn’t there anymore.”

For a moment his eyes left the table and went to see your face. You thought for a second your words might’ve offended him, but the smile plastered all over his face brought relief to you.

“I was that annoying, huh?” he chuckled.

“Just a little bit.” You shrugged.

With an abrupt movement, you stopped the black circle and looked directly at him. Blue eyes looked at you confused until he saw the coy smile on your lips, your eyes looking deeper into him and making his spine shiver.

You gave him “the eyes.”.

“I also thought I almost forgot how good you look when you wear blue.” You told him before sliding the disk right across the table.

Score.

Not only could you play the same game as him, you could play it better.

After all, it was you that made the first move that night.

“Are you sure we can go up there this late?” You questioned as the imposing building in front of you two seemed locked for the night.

Bucky’s hand squeezed yours harder while still guiding you towards it. “Trust me, I’ve spent my fare share of nights here.”

He knocked on the glass doors, as they were already blocked at this time of the night. A man dressed in a security guard outfit came close to the door, a tired smile on his face.

“I’m starting to think you don’t actually own a house, Mr. Barnes.” He joked while searching between his keys.

The security guards comment made him chuckle. “What can I say, Jeff? There’s nothing like the smell of a copy machine to put me to sleep.”

“I can tell.” Jeff let you in, closing the door quickly behind you. “And I see you brought some company this time.”

You smiled at him shyly, extending your hand to introduce you as you told him your name. “It’s nice to meet you, Jeff.”

“Nice to meet you too, maybe you can convince this one to stop sleeping here every once in a while.”

“I’ll try my best.” You smiled at him.

After a few more inoffensive jabs from Jeff, you and Bucky made your way towards the elevator, the doors closing as you waved goodbye to the old, gray-haired man. You chuckled one last time at his jokes, and you laid against the wall. There was something about this building that you couldn’t shake off, the layout seeming all too familiar, scratching the back of your mind, but you weren’t able to see why.

“Have I been here before?” You told him.

He turned around with that playful smile he always had, and your heart skipped a beat. His eyes looked at you, and you could tell his mind went to the past, a memory he seemed to treasure.

“I’m surprised it took you so long to recognize it.”

“I don’t remember it, it just seems familiar.”

A small flash of disappointment crossed his blue eyes, and it made you feel a little guilty, but his little smile stayed the same.

“Maybe once we reach the top you’ll remember.” He told you, his fingers sliding between yours once the door opened.

You walked through the hallways of the office space, a lonely desk welcoming you both with a big plaque behind it that read “Rogers & Barnes” with golden letters. He had told you about his partnership with Steve, but having actually seen it made you realize how real it was.

Bucky deserved it; they both did. Everything they had worked for they had earned it with sweat, blood, and tears, and if there was anyone that had ever deserved success, it was both of them.

You kept walking, turning in some hallways and walking up some flights of stairs, passing conference rooms, what seemed to be a communal eating space, and office floors filled with computers and documents. Your journey came to an end once you reached a door, his name engraved on the dark chocolate wooden door.

Once you were inside, you left your coat on one of the three deep blue couches that occupied the center of the room.

“I’ll be right back.” He said before turning around and leaving you alone.

You took your time admiring the place. His desk, big and magnificent, looked clean and professional—not a single paper out of place. On the sides of the room there were bookshelves, some of them filled with books, others with binders of what you assumed was important documentation. However, what caught your eye was the pictures displaying on them.

There was one of Steve and him, both dressed up, and the golden sign in the entrance behind them. You assumed it was taken when they had opened the office, a big, almost juvenile expression on their faces. The next one was one of him with his old college football team, you saw similar faces popping up, Thor, Sam, Clint, Tony, Pietro, Steve, even young Peter was in it. They were all sweating, but the grins on their faces made you think this was after one of the games they had won.

You expected to see pictures from before, but you never thought you would see your own face in them. Almost all of the group pictures that showed all of you had him next to you, his arm around your shoulders or your waist, his grip pressing you against him. In all of them, you were both happy, except one of them caught your eye. It was a normal group picture on the surface, but this time his eyes weren’t on the camera taking the picture.

His eyes were on you.

“Having fun?” His words broke you out of your thoughts. You turned around, his hands holding two glasses and a bottle of scotch.

“Just looking at your collection of mementos.” You answered, leaving the picture in its rightful place.

You accepted the drink, taking a small sip of it as the bitter taste reached your tongue.

“So, you still don’t recognize it?” he questioned.

You shook your head. “Nope, I got no idea where we are.”

He guided you to the big glass wall to the side of his desk, and you saw it, overwhelmingly beautiful and majestic. The city looked bright, colored vibrating lights filling the scene while skyscrapers rose above everything, its architecture set in a messy yet harmonious display.

“What a view.” Was the only thing you were able to say, your hand reaching to touch the glass.

“Now look over there.” He pointed to your left.

Your eyes squinted, trying to search for whatever it was that he was trying to show you, but the darkness of the night didn’t help at all.

“On that tall building, under the light.”

You scanned the scenery, this time more carefully, until you finally found it. Your heart pounded against your chest, the tears almost filling your eyes instantly. That old brown wall was lit up by a single lamp, but its brightness was enough for you to read the graffiti on it.

If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.

Once sentence, and you were twenty-two again.

Tony’s party had been more fun than you had thought. When he had invited you all to the inauguration of this building, his building, you guessed it would be filled with pompous and uptight rich people. Maybe there would be boring classical music in the background and the menu would be entirely of caviar, Iberic ham, and some weird meat like kangaroo steak or something like that.

You should’ve known better than that.

Tony Stark, the only heir to the Stark fortune, was known for his rebellious ways. If he was throwing a party, it would definitely be wild; it didn’t matter what the setting was. So, in true Tony Starks style, the party ended up being a music and alcohol fest, to his father's dismay. Most of the attendees were his “party friends,"  with the exception of his parents and a few of their friends, and what was supposed to be a dull night ended up almost being a college party.

You and your friends had fun dancing, drinking, and laughing in the best clothes you owned. For you, it had been a green sequin dress you had the fortune to have found in a thrift store, as being a college student didn’t really allow you to spend hundreds of dollars on a dress. Bucky's suit had been an old deep blue one his mother had bought him for when his sister got married.

He looks amazing, you thought to yourself.

She looks breathtaking, he thought to himself.

He had spent the whole night by your side, as this had been one of your “good streaks,” as you called them. Neither of you had started a fight in a while, there hadn’t been any angry calls, tears, or ignoring each other, nor was there any jealousy, petty revenge, or hooking up with strangers. The last three were the worst; those usually happened when shit hit the fan, more often than not, and would leave you with an empty feeling after the storm had cleared.

Fortunately, this night instead had been filled with dancing, kisses, and lingering touches that would make you feel as in the highest of clouds. You loved the way his lips would kiss your neck, or how his fingers would caress your face, one of his hands in the back of your neck. You loved the kisses, how his lips tasted, the smell of his cologne, and the way his hair would fall on top of his eyes. You loved the way he smiled when he looked at you, how when he started to notice you, you were overwhelmed by everyone around and took you to explore the new but somewhat empty hallways.

You loved the way he made you laugh.

You loved the way he always knew how to say the right thing, even when everything else was bad.

You loved the way he made you feel.

You loved that you felt safe.

You loved— You loved—

You loved hi—

“Let’s go, around here.” Bucky pulled you with one hand, the other holding a bottle of champagne.

After a couple of minutes more, you finally found an empty office, all the way back into the room. An impressive big glass wall on the side of the office lets you see the whole city at night. It was beautiful.

Bucky took out his jacket, putting it on the floor so both of you could sit on top of it. After settling down, he opened the bottle, the cork flying behind you. The both of you stayed there for a while, your heads resting against his shoulder while you passed around the bottle.

“Could you imagine having an office like this?”

You chuckled. “Only if I win the lottery. Or marry a rich guy.”

“Too bad I’m broke.” He retorted, taking a sip.

His words took you aback, once again. Bucky had a tendency of saying things like that, and you weren’t sure how they made you feel. Sure, you could clearly see a future with him, but that wasn’t what you had agreed on. After that first night, you had agreed you were better as friends, but the next weekend ended with the two of you sleeping together again, and you decided that perhaps adding some benefits would be the best. Always friends, but never more.

Then why would he always say things like that?

You stood up, coming close to the crystal wall in an attempt to escape the overwhelming thoughts that plagued you once you thought about your "situationship." After a few seconds, he stood up too, placing himself to your right.

“I would like to work in a place half as nice as this.”

“Maybe you can ask Tony to give you family and friends a discount."

Your retort was met with a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, right, even then I’d have to sell one of my kidneys to be able to afford one month's rent.”

“I’d tell you to sell your liver after, but with how much you drink, it’s probably already damaged goods.”

He laughed. He always looked so beautiful when he laughed.

Why were things so simple yet so simple with him? Why was being friends with him so complicated? You wanted more, you knew that he wanted more, but for some reason neither of you would say it. None of you were brave enough to say it.

Maybe the bad things about your “situationship” would go away once you were together. Maybe if you finally decided to take the first step, whether you felt ready or not, then the things that he did that broke your heart would stop. Maybe you would also stop trying to break his in return.

“I—”

Before you could even get one full word out, he interrupted you.

“What the fuck?”

His eyes were looking at some of the buildings below, an amused expression on his face.

“What?”

“Down there, there’s a guy doing graffiti.” He pointed.

You scanned the buildings over where he pointed, thankful that your eyesight was good enough to be able to spot a person with a red hoodie painting on a big wall that he had just covered with a lot of strokes of blue, purple, and pink, all of them mixing together to form what looked like a galaxy. He had just started to paint something on top of it, so his body was blocking the progress he had made, but you could tell he was writing something.

“What do you think he’s writing?” You asked him, your eyes fixated on the stranger.

“Something that will make us question the meaning of life.” He stated in an all-too-serious tone. “Or maybe he’s just writing his name.”

You chuckled. “Maybe he’s writing something like ‘peace’ or ‘love’, something nice.”

“Or, hear me out, something about being chill or keeping it real.”

After a few minutes of brainstorming options, Bucky pointed out the stranger had finished. After a few seconds of squinting your eyes, you saw the white letters that were still dripping with the freshness of the paint, and it read:

‘If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.’

Your eyes welled up with tears.

You were sure things were meant to be with him, but you weren’t ready to say them out loud. Not when you were so scared. Not when you couldn’t even tell him how you felt. Not when you couldn’t even bring to think those three words that would linger in your brain.

Not when a small part of you hated him when things were bad.

Instead of risking it all, you grabbed the bottle from his hands, taking a sip of it and rasing your pinky finger. “Let’s make a promise.”

His finger held yours.

“About what?”

“That no matter what, we’ll always be friends.”

“I thought that was implied already.” He joked.

“Promise it.”

His grip got tighter.

“I promise. Until death do us apart.”

And with that, he pulled towards himself, his arm around your shoulder as you both looked at the city lights.

“And who knows, maybe once you graduate you’ll get a good job, save some money, and have your own firm here. Or maybe get Tony to be your sugar daddy and gift you the whole building.”

He chortled. “Only if you promise you’ll stop by once in a while to have lunch with me.” He kissed you at the top of your head before continuing. “And to help me break things up with him after he signs the deal.”

“Promise.”

As life would have it, every promise you made each other was broken.

“How?” You questioned him, still taken aback.

“When Steve and I were planning on opening our own place together, we couldn’t find a good place to rent, so Tony offered us a space here.”

“He offered you this office?”

“Well, not this one exactly. I asked him if we could get this one.”

You didn’t utter a word for a couple of minutes, the silence of the office drowning you. A thousand questions ran through your mind as you processed what he said. Only after you were sure you could speak, you let out one word.

“Why?”

Bucky's eyes changed, the creases in the corners of his eyes pulled them down, and his eyes were clouded with a sadness you weren’t sure how to describe.

“You know why.” He whispered, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

Heartbreak.

That’s what you saw in his eyes.

A heartbreak that you thought you had left behind so many years ago.

You took a sip of your drink, hoping the burning of the alcohol would take away the knot in your throat.

“Well, that realization came in a little too late, didn’t it?” You remarked. You sounded bitter, it wasn’t intentional, but your mouth seemed to be acting before you could stop it.

“Yeah, I guess it did.” He muttered.

Why did he have to bring this up? Why couldn’t you just keep pretending like you were catching up as if you were just old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while? Why couldn't you just keep pretending?

You left the glass on his desk and grabbed your coat.

“It’s late; I should probably go back to my hotel. I gotta prepare for my interview.”

“Don’t leave yet, please.” He begged.

He grabbed your hand, his touch breaking your heart once again. You didn’t move away from it though, you weren’t sure you were able to hold yourself together if you broke apart. You didn’t want to break apart. He came closer to you, his hand going to your waist as the other one wiped away the stray tears that scaped your eyes.

Bucky’s eyes looked at your lips before turning his attention to your eyes. He wanted to kiss you, he craved it like a madman in a dessert that hadn’t had water in weeks. He needed to kiss you, but he was still looking for something in you that would stop him. The sound of your coat dropping on the floor and your hand on top of his was the answer he needed.

His lips tasted like scotch and longing. Your arms surrounded his neck in an attempt to bring him closer to you. You could feel his heartbeat against your skin, the desperation of his touch as his hand pushed the back of your head to him. The kiss wasn’t pretty to watch either, but you liked it this way. It was messy and hurried, but you could feel everything he felt.

The side of you you had buried half a decade ago was crawling back to the surface, it’s claws filled with love, passion, admiration, and all the good things that came with Bucky. But it also brought everything that was unfinished, all the fights, the pain, and worst of all, all the resentment that you had never spoken about.

It was all at once.

And it was too much.

“No.” You pushed him away.

You needed to get out. You needed to run away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you before.” His voice was rushed, he knew his time with you was coming to an end. “I was an idiot, I was scared—“

“I don’t want to hear it.” You bent down to grab your things, but your belongings had come out of the pockets, your purse spilling its contents.

“— and for the past six years the only thing that’s been in my head is that I should’ve told you that day how much I loved you—”

“Stop.” You were trying to pick up everything.

“—and I know I should’ve went after you, I should’ve apologized for everything I did to you—”

“Stop it.”

“—but I was a coward. I’m still a coward because that’s the first thing I should’ve done when I saw you. But I’m here now because—”

“No.”

“— I still love you,—”

“Stop.”

“—I never stopped loving you—”

“Fucking stop!”

Your scream resounded in the office, the echo bouncing off the walls. Your words made him back away, as if you had burned him.

“Just—” your voice cracked, the tears prickling your eyes. “Just stop.”

He took a step forward, his hands hesitantly moving towards you, but you slapped them away.

“Why are you telling me this? Why now?”

For a few seconds, he remained silent as if he didn’t know either.

“Because I lied. That night you left my apartment, I lied when I said that I didn’t want the same thing as you.”

“You alright? You sounded weird over the phone.” Bucky asked as he opened the door.

Your hands were shaking with anticipation, your heart beating against your chest so quickly you thought you were about to have a heart attack.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” You answered as you made your way to the couch, your hands gripping on the side of it in an attempt to calm down.

His steps echoed behind you, the sound of a glass clinging was followed by running water.

“You want anything to drink?” he offered.

“No thanks.”

"Ok, just give me a sec, and I’ll be with you.”

You assumed he was doing the dishes by the amount of noise he was making. Bucky had always been a loud person, this being a clear example. A somewhat annoying  charm of his that right now was calming enough to make your pulse settle, at least enough to let go of the poor couch.

Instead, you just rested your hands on the side, caressing the fabric. Your whole focus on it until you felt a change in the texture. You looked at your hand, almost in between the cushions, and saw something that looked and felt like lace. As you pulled it out, you recognized it was underwear.

It wasn’t your underwear.

Don’t think about it, you said to yourself.

Someone else was here.

Don’t think about it.

Who was it?

Don’t think about it.

Was it Dolores again?

Don’t.

Think.

About.

It.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” He said behind you.

Quickly, you put the underwear back in its place, tucking it. He sat next to you, his back reclined.

The next few minutes were a blur in your mind. Sure, you had prepared a speech that you had gone over and over again until you had seen all possible scenarios and you had prepared for every possible answer he could have. What you didn’t expect was for you to black out while doing it, only remembering a few sentences.

“I know we said that we would leave things be, that we were good as just friends, but from the very beginning I’ve wanted to be with you, not just as friends. You make me happy, you make me feel safe, you make me feel alive.”

“You have become the only one in my heart, I can’t feel like this for anyone else. I don’t want to feel like this for anyone else.”

“Things haven’t been exactly light and breezy as we expected, but I know that we can be better. We can be good. It’s not too late for us.”

“I love you. I’ve loved you from the very beginning. And I think I will always love you.”

You knew things were over. What gave it away wasn’t the fact that he remained silent, letting both of you simmer in the echo of your words, it wasn’t either that his body had positioned as far away as the couch could allow it, with him almost sitting in its arm.

It was the eyes. The cloudiness in them, along with a mixture of emotions that were happening too fast for you to process. For a millisecond, there was a tenderness that made your heart melt. He wanted it too, you were sure.

That was until you saw the fear.

“I—I can’t.”

Two words and your world shattered.

“What?”

He stood up, beginning to pace back and forth. The fear that you had seen was being replaced with anger.

“We agreed to be just friends. You even said it was for the best.” He argued

“I wasn’t being honest. I was afraid.” You tried to reason with him, but he wasn’t listening. “I was afraid that you didn’t want it, or that this could ruin our friendship.”

“And this isn’t going to ruin us?”

It hurt. He must’ve seen it so he went up to you, his hands cupping your face.

“We are better off being like this.  I’ve never wanted a relationship, and neither have you, and you know it. We care about each other, and sure, we sleep together, but that’s what works out for us. What’s so wrong about being friends who sleep with each other?”

You didn’t answer for a while, your heart trembling in your chest.

“You…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your throat closing as you fought the tears that wanted to escape your eyes. “You don’t love me?”

His forehead touched yours before answering. “Of course I love you. You have become one of the most important people in my life, and I lo– I can’t explain the way you make me feel. But this is not about that, I can’t love you the way you want me to love you. What we have is good, why can’t that be enough?”

He loved you but didn’t want to love you. Why?

Because your love was never good enough. That’s why there’s someone else’s underwear stuffed between the cushions. 

You scoffed at him, pulling yourself apart. “Good? You mean is good for you because you get to fuck me and anything that walks without feeling guilty?”

Your words were venomous. You wanted to hurt him, you wanted him to feel like you. And above all, you wanted to win, you wanted him to hurt more than you.

He turned around, looking as if you had just slapped him.

“Don’t fucking start.”

“I mean, that’s all you care about, isn’t it?” You pulled out the underwear and threw it to his face, a shocking expression as he grabbed it with his hand before throwing it away.

“Where did you get that?”

“It was in the fucking couch.” You threw him one of his couch cushions. “Let me guess, Dolores?” you asked, bitterly.

His lack of answer was enough.

You laughed sarcastically. "You’re fucking pathetic, you know that? Honestly, it’s getting really sad to watch you grovel around that upper class bitch, hoping her daddy will let you get an interview in his firm. At least have some self-respect and accept the fact that no matter how many times you screw her, you’re never going to get out of the shithole you were born in.” You got close to his face, so close you could feel his breath on you.

His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. He was angrier than you had ever seen him before, but the pain in his eyes was the thing that you noticed the most. You had hurt him where it hurt the most.

Good.

Except he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

“At least I’m not the one that came here expecting something more out of this because I’m the only man that has stuck long enough in your life and didn’t just fuck you and leave. Now that’s fucking pathetic.”

Silence. He regretted the moment the words left his mouth as your eyes clouded with tears, but he couldn’t say sorry, not after what he said.

This was the end.

It was always meant to end this way.

“I never meant any of the things I said that night.” Bucky pleaded.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We can’t change the past.”

You walked away from him, opting instead to look at the city lights outside of the window. Your own reflection welcomed you at the same time, tears ruining what once had been a nicely applied makeup. Dark speckles covered the top of your cheeks; your eyeliner was almost gone, with the puffiness starting to settle instead.

This image seemed way too familiar; the last time you saw it was almost six years ago.

Bucky walked behind you.

“I’m sorry.”

A bitter laugh came out of you unexpectedly. Things never really change, do they?

You whipped your tears away, suddenly feeling as if you had run a marathon. The weight of everything made you think you weren’t going to make it past the doors of the building.

“I’ve heard that before.”

You turned around, little droplets streaming down his face.

“I love you.” His voice trembled.

You came close to him, your hands whipping away his tears.

“And what good has that done to us?”

If you hadn’t been so drowning in the sense of despair that didn’t seem to want to leave you, you might’ve found it funny the fact that every time you were in this room you ended up with a broken heart.

Your words had seemed to leave Bucky speechless as he only stared at you while a thousand thoughts ran through his mind, his eyes coming to the realization that you were right. What good is love when the only thing that you get out of it is pain?

His forehead was warm when you placed a kiss on it, but his body was still not moving. His breath hitched for a second when you cupped his pace, his eyes finally staring at you, empty.

Familiar arms wrapped around you, his arms encasing you in an embrace that yelled misery, a misery that could almost be compared to yours. Your legs started giving in, the imaginary weight of the situation taking a toll on you like nothing before.

People say that the way to stop hating someone is forgiveness. You had healed, you had reflected, and you had learned and forgiven. You had been right before when you said you didn’t hate him anymore; no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t hate him forever.

You knew how to forgive.

But how do you stop loving someone who's hurt you as much as you have them?

“I still love you too,” your lips trembled, a bitter sensation placing on your throat. “Why do I still love you?”

You trapped your love for so long you had convinced yourself it was gone along with the hate. It was only natural, wasn’t it? You had fooled yourself, though. It was always there, burning deep in you along with all the pain it had brought with itself, and now that you allowed yourself to admit it, it came in as if it were the first day.

“I don’t know,” he whispered against your lips. The warmth of his hand against your face made you yearn for a different outcome. “But not even thousands of miles between us and a hundred years could make me forget about you. Nothing can.”

His eyes looked at yours, desperately as if the words were rushing out of his mouth, running out of time.

“Nothing.”

You kissed him.

You kissed him with hunger.

You kissed him with anger.

You kissed him violently, desperately, passionately.

You kissed him with love.

His hands reached back to your zipper with a movement so quick you didn’t know how your dress ended up on the floor. Your chest was exposed as the dress you were wearing couldn’t be worn with a bra. The desire in his eyes made you shudder; his pupils had seemed to grow, and the look on them seemed almost animalistic.

You were like a drug to him, and this was the first time in years he had seen you like this.

Who were you to deny him when he looked at you like that?

You were never a romantic when it came to sex. The slow kisses, the soft touches, and the caresses were never your thing. You craved for the roughness, the possessiveness, and the fire. You were never a romantic when it came to sex, but with Bucky, there was always a layer of care, even in the roughest of times. His eyes always looked at you with a softness that made your heart pound against your chest.

Perhaps sex was never pretty whenever you two were together, but it sure as hell felt amazing.

Somehow his clothes were on the floor along with yours, both of you using them as a way to avoid the coldness of the tile. His hands dragged along your skin, his touch burning you with passion as they made their way down to your underwear. You were thankful you had chosen a semi-sexy pair of black panties instead of the almost grandma but extremely comfortable ones you had thought of. His lips went for your neck, nibbling just a little in the right spot to make your thighs clench.

A part of Bucky was relieved that he hadn’t forgotten how to touch you. He remembered the spot on your neck, right below your ear, that made you shiver. He remembered the way you liked when he toyed with you, his fingers just barely brushing against your slit over your panties. Your nails scratched his arm, a confirmation for him that you needed more of him.

Bites and licks traveled down your body, invading your senses. Your hands pulled on his hair hard, guiding him to kiss you again as your hands pulled down the edge of his boxers. You couldn’t take him anymore; you needed him now.

You both looked like teenagers, fighting to get out of the final remnant of your clothes while looking desperate to finally be able to fuck. In any other situation, you would’ve laughed at the sight of it, but now there was nothing you could think of more than having Bucky inside you.

Perhaps deep down you were still those dumb teenagers.

His fingers played with your clit, drawing slow and dragged circles that overloaded all your nerve endings. He knew the pace you liked, the muscle memory acting by itself. In return, yours also acted the same, drawing small little circles on the top of his cock. His breath hitched once your finger dragged along the vein of his cock.

One of his hands went to your neck, pressing slightly hard.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” He whispered against your ear. You couldn’t talk, the hand on your neck making sure of that, so you nodded. “I missed this too, angel.”

His fingers made their way inside you, your wetness letting them go inside easily as he reached inside for that little spot you loved so much. You couldn’t control the moans that came out of your mouth, and you were thankful there wasn’t anyone else on this floor.

You were getting close, your thighs clenching along with your walls, but his fingers left you once you were on the edge. You opened your eyes to look at him, anger clear on them, but you just saw him placing himself between your legs, his body on top of yours.

He was bigger than you remembered, his cock sliding into you slowly, allowing you to take your time to get used to him. You were waiting for the hard thrusts as soon as he knew you were ready, but instead he cupped one on your cheeks.

He kissed you.

He kissed you, but it wasn’t like before.

It wasn’t filled only with lust, dominance, and passion.

His lips tasted sweeter, his touch seemed warmer, but most importantly, his feelings were different.

He was kissing you with so much love it was almost overwhelming. He wasn’t stopping himself from showing it anymore; he allowed himself for the first time to be honest with you, but above all with himself.

He loved you.

He loved you intentionally and wholeheartedly.

He loved you eternally.

The sunrise shine began to make its way above the darkness. A couple of glasses with whiskey and a packet of crackers lay in front as you covered yourselves with a blanket he kept for when he stayed.

His fingers were drawing lazy circles on your skin as you were playing with his hair. A few stray kisses would sometimes land in your cheek, making you giggle like a teenager.

“Angel,” He called your attention, his eyes looking nervous. Your mind raced as you waited for him to find the words he wanted to say.

Maybe he was about to say it was a mistake. Maybe he had a girlfriend he hadn’t told you about. Maybe he was trying to kick you out.

Thought after thought flooded your mind until he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

His words took you by surprise.

“I–“

“Wait,” he interrupted you. “I need to say this before chicken out again.”

You nodded, unsure of how you felt.

“Remember the first time we met?” He asked, a warm smile placed on his lips. You nodded again, the same smile on yours. “I don’t think I’ve told you this, but I was ready to make a move on you as soon as I saw you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well, Nat kind of warned me not to try anything. I didn’t really matter anyway; if anything, it made you seem more enticing.”

He chuckled as you rolled your eyes. Bucky was always Bucky.

“Anyways, when I first got to the bar, you were with Wanda and Nat while you were doing shots with them, and Wanda said something that made you laugh, and you ended up spitting your drink all over me as I was about to introduce myself.”

The once uncomfortable moment had lost its awkwardness and was now a funny memory to you.

“I don’t blame you for not sleeping with me after that; having tequila in my eyes would really put me out of the mood too.”

He chuckled.

“It wasn’t great, but it didn’t really put me off.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” He said as he played with your hair. “You took me to the bathroom and helped me clean my eyes on the sink, and you started to say the most outlandish shit ever.”

The cringe got in you, your body slightly retracting itself as you remembered everything you said.

“I was drunk and nervous. Besides, I thought you might sue me because Nat told me you were a law student.”

“I considered it.” He joked. “I knew I liked you from that very moment.” He whispered, almost as if he were doing it with fear. “I never met anyone that made me laugh like that; even when it felt like my eyes were melting out of their sockets, all I could do was laugh at everything you said.”

Your hand reached to his chest, trying to give him the push he needed to keep going.

“I also remember the moment I realized I loved you. Remember that fight we had at Quentin’s party?”

“Which one?”

“The one with John Walker.”

“What are you even getting angry about?” He yelled as he chased you.

You were fighting against a sea of drunk college students, and the more you fought, the more you found yourself being pushed around. You heard him behind you, calling your name, but you had no intention of hearing him. You weren’t even sure why you were so angry, but you knew that you had to get away from him.

His arm finally reached you, dragging you to the side.

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” The smell of beer hit your nostrils as soon as he spoke. It was strong—almost too strong.

You shook off his hand.

“My problem is that you supposedly left to get me a drink, and then when I go looking for you, you’re getting all cozy with Dolores, and you just forgot about me.”

He rolled his eyes.

“She stopped me to talk; what was I going to do? Ignore her?”

“Maybe. But what you don’t do is tell me you’re going to be back and disappear for forty minutes.”

“Are you mad because I didn’t come back or because I was talking to Dot?”

Dot.

What a fucking asshole.

“I don’t care who you talk to, but you don’t leave your supposedly best friend stranded like that.”

“Well, sorry for thinking that my best friend was a grown woman that could take care of herself. I didn’t know you needed me to be by your side all the time.”

He didn’t mean that. He shouldn’t have left you alone in a party this big, not when it was only the two of you out of your friend group.

“Then why the fuck you brought me here if you were just going to fuck off as soon as we got here? You’re basically the only one I know here.”

“Then go make some friends.” He should’ve stopped there. If he hadn’t been drunk, maybe he would’ve just said sorry, and you two could’ve had a good time. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth would sometimes lose against his own stupidity. “Maybe you’ll even find someone that’ll take that stick out of your ass too.”

Your eyes watered for a second, but you were never going to let him see you cry.

“Fuck you.” You muttered before submerging yourself in the sea of people again.

You drank.

The more you drank, the angrier you got. And the angrier you got, the more you wanted to hurt him and forget.

The next time Bucky saw you, you were on top of John Walker, your mouth against his as his hands squeezed your ass.

“When I saw you with him,“ his voice faltered. “It hurt. I thought it hurt because you were with fucking John Walker and I fucking hated his guts, but it wasn’t just that. Even if you had been with a random guy I’ve never seen before, it would’ve still hurt the same.”

“Bucky…” You try to apologize, but he’s quick enough to stop you.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad. It’s my fault how all of this ended. If I had been honest with myself about you, then none of this would’ve happened. I have loved you for so long I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to not love you, and now that I have finally said it, I don’t think I want to forget, even if we are not together.”

You didn’t say a word, not sure that you would be able to talk without breaking down, but when you saw his eyes, you couldn’t stop it.

“We hurt each other so much, didn’t we?” He nodded, a sad chuckle along with it.

The irony of it. Love could conquer everything, except the pain that you had caused each other.

“I’m sorry too.” You whispered. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for wanting to hurt you.”

His arm went over your shoulders, squeezing you tightly against him.

“I’m sorry for disappearing; I know it hurt you when I left. Steve tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen, but I could see he was worried.”

“It was rough.” He hesitated to answer, not wanting to make you feel worse about it.

“I’m sorry for everything.”

His lips kissed the top of your head, both of you turning to see the sunrise.

“I forgave you a long time ago.” He whispered. “Can you forgive me?”

You smiled as you squeezed his hand. “I forgave you a long time ago too.”

You didn’t say anything for a while, deciding on just taking in the view of the city that was once your home. And just like that, sitting on the floor with Bucky at your side, you finally felt your heart truly healing.

“I missed this.” He said.

“Me too.”

“We should’ve taken a cab.” He said, watching you walk uncomfortably.

“And miss the opportunity to get this fucking deliciousness? No fucking way.” You take another big bite of your bagel, squeezing it a little too hard and making the side push out the cream cheese. “Besides, we’re almost there.”

After a couple more blocks of walking, talking, and eating, you finally reach your hotel. Once you get to the steps, you hop out of the uncomfortable heels that had been punishing your feet for the whole walk, a sigh of relief so loud it made Bucky laugh.

“Well, this is my stop.” You gesture towards the building behind you.

“Yeah.”

A certain heavyness settles on both. You don’t want to say goodbye.

“I didn’t even ask you, how long are you staying for?”

“A couple of days more. I still need to catch up with everyone else.”

“Good, good.”

He’s the one to hug you first. His arms around your waist pushed you against him, the small remnants of his cologne filling your nostrils. Your arms clung on to him, clutching him in between them.

Minutes went by, and you were the first one to let go as you kissed his cheek.

“Don’t be a stranger.” You said.

You walked up the steps towards the entrance of the hotel, your mind just now processing everything that had happened that night. You never thought you would talk to him again, let alone spend a whole night with him.

It was a good night.

It was a good goodbye.

Your hand reached out to open the door to the lobby, but Bucky called your name. You turned around, not sure what he was going to say.

“Do you think you could love me one last time?”

You smiled at him. The so-ever dramatic and romantic Bucky Barnes had never changed. He laughed along with you, knowing you found him a little ridiculous.

“I’ll see you around Jamie.” You said as you turned around.

None of you were sure what was next. Maybe it was best if you stayed friends and rebuilt the relationship you both had tainted so badly. Or maybe this was a new opportunity for something that could be the best thing of your lives, or perhaps it was the last time you saw each other. Whatever it was, you were sure of one thing. You were never going to lie about your feelings again, and neither would he.

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.

[thesuntomyshadows]

*Y/N goes to see Kaz after he's been injured*

Kaz: What are these?

Y/N: Grapes.

Kaz: What did you bring grapes for?

Y/N: Maybe I was hoping you'd choke on the seeds.

Kaz: They're seedless.

Y/N: Don't be a smartarse.

[mingtinysworld]

hi! how are you? hope you are doing well!

i wanted to request san's reaction to y/n wearing a dress as it summer and she is hot so he is in wow seeing her beautiful legs and then things just escalate to the bedroom

hope i ain't asking for much would mean alot if you write it ^^

Hi darling! Sorry this took me a while to get to! I’m doing good! I hope you’re doing fantastic<3

I LOVE this idea so much. I think San would totally be that guy to love sundresses and legs hehe. Thank you for requesting! I hope I did it justice;)

Green grapes

Pairing: Choi San x fem!reader Word count: 1.2k Warnings: MDNI, oral (f receiving), fingering, protected sex Networks: @newworldnet

“San! Can you bring the napkins and forks please?”

San shuts the car door and wobbles toward you where you’re laying on the spread out blanket. You two decided to have a picnic since it was such a beautiful day, sun shining bright and the birds singing loudly. You make room for San as he shimmies his way to you, laying on his stomach. You run a hand through his blonde strands, earning a pleased grunt.

“Ahhhh” San opens his mouth and looks at you expectantly. “Feed me.”

You grin lopsidedly as you feed him a green grape. He chews gratefully, closing his eyes to savor the flavor. While his eyes are closed you take the opportunity to shove two more grapes into his mouth, and his eyes shoot open sending you a glare.

“Do you want me to choke?” He speaks through a pout. He throws a grape at you in retaliation while you just cackle. He resigns back to his napping position, resting his eyes. You look at him with adoration and pat his head affectionately.

San sighs and turns to his side facing you. As he takes in your appearance, he notices the sundress you’re wearing. A very light, pretty floral material covers your smooth skin, leaving your tan legs exposed. His eyes focus on the slit, his brain painting the picture as he goes higher.

You notice his line of sight and you blush slightly. You fidget your fingers and move the dress so that it covers your legs, resulting in San snapping out of his daydream. He looks at you and you notice the change in his eyes, showing you how needy he is. He bites his lip lightly, clearly sending you a message.

“Your damn legs,” he whispers reverently. “What do you think of heading back home?”

“I would love nothing more.” You boop his nose and he wastes no time jumping to his feet, whisper yelling a “YES”. He quickly gathers all the picnic materials and runs to the car, almost slipping on some gravel. You can’t help but laugh at his eagerness, shaking your head in fondness.

As soon as you both get seated and buckled San takes off like a rocket. “San, you’re gonna get us killed, slow down.” You clutch your seatbelt in pure terror as San doesn’t let up on the gas.

He turns to you and blinks blankly. “Baby, I’m about to get drunk on pussy, and you want me to slow down?” He sounds so genuinely upset that you burst out laughing. You cover your mouth to not aggravate him further and he just huffs out in frustration, the annoying traffic making San drum his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently.

Finally, after a grueling 10 minutes he pulls into the driveway. He turns the engine off and runs over to let you out of your seat. He picks you up like you weigh nothing and you let out a squeal of surprise, kicking your feet in the air.

He carries you into the bedroom and sets you down on the soft bed. You reach up to remove your dress but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist.

“Leave it on. You look too delicious to take it off.” He confesses. Your cheeks redden as he hungrily takes off your panties and tosses them aside. He lifts up your dress, resting it on your stomach. He gets comfortable against the bed and lifts your legs to fit around his shoulders. He takes a few seconds to just look at your dripping core and you fidget from the fixed attention.

“Stop staringgg San, it’s embarrassing.” You whine.

“Baby there’s nothing embarrassing. You’re about to be my best meal ever.” As he finishes his sentence he dives in.

He attaches his tongue onto your cunt and uses all the force of his tongue to drive you to the brink. He uses wide strokes to lap up your wetness. You let out a strangled cry as he suckles on your clit, leaving trails of saliva and your own slick. He plunges his tongue into your hole and you buck up your hips, clenching around him in desperation.

He swirls his tongue around, and adds in a finger, adding on to the stimulation. You let out a drawn out whine from the speed of his finger along with his skillful tongue. You grind against his face as he adds a second finger, stretching you out in a pleasurable way. San looks up for a second and his face is completely covered in your essence, coating the tip of his nose like it’s highlighter.

“Oh god, I just can’t get enough of you.” He growls against your skin and goes back to his passion project. You can feel your climax approaching and you get even louder, signaling to San that you’re about to cum. As the knot almost releases, San stops everything. He goes totally still, ripping away your orgasm brutally. You whine pathetically and buck your hips in an attempt to get friction.

Before you can whine any more, San slips on a condom and rubs your thighs soothingly to remind you of his presence. He plunges into you in one go and you gasp at the sensation. He drives his hips back and forth at a rapid pace while loud smacks can be heard echoing around the room.

You slap a hand over your mouth to conceal your noises, but San will not have any of that. He rips your hand away and gives you a pointed look. He continues to thrust into you, creating rings of cream around his cock. His neck and face are covered in sweat, droplets falling one by one, making a little stream down his built shoulders. He grits his teeth in determination and gives you all he’s got.

His pace increases even more and you can feel the satisfying knot tightening once again. He starts gasping lightly and you can tell he’s so close to the edge so you assist him by intentionally clenching and he lets out a hiss at that.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum.” San’s chest heaves up and down as he empties into the latex, bringing you to your climax as well. Your body convulses as you cum with a shuddering breath. Your legs are shaking uncontrollably while San is tying the filled condom. He throws it away and comes to plop down next to you, caging you in with his arm.

“So much for that picnic,” you say with an airy chuckle. “But this was definitely worth it.” You give him a soft smile and he smiles back, rubbing your shoulder lightly. Your head feels fuzzy after the intense orgasm and you close your eyes in exhaustion. San leans in closer and gives you a soft kiss on the forehead, his breath tickling your face.

“Wasn’t this so much better than those green grapes?” He asks with a satisfied tone. You roll your eyes playfully and punch his chest lightly.

“They were pretty yummy and crunchy, I’m not gonna lie.” He raises an eyebrow at that and moves even closer.

“So I’m competing with grapes? Really?” He asks with narrowed eyes.

“No no, don’t worry San, I’ll always love you more than green grapes.” You assure him.

“So…round two?”

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱: 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: eddie stays until clove’s shift is over at the club despite her best efforts to get him to leave. jolene expresses her concerns, an old acquaintance reintroduces himself with eddie. a piece of the past is revealed.

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ stripping, drug use/abuse, alcoholism, addiction, abusive relationships, prostitution.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 6.8k and a rewrite 🫣; we are finally getting somewhere in this story and i am sorry it took so long to pass these awkward tense filled chapters! 😓 im really happy with the way this chapter turned out and i hope you enjoy it too.

A smile twists on your lips, and you can’t hide the funny tingling shift of your eyebrows as you test the numbness in your face. You felt as if the world was spinning with colors of orangey yellows and blushing pink.

“Slick…come. on.”

The sky moved above you in gentle waves, pulsing and vibrating. The tangle of tall grass around you felt like shaved butter beneath the pads of your fingers. A giggle bursts from your lips and you stretch your arms out, feeling the creamy splats of the chickweed on your elbows. You imagined that you were a piece of toast, becoming soft by a pat of butter and a smear of jelly.

Would you be flavored as Grape? Choke Cherry? Definitely Mulberry, you’d decided after moving your tongue against the dry membrane of your cheeks… willing for a drop of saliva to coat it, tasting the jam on it with every swirl.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

You look up, a drunken haze on your stoned eyes. Lids felt heavier with every blink upward towards the tendrils of caramel swaying above. A concerned look is painted on Eddie’s face and you couldn’t for the life of you understand why.

Sweat formed beneath his bangs, his temples dripping wet. He wanted to shout and scream as your finger reached up to poke him on the nose, a raspberried boop bubbles from your lips and a fit of laughter follows.

He was pissed when he finally found you at the party. Even more upset that the sweet freshman, Barbara, had distracted him by asking about the Chemistry test, trying to compare answers to see if she had gotten the questions right.

In that amount of time you had disappeared in the crowd of sweaty bodies, nowhere to be seen. He settled into an immediate panic. Crippling anxiety crawling up his spine.

This party was a bad idea, he should have never taken you here, but your puppy dog eyes never failed to make him cave. You were always good at that.

The rickety farmhouse now used for high school kids to drink beer and smoke weed was abandoned long ago. Paint had chipped from the wooden slat siding, the wallpaper was ripped to shreds in every room, graffitied over. Rumor had it, the class of ‘79 threw orgies in the basement.

He searched every face around the flames of the bonfire for you, called your name into the lonesome woods— but you were nowhere, and when he asked people if they had seen you, nobody knew who you were. He was scared, terrified— after what happened the last time you went missing at a party— he swore it wouldn’t happen again. His eye was still discolored from that fight.

An hour had ticked by then an hour and a half, and he felt full fledged crazy when he started searching in parked cars.

The sweet smell of weed hit him as he walked past a pickup he hadn’t recognized. The tailgate was laid down with a blanket laying across it in a rumpled mess. And he almost missed it.

Almost turned to leave when he spotted a hand, laying limp from beneath the flannel threads— and his stomach fell at the sight of a homemade tattoo sketched in the same spot as his, opposite hands.

He planned on leaving. Not wanting to see the way your life had trainwrecked out of control and off the rails. But his heart ached for the girl he knew, the one he once left behind.

Eddie planted himself on that barstool like he was a permanent fixture. Keeping quietly to himself. Politely telling the bartender he was fine with the water and cold basket of wings that sat untouched.

His stomach was uneasy, sick with worry about the truth he spilled and your reaction to it all, acting as if it had never happened—turning something serious into a party. Maybe that was easiest for you? Turning a blind eye to the truth.

Tonight, Eddie would stay for you, ensuring you got home safely. Something he should have done years ago but couldn’t.

▫️▪️▫️▪️

You were floating on a warm and buzzing kind of high, drunk on the cheap liquor and pills you consumed tossing them back like a child would candy.

Reckless was an understatement for the mask you wore tonight. The armor shield you bared to protect yourself from getting hurt was heavy, but you never let it slip from your shoulders.

Overly friendly, flirting with the regulars, the out of towners. Anyone with a swinging dick was game. The college guys who you would normally rather drop dead than spend any amount of time talking to— suddenly were the most interesting males you’d ever laid eyes on.

You laughed at their stupid jokes, pinched their cheeks and kissed their necks as you ground your hips into their laps. Their grabby hands roamed over your body freely and you never swatted them away.

You accepted singles in your g-string like a eucharist in a catholic church. Their warm breath on your neck and shoulders held whimpers and groans as you moved above their laps to the music, or ran your tongue along their ear.

Giving away bits of yourself you didn’t care about, a lazy smile on your lips as your eyes closed and your head swayed along with your hips to the sultry music that played for Wendy’s set.

They all wore the same face, their voices were different but their soulless expressions spoke to the tiny crumb you kept hidden away that you still carried around, singing to you like a prayer of hope.

The only thing you couldn’t do was look any of them straight in the eyes. It didn’t matter who they were, their eyes were always the same: doe like, a stain of muddy brown and surrounded with dark lashes. Eddie.

The conversation you had with him burned like a fiery wind in your chest, and you did the usual to extinguish the flames. But the sad bourbon eyes parked at the bar ignited it every time you caught them in a stare over a suit jacket shoulder, making you turn away with something stronger than guilt.

Tipping back shots of god knows what, you fell deeper and deeper into the pit of numbness, until you fully succumbed to it, shutting out everything around you, disassociating to another time.

Watching the swing of a chain bounce from left to right, your fingertips felt like lead as they dangled. Grass was on the ceiling being stamped down to the soil beneath large footsteps. A pair of black legs moved as you swung like a wind chime in a summer breeze. The skinny legged creature holding you was murmuring under its breath. It took you much too long to realize you were being carried and the thing holding you was Eddie.

Your face was level with his lower back, the black shirt he was wearing rode up enough to leave a sliver of navy checkered boxers hanging out. The pattern looked funny, like tic-tac-toe. The words forming on the tip of your tongues mind, tickling the muscle as you make up rhymes.

“linch-lactose, ditz-duck-toast, yic-yac- yo, pinch-punch post!”

Your fingers squeeze the band of his boxers and pull it way out, revealing the whitest ass you’d ever seen and you gasp in surprise as if your incoherent mind forgot what would be clothed beneath, letting the fabric snap back into place. Warranting an irritated yelp from Eddie that has you tipping upwards and upwards until you are falling downwards and downwards behind him.

Now you were wading on your back in a soft batter of cake, and Eddie swore under his breath.

“Up, get up.”

You shake your head at him, moving your fingers to try to make his frown tick up. “I’m having fun, you should try it sometime.”

He huffs in annoyance, “fun? You call running away from me at a party with some West Academy fuckheads fun?”

You blow a raspberry with your lips, tossing your body over to your front then your back again and again until you’ve rolled a few feet away from him further into the deep grass.

“Seriously?” Eddie groans in frustration following you crossing his arms once he faded into your peripherals, “quit acting like a little kid!”

Eddie never got mad at you. At his dad, the way you grew up, school… but not you.

You frown back at him, eyebrows curling inward, “what’s up your ass Munson?”

His eyes cloud with something you can’t recognize, not in your current state of mind at least.

“Nothing, let’s—can we go? I’m fucking exhausted, and you’re pissing me off.”

“Oh…” you sing, leaning up on your elbows, scowling, “I get it now, you can get high with Byers’ whenever you feel like it, but when I do it without you— it’s suddenly a problem.”

He doesn’t say a word, only sighing deep and running his hands through his hair til they snag on his neck, bangs shoved aside.

“You’re a real bastard y'know? A hypocritical, fuckass!”

“Me?!” he shouts, flabbergasted, “It’s been what? Three weeks since I punched Hagan until his mouth bled for what he tried to do to you… and now you’re just going around putting yourself in the same situation Clove! It’s stupid, you are being stupid! You’re just asking for something bad to happen, like you’re looking for it!”

It wasn’t easy to forget that night, the tears that slid down your face, the taste of blood and gravel in your mouth, or the rip in your clothes from being pushed down.

You spent nights lying awake, wondering what could have happened if Eddie wouldn’t have shown up when he did. White knuckling your blankets, you stayed that way until the sun shone through the ripped tinfoil on your window. The only reprieve you could find was altering your mind for an hour or two.

Looking for that tiny bit of relief, you jumped when the opportunity to let loose came up, hungry for the numbness to settle, for your mind to ease.

After all— you were just having fun. What’s the worst that could happen?

Lights flashed in every neon color imaginable as the night drug on. He was torturing himself watching you become clumsier, spilling drinks, and nearly tripping over your own two feet.

The clink of the beads from the back room made his stomach turn as they moved like clockwork, girls went in every thirty minutes and out almost at the exact second it was up.

Shots of a bubbly pink liquid floated around in your hands as you brought them to a table of younger guys. Squealing as one of them pulled you into their lap, shoving his face into your chest as you giggled and swatted at him playfully.

Eddie wanted to puke. Wanted to throw his knuckles into that guy's stomach until he gasped for air. As much as he wanted to give in to his urges and bust the teeth out from that guy's mouth, he didn’t. Not wanting to embarrass you by being overly protective. He didn’t have that right anymore.

So he sat back and simply watched with a sinking heart, swirling the bottle of a now warm beer in his hand. Waiting.

Waiting for what— he wasn’t quite sure. Maybe you would sober up and he could take you to get some food at an all night diner? The two of you could laugh about old times, and you’d get to know one another again, in better circumstances.

He held onto that thought as his knee bounced watching you go from lap to lap at that table of college boys, a smile pressed to your lips that didn’t meet your eyes. Your pupils were so large he could see them from where he sat, inky blacks taking over where your natural color pooled.

“Hey there handsome, gin and tonic?”

Eddie swirled to face the bar at the bartender’s voice, thinking she was speaking to him. Her eyes didn’t fall to him, they were focused on a guy leaning his elbow across the counter, a gaudy red jacket flanking his shoulders.

Slitting his own eyes into narrow strips, he recognized him immediately. Still too many freckles pocking across his face. Hair cut short on the sides, slicked back with stiff gel. A cocky smirk on his face as he eyed Eddie, puffing out his chest like an alpha male. Tommy Hagan.

The heels of your palms press into your eyes, creating shapes behind your eyelids as the tears slid out rolling down the apples of your cheeks, your head laying softly against the ground.

Eddie nearly broke when your chin quivered, your lips shaking as your lungs raked in a choked breath. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, never wanted to be someone who made you cry.

He kneeled down next to you, reaching for your wrists to peel your hands from your eyes. You finally let him, but kept your eyes shut tight.

“C’mere,” he whispered, wrapping his arms under yours and hauling you up with him to stand.

Your tears wet his hands from where he held your face, wiping them as they fell. “Don’t shut me out,” he pleaded, worry spreading across his face, “you can tell me anything.”

Shaking your head you tried to pull yourself away from him. “It won’t go away, Eddie,” you sobbed.

You could hear his tantalizing words in your ear just like that night. Still feel his hands under your shirt, and when you pushed him away, running from him, Tommy had caught up to your drunken strides and shoved you onto the gravel, pinning you there.

“I’m tired of crying, I’m tired of being stared at… I wanted one damn night of not remembering, of feeling normal again!”

His arms squeeze around you like a vice, and you cry into the column of his throat, your tears coating the split ends of his hair.

Eddie murmurs your name as he runs his fingers down your back in a soothing pattern. Letting you cry it out. His heart shattering right along with yours.

He didn’t let go of you until your tears fell a little more silently, your sniffles scarce.

“I have a surprise for you.”

His dark eyes were wild. Wide in psychotic amusement at the scene in front of him. “Physics proves me wrong again,” Tommy sneered, “they really can stack shit six foot high.”

Eddie shifts away from him, searching the bar for you. But Tommy doesn’t let up.

Waltzing towards Eddie, Tommy’s stocky build and red jacket made him look like something from a cereal box. “Ah, man, cmon,” he chides, leaning an elbow beside Eddie’s arm, “‘m only playin’ round.”

“What do you want, Hagan?”

“Now Eddie… is that anyway to treat an old friend?”

He was trying to bait Eddie, get him to swing on him maybe, finish the fight that started years ago. But Eddie wouldn’t budge, ignoring him completely.

Tommy runs his tongue along his teeth, “I have to wonder just how Rick would react to finding out that The runaway Munson bastard was sitting in his club, staring at his girl.”

Eddie almost choked on the breath he took, but he managed to keep his face calm even though he was breaking apart on the inside.

“She didn’t tell you?” Tommy feigns surprise, “She’s been his whore since your old man started selling dope. Don’t worry though—Rick is pretty generous, he’ll let you fuck her in the private rooms for the right price.”

Eddie swallows thickly, holding back vomit.

Tommy leans in close, his cheap cologne stinging Eddie’s nose, “pricey, but trust me…that pussy is worth it.”

Eddie’s fingers curl into tight fists.

“Oh and before I forget, Rick will be happy to know you’re back in town. Your old man still had some business to take care of before he vanished like a fart in the windp, and Rick is looking to collect.”

He watched Tommy leave. Striding up to one of the girls and squeezing her ass before laying a sloppy kiss on her lips.

Dread filled his soul like a sandbag, weighing him down until he could barely move, hardly digesting what Tommy had said before Rocket Queen started blaring from the speakers.

The crowd whooped and hollered for the girl on the pole, catcalls and wolf whistles, meaty hands slapping the stage with singles.

The table you were sitting at now sat empty, and you weren’t anywhere around, the bartender screamed your name and he knew before he even looked that you were the one on stage.

“The treehouse?”

“The treehouse.”

What felt like a ten mile walk in your inebriation was barely even one as you followed behind Eddie. Your finger laced into one of his belt loops guiding you along with your eyes half open.

“When you mentioned having a sleepover, Slim— I thought it would be in one of our rooms, with blankets, a pillow maybe.”

It was a goldmine when you stumbled across it all those years ago. Deep in the woods behind Forest Hills, you couldn’t believe it was still standing.

He smiled and brushed hair from his neck, “ What’s wrong? Clovie wovie a wittle afraid of a dirt and some bird shit?”

You shove his shoulder and make a disgusted face, “mostly afraid of getting Hepatitis.”

“Relax,” he said, putting a foot on the first wooden rung, nailed to the tree trunk, “I was here last week and cleaned it out.”

He climbs the makeshift ladder with ease, all fluid motion like an ape at the zoo.

“There’s no way in hell I’m gonna be able to do this.”

Eddie gets to the stop and pokes his head down, “it’s not that high up.”

“Yeah but I am.”

Eddie rolls his dark eight ball eyes and lays on his stomach across the floor of the treehouse, partly dangling over the edge to reach for your hands. “Put your foot there, no— that one.”

It took longer than it should have but with great effort from Eddie and as much concentration as you could manage, you’d finally made it to the top, laying flat on your back huffing like you’d ran a marathon.

“Well, that was easy.”

Eddie glares at you with a sweaty brow, “yeah, you really aced it Slick.”

You raise a middle finger and he sends one back making you both laugh. “I’m gonna hire you to clean my house, it’s pretty nice up here.”

The floor was swept and a round rag rug laid in the center. A tarp covered the ceiling where rain always snuck through the roof.

“Yeah, yeah, figured this place shouldn’t go to waste just because we don’t use it anymore. Maybe Lolly could play up here with her friends.”

Eddie bends down to lift the lid to a large wooden box you don’t remember being there before. He hauls out a large sleeping bag, a folded quilt, and a flashlight.

Placing the flashlight under his chin to illuminate his face in creepy shadows, Eddie throws his voice into a creepy cackle, “know any good ghost stories?”

The room spun as you hung upside down from your ankles crossed against the pole. It was a blur, a blackening clouded storm piercing your barely conscious mind. Years of dancing on this stage, you could practically do it in your sleep.

When you seductively lowered your bra straps and revealed yourself, the men went crazy. Everybody loved the devil, and right now you could use a better disguise to mask the pain from Eddie’s spilled truths earlier.

Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The more you tried to suffocate his name in your mind, soul, body, he remained. Always.

You hadn’t spoken to him since earlier when the bar was empty except for the two of you and seven year old secrets. His eyes burned into your skin whenever you saw him, and you wondered how far you’d have to go before he decided to leave again for good.

The answer you asked for left you feeling like you swallowed a Buick. It tasted wrong on your tongue like burnt iron, and it was too much to chew.

Throwing yourself on men’s laps like the true whore you’d grown into, you felt his stare on you all night, and no matter what you were doing, how loud you laughed or danced for dollars—Eddie stayed.

It should have charmed you, should have given you a little joy to know that despite your job, despite everything you’d been through with and without him, he wanted to be here. But those days had come and gone, and now the only thing you felt was burning rage.

Back in high school he would get so hurt when you’d show back up at the party having already smoked with someone else. You never forgot the way his eyes looked as you laid in the grass. Disappointment. The thing you couldn’t recognize in them at that time.

And disappointment was what you needed to find in his eyes tonight. But as you looked towards the bar where you knew he was sitting, the dark coal of his eyes weren’t looking at you at all. His head was lowered, picking at his nails.

The song played on, and the finale was coming up where you laid across the floor amongst the filthy cash and pretended like the moans from the woman in the song were your own, and that every guy in the bar was making you feel the ecstasy of an orgasm.

You wanted Eddie to be so uncomfortable he wouldn’t want to come back. He needed to hurt the way you had. He could have come back, Eddie knew you’d never leave Hawkins, and he— fuck, he promised that you’d both get out of here.

Maybe it was the drugs and the alcohol that were making you so irrational, but it never crossed your mind, and Eddie’s eyes never lifted to meet yours.

One hand was laid across his chest, your head resting on his right bicep, a bent leg between his. You’d been asleep for a half hour according to his watch, and it’d been twelve minutes of you curled into him the way you were.

Neither of you had any good ghost stories, your real life being scary enough there wasn’t anything to fantasize about being more terrifying than that.

The two of you talked for a long time, whispering stories back and forth, laughing about the shade of Higgin’s face when you had both egged his house on Halloween last year.

Quiet fell over you both and you tucked the blanket under your chin, a small yawn escaping your lips.

“Eddie? You awake?” you whisper.

His chest expands beside you, “yeah, are you?”

“Yeah.. I wanted to tell you—”

The high was gone and you laid stone sober. You needed to thank him for helping you, for never giving up on you when you were beginning to give up on yourself, but it fell flat, carried away on the cool breeze blowing through the treehouse.

“… your butt is really really white.”

Laughter fills the space between, and you and Eddie giggle until tears squeeze from your eyes.

“You’re such a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

Moonlight shines through the open doorway illuminating the smile on his face, it was then that you began to see him differently as if he suddenly became more to you than anyone ever had. But maybe he always was.

Crossing a line you never had before, you lean forward pressing into him your body over his. Your heart raced but not any faster than his was. He was so handsome like this, and right here in this moment you felt as if it was second nature. As if looking at Eddie this way wasn’t new or different.

“You’re my best friend,” you said to him, stroking his cheek, “always and forever.”

You lean forward just enough for your lips to brush against his. The most delicate of kisses like a butterfly wing flapping in the wind.

Before he can say anything or react, you lay your head on the crux of his shoulder, and close your eyes.

When he was certain you were asleep, Eddie’s throat finally untangled and he whispered into your hair before kissing your forehead, “til the end of the world, baby.”

He couldn’t look. Out of respect for you and for your dignity, Eddie wouldn’t watch your set. It made him feel wrong, dirty, as if he were just another sleazy guy hoping to get into your pants.

Last call was hollered out and Eddie finally raised his eyes to see the stage now empty, only catching the shine of your heels walking to the dressing room.

The bar was emptying out, the bartenders had stopped serving. Overhead lights hissed as they illuminated around the bar, much like the club go-ers showing the true coyote ugly before a night of regret could begin.

The black haired bartender smiled big and set a glass of water in front of Eddie. “You okay to drive, sugar?”

Eddie smiles small, sliding his hands down his face, “Yeah, I’m just waiting for a friend, figured she needed a ride home.”

There weren't any other customers left in the club, and the bartender raised an eyebrow, “one of the girls?”

Eddie nods tiredly, taking a sip of his water.

“Yeah, I didn’t tell her that I was waiting, but.. don’t think she’s sober enough to drive.”

Jolene knew the other girls had already left, having had Kenny walk them all out to their vehicles, all but one.

“Clove?” she seemed a little startled, “you’re waiting for her?”

He rubs his hands together, “Yeah.” Her eyes narrow and she leans across the bar, waiting for an explanation on who he is. “I’m Eddie Munson. Slick— Clove, I mean, and I grew up together in Forest Hills.”

“Munson?” her eyebrows nearly cross, “Wayne? Or Al?”

“Al, un…fortunately,” he admitted, twisting his rings around his fingers, “back home for Wayne’s funeral.”

Lightbulbs clicked and Jolene spread a wide smile, “I remember you, Patty my aunt, babysat for Clove’s sister sometimes.”

“No shit? Swear this world gets smaller and smaller.”

Jolene sighs a bit of relief after connecting the dots on just who was waiting for you, a mother hen to her little chicks. “You and her kinda took care of each other back then, right? Looked after one another?”

He shrugged, not really comfortable talking about those times with a complete stranger, “kinda, I mean we really weren’t given a choice.”

Sighing deeply and looking worn out, Jolene shakes her head, “she needs a little of that right now, a lot of it actually.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, “choices? Or someone to take care of her?”

Before she can answer him, the dressing room door flies open with a clunk against the wall, likely to leave a hole where the doorknob hit the already crumbling drywall.

The fine powder around your nose was still dusted in a spot you had missed, and your slippers were back on your feet.

Looking from Jolene to Eddie and back again you scoff in annoyance, “what are you still doing here?”

Eddie looks a bit taken back but doesn’t let your hurtful words slice through him the way you had hoped they would.

“Gonna bring you home, make sure you get there, alive.”

Rolling your eyes, you bite a curt goodnight to Jolene and brush past Eddie, hitting him with your purse on the way out as you shuffle for your keys.

Jolene’s face is full of worry and she looks to Eddie with pity in her eyes, “she needs both.” Taking his glass she nods towards the door as you’re part way through it, “she’s been lost ever since she walked into this club…but lately, it’s gotten out of control.”

If his heart could plummet any further it would, but Eddie simply looked to Jolene and gave her a nod of understanding before he stood and jogged to follow you out of the doors.

▫️▪️▫️▪️

Gravel crunched beneath your slippers as you stumbled your way out to your car. The depths of your purse finally revealed the keys they’d been hiding and you pulled them out in a hissy fit, ignoring the calls of your name from the last person you wanted to see right now.

“—wait! Shit why are you walking so fast?” Eddie said pretending to be out of breath.

You nearly fell into the back end of your car as you shot him a glare refusing to answer him. Holding onto the sedan to make your way to the driver’s door, keys out.

“What are you—?” He realizes you’re trying to unlock the door so you could drive yourself home. His sober body being more agile than yours— he quickly finagles them from your fingers and puts them in his back pocket.

“Give them back!”

“No,” he says firmly, “you’re drunk, you’re not gonna kill yourself getting behind that wheel.”

“What are you the cops? A fucking pastor out east.. or west.. or wherever the hell you live at now? I’ve done it a thousand ti—” you groan in frustration when he backs away out of reach.

You reach for him again and again, holding onto his shirt and trying to yank him towards you. Eddie gets free and slams against the driver's door.

“Stop! I’m not letting you drive.”

All fight in you is lost. Instead you flip a switch and turn on the charm, batting your eyelashes like you would at any Sam, Dick or Harry at the club to get a good tip. Swinging your hips, pressing your body against his, your voice lilts into seduction.

“This what you want?” you ask sweetly, a sinister look in your eyes, “why you came home, right?”

Eddie’s lungs weren’t functioning, his mind blank, completely and utterly speechless at the way you were acting. He was repulsed, disgusted with how this night had turned out.

You walk your fingers against his chest, placing a manicured hand under his chin. His skin crawled, feeling the failure, the let down you had experienced seep out of you, because of him.

He was pissed, fuming with rage at the idea that you would think that this is what he wanted? To sexualize his own friend, you!?

You had been used to using your body to your advantage to get what you needed to survive. It had become almost thoughtless as you me body took over.

The alcohol, drugs, the provocative behavior, it was all a tangled web of coping. Of growing to be a product of your environment. Wearing a suit of spades from the same hand you were dealt.

He felt as if he was no better than those pigs in the bar who grabbed ass for freebies. Regret looming over him with each and every second that ticked by.

When your hands started to go south, Eddie’s brain zapped and he grabbed your wrists, halting you from touching him any further than you already had.

He searched into your eyes for a shred, an inkling of the girl he used to know. But came up with nothing but sadness and a glossy high.

“That’s enough.” His voice was firm, startling you into a gasp at his refusal to fall for whatever the hell you were trying to do, “get in the car, Clove… I’m taking you home.”

Rejection stung, but this was worse than that. Throwing yourself at Eddie, trying to make him so uncomfortable that he would leave the bar only for you to try to seduce him so you could drive your own car?

Pathetic. Self sabotage wins again.

Your face falls before you could whip up a response, or continue to argue with him. You didn’t see the way his eyes were wet or the way he was falling apart. Yanking your wrists from his light grasp, you march to the passenger side of the car, mountains of regret pressed heavy into your shoulders, but your face was painted in a false unbothered state.

His back is still turned away as your foot taps impatiently. A loud annoyed sigh from you finally renders Eddie free from the crestfallen place he’d seeped into.

He unlocks the door and gets in, adjusting your seat to accommodate for his longer legs, reaching across the center to pull the lock for you.

▫️▪️▫️▪️

Coming out of the shower you were surprised to see Eddie standing in your kitchen.

“I’m a grown woman… I don’t need you to coddle me.”

His flannel hung on the back of a chair and he wore a plain white shirt underneath, thin enough where you could barely make out more black swells of ink spread across his back.

He had insisted on walking you to your apartment despite you rolling your eyes so hard they could have fallen from your head.

“Heard you throwing up,” he said over his shoulder, flipping something in a pan, and moving to the fridge, bending low to retrieve something from the bottom shelf, “I’ve been with you almost all day and haven’t seen you eat a single thing—so get dressed and sit down while I make us some food, yeah?”

“Eddie,” you groan with thrown around explicits, stomping back to your room. You had thrown up while in the shower, entirely liquid your stomach purged itself until you were gasping for breath.

You grumbled as you fought your way into an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. Foregoing the trouble of drying off properly, you throw open your door and smell the sweet scent of cinnamon.

“Y’know you don't have anything in your cupboards, right?” Eddie called from the kitchen.

Your head and your heart were fighting each other on how you felt about him here in your apartment. And you threw all rational thoughts out the window as you geared up with vinegar in your veins, ready to argue with him.

Rolling your eyes again you say, “didn’t know I would be hosting Julia Child.” The counters are filled with mixing bowls, the scarce amount of milk you had left and a carton of eggs. “I rarely eat here, besides… nobody asked you to do this. I’m fine, I can make my own food… and you can leave.”

He stops whisking the eggs and shakes his head before continuing, holding the bowl and turning to face you.

“My skin has grown pretty thick over the last few years, so if you think you can insult me enough to hurt my feelings, save your breath.”

Hands on your hips you stare up at him, “maybe your thick skin can tell your thick fuckin’ head that I don’t need you around.”

“Do you push everyone away, or is this a special thing you’ve saved just for me?” Eddie asks earnestly.

You stalk towards him, arms crossed, “well I’ve had seven years to come up with what I needed to say, so don’t flatter yourself.”

“By all means, lay it on me,” he retorts, spreading his arms wide, “I deserve it—but I told you why I had to leave,” he half pleads, “I didn’t have a choice.”

Rage pours from you thickly, and you can barely stand yourself as you scream at him.

“There’s always a choice! You’re only here now because you know you made the wrong one, and you can’t live with that!”

“I have one regret in my life— one… and you’re right, it was leaving Hawkins without you. I think about it every single day, but don’t think I never—” he pauses long and hard.

Would he ever tell you? Not like this, not right now.

“Don’t think what?” you poke, sticking a knife into his wound and adding salt until it festered, “c’mon Eddie don’t quit on me now.”

You were being awful, but it was the best shield you had.

“Really wanna go there? Wanna have this talk? Fine, we can do that,” he stood tall but his shoulders sagged and his voice was quiet, “but only when you’re sober. I’m not fucking talking to you about this while you’re drunk and high.”

“‘m not drunk,” you sulked.

Eddie turned back to the stove, placing the eggs in the hot pan and letting them sizzle before scraping them around with a spatula, “whatever you think, sit down… this is almost done.”

You slid into a chair at your table, “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t care, you need to eat, and lucky for you,” he chides, turning off the burners, “I worked as a cook for about a week a few years ago, so I made due with what you had.”

You wait for him to say he was joking but he never does, “how did you manage that—learning the fine culinary skills from making grilled cheese and orange koolaid?”

He laughs and opens a cupboard looking for plates, “well, living on the streets, you find out real quick just how much you’re willing to lie to get a job.”

Eddie places two pancakes on each plate with a heap of scrambled eggs and a few slices of an apple.

For the first time since he’s been back you take in account just how scary it must’ve been for him when he left, and your heart sinks.

“How long did you do that?” you ask quietly, moving towards the coffee maker and placing a filter into it, adding the grounds.

“Work as a chef? Oh not long they figured out I didn’t know anything about cooking shortly after I burned the hard boiled eggs.”

“No, I mean… live on the streets.”

Eddie carries the plates to the small table, “a few months here and there… crashed on a lot of couches until I had enough money to rent a room from a guy I worked with… wasn’t too bad, the van was pretty roomy.”

Nodding, you watch as the coffee brews and begins to drip into the glass pot. He moves behind you and back to the fridge to get out a tub of butter.

The itch of him being in your apartment felt so beyond foreign but was starting to feel almost comforting. As if him being around was closing your own open wounds, and you were getting whiplash from listening to your mind and then your heart all in one night.

“I’m sorry you had to do that.”

He turns to see you looking at him with a sad look in your eyes, and it broke him to see you go from one extreme to another. Fighting mad like a cat in a bathtub one minute to crying the next. As angry as you had been at him, he understood because he experienced the same kind of light switch type of emotions.

Two kids who never learned how to properly handle feelings, now barely adults still navigating the waters of being an adult.

“Hey,” Eddie spoke softly, crossing over to you, he places large hands around your biceps, looking deep into your eyes, “I’m alright, Clove. I made it out just fine, okay? Someday you’ll see for yourself just how good life can be, I promise.”

Hanging your head you mumble, “there’s nothing good left for me, Eddie.”

His hand moves under your chin before he can even wonder if what he’s doing is alright, and a tear falls before he can wipe it from your cheek.

“Don’t say that.”

Your eyes lift to him as more tears leak out, “I’m stuck here…you don’t know the kind of shit I’m in.”

Eddie pulls you into him as you cry, rubbing your back as you sob into his chest. You didn’t know the last time that you’ve been hugged and you melt into his arms as you tuck yours further into him.

You needed Eddie home, as much as you hated how your lives ended up, this was exactly what you needed. Him. Here, with you.

“I’ll help you, Clove…” he whispers into your hair, “all you need to do is let me.”

For the first time in a long while you believed him. Putting hope or faith or whatever you could into that moment, into his words. Holding that little ball of light at the end of the tunnel close to your chest.

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[earl-grey-teacake]

Can you please release some baby loscar snipits! I am a drowning college student who needs serotonin.

Of course! It's been a while since I have written Baby!Loscar.

Kitty-Logan (5 years old)

"Gently." Max held Logan's hand and guided it in brushing Sassy's head. He leveled a stern glare at the cat and Sassy knew well enough to put her claws away.

Jimmy sniffed around Logan before deciding to take a look in his baby bag, hoping there were treats like that delicious homemade applesauce he had snagged last time. While Leo, ever the rambunctious puppy, was wiggling in Charles's arms in his attempt to greet the new guest.

"Kitty!" Logan yelled and Sassy pushed her head against Logan's chest. Bending his head down, he bopped his head with Sassy.

Pleased with the display, she curled and settled on Logan's lap as Uncle Max taught him how to properly pet Sassy. "You brush with the hair not against it."

"Leo!" The dog broke free of Charles's grasp and ran towards Logan, throwing his body weight onto Logan's side and causing the toddler to fall backwards.

"Oof," Max quickly caught Logan before he could hit his head and sat him back up. "Are you okay?"

With the shock settling in, Logan's lips wobbled and tears started to fill his eyes and a soft cry start to emerge. "Wahhhhhh. Ahhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhh."

Sassy, not pleased with her moment being disrupted, turned and hit Leo on the head with her paw before jumping off to chase him.

"WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!"

"MEOWWWWW! MEOWWWW!"

Charles had run off to stop the two, leaving Max with a crying baby that he had no idea how to comfort. "Are-Are you hurt?"

"Wahhhhhh. Ahhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhh."

“Shhhhhh, it’s okay” Max gently patted his back and examine him for injuries

Jimmy, clearly taking pity on his owner, meandered over and settled on Logan's lap, snuggling his head against Logan's chest and purring.

Logan's tears settled as he looked down and gently pet Jimmy’s soft fur. The cat giving him a small lick on the nose, eliciting a giggle from Logan. "Kitty".

Fancy Grapes-Logan (3 years old)

Lance had always had a sweet tooth but with his diet plan, they found it best for him to mitigate his desire for cakes and candies with grapes. Particularly expensive sweet grapes imported from Japan and would run $300-700 for a bunch. They were sweet, juicy, and absolutely worth the money.

“What’s that?” A soft voice whispered next to Lance as large green eyes stared at the bowl of shiny muscats and Ruby Romans.

Fernando had brought Logan into Aston Martin, something about letting him learn about other teams, and then was pulled away leaving Logan alone in the hospitality.

“Grapes,” Lance held a muscat up. “Want one?”

“Yes, please” Logan nodded.

‘He’s so cute and polite’ Lance thought as the child clambered onto the chair next to him.

Before Lance could hand over the giant green grape, his trainer quickly stopped him. “You have to cut those up. Children can choke on them.”

“Huh?” Lance looked alarmed. It was a grape but again Logan was very small.

“Here.” A plate and a plastic knife was placed by the bowl and Lance spent the next 10 minutes fervently cutting the grapes in half. Logan was too tiny and cute and he could not have the child be harmed in any way.

Logan on the other hand, ate the grapes at an inhuman speed, and beaming smile on his face.

“Do you like it mijo?” Fernando arrived, ruffling Logan’s hair and smiling at Lance.

“Mhm!” Logan nodded, his cheeks full of grapes, making him look like a hamster.

Thunderstorm-Oscar (6 years old)

*BOOM*

Oscar pulled his duvet over his head and hugged his koala tightly. He was a big boy and big boys aren’t scared of angry clouds.

*BOOM*

Logan wasn’t scared of thunderstorms. The only one scared was Kimi and Ollie and they were babies and Oscar isn’t a baby.

*BOOM*

*BOOM*

*BOOM*

Oscar pulled the blanket tighter around him.

*BOOM*

*BOOM*

*BOOM*

With a squeal, he threw his blanket off and rushed out his room and towards the room down the hall. Opening the door, he felt around in the dark until he came into contacts with the smooth wood of the nightstand. Following the edge of the nightstand, he came to side of the bed. His papa was sleeping soundly on his side and he could see his dad’s curly hair poking out from the blanket.

“Papa,” Oscar whispered. “Papa.”

Oscar gently shook his Papa’s shoulder. “Papa?” Oscar whimpered as the weight of the darkness became to settled in.

“Hmmm?” His Papa opened his eyes. “Oscar?”

“Can I sleep here?” Oscar whispered.

Without saying a word, he picked Oscar up and pulled him into the middle of the bed. With a shuffle of pillows and duvets, Oscar found himself settled quite warmly in between his parents. Another hand landed on top of head, slowly scratching his scalp softly.

“Go to sleep, Oscar.”

Sim Racing-Oscar (2 years old)

“Do you want to try Osc?” Lando turned to the toddler who was clinging to the chair and trying to look at the screen.

“Max!” Oscar pointed at Max Fewtrell.

“Hi Oscar!”

“Hiiiiii!” Oscar waved.

“Want to race?” Lando pointed to the wheel.

“Yes!” Holding his arms out, Lando picked him up and sat him on his lap.

Oscar immediately put his hands on the large steering wheel. “Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!”

Which elicited some laughter from the others on the stream and a flurry of heart emojis on the chat. Lando set the track to Silverstone and put his hands on the steering wheel as well.

“No! No!” Oscar shoved Lando’s hand off the wheel. “Vroom! Vroom!”

“Osc, I need to have my hand on the wheel. You’re too little to drive on your own.” Lando explained.

“No!!!!” Oscar kicked his legs.

Lando sighed as he could hear the others laugh. “How about I let you drive and I help?”

“Ok.”

Lando kept his hand on the wheel to stabilize it as Oscar decided the direction of the car. The downside was that Oscar kept crashing the car into the wall.

*CRASH*

“Alright let’s restarts.”

*CRASH*

“You hit me!” Max yelled.

*CRASH*

*CRASH*

*CRASH*

“Mate, what are you doing?” Max yelled as he drove past the wreck of Lando’s car.

“Ask Oscar!”

“Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!”

*******

I hope you enjoyed this!!! ❤️

[shadowisles-writes]

Too Sweet 🍯 Elucien Week Day 7

You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait Until that day I'd rather take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You're too sweet for me - Too Sweet, Hozier

A/N: I hope everyone had fun with this week, the amount of elucien content I've seen on my dash was unreal and I'm so excited to go catch up on all the fics that have been posted over the past few days! To finish off well, I've kept this fic in my docs for a while because the only right way to finish elucien week for me is definitely a smutty AU <3

Summary: Lucien believes Elain is too sweet for him, and she's very quick to prove him wrong. (smut, ice play, light choking)

Word count: 4530

“Which one is she?” Lucien tilted his head in curiosity.

There were three girls sitting at the table a few feet away from them. Two of them had to be twins, with perfectly matched dark skin, identical features and raven black hair. The other one was a brunette in a yellow dress patterned with tiny flowers. The dress was more suited for a summer picnic than an evening in a bar.

“The brunette.” Jurian jutted his chin as she laughed at something her friends said, her hand shyly coming to cover her face.

“You’re not serious,” Lucien chuckled and took a sip from his whiskey. “You know that’s not my type.”

Historically, pretty girls in pretty summer dresses truly weren’t, and Lucien wasn’t their type either. He rode a bike no matter the weather rather than buy a car, wore a leather jacket to go with it, and the lip ring didn’t scream “meet the parents” type of guy. If that wasn’t enough to scare them away, the brutal scar that ran in three jagged lines from his forehead, across his eyebrow and all the way to his cheek usually did the job.

“Your type is girls you can fuck and leave in the morning without causing a fuss.” Vassa scoffed. “You said you wanted more, I found you a girl who can be more.”

“Not this one.” Lucien knocked back the rest of his drink, determined to win this argument.

What he didn’t account for was that Vassa didn’t care enough to argue with him. She got up from their table before his glass touched the table again and headed for the girl she had met in the bathroom less than an hour before.

She turned, and it was only then that Lucien saw her face. Too pretty, too sweet. He knew it from one glance and tore his eyes from her before they could make eye contact. He didn’t need her thinking that he was interested or that he’d make a move on her.

“Here we go,” Jurian grinned a few seconds later.

“Vassa can be mad all she wants, I’m not going over there.”

“You won’t need to.” A foreign voice interrupted.

Lucien had no choice but to turn and face her. A laugh muffled into a cough came from his left, followed by a sound that had to be Vassa punching Jurian’s arm. A scrape of a chair, then Lucien knew he was alone.

“Evening,” was all he said to the girl.

She was beautiful. Her heart shaped face was framed by wavy hair, and her pretty pink lips were still smiling. Lucien counted a couple of seconds before her eyes went to his scar and trailed the whole length of it.

“I’m Elain, may I sit?” She rested her hand on the back of the chair across from Lucien and he nodded. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” She asked as she gracefully took the seat.

“Lucien,” he pushed his glass aside with his knuckles and rested both of his forearms on the edge of the table as he really took her in.

The dress was out of place for the bar, but it suited her. The way the square neckline framed her chest made it hard for him not to let his eyes dip low, but he remained focused on her face. Lucien gave her another minute before she’d conclude she hated him.

Elain smiled wider instead. “How eloquent.”

“If what you’re looking for tonight is conversation, I’m afraid you’ve picked the wrong table.”

“Mmh, what am I signing up for then?”

Lucien wished he didn’t feel a spark of delight at the defiance in her tone. He wasn’t an asshole—Lucien was raised too well not to hate being rude, but he couldn’t let her go on. “I’m sorry, Elain. You seem really nice, but I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Jesus Lucien,” she laughed. “You’d think I asked you to marry me.”

Lucien couldn’t help but chuckle with her. “I’m not husband material.”

“Good,” Elain beamed. “I’m not looking for a husband.”

She was pure sunshine. Happy, beautiful, bright sunshine. 

Lucien sighed, “I’m not boyfriend material either.”

“That’s not what your friend said.”

At this, he actually laughed. “If you think Vassa is trustworthy, your judgment is severely off.”

Elain set her hands on the table and asked in a serious tone, “are you going to fight me every step of the way, or are you going to buy me a drink?”

Lucien raised a surprised brow silently waved at one of the bartenders for their attention.

A fruity mocktail and a whiskey neat later, he knew he was in trouble. Elain was beautiful, and funny, and she managed to smile and make a joke of every dry answer he threw at her. Lucien was smiling so much that his reticence was hardly believable. 

Even alone in the bar’s bathroom, Lucien had to grin at the mirror like an idiot.

“Dammit,” he cursed softly and tried to convince himself he’d tell her to leave once he got back to their table. He could do this, save himself the struggle of any sort of attachment before it was too late. They weren’t compatible. He could tell her to leave.

Elain was talking with her friends when Lucien emerged from the bathroom. They had jackets on, but hers was still on the back of a chair. She beamed when she saw him and walked over, forcing Lucien to notice how short she was compared to him. How easy she’d be to pick up and throw on his bed. How comfortable it might be to have her nestled in his arms on the couch.

Tell her to leave. That was his task, but Lucien was distracted by the pretty honey of her eyes and the way she had to crane her neck to look up at him when she stood so close to him.

“You’re too sweet for me, Elain.” He breathed out.

Elain cocked her head. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Honey,” Lucien looked down without lowering his head enough to risk doing something stupid like kiss her. “Go home with your friends.”

“Why don’t you take me home yourself?”

He almost screamed. Was there nothing he could say for her to stop tempting him? “You’re not getting on my bike in a dress,” was his last argument.

She smiled wider and shrugged. “I have a car.”

“You really have an answer for everything,” Lucien laughed in disbelief.

“If you don’t want to go home with me you can just say that,” Elain was serious then, her feet shuffling just a step back. “It’d be quicker than your half assed excuses.”

He knew he should say it, but the words that came out of his mouth were “Get your jacket, Elain.”

.

Her home was cozy. The lights were dim and warm, and the place was neat while looking lived in. Her couch looked like sitting meant sinking into the cushions forever and Lucien had half a mind to drag her there and sit her in his lap already.

“Do you want some water?” She dragged him out of his filthy thoughts with a polite offer, so Lucien cleared his throat.

“Sure, thank you.”

He curiously kept on walking to the next door. He found a blue themed bathroom, with a flowery shower curtain and the matching bath mat. There was only one other door, so he stepped into her bedroom and took in the postcards lined up on one of the walls.

“I get them from museums wherever I travel,” Elain explained as she stepped in behind him.

“Cute,” he commented and took the glass of water from her.

She had put a few ice cubes in, and he almost dipped his fingers in to hold one to her skin. He wanted to trace her neck, her chest, watch her nipples harden, then follow that trail with his tongue.

As if reading his mind, she smoothed her hands down her dress. “You didn’t come here to talk about postcards.”

“Unless that’s all you want to do.”

“It’s not.” Elain removed the glass from his hand, put it on her nightstand, then reached for the fabric of his shirt. “It was hard work getting you here in the first place, I’m not about to change my mind.”

“Good,” Lucien cupped her cheek and finally allowed himself to kiss her.

Elain let out a tiny whimper, the smallest of noises that had Lucien’s free hand flying to her lower back to press her against him. All of the restraint he had been grasping at since she first talked to him flew out of the window. Lucien let his hand slide back to tangle his fingers in her hair, he twisted into the strands at the back of her neck and tilted her head up to better claim her mouth with his.

Elain whimpered again, her hands grasping at his shirt in all the wrong ways in a pathetic effort to get it off. Lucien groaned when her nails scratched at his skin and kissed her harder. He’d expected her to be chaste, or at least to ease into things, but Elain was kissing back just as ardently, their lips and tongue meeting in a mess that made his head spin.

She only hesitated when her tongue teased at his lip ring like she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Lucien slowed down enough for her to figure out how to play with it, a quiet moan coming from the back of his throat when her teeth lightly tugged on the metal. His blood rushed south too fast, urging him to move his hands to her ass and bring her even closer.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, Lucien left her mouth to start trailing kisses down her jaw, her neck. He found the spot that made her breath hitch and grazed it with his teeth before sucking on the sensitive skin just long enough to leave a mark. At the same time, his fingers began to tug at the sleeve of her dress to pull it down, the other hand still on Elain's perfect ass. Lucien exposed her breasts, his lips following the hem of the dress until he could finally suck her nipple into his mouth.

Elain moaned, a hand flying to his head to guide him where she wanted. Her knees nearly buckled when he caught her nipple between his teeth and tugged just enough to send a hot wave of pleasure through her.

"I need this off," he groaned in annoyance when the dress wouldn't go any lower than her waist, and Elain chuckled breathlessly.

"There's a zipper," she turned and offered her back to him. "Can't hurry everything."

"My bad," he pressed an apologetic kiss to her neck.

Lucien's fingers fumbled with the fabric to find the zipper, then pulled it all the way down to let it fall to the floor. She wasn’t wearing panties, so he wasted no time turning her around to guide her back until her knees hit the edge of the bed. Elain sat and gasped as he immediately fell to his knees in front of her.

Lucien was rushing this, but a nudge at her knees was all it took to spread her legs and see the glistening wetness already clinging to her inner thighs. He tore his eyes from the pink pussy he was dying dive into and latched on to the soft skin of her thigh instead, biting and licking on each side until light purple marks began to litter her thighs. Elain was growing impatient under his touch, writhing and lifting her hips to get him closer, but he denied her every time.

“Stop teasing,” she eventually grabbed his hair to put his mouth where she wanted it.

Lucien caved, at least as desperate as she was. Her taste spread on his tongue and wetness coated his face, but he’d never minded getting messy. He tried not to get lost immediately and paid attention to the way her breathing hitched when he did certain things. Lucien kept a hand on her inner thigh and felt the way her muscles clenched every time his tongue stroked a sensitive spot. He mapped her out with his tongue until he knew exactly what patterns worked to make her moan.

Elain loosened her grip on his hair, no longer guiding but accompanying as she relaxed into his touch. Lucien looked up at her with eyes wild with desire and echoed her moan with one that vibrated against her pussy. He licked and sucked eagerly on sensitive skin until she was close to seeing stars. Elain threw her head back on the pillow, eyelids fluttering shut as she got lost in the sensations.

She didn’t see Lucien reach for the glass of water just close enough for his hand to wrap around it, didn’t dare complain when fingers replaced his mouth on her clit, thinking he might need to catch his breath. Then, his cold tongue stroked her and Elain lost a cry.

She jolted to look at Lucien, whose eyes were full of mischief as he sucked her clit into his mouth until the cold sensation was replaced by warmth. Elain would have complained if he didn’t choose this moment to gently press two impossibly thick fingers inside of her while his tongue still moved on her clit. Whatever she was about to say came out as a garbled whine and gasps.

Lucien curled his fingers just so, and the dragging against her sweet spot combined with his tongue began to make her thighs shake. He kept his pace steady, building the pleasure up, and up, and up until Elain came on his fingers and tongue with a soft cry. She panted, eyes rolling back with each wave of pleasure while Lucien hungrily lapped up everything she gave him.

Elain had to shove his head away for him to finally lift himself from her pussy.

“That little trick was mean,” she said breathlessly.

“Yeah?” Lucien chuckled as he wiped his face with his hand and came back to hover atop her body. “What are you going to do about it?”

He had expected an eye roll, maybe a half hearted slap on his arm. Instead, Elain took him by surprise and used her hips to roll them over. She perched herself in his lap and carefully placed her hand on his neck. She wasn’t pressing down, but Lucien stopped breathing all the same.

“How about you take your clothes off and find out how I play?”

Yes please, was what he would have said if he could still speak. Lucien nodded instead and wordlessly began to move to remove his shirt. Elain lifted herself from his lap, freeing his neck so he could hurry to undress. She watched without an ounce of shame, eyes filled with lust the more she got to look at him.

Lucien wanted nothing more than to keep pleasing her. He was on his back once again in seconds, his cock painfully hard and leaking a bead of precum. Elain climbed back on him—ass low on his thighs so she wouldn't touch his cock just yet. Looking right into his eyes, Elain placed her hands high on his chest and carefully brought both thumbs to brush his nipples.

Lucien surprised himself with the loud gasp he let out, his cock twitching from the stimulation. No one had ever bothered to play with his nipples, and the wicked grin growing on Elain's face told him she was going to keep on exploiting that particular weakness. She removed her hands and leaned to the side, and Lucien followed with his eyes as she dipped her fingers into the glass to pull out an ice cube.

He would have fumbled and dropped it for sure, but Elain moved with confidence and she must have been the sexiest thing he had ever seen perched on top of him like this. A drop of cold water fell on his chest—just enough to make him jerk lightly.

"Payback's a bitch," Elain murmured as she held the ice in front of her. "Did you know that?"

"I-ah," the next words out of Lucien's mouth were unintelligible as she ran the ice cube from his Adam's apple down the middle of his chest.

His breaths were shudders as she went back and traced random lines, then suddenly followed his collarbone, swirled in an unexpected circle, moved along the lower line of his pectorals. Lucien was positive he'd lose his mind, and he nearly swatted her hand to reverse the situation. His curiosity regarding her next move was the only thing that kept him from doing so.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had wanted anyone this badly. The ice cube melted somewhere around the V of his lower stomach and Elain wrapped her still cool hand around his hard cock. Lucien tried not to jerk, and miserably failed. A few strokes of her hand and the press of her thumb at the top were enough to make him whimper like he’d never been touched by anyone in his life.

Elain shimmying up his body to rest a hand on his chest and grind her soaked pussy against his cock should have felt like a mercy, but Lucien didn’t know how he could keep himself together long enough to please her. A breathless moan escaped her every time the head of his cock caught her clit and she went from slowly grinding to adding more pressure in a maddening cycle that was about to become Lucien’s undoing.

“Fuck, Elain, I can’t—” he groaned and got stopped by her small hand on his neck again.

“Not yet.” She ordered without ever slowing down.

Lucien would have done just about anything to obey. He dug his nails into his left palm and lifted his other hand to her waist, caressing up and down her impossibly soft skin. His eyes remained torn between looking at the glassy look in her own or the way her tits bounced with each rock of her hips.

In the end, it was her small hand adjusting his now soaked cock at her entrance that caught his attention. Elain lowered herself slowly, little sighs of pleasure falling from her lips while Lucien struggled to keep ahold of himself at the sight of his cock disappearing in her perfect pussy. Careful up and down motions took her lower and lower, their bodies easily sliding together with how wet she was, but Elain was still struggling to take him.

Elain winced slightly. “I don’t know if I can, ah,” she had to lift herself to be able to keep breathing.

Lucien pushed on the mattress to sit up and carefully grabbed her ass to adjust their position. He bent his knees to cross his ankles, and Elain shifted to wrap her legs around him.

"There," Lucien licked a hot stripe up her neck and guided her hips down on his cock again, stopping before he accidentally went in to deep. “Do what feels good,”

This position gave her more support so she could control her movements without having to exhaust herself. Lucien leaned back on one hand and brought the other between their bodies to toy with her clit. Elain’s chest flushed a bright pink along with her cheeks, her pants were quickly muffled into a kiss and Lucien tried not to weep from the maddening tightness of her pussy on his cock.

Fucking perfect, was all Lucien could think when she let her head fall back.

“Too much,” Elain dug her teeth into her lower lip in a failed attempt to hold back a desperate whine. “I need you to, ah, please.”

The last word was his undoing. Lucien fell over the edge right along with her; he bit her shoulder with a groan as he emptied himself inside of her. Even as he panted, trying to catch his breath after his release, Lucien knew he’d been thinking of this night for the rest of his life.

With Elain still atop him, Lucien carefully licked the light marks his teeth left into her skin before moving up, nuzzling her neck briefly and catching her lips in a messy kiss. She pushed at his shoulders gently, and he lowered them back onto the mattress on their sides, carefully slipping himself out of her. They didn’t say a word for a minute—or five, Lucien wasn’t sure he could count anymore.

“Should we…” Elain broke the silence and traced a finger down his chest.

Lucien shivered and eagerly agreed, “Yes, if you give me a minute. Or five.”

She didn't, already pushing herself up on her elbow to look at him better. “Oh I have ideas on things to do while we wait.”

“Oh?”

It took both of her hands on his shoulders for Lucien to lay fully on his back and keep still to watch what she’d do next. Elain threw her leg over his body to straddle his torso and moved up, and up.

“I like where this is going,” Lucien licked his lips in anticipation.

“Open your mouth.” Elain said before her knees reached either side of his head. “Tongue,” she added once he complied.

She sat without hesitation, her pussy dripping their mixed fluids on his tongue. “That’s it,” she praised quietly when he kept still and let her grind herself on his tongue the way she wanted. “Just let me, mmh.”

Lucien was in heaven. His eyes remained wide open to stare at her, perfect and just a little bit sweaty as she took what she needed from him. His hands fit just right over her ass, supporting each roll of her hips. He had never been used like this before, but he’d let Elain do it until the day he died. Wetness covered his mouth and cheeks, slick on her inner thighs that made the filthiest wet noise against his face every time she moved.

Lucien groaned as the muscles in her legs tightened and her breathing grew more erratic. Elain was going to come on his face again, and he didn’t think his cock had ever been harder. He watched the way her skin flushed bright pink, his toes curling when she suddenly reached for his hair and tightened her fist in the red strands.

“Lucien,” she moaned his name as she moved faster, ground harder.

She came without slowing down, riding each wave of pleasure with whimpers that had Lucien’s cock twitching. He cleaned her up with his tongue, eyelids fluttering at the taste of her until she ground her hips to a halt. He almost begged her to come back when she lifted herself to slide back down his body, but she went boneless in his arms and he could do nothing but catch her.

Lucien ran his hand up and down her back soothingly while she recovered, he felt the urge to kiss her temple, too, but held himself back in fear that the gesture would be too intimate for people who barely knew each other. Then, his chest almost shook with a laugh that a kiss could be too intimate after his tongue had been in her pussy.

“You okay?” He asked softly when she moved again, her hips sliding to trap his hard cock between her soaked pussy and his stomach.

“Mmh,” she adjusted again so the head caught at her entrance and carefully slid down.

Her wince made Lucien frown. “If it’s too much we can—”

“It’s not,” Elain interrupted. “You might just need to…” Her weight shifted, and Lucien followed until he was on top of her, her sinfully perfect legs wrapped around his waist. “There.”

Her heels dug into his skin to urge his hips forward and Lucien whimpered.

He had tried not to push all the way in too fast considering how she’d struggled to take him earlier, but riding his face must have worked wonders because her pussy practically sucked him in to the hilt and Lucien lost his mind the moment his hips were against her skin. He gave her a couple of slow strokes, watching out for her reaction, but there was nothing but bliss on her face.

Lucien lost himself in her, thrusting harder, skin slapping together every time and dragging uncontrollable moans from them both. It was nothing like the calculated way he ate her out earlier, or her controlled pace on top of him, this was an animalistic craving. Their skin was slick with sweat, bodies more slippery as he grabbed one of her thighs and hiked it up higher to be able to pound into her.

Elain cried out, the new angle doing something to her that had Lucien cursing through groans. He desperately wanted to feel her come on his cock again, but he was already out of his mind with pleasure and he had no idea how much more she could take. Her cunt tightened on his cock with each thrust, so wet they had to be making a mess of her bedsheets, and Lucien’s mind immediately went to the mess he’d make inside of her when he came.

The thought was enough to make his hips stutter. His arms trembled from holding himself up and keeping up such a hard rhythm, and he focused on not crushing her so hard he didn’t even notice her get close. Elain came so hard she nearly sobbed, pussy clenching around him in a way that made it impossible for him to hold back.

Her small hands clutched Lucien’s back as he lost all control and thrust roughly for another few seconds before he spent himself inside of her with a groan. His cock twitched hard, spilling as deep inside of her as he could get in a moment so earth shattering he knew he’d never recover from her.

Their pants were out of sync, both of their breathings erratic until Lucien leaned down to kiss her again. Elain hummed against his lips softly and let him roll them over again so she was laying on top of him. She broke the kiss to rest her her cheek on his shoulder, their chests now rising and falling together.

“I’ve never, um finished just with someone in me before,” she eventually said, still breathless.

Lucien grinned at the ceiling like an idiot and tried not to let his ego inflate too much. “How was it?”

“Life altering, I think. You should try it.”

“Having someone in me?” Lucien chuckled.

Elain’s giggles were like sunshine. “I’m having a hard time thinking, but I don’t see why not if you’re up for it.” She turned to look at him and cocked her head pensively. “Are you?”

“I could be,” he admitted.

Something sparked in her eyes. “Do you want to find out?”

“Right now?” Lucien was both turned on and alarmed.

“Maybe later,” she laughed at his panic. “Or another time.”

“Another time,” he agreed, like he had never doubted for a second that he would want to see her again.

[becsabillion4]

take it out on me (carmen berzatto x reader)

so this is my first time posting a fic of mine on tumblr since i was 14 and i'm slightly terrified by the formatting but i posted this on ao3 yesterday and someone told me to post here too (<3) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoy the thought of getting pounded by carmy in the walk-in

pairing : carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary : Carmy is having a terrible service, and you're sure some time in the walk-in will help him cool off (although it gets hotter in there than you might think).

word count : 4,410

tags: SMUT, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, ending with soft carmy which makes it all okay, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and also this is NOT an advert for safe sex, it is merely a fantasy i have been playing with since my own days as a waitress and carmy has helped me to realise it. also i'm obsessed and i know y'all degenerates won't send help so instead i ask that you send me asks so i can write more about this wonderful man

Disorienting. Overwhelming. Stressful, painful, unrelenting. Burning your hand hard enough for it to stick to the pan, hard enough that you know on the way to the sink it’s too late, that you’ll bear the scar of that mistake for the rest of your life. Knives slicing always so close to your skin, living on the point of pain, focus trained so hard on the blade you can’t even blink. Shouting, screaming, the place could be on fire, and you wouldn’t look up from the art you’re creating. Flames licking at your apron. Beautiful.

Kitchens are the prison and the heart of a chef, and the one at The Bear is currently the pride and the bane of your life. Plating up your one billionth focaccia of the evening as Marcus rushes by holding a tray of cannolis aloft, you try to tune out Sydney shouting instructions to the new servers, trying to drill something, anything, into their panicked, under-developed skulls. 

But none of this worries you. What worries you is the ominous, creeping silence from the station to your right, where you know Carmy is cooking up not only the best food you’ve ever tasted, but an internal storm that is going to be unleashed any, second, now-

“Chefs! Where the fuck is my garnish? Tina, are you dead? ‘Cos you need to wake the fuck back up.”

Tina is already by Carmy’s side with the garnish, but the damage is done. She doesn’t bristle at his words, but shoots you a worried look as she slides by, murmuring, “Sorry, Chefs. Behind.”

Since you started working at The Bear six months back, you’ve witnessed a rare few Carmy outbursts, and you know everyone feels the same way when they happen. It’s like the moment you miss a step on familiar stairs, stomach lurching and fear sweeping through your body. Carmy is this kitchen, and his boiling point is the moment things tend to spin out of control. 

And yet, Tina’s reaction is everyone’s; disappointment in herself, instant forgiveness because she knows Carmy is doing everything he can for this team. Last week, after you and Sydney spent the evening getting wasted on her couch, she’d confessed to you how hard Carmy took his notorious opening night failure, and how he’s been struggling to make up for it since then. And it’s been working; his kindness, patience, and passion for elevating those around him have always outshone the occasional harsh word during service.

But this service is just bad. It’s been bad since 5AM, when you got here to take in the delivery and found out that the grapes needed for the welcome broth had somehow been left off of the order. It’s been bad since Marcus ruined three batches of cannolis in a row, and when Sydney tried to touch his shoulder and ask him what was going on, he stormed out. Since Sydney snapped at Richie for singing Taylor Swift badly during family. The hundred little underlying frissons of tension that normally dissipate as soon as service rolls around have congealed today, like oil in balsamic vinegar, rubbing together but refusing to meld into the team you know everyone can be.

And you know Carmy can feel it. His anger is a physical thing beside you, like standing next to a hot pan with too much oil in it and just waiting for it to start spitting at you. Knowing you have to keep stirring it anyway.

“Four top, two steak, one bucatini, one fish,” Sydney rattles off, and everyone responds “Yes, Chef!” a little too loud.

“Can I get some hands for this focaccia,” you shout through the din, pushing the two boards forward, but nobody responds. “Hands, please, get these off my station before I eat ‘em!” you call, trying to bring some levity to the atmosphere before-

“Hands, fuckin’ hands, Chefs, FUCK!” Carmy explodes, appearing by your side so suddenly you almost jump. His hands hover over the foccacia boards like he wants to adjust something on them, fix something, but you know as well as he does that they’re perfect already.

And of course, this just makes things worse.

Carmy properly looks up for the first time, straightening out of the “chef about to have an aneurysm over plating this fish” posture and into his “everyone here is about to get fucked” pose. “These are good to go, why are we not? Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Go fuck yourselves-” one of the new waitresses approaches with trembling hands and Carmy pushes the boards at her, disgusted, almost taking them over the edge of the pass, “-all of you, what is the point of any of us being here if nothing is leaving the fucking kitchen!”

“Carm, it’s okay, they’re going out,” you can’t help cutting in, but you should know better than to try to soothe a wild animal. Carmy doesn’t say anything, turns back to plating up his fish, but his beautiful artist’s hands, which you often find yourself trying to draw in the margins of inventory checks, are shaking now. You’ve never seen him this bad. The whole kitchen waits on a knife edge. You glance up, watching the waitress leave with your focaccia, and have a brief but fervent desire to be her as the doors swing her out of this hellhole.

The fish is beautiful as Carmy puts the finishing touches to it. A server steps up to take it as other dishes for the same table coalesce at the front of stations, all elegant, all perfect, all more than worthy of the restaurant’s Michelin star.

Carmy is completely still. Staring. And you know it’s too late.

Plunging his fist down, he crushes the fish into sea-scented pulp. The shells of oysters, hand-selected, crack into broken-mirror shards; the sauce is peppered with shoddy scraps of lobster tail.

It’s still not enough for Carmy, as he picks up the plate and sends it spinning into the back wall, narrowly missing Sweeps’ head. “ Shit, ” Carmy mutters, turning back to his station and searching for more things to destroy. You watch him contemplate the knives, and you can’t stay out of it any longer.

“Carmy. Chef. Carmy,” you say as you reach out to grab his muscled arm, pulling him round to face you. You can feel the tension corded deep under his skin, see the sheen of sweat coating his tattoos. Normally, any skin contact with him sends your brain into overdrive, but you can’t afford to be anything but calm right now.

His eyes are wild, but you watch him steadily, and he watches you straight back. You’re not sure why, but the moment reminds you of how you felt on those rare occasions he invited you and Syd over to brainstorm new recipes in his cramped kitchen. Especially that time Sydney couldn’t make it, and you were midway through describing your idea for a yuzu-infused scallops course to him - “with maybe, like, a garnish of broccoli just absolutely smothered in hollandaise” - when he reached forward, tucked a scrap of hair behind your ear, and the very idea of food whisked straight out of your head - but you still felt hungry. And whilst he’d tried out your broccoli idea over and over again that night, you found yourself blushing every time he passed you a spoon to taste it. 

You never could get that dish right. Every time you thought about it, you couldn’t separate the flavours from the curious look in his eyes, the way he drank in your ideas, absorbed them before he responded, how his eyes tracked every thought that crossed your face.

Now here you are again, staring at that measured, thoughtful man turned savage, and you wonder if you have the guts to do what you’ve been thinking about doing for a while.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur beneath the clatter of plates behind you, just for him. You don’t look away even when you hear something shatter. You move your hand from his arm, up over his shoulder, push your palm into the curve of his neck and hold it there. 

Then you wait, feel his shoulders jumping up and down with his rapid breathing. Wait until he leans into it a little, chasing your solidity, and it’s all the response you need.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Sydney, you got this?” You ask, never taking your eyes from Carmy’s face, worried that if you do, you’ll lose whatever grip you have on him right now.

“Yes, Chef,” she replies, and you feel her edge round the side of Carmy to put another fish on rapid fire. He catches her eye as she passes, and brings his hand up to his chest, rubbing it once in what has become the team’s official way to apologise during service. She responds in kind, and he lets you drag him off the station, past the others shooting him worried looks, straight into the walk-in.

You shut the door carefully, recalling the stories of Carmy’s previous imprisonment. It’s still securely closed, giving you both some calm and privacy to cool off.

Except cooling off is not really what you have in mind.

You turn to see Carmy slumped in the corner, curled in on himself and running his hands through his already-chaotic hair. He stands again suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall behind him as if to remind himself they exist.

“Carmy.”

“Yeah, shit. Sorry, I just need a second. It’s just, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was thinking about doing something with ceviche, but I couldn’t figure out what fish would work best, and then that sorta spiralled into a panic attack which kept me up whisking eggs for something until three, and then-” You watch his eyes darting over the shelves around him as he talks, and you realise he’s taking stock of what’s there. Even during a full-blown meltdown, he cannot stop working, stop thinking. He starts pacing.

“Carmy,” you say again as you try to catch his eye. He’s staring at some spare T-bones like they’ll explain to him whatever dish he was whisking eggs for last night. Fuck it. You grab his chin, tilt it until he has to look at you.

“D’you know the best way to calm down?”

“Lock yourself in the walk-in for three hours?” He’s trying to relieve some tension, but you have other ideas on how to handle that.

“Sex, Carmy.”

There. You’re terrified that you finally acknowledged it, finally confessed to what you’ve been thinking about for months, but thank God it’s out in the open. You’ve been blushing at his compliments on your food for far too long, ignoring how good he looks in a white tee for even longer. And today has been such a shitshow it can’t possibly get any worse by admitting to this too.

You wait for Carmy to shut it down, laugh it off, maybe even fire you, but he just looks shellshocked. Then again, that is his default look.

“I, um…” He rubs a hand over his forehead, glances up at you almost shyly. “I mean, um. What?”

“Listen, you’re fucking up service. You’re distracted, tired, stressed beyond belief. I want to help you, and I won’t pretend it’s just out of the goodness of my own heart. I’ve been interested in you for a while, Carmy. You can take that or leave it or kick me out of this walk-in if you want, but I’m here. I want to help you work through things, through all this anger. And…I want you to know you can take it out on me. And maybe even feel better at the same time.”

Carmy is flushed, and you’re all out of words. You kind of wish he was still looking at the T-bones.

“We, uh, we can’t.” Carmy leans back on a freezer for support, crossing his arms in a pose you normally associate with him working something out in his head, deciding what a dish is missing or what it needs to take it up a notch. “I mean, not now. Not here, at least. And I don’t know, we work together. I’m your boss. It’s not a good idea.” He reaches a hand round to his back, starts massaging the strain away there. It’s an especially effective position as he doesn’t have to look at you as he does it, as he says, “Sorry.”

You shrug a little, smile. Try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Keep it professional, or as professional as you can get in a kitchen. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Get some sleep, Chef.”

You turn to go, hoping that stirring and slicing and plating up will shake off the embarrassment currently burning through to your bones.

But you don’t live to regret the offer as Carmy grabs your arm, spins you and shoves you hard enough into the walk-in door that it rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, everything okay in there Chefs?” you hear Marcus call, and it’s a reality check you absolutely don’t want right now. Carmy doesn’t even seem to have heard him, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, shoulder as your body arches into the feeling. You’ve had one too many fantasies about this walk-in since you started, but the actual feeling doesn’t begin to touch the dream.

“Yeah, all good Chef!” You manage to reply, but you barely get the ‘Chef’ out before Carmy’s lips slide over yours, pushing, demanding entry as his body keeps you pressed up against the door. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, is all you have time to think between kisses.

There is no room or time for playing around. Carmy needs this, and you intend to provide, but you’re damn sure getting everything you can out of it just in case it never happens again. One of your hands curls deep into his hair, pulling his head back as your teeth click together in the ferocity of the kiss. You swear you can taste blood, but neither one of you pulls back, the saltiness only urging you on. Your other hand is busy loosening his belt, and you tug it hard to pull the silver prong free of the leather, hard enough that his hips jerk forward into yours and you moan, long and low.

Gravity suddenly spins on its axis as Carmy lifts you, turns and drops you down onto the freezer Fak installed last week. And for once in your life, thank you, Fak. The movement seems to shake Carmy out of it for a second, and he pulls back, hesitates. A hand curves around your cheek, and you can feel an apology coming, see the reticence forming in his eyes. And honestly, fuck that.

You hook fingers through his belt loops, dragging him closer and then using them to tug his trousers down. You’re not gentle as you reach into his underwear, wrap a hand around his cock, and you can tell that’s what he needs as he hisses, his head drifting back.

Removing his hand from your cheek, you guide it slowly down to your neck. His head snaps up, and there’s a darkness, a need, that wasn’t there before as you move your hand slowly, torturously, down his length.

“Hey,” you whisper, reluctant to interrupt the low grunts spilling from him with each of your movements. “I’m not going to break.”

You squeeze his fingers around your throat a little tighter, and it’s this that has him surging forward, messy mouths pressing together again and everything condensing into a rippling, burning, rightness as the fingers of his other hand shove themselves between your legs.

He lingers there for a moment, breaths short and sharp in your ear as he breaks free from your kiss and whispers, “If we had more time, I would clean up the mess you’re making all over my freezer, Chef.”

“My apologies, Chef,” you pant, the sweetness of the apology marred slightly by your fingers tugging hard through his curls. Then you’re pushing up his white shirt at the back, reveling in the heat of him, the muscles straining under your touch. “What’s my punishment?”

Carmy hesitates, then withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and it feels like the calm before the storm. One hand is still pressed loosely around your neck as he brings the other up to your face, runs the edge of his still-wet fingers over your lips. Asking or demanding, you don’t know, but you’re happy to comply. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue behind them, and when you slide your mouth over his fingers, taste yourself on him, he closes them in momentary bliss. And it’s so beautiful to see that you can’t resist pulling him in to share.

A Michelin-star chef with one of the most sophisticated palates on the planet. A renowned food critic once wrote of him, “In my next life, I’d like to be just one of the taste buds in Carmen Berzatto’s mouth.” And here he is, savouring you, tongue searching out every corner of your mouth as if he wants to figure out each and every component of your taste. Add the recipe of you to his menu, and make it every night.

You’re both done waiting, and the clock is ticking. You can faintly hear Sydney calling orders through the wall, although she sounds steadier now. You don’t know whether anyone out there knows what you’re doing, but a rampaging elephant couldn’t stop Sydney when she’s on a roll.

Carmy pulls you closer to the freezer’s edge, jeans and underwear falling to his ankles and suddenly he is right there, and-

“Oh, fuck,” is all you can say as he pushes forward in one swift, animal movement. And oh, pain flickers down your spine as he slides almost free of you and thrusts back, relentless, and this is exactly what you signed up for.

“ Fuck ,” he echoes, hand sliding down your neck to settle over your racing heart. “Fuck, you…I don’t know how you do this to me,” he pants, and you try to keep your moaning down so you can hear as words spill from him, “When you come in with your hair down before a shift, when you - ah - when you borrow my knife and I see you using it all service, when you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. Shit. You drive me crazy on purpose, and you wanna know what the worst part is?”

You can’t breathe, let alone answer him.

“The worst part is I eat that shit up every time, ” he snarls, punctuating every word with a short, sharp thrust.

This is the animal you saw tonight, spitting curses, destroying his own food, all sharp edges and uncompromising will. Grunting as he bottoms out inside you, fingers clenched around your upper thigh hard enough to bruise, littering bites over your neck as if your colleagues aren’t an unlocked door away.

But the animal isn’t the end of Carmen Berzatto. There is more to him than the bear, and you intend to remind him of that before you’re through.

“Look around you,” you pant as he thrusts again, harder, sweeter, and you have to get this out before you tip over the edge. So you risk bringing the hand you were using to support yourself forward to turn his chin towards the walk-in’s walls, to beyond them, to the restaurant hard at work and the satisfied diners metres away who have no idea what’s going on in here, and fuck if that doesn’t make it all the more delicious. “Look what you made. Look who you are.” You watch his flushed face, hope he understands the praise, but you can’t hold on anymore to see your words land.

“You’re fuckin’ unbelievable, Carmy,” is all you manage to choke out as every muscle in your body lights up, tenses and releases in a flood so strong you wonder if you’ll ever surface, and if you even want to.

Carmy fucks forward into you twice more, and his head drops onto your shoulder as he groans, shudders, relaxes fully for what may be the first time in his life.

You stroke a hand over his head, pull him closer. You’re not quite sure when this stopped being a no-holds-barred quickie and became a quiet, intense embrace, but it feels right. All the desperation, the keyed-up energy, is gone from him. And if he never wants anything more than that, even though the idea is more than a little disappointing, you can take consolation from the fact that you at least managed to stop a raging Carmy in his tracks.

Although it is a little quiet.

“Carmy?” You ask, hesitant to break the silence. Thankfully, it still sounds like it’s all bustle outside. You wonder how long you’ve been in here, and try not to think about how you’re going to emerge with any shred of dignity intact.

Carmy pulls back, and you can’t define the look on his face, but it worries you. His eyes shine slightly, and his gaze skips across your face, down your body, not holding your stare.

“Are you okay?” You ask, praying this isn’t about to get really awkward really quick. The man’s still inside you, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. I, um, I should be asking you that.” Carmy’s hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing in randomly as if to check for bruises. He tilts his head to look under your chin, as if to check he hasn’t caused any permanent damage to your neck. “Jesus. Are you alright? I’m sorry, that was rough.”

“I’m totally fine.” You don’t know what to do to reassure him, so opt for two big thumbs up. “See? Voice working and everything.”

Carmy chuckles unevenly, takes a careful step back, and you try not to consider how empty you feel and how cold and slippery the freezer now is underneath you. You hop off, catching yourself on the side when you realise just how shaky your legs are. When you glance up at Carmy, he’s just staring at you, which is, frankly, unnerving.

“Do I look that bad?” you ask, pulling your hair out of what’s left of a ponytail to start again.

“No. No, I’m just…I’m just taking you in.” The raw honesty in his eyes pins you in place for a moment. But of course, Richie shouts “ Cousin!” before you can read into it too much.

There is a moment of panicked dressing and clean-up, a nod to each other to confirm you both look relatively sane and not totally fucked (even though you doubt it), and then a collective deep breath as you push open the door of the walk-in.

You don’t catch anyone’s eye for a second as you head to your station, Carmy’s presence like an open flame behind you.

“Corner. Corner. Behind, sorry Chefs,” you call as you slide back into place. Two quick glances calm you; one at the clock - seventeen minutes - and one at Sydney, who doesn’t look like she’s about to throw up and only has three tickets in front of her. You spare a final one for Fak in his position by the door, who you are positive would be grinning gleefully if he, or anyone else in the kitchen, knew what just went down in the walk-in.

“What do you need, Syd?” you ask, picking up the familiar back-and-forth of the kitchen again with some relief.

Carmy is quiet, focused, for the last half hour of service, but you can’t keep your mind clear. As soon as last orders are sent out, you slink to the back for a cigarette, hoping the smoke will at least wipe out your brain fog. It does the exact opposite. When you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. You exhale, waving the smoke away as the words churn through your brain. I eat that shit up every time.

“Hey,” you hear, and you’re almost thankful to speak to the real him just to distract yourself from thinking about earlier.

“Hey.” You offer him a smoke, and he takes it, sinking onto the step next to you. The brush of his leg against yours is a lot more comforting than you expect it to be, relaxing a secretly worried part of you.

He takes a long drag, the kind of drag you only take when it’s been a shitshow of a day. “I just want to say I’m-”

“Sorry? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen again,” you finish for him. It hurts less that way.

“What? No.” He looks at you until you reluctantly meet his gaze. “Not for that. I’m not sorry about that.” He lets that hang there for a second, holds your eye. “But I’m sorry for losing my shit earlier. Nobody deserves to be around that, and…I want you to know I’m working on it. I wanna be…I wanna be good at this.” It’s a stilted apology as he thinks through every line, and it feels all the more sincere for it.

“That’s okay. I know. We all know.” You reach a hand out to touch his arm, and after a second, he lowers his head to rest on his knee, although his face is still turned towards you. You see his eyes flicker from your hand on his arm to your face.

“Although that wasn’t exactly how I expected that to go by the way,” he says after a moment.

You don’t try to pretend you don’t know what he’s referring to. “What, in the walk-in?”

“Oh, no, I’ve thought about it in the walk-in.” You ignore a pulse of feeling at his casual confession, at the idea that he’s thought about you. “I just didn’t imagine it so…heated, I guess.” Carmy raises his head again, traces a finger along your hand where it rests on his arm until you shiver. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

You hesitate for a second before replying. Before extending the branch. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be other times, Chef.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to watch his thoughts flickering there, watch as the fog clears, the idea forms, and he says, “Yeah. Next time.”

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

wow guys thank you for reading i pray through the act of writing this that my jeremy allen white obsession will calm the fuck down, but i fear i've made it worse

if you'd like to keep up with me on ao3, you can find me here and please do send me any comments or feedback or prompt ideas, i would love to hear them <33 thank you!!

[iced-coffee-jesus]

Buddie prompt: Buck helps chaperone one of Christopher’s dates (like instead of Marisol in 7x01). Realizations are had - maybe they get blindsided because the kid assumes Buck is the cool stepdad or something?

I'm so sorry that this took a week @linus-lucy ! And what a week it's been too! This fic got a little away from at the end and definitely leans a little on the crack side, but I hope you enjoy it!

“And here is your popcorn, good sir.” Buck bowed, placing the popcorn on the coffee table in front of Christopher and Penny. “We have an excellent selection of grape or orange soda, what would the lady prefer?”

Penny laughed, while Chris looked at him with eyes that were just begging him to leave them alone already. “Grape, please Mr. Diaz.”

“He’s Mr. Diaz, you may call me Buck. Grape soda, coming right up.” He said with an air of formality, turning back to the kitchen to grab the soda before joining Eddie on the other couch. Chris hit play on the movie, an Assassin’s Creed film whose plot Buck was unable to follow. Eddie elbowed him fifteen minutes into the movie, nodding his head towards where Penny’s hand laid on Chris’s arm. Buck rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around Eddie in an attempt to bring his attention back to whatever was happening on screen.

“Calm down.” Buck murmured, leaning in a little closer so he wouldn’t get hushed by the teens on the other couch.

“We should have let them watch it by themselves, this is too awkward.” Eddie hissed back, catching side-eye from Christopher at the sound.

“This is too awkward? How did you handle giving him The Talk?”

“Dad.” Chris sighed, his full attention on them now. “Don’t you and Buck still have that paperwork to fill out?”

“Paperwork?” Penny asked, pausing the movie. Buck suppressed an eye roll, already knowing it was a losing cause to fight either Diaz on this.

“Yes! We do actually, firefighter paperwork, gotta get it finished by tomorrow. Come on, Buck.” He choked on a laugh as Eddie practically dragged him off the couch and into the kitchen. “Don’t wait for us, go ahead and finish the movie!”

“Smooth, Eddie, smooth. Almost as smooth as Chris’s ‘paperwork’ excuse.”

“I don’t care, there’s no way we were sitting through another hour and forty-five minutes of that.” Eddie derided, going to a cupboard and sifting through it before pulling out vanilla, baking powder, and salt.

“What happened to chaperoning?” he laughed, seeing where this was going and pulling out the chocolate chips and eggs from the fridge.

“We’re twenty feet away, you’re gonna poke your head in there every fifteen minutes and ensure nothing inappropriate is going on.”

“Me? Why not you?”

Eddie shrugged, digging out a mixing bowl from a different cupboard. “I don’t know, I chose at random and you were randomly assigned.”

Buck grinned, hip-checking him out of the way to start measuring ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. “Coward.”

Eddie merely hummed in response.

True to his word, Eddie kept aggressively nodding at the entryway to the living room every fifteen minutes or so, silently begging Buck to check on the situation, which he did dutifully.

The cookies had been out of the oven for a few minutes now, and Buck was torn on whether or not to interrupt the teens for some warm cookies or not.

He shouldn’t have worried, the credits were rolling and Chris and Penny were still sitting on the couch, a respectable distance from one another.

“Hey, Penny, your mom said she is gonna be here in about ten minutes. Do you guys want to eat some cookies we made while they’re still warm?”

“Dad let you use the stand mixer after everything that happened last saturday?” Chris quipped, following behind him into the kitchen.

“I did not.” Eddie smirked, glancing up at the ceiling before handing over the plate of cookies to Penny’s waiting hands. “Our ceiling will never recover from the muffin batter as it is.”

“See if I ever make muffins ever again. Do you see what I put up with, Penny?” Buck shook his head in mock pity as he stole a cookie from the plate. “The disrespect.”

“Buck, why would you pull up the mixer while it was still on?” Chris giggled.

“I wish my step-dad baked, my mom isn’t the best in the kitchen.”

“Neither is dad. I mean, he’s better than he used to be, but I’m still thankful that Buck cooks dinner most nights... No offense dad.”

“None taken.” Eddie mused quietly, eyeing Buck over the tops of their heads. Buck just shrugged, unsure what the look was for. 

“Well, you’re lucky you have two parents that can cook. We eat a lot of takeout at my house.” Just then, there was a knock on the door.

“Must be my mom. Thank you for having me Mr. and Mr. Diaz.”

Oh. That was when it clicked for Buck. Penny thought- 

“It was our pleasure. Chris, would you like to walk her out?”

Chris nodded, charging for the door before Eddie could take it back. Penny smiled and waved as she followed behind him.

“Now, see? That wasn’t so bad.”

Buck’s head snapped to Eddie, casually wiping down the counters. “Really? Mr. Let's-make-cookies-and-avoid-the-teens-at-all-cost?”

Eddie grinned impishly at him from across the counter. “I don’t know, doesn’t that also make you Mr. Let’s-make-cookies-and-”

“Stop, I heard it the first time. Did… did Chris tell her we were married? What was the deal with that?”

“No, c’mon, Chris wouldn’t do that. I think that was just the natural conclusion to come to.”

Buck’s face warmed at the comment. “Really? Mr. and Mr Diaz is just a foregone conclusion here?” He teased.

Eddie walked around the counter and stopped a few feet short of Buck. “Yeah. I think so, don’t you?”

Buck felt like all the air just got sucked from the room. “Eddie…”

A faint blush was rising on Eddie’s cheeks, but he barreled on. “I mean, let’s be honest here Buck, it’ll be a lot easier for you to change your name than for both me and Chris to switch to Buckley. We could always do Buckley-Diaz, but I kind of figured you wouldn’t mind dropping your parents-”

Buck didn’t let him finish, surging forward to claim Eddie’s mouth in a kiss, curling a hand around his waist to pull him flush against him. “You’re insane, you know that?” He breathed, pulling away just enough to rest their heads together.

“Hmmhmm.” Eddie quipped, a bright grin breaking out on his face.

“Hadn’t even kissed yet, and you’re already picking out china and monogrammed towels.”

“I don’t think we’re monogrammed towel people, Buck.” Eddie sighed, leaning in happily to steal another kiss or two.

“What type of people are we, Eddie?”

“Hopefully the type to get engaged before they’ve had a real first date?” 

Buck laughed as Eddie kissed him again, too filled with love to care about the insanity of it all.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

[baby-stay92]

Love At First Sight - Part 2

Pairing: Idol!Han x Fem!STAY Reader

FLUFF

Warnings: Anxiety

WD: 1.637

Credit: baby-stay92

Part 1 can be found >here<

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been 12 hours since Han had arrived back at the dorms, and besides the time he spent on sleeping, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the girl from last night. He was currently seated at a long table along with his brothers in arms, eating breakfast. Han was sitting between Minnie and Jinnie, with his head resting in one hand and feeding himself some grapes with the other. He couldn’t stop thinking about thinking about her, causing him to completely zone out and not pay attention to the boys talking around him. It wasn’t till someone very suddenly stood up and bumped the table that he snapped back to reality. It was Binnie who had stood up out of nowhere with his phone in hand. “What the hell?!” Minho shouted out in shock, as he nearly choked on his breakfast.

“HAN! You need to see this!” Binnie said, ignoring Minhos words as he walked around the table to where Han was sitting. Binnie nearly shoved his phone into Han’s face, it was so close to Han’s face that he had to push Binnie's arm away from his face in order to see the screen.

“Oh my god!” Han exclaimed and grabbed the phone from Binnie's hand. “IT’S HER?!” he said and quickly whipped his own phone to go find her on Instagram.

“Damn, she’s cute, Han!” Binnie said once Han was done with his phone. “She has some nice pictures on here.” He added walking back to his seat.

“Hands off!” Han said rather aggressively as he quickly left the table to go to his room. Once inside, he closed the door and threw himself on his bed and quickly opened up instagram again, still on her profile. He anxiously pressed the ‘follow’ button, liked the picture of him and anxiously went to send her a DM. He stared at the screen for a while trying to think of what to write but after a while he decided to go with something simple.

“Hi you. I know that this is really random BUT I just wanted to say hi after I saw you at the concert last night.” He read the message through a few times before finally deciding to press send. He quickly closed down the app and tossed the phone down on the bed, anxiety hitting him hard. He had no idea how long he had been laying there, frozen by fear when suddenly he heard a notification sound. He ripped his phone from the sheets and checked it instantly. It was instagram - she had answered him.

“Omg hi! I never imagined that you, of all people, would DM me! But I’m so glad and honoured you did!” The message read and Han felt a huge smile spread across his face as he read the message over and over again before finally answering her back.

“The honour is all mine lol! I hope you enjoyed the concert!” He typed quickly and once again he put the phone down next to him, waiting impatiently whilst trying to calm his anxiety. She answered again and for the next hour or so they messaged back and forth to a point where they ended up exchanging phone numbers. Han had no sense of the time as he was now laying on his stomach, phone in hand, still messaging her. He nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in” he called out and set up to face the door. Channie came in smiling.

“So? What’s going on?” Channie chimed as he sat down on Hans bed, a smile never leaving his face.

“It’s going well, I think. We’ve been talking all this time and we’ve now exchanged phone numbers.” Han said, looking down at the bedsheets, talking in a quiet voice.

“No way! That’s amazing!” Chan smiled even broader, if that was even possible and hugged Hannie tight.

“Y-you really think so? I was afraid you’d tell me it was a bad idea, and that I had to cut all contact or something crazy like that.” Han smiled back, once he had been released from Channie's big hug.

“What! No way! I think it’s wonderful that you managed to find your mystery girl! So, what’s her name?” Chan asked, clearly happy on Han’s behalf.

“Yeah her name is L/n Y/n” Han smiled, “she’s the same age as me and her birthday is July 28th - oh and she confessed to me that I’m her bias” Han rambled, never stopping smiling. 

“Wow, you’ve already learned a lot about her, huh?” Chan laughed lightly. “I guess the next step could be for you to ask her out?” He added, seeing how his word made Hannie turn white as a ghost.

“W-what…?” Han said weakly, his anxiety blooming once again.

“Hey, hey! Calm down” Chan smiled softly and put a hand on Han’s knee “It was merely a suggestion. You can wait if you feel it’s best.” He reassured the anxious Han in front of him.

“Can you maybe help me put it in writing?” Han asked sheepishly, not meeting Chan's gaze.

“Sure thing!” Chan smiled and grabbed Han’s phone, where he typed a message for Y/n. Before sending it, he showed Han the message for approval which Han gave by nodding. Chan sent the message and gave Hannie the phone back.

“Now, remember that you can always come to me if you need to talk okay?” Chan said softly, standing from the bed and making his way to the door.

“I know, Channie, thank you for.” Han said, smiling softly at Chan as he closed the door, leaving Han alone again. Not long after Han’s phone went off, indicating that Y/n had answered. He paused a moment before looking at the screen, a smile growing on his face as he read the message. Y/n had agreed to go on a date with him the very next day. Han smiled from ear to ear as he quickly messaged her back, confirming the time and place. That night Han barely slept due to a mix of late night messaging and anxiety. It had been years since he had last been on a date, and he was innerly scared he’d screw it up, like badly. 

The next morning Han got dressed, a huge smile never leaving his face. He had called innie to help put together a good outfit for a coffee date and a walk around the nearby park. Innie easily picked out some simple black ripped jeans, some read sneakers to match the red hoodie he had picked first. Han was sitting on his bed, waiting for Innie to give him the clothes so he could get dressed. Half an hour later, Han was dressed, combed and had his teeth brushed, all ready for him to meet up with Y/n. He walked down the street, phone in hand, listening to music as he made his way to the cosy little coffee shop that you had suggested. He entered through the front door as he took out his earpods and looked around for Y/n, he finally saw standing by one of the windows waiting. She was wearing knee long white socks, a small pastel-purple skirt, a white slightly cropped top and the very same platform boots that she had worn to the concert. Her hair hung loosely around her gorgeous face, which she had added some light everyday makeup to.

“Hi!” Han smiled once he had walked closer to her.

“Hi yourself.” She smiled and pulled him into a hug and before he could even think, he found himself hugging her back. Her hair smelled amazingly of strawberries which mixed with her flowery perfume in his nose.

“You wanna order? My treat.” He smiled after the hug had ended.

“Yeah, that’d be great - thank you Hannie” She smiled back at him before following him to the counter. Hearing her already calling him Hannie, made him smile even more, and he swore that his heart skipped a beat. After having received their coffees, they left the shop together making their way to the park. Along the way they talked about anything, everything and nothing. She asked into his line of work and he returned the favour, making him learn that she was part of a local dance crew. She told him about some of the shows she had been part of and how she had even been part of a few flash mobs. He listened happily to her talk about her passion and Y/n clearly did the same when talked about concerts, recording sessions and his relationship to the rest of Stray Kids. They walked around the park for hours, sitting down on a few benches along the way. At the end of their date Han walked Y/n to the subway, where he waited with her for the train that would take her home.

“Thank you so much for an amazing afternoon.” Y/n smiled at Han holding her hands in front of her.

“It was my pleasure!” Han smiled back and found himself wanting to kiss her - badly. But before he could do anything, her train arrived. He turned his head towards the train and his eyes went wide as he felt her lips on his cheek.

“Let’s do this again!” She mused as she ran off to enter the train.

“Yeah, let’s!” He called after her. Once Y/n was inside the train she turned around to face him and Han quickly blew her a kiss in return to the one she had planted on his cheek. The train doors closed and the train drove off, leaving Hannie standing there for a few minutes before he started walking back to the dorms.

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[lowkeyrobin]

hiii so im very sick right now (allergies💔), so could you maybe do like mcyt comforting/taking care of a sick reader? thank youu -🦢

omg sameeeee eugh ; but yeah, thanks for requesting! ; hope you feel better 🦢 🫶❤️ ; cast is short bc I didn't have anymore ideas lmfaooo

MCYT ; sickly

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, & maxggs

warnings ; language, mentions of throwing up, allergies/flu/fever symptoms

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

giving you lots and lots of soup / tea & honey

he does not give two shits if he gets sick, he will be giving you love and affection

he's making sure there's a trash bin / large bowl at your disposal for any... bodily fluids /ns

he has to go get you more tissues and literally spends 15 minutes in the store debating which ones you'd want

he can't even ask cause you're asleep for once and doesn't wanna disturb you

"i got four flavors of throat lozenges because i dunno what you like"

runs you a warm bath every day you're sick

you're basically quarentining together let's be honest

2020core!-

RANBOO

again, a sweetheart

they're not getting within a 6 foot radius of you cause they don't wanna catch anything from you

"its allergies, I'm not contagious"

"you don't know that"

buys the entire pharmacy for you

straight up calls his mom because he doesn't know what to get you

in their defense, what's the difference??

makes you watch asmr videos when you're dealing with headaches cause your sinuses are fucked

they're actually really entertaining

there's a whole rainbow of medicines so they organize it in rainbow order while you're asleep

FREDDIE BADLINU

there's now a whole row of soup in your pantry

literally the only liquids you're drinking for a week are water and tea 😭

there is no shame in this game, he couldn't care less if you throw up cause like, you're sick, why would he judge?

always making jokes/saying dumb shit to make you laugh

but then you start coughing and choking on mucus and then he feels awful

tweets that your "cough sounds like a dying squirrel" 💀

not afraid to cuddle with you or anything once he realizes you aren't contagious/ remembers he has a good immune system

(he ends up sick as well)

might as well be March 2020 again cause the amount of wet wipes he has laying around is wild like calm down

MAXGGS

feels so bad that you're sick

he was blowing pollen in your face so he feels like he's to blame (it's just the seasons changing)

he'll make fun of you plenty tho

so many sick selfies 💀

"which flavor do you prefer? cherry or grape?"

"neither tbh"

"cherry it is then"

"just take a throat lozenge"

"I'd rather die"

if your hair is long enough, he's holding it back when you're throwing up

lots of just trying to physically make you feel better

and lots of joking and watching funny shit on YouTube