#I’ll write a proper summary once I think of one

[bedofthistles]

Lion De Noir

The Secret of Moonacre / Merrynoir

Black as night, and quiet as death, the De Noir clan lived perfectly content. Perhaps the villain in many a tale, and never the hero, Robin De Noir learned to accept his fate as black hearted. And while he failed to meet his father's expectation's many times over, he knew his betrayal would have him banished for evermore.

From that moment on, he was no longer the Coeur De Noir’s fool of a son, but the Lionhearted Guardian of the Moon Princess. Who, at the 5000th Moon, broke the curse over the valley, reunited the two families, and ushered in a new era of magic.

However, the tales of Moonacre never end and a new page is turned; boys grow into men, hardened hearts soften, and all will learn of a rising calamity that comes with the dawn. There cannot be light without dark, love without hate, good without evil; balance and harmony must be maintained.

May the Moon shine as bright as the night is dark, and may the Sun continuously bathe her in his warm glow; thus begins the next chapter of The Ancient Chronicles of Moonacre Valley.

Part One: Red

Passion of passions

Of pride, devotion and love.

Of the strength that resides in all of men’s spirits

Of the lion’s eye and beating heart;

Red to represent life.

Devotion | Life | Family

Part Two: Black

Mystery of mysteries

Of power, authority and prestige.

Of the evil that resides in all men’s minds.

Of the moonless night and graveyard dirt;

Black to represent death.

Darkness | Death | Power

Part Three: White

Purity of purities

Of perfection, balance and innocence.

Of the light that resides in all men’s hearts.

The perfect moon and her sea pearls;

White to represent hope.

Moonlight | Hope | Purity

Part Four: Lionheart

De fierté, de puissance, et de perfection

De ceux ordonnés garder la vallée

Les mal famés et Cœur de lion

Le Clan De Noir

Spirit | Mind | Heart I | Heart II | Epilogue

[shouyuus]

─── ハイキュー!! INSATIABLE

kenma, tsukki, kageyama, hinata; 2,472 words; smut and fluff, porn w/out plot, oral (fem!receiving), oral (male!recieving), throatfucking, multiple orgasms, tipsy!sex, fingerfucking, cumming inside, cowgirl, morning sex, almost cockwarming, needy!kenma, meanie!tsukki, wine drunk!tobio, and truly insatiable!hinata

summary: they always want more, more, more.

a/n: rmbr when i used to write mostly fluff and plot? yeah. me too. this, sadly, is not one of those instances. i guess in the spirit of kinktober... hooray?

─── 研磨 KENMA

it is never enough — even though at first glance, you wouldn’t think of kenma as the kind of person to be so needy. but something about you sets him off — something about the way you fist your fingers in his hair, or the way your voice always hitches over the syllables of his name —

“ken — ma — ah - hah…”

“mm? wh-what is it?”

he licks his lips, reveling in the tang of your juices currently coating his tongue, his darkened eyes flickering over the length of your body; there’s sweat beading at his temples, but years of being in sports has desensitized him ever so slightly to the sticky discomfort. and plus, this is exactly the kind of strenuous activity he doesn’t mind participating in once in a while.

you squeeze your eyes shut, the strain in the backs of your thighs burning as he casually presses you knees back and back and back, dipping down to lick at your sopping cunt.

"ken - ma — ngh!” you ruck up against his mouth, only for him to grin and pull back, wiping a hand along his lips to gather the slick.

“think you can come again for me?”

you whine, peering up at him through damp lashes, your body still buzzing with the remnants of the last two (or was it three?) orgasms he’d pulled out of you just with his fingers and mouth. your mind fizzles white at the edges, your thoughts disjointed and static.

“wanna — want your cock kenma —”

“mm,” he hums, pressing a soft, placating kiss to your knee as he runs an absent thumb over your clit just to watch your hips jump, “i know but… i like watching you cum like this. so…” he drops another kiss at on your inner thigh before dipping back down to lap softly at your puffy folds, “gimme one more and i’ll give you whatever you want, yeah?”

─── 月島 TSUKKI

so everyone knows he’s just a bit childish, just a bit petty, just a bit vindictive. so everyone knows he likes getting his way, and is a bit too stubborn.

so, when you swallow over the length of his cock as he bullies it down your throat, a hand fisted in your hair, his gaze almost cool as he watches you struggle to keep him in your mouth, you can’t say you didn’t kind of ask for it — mouthing off the way you did, pushing all his buttons from the second he’d gotten home till he’d dragged you out of the kitchen and into the bedroom and told you to get on your goddamn knees.

you’d dropped like a good little girl, a thrill tingling up your spine, because isn’t this what you’d wanted? missing him all day, a delicious, delirious heat curling at the base of your tummy, itching for the way he’d fuck you till your vision blurs.

“c’mon, i know you can open wider than that,” tsukishima runs an appraising thumb along the curve of your cheek, thrusting his hips forward even as you struggle to catch a breath. he thumbs at a tear, a smirk twisting the edge of his lips, a sadistic glint flashing behind his bespectacled eyes.

“there we go — that’s it — nngh — shit —”

you revel in the way his hips stutter, in the sting of pain that comes from his fingers fisting your hair too tight. you brace yourself and lave your tongue along the underside of his twitching cock, feeling the veins pulse angrily beneath your touch. he hisses above you, color pluming in his cheeks as he resorts to taking you by the back of the head and fucking your throat proper.

you hum around him as he jerks into your mouth, your own cunt clenching around nothing, the material of your panties sticking uncomfortably to your skin as you shift your thighs. above you, tsukishima narrows his eyes and tuts.

“quit that.”

you whine, going still even as he continues to fuck your throat, his breath going shallow, the faintest fog tinting up his glasses before he shoves you down on his cock and you feel him pulse over your tongue for a second before he yanks back and lets the white ropes of cum splatter across your face. you squawk slightly, licking at your lips before pouting up at him.

“you got cum in my hair!”

tsukishima only scoffs, wiping a bit from your cheek to press a finger into your mouth. you shoot him a half-hearted glare before sucking the digit clean, your nipples now straining against the materials of your shirt, feeling rubbed raw with sensitivity. there’s a damp patch on your panties and you tug at his hips eagerly before he swats you away.

“oh now you wanna be nice?” he asks, squinting down at you as he jerks your chin between two fingers.

you purse your lips, “i just missed you, okay?”

tsukishima scoffs, but he doesn’t deny you as you push him back onto the mattress and straddle his thighs.

“fine then, show me how much. and i might let you cum tonight.”

you pause halfway through kicking off your panties. he chuckles, laying back, propping both hands behind his head, his long, lanky form stretched out like a five course meal over the material of your sheets.

“you’re being mean,” you say, finally ridding yourself of your panties to crawl over his body, settling yourself over his hardening cock one more.

“you started it,” he hisses, even as his palms land on your hips, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass to shift you along his length, your lips falling open at the friction.

“s-so if i ask nicely enough…” you say, circling your hips if only to hear him gasp, “will you finish it?”

─── 飛雄 TOBIO

you should’ve known, you should’ve known what you were getting yourself into when you’d decided to send him a cute little mirror-selfie, dressed in nothing but one of his huge t-shirts, the hem hiked up just enough to let him see that you’re wearing nothing underneath, your nipples tenting the fabric in the wane light, your face half-covered by the phone — you should’ve known.

“m-mm—fuck —!” your heels kick uselessly against the bedsheets as tobio holds you to his mouth, his eyes sharp and dark and focused, his fingers holding your thighs open, his grip pressing divots into your skin as he sinks his tongue into your greedy cunt, sucking on your clit with a loud, gratuitous moan. there’s a flush working up his cheeks, and a glassy, glazed-out look to his eyes, amplified by the half-finished bottle of chianti sitting on the bedside table.

“one more —” he pants out, his breath hot against your twitching clit, your thighs straining against his hold as you whine, glancing down to find him running his tongue over his lips, his chin glazed with your sweet slick, bangs stuck to his forehead as he presses his cheek to your leg and smiles up at you.

“jus’ gimme one more, i know you can do it —” he drags his mouth along your skin before lowering his mouth back to your puffy lips, sinking his tongue into you far enough to make you scream. pleasure frissons up your body, making your toes and fingertips tingle — you can’t help but whine at the fact that he hasn’t even put his cock into you yet tonight but you can’t find it in yourself to complain. he’s made you cum more times than you can count, and still he’s relentless.

once, you’d asked him, jokingly, if he kept a sex journal — like his volleyball journal — where he meticulously tracks his progress, successful sets vs. unsuccessful ones, wins and losses, game strategies and various attack and defense formations. he’d cocked his head, his mouth half-full of a flatbread, that yes — he does. and did you want to see?

“i — i thought i’d just… keep track because…” he swallows his mouthful of food and looks anywhere but at you, “i want to make sure ‘m always making you feel good.”

and right here, right now, you can’t find it in yourself to do anything but fist your fingers in his hair and moan his name into the humid summer air as he works you towards yet another climax with nothing but his mouth and tongue.

“t-tobio — fuck-fuck — fuck — !”

he moans against you, grazing his teeth along your swollen clit just hard enough to push you over the edge, and when you cum around his tongue again, he pulls back with a savage, blissed-out grin, licking his lips even as he cages your body below his, trailing delicate fingers along your sides till he’s cupping your cheek.

“so pretty…” he mumbles, more to himself than anyone else, his gaze flickering over your face, down the length of your now sweat-slicked body, your knees falling open for him, your stomach rising and falling with the weight of your uneven breaths.

“tobio — tobio — n-no more teasing — please —”

he grunts, puffing out a laugh against your lips as he leans down to kiss you, sucking your tongue into his mouth as he nudges your legs apart with his knees.

“look so good like this… gonna fuck you now, yeah?” he asks, reaching down between your bodies to tease at your entrance with his cock, groaning as you whimper and ruck up against him, sensitive from the overstimulation. you make an abortive noise as he pushes into you, your knees jumping slightly as your abused hole flutters around the intrusion, his cock stretching you out the way his fingers and tongue hadn’t before.

“s-slow — tobio —” you tug weakly at his arms, your mind a hazy mess of pleasure and pain and the feeling of tobio’s lips trailing along your neck.

“nnph… sure… we’ll go slow… but we’re not done till i say we are.”

─── 翔陽 SHOUYOU

too much — it’s like he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. or, maybe he’s nothing’s ever too much when it comes to you, because like this, with you trembling above him, your thighs shaking on either sides of his hips, your hands braced against his chest, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough, let alone too much.

“mm — so — so good —” he soothes, panting slightly as he digs his heels into the mattress and fucks up into you, bouncing you over his lap, licking his lips at the way your mouth falls open, “so cute — fuck — s-so wet —”

he bites back another groan as you clench down around him, head falling forward as he shifts beneath you, reaching up to tug you down, catching you in his chest as he chuckles by your ear.

“a-ah… tired?” he asks, his pace never once faltering even as he strokes your hair, his thumb kneading at the nape of your neck as he presses a soft kiss into your shoulder. he feels your thighs clench as he adjusts his angle and your whole body tenses.

“sh-shou — mmngh —”

“f-fuck — so tight —” he grunts slightly as he twists his whole body to swap your positions, lying you gently on your back so he can hoist your knees up and fuck into you proper, letting out a pitched whine, when he feels you fluttering around him, the unmistakable signs of yet another orgasm coursing through you. he fucks you through it, leaning down to mouth at your tits, the nipples hard and raw from his fingers just minutes before.

he’d woken up with a prickling want twisting his gut and he knew nothing but an entire morning in bed with you would sate it. outside, the brilliant brazilian sun is already slating into the hotel room from the wide, drop-floor windows, and he considers — briefly — that later, the pair of you might go for a dip in the ocean, just to cool off. he grins at the thought, pushing your legs up till he’s got you folded in half.

“c’mon — c-cum for me again —” he coaxes, rucking down into you till your eyes roll back, fucking into you so deep you can nearly feel it in the back of your throat, the white, pin-prick flashes of pleasure popping behind your eyes as he hooks your knees over his arms to hoist your entire lower half off the mattress.

“c-can’t — can’t shouyou — ‘s t-too much —!” you’re almost babbling, tears caught in your lashes as you try to look up at him, but you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut every time he teases his cock against your g-spot, pulls back slow just to fuck back in fast, make you feel each ridge and bump and vein as he rocks down into you.

“mm… i know, i know…” he coos, biting his own lips with a rough pant, “but… you look so good cumming on my cock — i just — wanna — wanna see it again — hm?” he leans down to press a sloppy kiss to your mouth, sounding at once somehow whiney and demanding both, “just — just one more —” he says, nosing along your jaw to suck a hickey into the junction of your throat.

you arch up into him, fingers scrabbling at his back as he starts to pick up the pace, whimpering as another orgasm rockets through you, leaving you squirming beneath him as he chases after his own orgasm, groaning as he watches you fall apart for him, his cock twitching inside you before he’s dropping his head into your shoulder with a hard shudder.

“mm… good morning, yeah?” he asks, even as he pulls back and you pout up at him, swatting weakly at his arm.

“d-don’t move so fast — m’still sensitive…” you make to cover your eyes with your arm but he tugs it away, leaning down to kiss you.

“i like you sensitive,” he murmurs, shifting to keep his cock pressed inside you, chasing shivers through your limbs at the friction.

“don’t be mean…” you say, letting yourself be pulled into his chest even as he laughs softly.

“sorry waking you up so early in the morning — will breakfast in bed make up for it? i think the room service at this hotel’s pretty good!”

you peer up at him with a tiny grin, “yeah?”

shouyou smirks, cocking his head, “mhm! i mean… you’ll need more energy for our second round later, right?”

taglist: @yaoduriaa @ominouslywritinginmyhead @naomihatake @cheesypuffkins87 @crispynutella @stunies @phroggii @fennecnco @yogurtkags -- join the taglist

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 8 - ( c.s )

part seven

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- ANGST! it’s just fluff and angst get ready baby

a/n: hellllooooooooo sorry everything takes me fucking forever to write but i am once again back hehe i truly hope you enjoy

despite what many people might think, chris has never been on a proper date in his life. and it’s silly to admit, considering he’s hung out with women in so so many different contexts, but it’s never been formal like that.

he swears he’s never even said the word out loud, as if he was scared of getting infected with real feelings, scared of things getting too serious. so he vowed there would be no flowers, no fancy dinners, no romance. just pure physical connections.

and it stayed that way for so long that he figured it would never change. he’d be a bachelor forever, hopping from girl to girl, showing them no more vulnerability than a simple smile.

then he met you, got to know you, and that mindset disappeared. the fear of being blindsided is still there, nestled somewhere deep in the trenches of his heart.

but to him, you’re worth the potential heartbreak.

so when he shows up at your doorstep with a bouquet of tulips saturday afternoon, it’s a bit of a surprise for the both of you, though not an unwelcome one.

“there’s my pretty girl.” chris smiles, trying desperately to play off his nerves.

my pretty girl. the words ring through your head like a church bell, and even though it’s embarrassing, you’re unable to stop beaming at him.

“what are you doing here?” you ask curiously as he hands the flowers over.

he swallows thickly, shoving his now-freed hands in his pockets. “i wanted to ask you out. on, like, a real date.”

for a moment you think you’ve heard him wrong, or that this must be some kind of prank. in what world would chris sturniolo, infamous playboy, be throwing in the towel and dating? let alone dating you?

but his face remains eerily serious. you can tell he’s a little anxious by the way he’s shuffling his feet, which is endearing. you’re not sure he’s ever done this before, and yet it's the sweetest gesture.

you’re pleasantly shocked by the happiness that’s washing over your body, and as much as you don’t want to give into it, it’s almost impossible not to.

“i think i can definitely squeeze that into my calendar.” you grin.

he visibly relaxes, chuckling slightly at your response as he shakes his head. “next time i’ll schedule it with your secretary.”

the fact that he said next time almost makes you freeze, but you play it off without skipping a beat. your heart is doing backflips, so you clutch the flowers and try to contain it.

“you know the drill, i’m a busy woman.” you shrug playfully.

“be ready by seven?” it’s a question more than a request, because he’s not fully confident that you actually are free.

“yeah,” you nod, stepping closer to give him a kiss of reassurance, “i’ll see you then.”

even feeling your lips on his for a second drives chris absolutely crazy. but there’s plenty of time for that later. right now he’s the perfect gentleman, the guy you deserve.

“oh my god, is it seven already?” ramona checks her watch from the couch, completely in a daze.

she's been religiously rewatching her favorite show, swearing that it inspires her to work on the project she’s been procrastinating. you know she’s too invested for that to be true, but you can’t blame her.

“it’s time indeed.” you nod, slipping your feet into your knee highs.

“oh my gosh, you look so good!” she gushes, popping up from her spot to come wrap you in a hug.

mona barely gives you time to fully zip up your shoes, and you both almost go toppling. you can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, straightening up so you can hold her back.

“jesus, you could’ve given me one more second.” you tease as you pull away.

“sorry, cuteness aggression. i think i’m just too excited for you.” she apologizes, even though she knows you’re not actually angry.

“i’m happy you approve.”

it’s the truth; having both of your roommates’ support means the world to you. especially since you’re falling for him, which is terrifying on its own.

you can’t remember the last time you’ve been this serious about a guy, but it feels so good.

ramona smiles right as the doorbell rings, and you hear cassidy come bounding down the stairs. she looks bewildered, definitely startled awake from her nap, and you can’t help but laugh.

“he’s here! and damn, you look sexy bitch.” she says, joining the two of you by the living room.

you smile as she pushes you forward slightly, shaking your head. “you guys are embarrassing me.”

“payback for the millions of times you’ve done it to us.” cass snaps back playfully.

ramona rolls her eyes, waving you to continue to the door as she tugs her counterpart into the kitchen. “no fighting, go have fun! we love you!”

you let out a breath, squaring your shoulders and raising your chin as you step toward the door. you’re more nervous than you expected to be, but when you pull open the door it’s like you immediately relax.

seeing chris dressed up in a quarter zip and those ripped jeans you adore on him makes your heart swell. the easy-going expression on his face calms your anxiety almost instantly.

you see his own eyes travel down to your exposed legs, covered only by your favorite little black skirt. your off-the-shoulder long sleeve is hidden slightly by your leather jacket, bold makeup accentuating your features.

he feels like he’s suffocating, seeing you look this good knowing it’s all for him. that you’re almost his. he wants to taste you, to ruin your lipgloss just to feel you on his mouth.

“you look…unreal.” he breathes, offering you his hand as you step out to join him on the front step.

“you look pretty great too.” you admit sheepishly, and he gives you a gentle kiss because he can’t help it.

you chuckle under your breath as he pulls away, wiping the gloss from his mouth with your thumb gently. chris just smiles, kissing the pad of your finger briefly before tangling his hand in yours.

“come on, we can’t be late to our first official dinner reservation.” chris urges as he leads you to his car.

he’s embarrassingly giddy as he holds the passenger door open, and you hop inside happily. it’s become one of your favorite spots, riding around next to him with his hand on your thigh.

tonight is no different. his thumb brushes against your skin reassuringly as you hum under your breath, watching chris drive out of the corner of your eye.

he’s just so handsome, especially right now. you’ve always known that, but it’s different. you care about him so much that just looking at his face kind of makes your day, as horrifyingly honest as that is.

you can’t help but smile to yourself, and he pulls into the parking lot of a fancy little restaurant a few moments later.

“i’ve always wanted to try this place, you know. i just never had the right occasion.” you admit as chris helps you back out of the car.

he laughs slightly, hand snaking its way to your waist after he closes the door behind you. “i haven’t either, but you’re the only worthy occasion i can imagine.”

you feel your cheeks heat up slightly. “stop flattering me, i know you just want to get lucky after we’re done.”

“i want a lot more than that, sweetheart.” chris replies truthfully, kind of enjoying letting his mouth run. he’s held his feelings in so much lately that it’s nice to just be honest.

meanwhile you’re desperately trying not to read into his words too much, but at this point it’s hard not to. it seems like he truly does like you, and for the first time in your life you might actually see a future with someone.

once you’re inside, the hostess guides you to a nice booth in the corner, smiling sweetly at chris as she leaves. it doesn’t matter; he’s got his hand in yours, and he’s not looking at anyone besides you as you sit down.

“quit staring at me like that.” you tease, even though you’re only half-joking.

chris tilts his head to the side, smirking at you like he can read your mind. “why, does it make you nervous?”

“no.” you lie, and he just shakes his head like he doesn’t believe you.

your waiter saves you a moment later and you order your drinks; a beer for him and a margarita for you. by the time they’re on the table, you and chris are already deep in your usual random conversation.

it’s impossible to stop looking into his eyes as you chat, your foot bumping against his as you both lean forward towards each other. his fingers dance across the top of your hand, simply because he’s unable to go more than a minute without physical contact, especially when you look so gorgeous.

you’re halfway through the actual meal when you’re finally forced to excuse yourself and use the bathroom, even though you don’t want to leave for even a minute.

“don’t miss me too much.” you joke, sliding out of your side of the booth to give him a quick kiss.

“you know i will.” he smiles as you pull away, watching you head toward the restroom with hearts in his eyes.

looking at yourself in the mirror once you’re done only confirms what you already knew; you’re having the best first date ever. your reflection smiles at you as you wash your hands, so wrapped up in your own head that you barely notice the girl who comes up beside you until she clears her throat.

startled, you glance her direction, only to find that she’s already staring right at you. your stomach bottoms out as your body fills with dread for a reason you’re not yet sure of.

“uh…can i help you?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light and friendly.

she flips her long brown hair over her shoulder, cat-like eyes narrowing just a bit. “so, you’re chris’s little plaything, huh?”

you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it simply won’t go away. “that depends on who’s asking.”

the girl scoffs, turning away from you just a bit so that she can reapply her lipstick in the mirror. “the girl who fucked him three weeks ago when you walked out, that’s who’s asking.”

the acidic taste of bile fills your mouth, and you suddenly feel like you’re going to throw up. your ears ring and the world shrinks, like there’s no air left to breathe.

how the fuck does she even know that? did he talk to her about you? your mind is spiraling out of control, thinking about every single aspect of that fateful morning.

you see her smile sharply at your reaction, satisfied that she’s caught you off guard. it’s impossible to compose yourself, though, because everything is coming crashing down.

“c’mon babe, you thought he really liked you? he didn’t even wait twenty-four hours to get on top of me.”

“he wouldn’t.” you whisper, even though you know that’s not the truth.

this time she actually barks out a laugh, tossing her tube of lipstick back in her bag before turning to face you once more. it doesn’t help that she’s undeniably gorgeous, exactly his type.

“he would, and he did. but if you don’t believe me, just ask him. mention the name daniela and you’ll see for yourself.” she says, fixing her hair one more time before stepping around you to get to the door.

you hear it slam behind her, still rooted in the same place, unable to move. you don’t want to believe it, but she was speaking with such certainty that you’re already convinced.

tears sting your eyes like salt in the wound. your face is no longer filled with the cheerfulness it possessed a few moments ago; now you just look crestfallen. but you won’t give in to your emotions yet, not without confirmation.

you don’t want to confront chris, but you know you have to. so you send your roommates an SOS text to ensure you have a ride home, and then you steel yourself to go back.

you have no idea where daniela went, but it doesn’t matter because you don’t look anywhere but straight ahead as you walk. your whole body is tingling, entirely on the verge of breaking down as you find your way to the table.

not yet, not yet, not yet.

the second his face lights up at your return, you want to crumble. he looks so sweet, the boy you thought had finally changed for you. but then he notes your tight expression, and a frown replaces the grin.

you don’t sit down. you just blink at him for a second, trying to force the words out. you’re silent until he opens his mouth to speak, which finally empowers you enough to cut him off.

“tell me about daniela.”

he straightens uncomfortably at the mention of her name, which already gives you your answer. your heart twists, so much so that it physically hurts inside your chest.

“what?” chris responds, staring at you dumbly.

“did you or did you not sleep with a girl named daniela a day after me?” you ask as calmly as possible, ignoring the fact that your fingernails are digging into the skin of your palm.

his face somehow contorts to look even more grim, and you shake your head slowly. a smile of disbelief makes its way across your lips, which you suppose is better than sobbing.

“yeah, i’m done here.” you snap, yanking your jacket and purse up before turning on your heel.

“please—” his hand circles your wrist and you yank it away without a second thought, not caring if anyone sees.

you just keep walking. everything is completely numb at this point. it doesn’t even feel like you’re in your own body, you’re just moving. the fresh air hits you as you step outside and you inhale the cold, letting it shock you awake a bit.

you unravel your jacket from your arms and put it on as you book it through the parking lot, only to realize that you’re shaking.

the double doors burst open behind you, and you hear him shouting your name, but you still don’t stop. his heavy footsteps increase in pace, and you make it to the sidewalk just outside the restaurant when he finally catches up.

“please, just give me the chance to explain.” chris begs, once again reaching for your hand to try and slow you down.

you stop, only to shove him away from you with a surprising burst of power. he let’s go, but he’s still looking at you desperately as if it’s not black and white.

“there’s nothing to explain. in fact, this is exactly why i fucking hated you so much to begin with, why i was so hesitant to let myself believe that you could actually feel something for anyone besides yourself. you made me look like an idiot, thinking that you’d changed at all.” you lash out, unable to control the rage spilling out of your mouth.

he winces, visibly hurt from your words, but he powers through anyways. “i immediately knew i made a huge mistake, and even though i did it thinking it would make me feel better, it made everything worse. when you left that morning i thought it was over for me, and it hurt in a way that i’ve never felt before because i really fucking care about you.”

you snort, crossing your arms over you chest defensively. “yeah, well, you’re doing a fabulous job at showing it. i mean seriously, chris, do you know how fucking horrible that was? to find out from the girl herself because you couldn’t be bothered to at least be honest? and now you expect me to believe anything you say when in reality your words mean shit.”

chris feels you slipping from his fingers, so quickly that he doesn’t know how to stop it, or how to get you to trust what he’s saying. it’s a type of distress that he’s never been through before, because he’s never gotten attached.

“i know i fucked up, and i know i should’ve never even responded to her in the first place. i don’t have the right to ask you to trust me, but i need you to know that it didn’t mean anything to me.” he pleads, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice now.

you feel your eyes burning again as you meet his gaze, and you’re not sure if it’s hurt or frustration making you cry.

“it means something to me. i put my faith in you enough to go all the way, to let my guard down this past month and admit to myself that i do have feelings for you. and now i look just as stupid as everyone told me i would, even though i really did trust you so much. i thought things were different, that you wouldn’t dare do that to me.” you’re choking on your tears as you speak, and all he wants to do is reach out and wipe them away but he can’t.

you take a step back, almost instinctively. “but you did, and now it’s over.”

chris feels his whole world stop for a second. he takes in every inch of your heartbroken face; eyes wide and red, tears streaking down your cheeks as you hold yourself in your own arms.

he hates himself so much, more than he ever has in his life, for destroying things with the only person that matters. especially on a night that was supposed to be so special.

“i’m begging you not to do this. i’m so, so sorry that i ruined your confidence in me, but it’s only ever been you. you live in my thoughts, in my dreams, in every single goddamn place i go. and it took me way too long to say it, but i want to be with you so badly that it kills me. you know this is real, and i will do anything to prove it to you.” he takes a step closer, but you move away and put your hand up as a warning.

it’s everything you’ve been wanting him to tell you, but it’s too late. you don’t know how to forgive him yet, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to forget.

“i can’t, chris. i just…i don’t know anymore.” you sound so defeated, but you don’t care.

by the grace of god, your friends pull up at the exact right moment to save you. cass throws her hazards on and stops the car, glaring bullets at him through the glass as she waits for you to get in.

you’re done talking for now, and chris recognizes that. there’s nothing he can do or say to take it back, and as much as he wants to keep trying, it’ll only push you even further. so he nods his head once solemnly, vision beginning to blur as he takes all of you in one last time.

you’re the girl of his dreams, and he’s absolutely fucked it.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he repeats as you pile into the backseat, unable to conjure up any words besides those ones.

it registers in your head, but you don’t respond. you can’t even look at him anymore, because it’s too hard to think about what could have been. so you close the door hard, determined to shut him out of your life for good this time.

@fawnchives @l9vesick @55sturn @luverboychris @teapartyprincess4two @pinksturniolo @mattinside @stonermattsgf @impureals @chrisactualwife @fikefries @riasturns @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @beijhe @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @braindead4l @hearts4matty @orangeypepsi @ponyosturniolo @cupidsword @rainydayenthusiast @sturnvvz @wurlibydominicfike @poopydroopt @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner @rubyjanexxx @reallykaz @neatcarrot767 @kirby0strombolli @bunnysturns @junnniiieee07 @hrt-attack @sturnssmuts @stunza @beccaluvschris @asturniolos @slutz4sturniolos @mattslolita @alorsxsturn @sturnrc @chrissystur @kellsbells-18 @realqueenofpepsi

[crossingthedreams]

do better — gregory house x f!reader

a/n: I got a little carried away, per usual, and now I’m late with day 04 of the angstober challenge (still a wyp), but I plan on finishing it and posting later today. but, omg, I can’t believe I'm posting day 05 — do better on time! this is also part of @angstober‘s challenge, which I'm having a blast writing. I do love some angsty vibes. please, feel free to comment or dm me!

summary: a relationship between the boss and his employee has a million ways to go wrong. one, in particular, hurt them the most. 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: angst. House is an asshole. mentions of family death. mentions of cancer. struggles with immigration. inappropriate relationship. mentions of smut.

Let medicine be thy food. 

That's the quote, or at least you think it is. After a particularly long shift, words in English seemed to scramble together a bit, with it being your second language and all. Usually, you’re a natural, perfect, fluent speaker. There are moments, however, when understanding what your peers are saying or formulating cohesive sentences becomes a herculean task. You didn’t make yourself unintelligible, but it was a little awkward to be with a patient who clearly had no idea how globalized the world was and how many doctors in the United States were not native English speakers, and who looked at you like you had just robbed the white coat from a “proper doctor”.

Sure, dealing with people was shitty sometimes. “Doctors don’t treat people, they treat illnesses”, your boss had once said. But in your mind, people weren’t that bad. The long hours, the sleep deprivation, the lack of a social life — that was the really bad part. And there were, of course, the very short lunch breaks. 

Medicine was fun, but it had nothing on a full plate of pasta with those weird looking meatballs. What once was disgusting, now seemed appetizing as hell. Not eating once while working for the whole night could do that to a person. Medicine was not food, at least not literally.

You had taken off your sweater and your white coat a while before going to the cafeteria, where the rest of the team was. As of right now, you and Chase had spent thirty-six hours working. Cameron and Foreman had taken the long straws and gone home last night while you and the prettiest doctor around worked on some lab tests. 

That man who, right now, was not really trying to hide how he lustfully eyed you up and down, stopping on your cleavage. You didn’t blame him for looking, though. Firstly, you did spend the night working together and you mentioned that you did not have sex for the last six months, and secondly, you had nice boobs, which was both a blessing and a curse. Also, he was very much exhausted. Thinking about your coworkers in an unfashionable manner to keep awake was better than falling asleep atop of a patient during a lumbar puncture — you had done both, so you could tell, oops. 

“I’ll die if I have to do any more thinking”, the pretty doctor said, accent even more prominent, letting his head drop to the headrest of his seat behind him. 

“Yes, thinking just doesn’t come naturally to some people”, you laughingly replied, sitting down next to Foreman. He scooched over, making more room for you and your tray. There was enough pasta on your plate to feed two, not to mention the salad, the dessert, the can of Coke and the can of energy drink. 

“Damn, kid, do you not have food at home?” You eyed Foreman, a little annoyed at the comment. Why did men think they had the right to comment on women’s food choices and bodies all the damn time? “Don’t give me that look, you know that’s a lot, especially for a girl who skips lunch every other day”. 

“Not by choice” you said, taking a lot of pasta into your mouth. “Nof ba chos”, you replied, mouth full, making everyone at the table let out a tired laugh. 

It was an uneventful meal. The team was really tired, especially Chase, who almost dropped his head on his plate twice. The four of you rushed upstairs when lunch was over, after being paged by your boss. 

The man himself was pacing back and forth in the conference room, brows furrowed and looking extremely aggravated. Nothing new, then, you think, sitting down across from Cameron. 

Allison Cameron and you had been friends since med school, and getting to work together was pretty nice. Women in STEM need each other, of that you were sure. The thing is, she was in a weird place romantically, which made you feel weird about getting along with the people about whom she was confused — which hardly makes sense, but it is what it is. She had a crush on your boss for the longest time, and that didn’t work out at all. And then there was Chase, who she had slept with, but had no interest in further pursuing. 

Hanging out with Chase knowing he’d seen her naked was a little weird, but the fact they’d slept together wasn’t the problem. He liked her, and that was her problem. Your boss, well, he was everybody’s problem. 

Particularly yours, considering… you know. The one-night-that-became-every-night. The HR-nightmare. The doing-the-devil’s-tango. The seeing-each-other-scars. The kissing-and-absolutely-not-telling.

It was fairly easy sneaking around. He was inappropriate, sure, but not big on PDA. He treated you like any other dumbass employee with boobs. If anyone saw the two of you leaving the hospital together? You worked together. If you were seen going towards the same place? You’re neighbors, duh. And if anyone happened to see the two of you having breakfast together in the little café a block around his place? Well, it was a coincidence meeting him there! 

If they saw you giving him head while he tried to play the piano, well… There’s no explanation for that. 

You looked at him coming and going, and you knew his leg must be killing him. Yesterday when you left his home in the morning to pick up your stuff for the day (which turned out to be the day, the night and the next day), he was popping more pills than usual. Shit. 

“New case?”, Cameron asked, looking at the limping man with worry and care in her eyes. You liked her a lot, but she had to stop thinking about your limping man with such care. 

Sure, she liked him first. And she probably worried for him just as she would anyone else. And it was ridiculous to be annoyed at your long-time friend for caring for her boss. Still, there was a sting of jealousy that made you want to bitch-slap her. 

He finally stopped and looked at all of you. When his eyes finally met you, he looked right at your low cut top and let out a “Yowza!”. When you blushed and stood up to pick your white coat, he called your last name, and said, nonchalantly: “Nice boobs”. 

You raised a hand to pinch at the bridge of your nose as you sat down. It might seem like sexual harassment — and at first, it was a little bit —, but now it was just him being as inappropriate as always. Hiding from his feelings, keeping his distance with pathetic remarks and cold attitudes. It made you sad when you started working for him, but right now, you pinched your nose to stop you from giggling like a sixteen year old cheerleader being noticed by the boy on the football team. Or rather, the boy on the bench cursing at the stupid players.

Dr. Gregory House had a massive crush on you, and that made all the shit he did go away. 

You realized Chase started updating House on the patient you spent all night testing and monitoring. Truth is, that guy didn’t stand a chance for a normal life here on forward. At best, he had a benign hereditary chorea. Worst case scenario, it was Huntington manifesting earlier than it should, as you’d been saying from the beginning. 

“Shut up”, House said to Chase, making those blue Australian eyes widen. Poor guy, he looked beyond exhausted. “I understand how DNA testing works. I went to med school too, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was seven hundred years ago”, you let out before you could think twice. You teased House a little for being older. Scratch that, you gave him a lot of crap for being older. You just didn’t do it in front of the team, which was why they all looked at you horrified. 

Horrified, but Foreman was holding in a laugh.

The ‘old-man’ hit his cane on the desk, turning the attention back to him. “Ouch”.

You smiled, playing it off like a remark made by an exhausted overworked young woman who disliked her boss. House half-screamed some orders to all of you, even though he already knew you had clinic duty. 

The hours left to finish on the clinic were manageable, so you could finish it after you did some of the tests House asked.  

Time passed by too quickly, and as your day went by, you remembered you had to talk to Wilson as soon as possible. It wasn’t a life or death matter, but a peace of mind kind of thing. You decided to stop by his office before you It was then that you overheard something you shouldn’t have.

Well, that brought the high school memories right back. 

It was the middle of the afternoon, also known as the beginning of your third shift in a row, and you were stopping by Wilson’s office to discuss a private matter. A family member of yours had cancer, and then another one. By the time your fourth relative came down with the diagnosis, you decided to check your genetic predisposition. Although the tests came back clean, meaning you were safe for oncology purposes, you still wanted to know his opinion on how you could be even safer.

You looked cancer in the eyes many times. You didn’t want to look at it in the mirror too. 

For some godly reason, you stopped before knocking. That’s when you recognized your boss’s voice, complaining about something, per usual. 

“She’s a baby! She had never watched Grease, for crying out loud”, the voice and the footsteps made their sounds in harmony. You leaned in closer to the door, to try and listen better. 

“Well, you two barely know each other, now it’s the time to know if there’s a future in this relationship or not. And would you ever marry her?”, Wilson’s voice, and the words made you freeze. 

“Not everyone has marriage on the brain 24/7, Wilson”, House replied. Even from behind the door, you could almost hear the engines in his brain turning. “And God, no. I could never marry her. I can do better than a gullible third-world princess”.

You froze.

Of course he’d say that. Of course. Even if he didn’t mean it. 

The realization came like an electrical shock flowing through your body. You felt it, and it made the hairs on the nape of your neck rise. 

You meant nothing to him. 

As an immigrant, the feeling of never belonging is constant. You don’t belong in the place you now live, but you don’t really belong in the place you were born. 

You had felt for a fraction of a second that you could find your place here. In House's department. Perhaps, even with House. God, you were stupid. You were a device for him to finish his puzzles, and an object to finish… Well, to finish himself off. 

As you left your transe and heard the voices again, you ran as fast as you could back to the clinic, where you had a couple hours left to finish. There was something you needed to arrange with Cuddy, too. 

Hours later, you were in the department’s room reading some exams when House walked in. 

He eyed you up and down again, eyes lingering on your breasts a little longer than a boss’ eyes normally would. “So”, he took his bootle from his jacket and opened it, popping a couple of pills, “your place or mine?” 

“You suck”, you murmured, angrily, but pouting a little. He’d never admit it, but he loved seeing you a little aggravated, crossing your arms in front of your body in a way that made your already eye-catching torso irresistible. 

He smiled a little, putting the medicine back in his pocket. “No, sweetheart”, he now fully grinned, “that’s you.”

You rolled your eyes, but let your arms fall and a cold smile creeped into your face. 

“Yes, I do, actually”, you rose up from the chair and walked all the way towards him, hitting your hand towards his chest and pressing the paper you were holding against him. “I’m a full on sucker, and ass-kisser, as you like to point out. That’s why your so called mortal enemy offered me a job in New York”. 

He took the paper, blue eyes never leaving yours. 

“Consider this my two weeks notice”. It was hard to say, but it felt a little good, too. Logically, there were no downsides in this opportunity. Then, why did it hurt so much? “I guess everyone was right. I can do better”.

The double meaning was not lost on House. 

Your hand finally left his chest, and he didn’t look back as you left. 

Looking at it now, it all seems so simple. It never is, though, is it? Especially with House. And you, an intelligent, kind, talented and ambitious young woman, could definitely do better than attach yourself to a crippled, bitter, odious older man. 

You were doing better now. So, why, pray tell, why did this still hurt so much? 

[blackenedsnow]

Heyy, if you’re comfortable doing so could I please get some Beetlejuice x fem!reader who’s a single mom? Just pretty much him being soft and comforting letting her know she’s doing a good job etc? Thank you in advance 💕💕💕 can be a proper fic or headcanons I’ll let you decide xx

beyond it

WARNING: References to the stress of single motherhood

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Single Mother! Reader

NOTE: I absolutely loved writing this!! I hope you enjoy this, and thank you so much for the request 💕💕

SUMMARY: Beetlejuice surprises you by being a source of comfort, helping you see that you’re doing better than you give yourself credit for.

It was late—too late for you to still be up. But as a single mom, you didn’t have the luxury of falling into bed as soon as the day ended. No, there were dishes to clean, laundry to fold, and tomorrow to worry about. And of course, your child had woken up twice already, needing reassurance from a nightmare.

You were running on fumes, slumped on the couch, your face buried in your hands. It felt like all you ever did was work. Just when you thought you could finally close your eyes and sleep, your thoughts picked up again—worrying about what needed to be done tomorrow, whether you were doing enough, whether your child was okay.

“Hey, dollface, rough night?”

This fucking guy.

That voice—raspy, familiar—cut through the fog of exhaustion like nails on a chalkboard. Beetlejuice. You didn’t bother looking up. He was probably lounging in his usual spot, perched on the armrest of your couch with a stupid grin plastered on his face.

"Go away, BJ," you muttered half-heartedly. "Not tonight."

The ghoul groaned dramatically. "Aw, come on! And here I thought we were past the whole 'piss off, Beej' stage of our relationship." You felt a cold presence next to you, then his hand—decaying yet surprisingly gentle—lightly brushed your shoulder. "I mean, after all the times I’ve stuck around, don’t I get any appreciation?"

You exhaled sharply, finally lifting your head. "Appreciation? For what, exactly?"

"For being a goddamn delight, babes!" Beetlejuice beamed, leaning back against the couch and spreading his arms wide. "For hanging around when no one else does. Gotta say, not a lot of folks could handle a single mom with your level of stress."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't hide the tiny smile tugging at your lips. "If by 'hanging around,' you mean constantly being a nuisance, then yeah, sure."

Beetlejuice chuckled, his voice rough yet oddly soothing. His eyes, usually wild and manic, softened just a bit as they focused on you. “Ah, you love it. Don’t lie, babe.”

You shook your head, sinking deeper into the couch. "I’m just… tired, Beej. I'm really tired."

For once, he didn’t launch into another sarcastic quip. Instead, Beetlejuice shifted closer, his body language relaxed but attentive. “Yeah, I know. I can see it. You’ve been runnin' yourself ragged for, what, weeks? Months?”

Your eyes welled up, but you quickly blinked the tears away. “I just… I feel like I’m not doing enough. There’s always something I’m missing, something I should be doing better.”

Beetlejuice’s hand rested fully on your shoulder now, his touch surprisingly solid. "Oh, come on, you're killing it out here, babe. You think your kid’s got it bad? They've got you. And lemme tell ya, you’re doing a hell of a job. Better than most."

You glanced over at him, surprised by his sincerity. "Really? You think so?"

“Are you kidding? Babe, I see it. I see you juggling work, taking care of the kid, making sure they're happy. And yeah, it’s messy and chaotic, but guess what? They're fine. They're happy, ‘cause you’re busting your ass for 'em.” He leaned in a little closer, his expression for once free of mischief. “You’re doin' more than enough."

His words hit you hard, in a way you hadn’t expected. You didn’t know why, but hearing it from Beetlejuice—someone who you never thought would care about anything—meant something. It eased the tight knot that had been sitting in your chest all day.

“I just don’t want to mess them up,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “They deserve better than… than this.”

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, sweetheart." Beetlejuice’s voice softened. He slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “They've got you, and that’s more than enough. You’re not perfect—who the hell is?—but you're trying. And that's what matters. Trust me, when they grow up, they're gonna see that.”

You allowed yourself to lean into him, resting your head against his chest. His suit smelled like a mix of dirt and decay, but there was something oddly comforting about the way he held you, like he was actually trying to be there for you, to support you in his own weird way.

“Hey, tell you what,” he said, his voice low. “Next time you feel like crap, I’ll stick around. We’ll cause some shit together, huh? Might help take the edge off.”

You chuckled softly, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, maybe.”

Beetlejuice grinned, but it wasn’t the mischievous, cocky smirk you were used to. It was softer, almost tender. “You’re doin' good, doll. Don’t let anyone—including yourself—tell you otherwise.”

You looked up at him, and for the first time since he’d shown up in your life, you realized how much you appreciated him. Not just as the obnoxious ghost who wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone, but as someone who—despite his crude humor and questionable ethics—actually cared. Maybe not in the typical way, but in a way that mattered.

"Thanks, Beej," you whispered, closing your eyes as you let the exhaustion finally catch up to you. "I mean it."

Beetlejuice stayed quiet for a moment, just holding you close. "Anytime, babe. Anytime."

[intoxicated-chan]

hi bae ! if you’re comfortable with writing a forced proximity with daryl when him an reader are friends that would be so cuteeee

𝐃𝐨𝐧❜ 𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

Summary ��� After nearly a week without proper shelter on a run, you both finally found a house, only to realize there’s one bed.

(A/n) ➳ Wasn’t sure if this what forced proximity means since the first thing that came to mind was the one bed troupe, my favorite. If you want to request again, please don’t hesitate!

Word Count ➳ 670

Content Warnings ➳ Female Reader, fluff, mentions of death/corpse, sleep deprivation, light swearing, One Bed Troupe…

“We’re holdin’ up ‘ere for the night.” Daryl muttered, his eyes scanning the room.

You slumped against the wall with a heavy sigh, wiping your sweaty forehead with an arm. You watched from the corner of your eye as Daryl made sure the house you decided to spend the night in was completely safe.

You heard him groan or curse whenever he found a weak spot, you got up once to help him only for him to point you away and demanded you sleep for once.

Like he was one to talk. The dark circles under his eyes were getting darker and darker by the day. He was the toughest guy you knew but you could see him getting weaker as well.

You kicked open another room, searching cabinets for medical supplies, canned food, drinks… Anything that wasn’t or seemed expired.

You shoved whatever you could find in your bag, your nose scrunching everytime you passed the couch with a rotten corpse on it.

You held your dagger up as you opened up the next room, finding it empty but a bedroom. Seemed to be a couple’s bed.

A single bed.

“Fuck me.” Your tongue clicked, folding your dagger away.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Daryl suddenly appeared looking around the room.

“There’s one bed.” You pointed out.

“I don’ see a problem.”

“Daryl, you need to sleep. You’ve been pushin’ yourself nonstop.”

“M’fine.” Daryl left immediately, giving you no chance to refuse.

You laid in the deceased’s bed, your eyes staring at the ceiling, unable to properly sleep, something that you wanted for days now.

You knew Daryl was pacing outside, his crossbow tightly in his hands, turning his head at any sound.

You groaned, leaving the room and found Daryl sitting at the covered window, peeking through the holes.

“How long you gonna sit there?” You asked him, sitting on the ground next to him.

“Walkers ‘round. Only a matter of time ‘fore they find us.” Daryl mumbled, not taking a second to look at you.

You tugged at his arm. “Go, sleep. I’ll take watch.”

“M’fine.” Daryl repeated, more sternly.

“Daryl.”

“(Y/n).” Daryl pulled his arm back, resting on his lap. “Sleep. Ya ne’er said it, but I know yer tired.”

“I can’t sleep if I know you ain’t sleepin’.”

“Ne’er said it ‘fore.”

“‘Cause I know you were sleepin’. C’mon, at least an hour.”

Daryl shook his head. “No, go.”

You went back without a fight, knowing how stubborn he could be. After a couple minutes of thinking, you were on the verge of falling asleep until you heard the door creak open.

The soft thuds of Daryl’s shoes.

You kept your eyes closed, listening as you heard a clack. Daryl putting his crossbow up on the wall.

You felt the mattress dip under his weight. “Hey.” He whispered.

You cracked an eye open, looking up at him.

“Don’ say anythin’. I jus’... I wanna sleep.” He remained in his clothes, on top of the blanket.

A smile formed as you scooted a little closer, laying on his arm as he already felt tense.

Daryl felt your breathing slowing down, letting him know that you fell asleep.

And as you slept, you couldn’t help feeling relaxed for once.

The sun shone through the cracks of the boarded up windows. You opened your heavy eyelids, using a hand to block the sunlight.

You yawned, attempting to get up. “Don’.” You heard Daryl said, tiredly.

You had now noticed you were laying on his chest, comfortably, with his arm draped around you.

“Mornin’ to you too.” You greeted him. “Sleep wel?”

“Don’ say a damn thing.” Daryl grumbled in response, voice rough.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Too late for that, Daryl.” You teasted, poking him in the chest gently.

“Shut up.” He huffed in annoyance, but you could see the amusement in his eyes.

You both lay there for a moment longer, feeling his thumb running over your side.

“Now get off me.”

“Jus’ a couple more minutes.”

“Off.”

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

Taglist ➳ @celtic-crossbow , @mrdixon , @duffmckagansbandana , @raspberryslxt , @lor-geeked , @thegeorgiahuntsman , @snailss ,

[wonderlandwalker]

Nurse Nightingale | James Potter x Reader

Marauders Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Someone wakes you up in the middle of the night, when you realize it's James looking for help you don't have the heart to refuse him

Content Warnings/Tags: fluff, blood, bruising, cuts, mentions of violence, insinuations of smut

Word Count: 1k

A/n: I'm currently using the uni holiday as an excuse not to study so now I'm writing non-stop instead. Not quite smut but sorta if you're willing to squint

*Knock knock*

You turn around, looking at the clock on the bedside table. Who the hell is knocking on the door at 3 AM?

*Knock knock*

You turn onto your stomach, pushing your pillow over your head in an attempt to block out the noise.

*Knock knock*

It’s louder this time, more determined, and you hear someone speak: “Y/N, it’s me. Please let me in.” He’s rambling a bit, he sounds tired as well. A shiver goes through your body at hearing his voice, his voice always seems to mess with your head in a way nothing else can.

“What are you doing here James? It’s 3 AM.” You ask, through the still closed door, your voice dripping with sleep. “Just, please, open the door..” He sounds desperate this time, so you decide to do what he asks. You stand up, maybe a little too fast, making your head spin, and walk towards the door. You open it, meaning to step aside to let him in, but when you see him illuminated by the hallway, you freeze. He’s bleeding, a cut starting at his nose and going diagonally underneath his eye, he’s straightened his glasses but there's a crack in them, another bruise at his temple, one on his lips, those soft lips you always think about, even a bruise below his ear on his cheek masking his jawline. “What in Merlin’s name happened to you?” You hear yourself whisper, more at yourself than him. “It’s nothing..” he slures out “.. just wanted to see you.” You move aside to let him into the empty room and he takes the opportunity, walking towards the bed, but not before grabbing you by your waist and giving you a quick, but passionate kiss. He takes you by surprise with it, your mind still trying to wrap around what happened, and your body falls into him, making him hiss from the cut on his upper lip, but he doesn't seem to want to stop regardless.

He sits down on your bed when he breaks the kiss, and you turn on the bedside lamp to get a better look at him. Small bruises are forming on his arms, and his muscles seem strained, his exhausted body melting into the bedding.

“Lay down, I’ll be right back.” you mumble at him before moving to the other side of your room where you left your wand. After a little searching, you find it, but with how tired you are, you’re not sure how much you trust yourself with it. You remember the small first aid kit in your bathroom, and move to get it before making your way back to James.

You see him struggling to take his jumper off, and move over to help him with it. Once it’s off he moves to lie down, and you put some extra pillows under his head, making him sit up a little more before pouring the sterilizer on a towel. You look over at him again, and wonder about how you’re going to do this, when you see him stretch his arm out to you. You take his hand and he pulls you onto his lap, making you straddle him and giving me the perfect position to patch him up.

You look at his chest, covered in blooming bruises, and when the towel hits the few open wounds, he groans a little, instinctively moving his hands to your hips to ground himself. His eyes are closed, and even though he looks like he should be in pain, he seems relaxed.

He stays quiet the whole time, only the occasional hiss or groan leaving him. And when you’re done, having put everything back in its proper place, he asks you silently: “Can I please stay over” “Of course you can, I’m not letting you wander back in this state.” you tell him while moving to lie down beside him. He doesn’t seem satisfied though, and pulls you in even closer.

After a few more minutes of silence, you ask him: “Jamie, what the hell happened to you..?” “It’s, it’s nothing, really, just-" He seems a little hesitant, so you wait for him to continue. “There, there were these guys…” He sounds a little angry, but you still don’t know what he’s talking about. “Do you remember the party that was going on, earlier tonight?” “Of course I do.” you tell him. You had gotten tired early, and decided to head to bed while the others stayed a while longer. “Well, turns out some of the Slytherins had noticed you, and they were talking about you.” He seems even angrier now, you remember this look, it’s similar to the look he got when he lost the Quidditch house cup, except this seems more personal somehow. “They were talking about you, telling their stuck-up friends all the things he would do to you- calling you names and saying how he-” you see him clench his fists, his knuckles turning white. “He was telling them how he would-, bloody hell, I can’t even get it out of my mouth. But I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I, well, I may have punched him.” “You did what?” you ask him, not fully wanting to believe what he’s telling you. Sure, he get detention often enough, but never for fist fights, he doesn't get in fist fights. “I punched him, and I got into a fight with him and his friends.” The hesitance is back now, replacing his anger. “I’m sorry y/n, but I couldn’t stand him saying those kinds of things about you.” You smile a little, and he looks confused. “You got into a fight to defend my honour, Potter?” Your smile only growing. He only nods and you don’t hesitate to lean in, kissing him softly. You can still taste the blood on his tongue, but you don’t care, and he doesn’t seem to either.

You shift over, and he pulls you in to straddle his lap once again. You give him a quiet “I love you” in between kisses. He doesn’t need to say it back this time, his actions having spoken louder than words.

[etclouie]

Could you do Derek Morgan x Reader or Spencer Reid x reader where reader is a new member of the team but is scared of flying so the first time on the jet they need to comfort her? Obvi I know you have a bunch of stuff you are still writing but i think this idea could be cute. It honestly could be for each character and kinda like a head cannon list on how they would comfort reader. Thank you so much if you get to this!

first time flier

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 summary: your first time flying was on your first out of state case, and derek helps you through your nerves (Derek Morgan x fem!reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 warnings: none really, being scared of flying, female pet names/nicknames (angel, sweetheart etc), this is proper simple but can go deeper if people want

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 word count: 514

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a/n: writing this for derek cause i have like no ideas for him at all

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 criminal minds masterlist | main masterlist

you’d recently joined the bau, being the newest member on the team already had nerves flying, but when your first out of state case meant you had to fly you were dreading it. 

never having flown before, you were a nervous wreck when you were walking up the jets stairs. Derek behind you, and his voice flooding your ears. 

“what’s got you all shaky legged like this?”

his voice always held teasing, and normally you managed to brush him off but your nerves had you a nervous wreck as you finally boarded the jet. sitting in the closest seat, and rolling your eyes as Derek sat down opposite you. 

that all too familiar smirk plastered across his face as he continued his teasing, his arms laid loosely across the small jet table. 

“talk t’me sweetheart, i’m not gonna judge”

meeting his eyes with a reluctant huff, his smirk immediately faltering as he finally took notice of the distressed look across your face. 

all the signs were there. watching him piece together your situation while the rest of the team boarded the jet. 

first thing you done when you sat down was pull down the small window blind and then buckling your seatbelt, breathing shallow and your head lulled back trying to soothe yourself. 

“ohh you’re scared of flying?”

there was a twitch of teasing in his tone but he was primarily reassuring as he spoke, his hands reaching across the table to soothe his thumbs across your knuckles, gathering your attention onto him and nodding in response to his question. 

“it’s nothing to be scared of angel, yeah? i’ll help you through it”

his words only processing once he was sat by your side, taking your left hand into his right one and continuing to soothe his thumb across your knuckles. 

this was one thing you didn’t expect when you woke up this morning, the Derek Morgan helping you get over your fear of flying. especially not with him this close to you and holding your hand, this was a nice change compared to the teasing Derek you had grown familiar with. 

“thank you, for this and for helping me with flying for the first time”

glancing up at him to see his eyes already on you, his thumb stilling against your knuckles before a chuckle pushed past his lips. 

“your first time flying? shit, i thought you were just a bad flier”

that had a soft laugh leaving you, most of your nerves gone as you focussed on Derek’s distractions. his hand never leaving yours, even when Hotch began debriefing the case. 

you felt safe flying with Derek by your side, his teasing slowly coming back and holding your full attention with it. 

even on the flight home, he made sure to sit right next to you. nerves still there, but a lot less rampant than the flight out. Derek was there for you the whole time, his hand in yours once more; and even managing to get you to sleep. 

as long as you had Derek there, flying wouldn’t be that bad. 

requests are open here !

[finelinevogue]

you’re okay

summary - you’re anxious but harry will always be there

a/n: im so nervous about hslot tomorrow so i thought i’d write this <333

“There he is!”

An encore of cheers for Harry fill the room as he runs in all sweaty, taking a short ten minute break before his encore.

His all black outfit is something to make you melt from how hot he is. You don’t even think he actually understands how gorgeous he looks right now. His hair is disheveled from running around on stage and his clothes are sticky with sweat.

You want to go up to him and give him a hug and a kiss for the show so far, but your anxiety roots you to the sofa.

You don’t even think you have anything to really be anxious for, but sometimes your nerves and shakes come over you when you least expect them. Your chest feels like it’s hollowing and your stomach feels like it’s swimming with butterflies. They’re both horrible feelings and you can’t seem to stop them. The shake in your hands in your only tell, to other people, as well as your bouncing knee.

Harry hugs a couple of people and he’s passed a water bottle by Brad. He guzzles it down quick and thanks him afterwards.

He then spots you, sitting in the plush velvet couch that he brings on tour with him. A sofa you both picked out together and Harry can’t be apart from.

Harry is quick to crouch down in front of you, putting a ring-filled hand on your knee to control the nervous tremors.

“Baby, what’s got you all anxious?” He asks softly, trying to keep his volume low so people don’t start to listen in.

“I don’t know.” You say, teary eyed slightly. “No. I’m fine, i’m fine.” You shake your head defiantly, convincing yourself more than Harry.

“It would be okay if you weren’t fine, you know?”

You nod your head and notice your foot now bobbing away because your knee couldn’t.

Harry keeps his focus on you. He doesn’t deter for anyone or anything.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You begun shaking your head instead and look down at where your fingers are fiddling with each other. You furrow your eyebrows as you try to think of ways to keep your tears back.

“I don’t need an apology, baby. If you need to apologise to anyone, it’s yourself, because you should be kinder to yourself.”

He moves in a little further towards you, using another hand to cup over your smaller ones. He holds onto you tight, grounding you.

“Sorry.” You barely whisper.

“I have to give fifteen more minutes of myself to all those people out there and then i’m completely yours for the rest of the night, okay?”

“Completely?” You look at him with hopeful eyes.

Normally Harry is busy whisked away to complete various business tasks or music recordings after his shows, but his words carry hope that it’s just you and him tonight.

“Absolutely. We can do whatever you want. The Harry Potter movies are on Netflix now, we could do a marathon? Or just watch ‘Goblet of Fire’? I won’t even get jealous when you fawn over Cedric.” He giggles and you can’t help but give a small laugh back.

You take the time to notice your hands have stopped twitching now, thanks to his, and your leg bounces are a lot calmer.

“Can we get a Dominoes takeaway too?”

“I’ll ask Jeff to call it in now, so it’ll be ready for us at 10:30, okay?” He squeezes your hands for reassurance. “Just promise me you’ll be okay for another 15 minutes. I’ll be as quick as possible.”

“I promise. I feel better now anyway.” You smile genuinely.

“Good.” He leans over to kiss your hands softly.

“H? We need you back now.” A member of the crew calls for him across the room.

“Go be brilliant.” You tell him.

“Go be brave.” He replies.

He stands up and leans over to kiss you, promising a proper kiss when he returns. For now you just enjoy a little kiss with your sweaty boyfriend.

He kisses the top of your head before turning to leave the room, screaming as he leaves; “I love you Y/N!”

All because of Harry does your anxiety slowly disappear and the warmth spreads over your heart once more.

[toournextadventure]

our little secret pt.v

Summary: Letters to you.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, mention of possible suicide (slight mention, nothing happens), mental instability, mental spiraling, religious talk (Southern Christianity) Pairing: Lorraine Day x Reader (Masterlist) A/N: this is like a little filler, just having fun trying out something different. Don't worry, there's still a giant chapter left! Also? When Lorraine signs the letters to you, she puts a little heart over the i <3

June 15th

I thought you said you’d always be waiting. But I come home to hear from your momma that you’re on a vacation with Roy? Why didn’t you tell me before I left? I would have given you a proper goodbye.

It’s probably a good idea, though. Roy could definitely use the break and I’m sure you can too. I know the past few weeks have been… rough. I’m sorry. I didn't know it was going to happen. But we can talk more about things when you get back. For now, make sure you have some fun, okay?

Your momma said y’all went out West. If you could write me back and let me know where, maybe I can meet up with you. We can have a proper vacation for once. Do y’all have any real plans, or are you just traveling? I’m sure either one will do the job. You always did want to get out of town for a bit.

Our shoot went well. Max and Bobby-Lynne asked about you the whole time. It doesn't sit right with me when they're constantly checking up on you. Maybe I'm just jealous. It's probably nothing compared to how you feel. At least they mean well, I suppose. They send you their love. Maxine sent… a little more than love, but I’m not telling you about that.

By the time you get this letter, it shouldn’t be too long before you’re back home. I’ll be here waiting for you, okay? Don’t forget to send me some postcards. And if you find anything cute, don't forget to buy it for me! I'll pay you back, I promise.

I'll see you soon.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

June 29th

Having too much fun?

We all thought you'd both be home by now. The 4th is next week, you know. We never miss the 4th. Daddy said he would cook out this year. He's making your favourite and Beau and Huck got the good fireworks. We can take the truck out and watch the show, just you and me. RJ will be out so we can be free for a bit. That’ll be nice, right? A nice little break. So you better not miss it.

Speaking of, Beau isn’t too happy that you’re not home yet. He’s been doing a lot of pacing and mumbling a bunch of nonsense. I think he’s being a bit dramatic. He’s not happy that you left without letting him know. Said he could have told you a few places to go to be safe. I think he just misses you. We all do.

We haven’t been out to a shoot for a while. I’m glad. It hasn’t been the same since RJ proposed. Nothing has, really. Things just don’t feel the same. There’s guilt in everything I do now, I don’t know how to explain it. I just don’t feel comfortable with anything, even daily chores. Did you ever feel that guilt? The one that sits deep in your belly?

On a brighter note, Jimmy and Liz are back in town. They seem to be doing good. And no, they’re not pregnant, thank God. It’s a modern miracle. They had hoped to see you before the summer is over. Of course they will though, it’s not even July yet, the summer is still young. Besides, I know no vacation is more fun than hanging out with us, right? Even Roy would agree, I know it.

Momma is calling me to dinner now, so I’ll wrap it up. I’ll see you on the 4th, okay?

Yours, Lorraine

—---

July 23rd

Hey darlin, I think it’s about time you came home. You’ve more than missed the 4th, and Lorraine ain’t too happy. It’s the first time you’ve missed a holiday, you know? It ain’t like you. I know this ain’t the happiest place for you right now, but your family is here. We’re all here.

Where’d you go anyhow? You and Roy are homebodies, y’all don’t know anybody out West. If you really wanted a vacation, you could’ve waited for us to get home. We would’ve taken you. I’m sure Lorraine would’ve been happy to go too. We could’ve had a double vacation, you know? Like we always talked about?

Huck and I won our competition the other day. Wish you had been there to cheer us on. We wiped the floor with everybody. Best team ropers in the South, just you wait. You’d best come home for the next one. I’d hate to get too popular for you to notice us, you know?

I’ll keep Lorraine calm and happy, but I really need you to get home, darlin. It’s a bit past time to be concerned. At the very least, send us a letter back. I can handle you being gone for so long if I know where you are. I know this isn’t a happy place, but we’re still worried about you. We can make it a better place again, I promise.

Just send me something back, okay? I’d appreciate it.

Love you, Beau

—---

August 12th

Hon, I really think you need to come home. Lorraine and Beau are losing their minds. No one has heard from you or Roy since you left, and your parents don’t seem worried at all. Your momma seems the slightest bit concerned, but your daddy isn’t. Everyone is just acting weird, so you need to come home.

Jim and Liz left for seminary again last week. They were mighty upset they didn’t get to see you before they left. It’s been about since Christmas since y’all were together, right? They miss you both. Y’all are family. Maybe try to write him while y’all are gone, I’ll write his address at the bottom in case you don’t remember.

If I have to listen to Beau and Lorraine ask where you are one more time, I’m going to lose my mind. You know neither one of them knows how to be patient or think logically. They have a single bad thought and run with it. I need you here to help me calm them down, because you’re fine, just taking a break from everything.

No one blames you for taking a break. After everything… it’s the least you deserve. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Lorraine asked the other night if this is her fault. I told her it wasn’t. We all know that girl loves you to the moon and back. And we all know you love her back. Things can be worked out, but you’ve got to come back home first, okay?

After all this, you had better be having the time of your life, darling. I’m going to assume as much since you’re not answering anybody. Hey, if you can’t write back, can you at least give us a number to try and call you at? Beau said he’d pay any long-distance charges, he just wants to make sure you’re okay.

He’s playing the part of a dutiful boyfriend, you know. Everyone thinks it’s romantic. I know he’s just worried about you, but it’s weird to hear everyone giving him their sympathies. Is this how you feel when everyone talks to Lorraine about RJ? Like you’re in second place in a race you hadn’t wanted to compete in? Because if so, then I think I understand you a bit. It’s… not a nice feeling.

Ah, I won’t get sentimental. We can talk more when you get home. I think I understand you a little better. That’s kinda sad, isn’t it? Took you leaving for me to get a better grip on your feelings? Well, just come home soon so we can talk. As I’ve made clear, Beau and Lorraine miss you. But I miss you too, darling. Enjoy your trip, but please come home soon safe and sound.

With love, Huck

—---

October 9th

This ain’t funny anymore, you know. It ain’t funny, and you need to get home now. You can quit ignoring all our letters, we get it. You’re hurt, you’re upset, you wanna teach us a lesson or somethin. We get it, we understand, just come home.

Lorraine is losing her gotdamn mind, and quite frankly I am too. No one’s heard a peep from you or Roy. You didn’t even like the West, you had always said it was too different. Never liked how they did their food either. So why would you even go out that way anyway?

You’re probably out drinking those fancy beers they try to peddle up there. They’re not as good as ours and you know it. Or you’re out doing those stupid hikes that you never cared for, getting more blisters on your heels because you don’t even like walks. There’s nothing good out there and you need to come back.

You should’ve left us a note before you left. That ain’t like you, you know. You always let us know where you’re going. You couldn’t even go to church camp back in the day without leaving a personalised letter for each of us. But now you just up and leave in the middle of the night? No warning? That ain’t right and you know it.

People keep asking me where you are and I don’t have any more answers. I can only say “she’s on vacation” so many times before people realise it’s a lie. And it is, isn’t it? It’s a lie. You’re not on some damn vacation. If you ran off, just let me know. I’ll leave you alone as long as I know you’re safe.

Did we make you that miserable? Was being around us so awful that you had to leave? You could’ve told us first. We could’ve come up with a plan, something that wouldn’t hurt you so bad. I don’t know what we could’ve done, but we could’ve tried something. Anything at all.

I need you to answer my letters, honey. I really need you to let me know you’re safe.

Please be safe.

Love you, Beau

—---

December 17th

You missed Halloween. And Thanksgiving. Are you going to miss Christmas too? And New Year's Eve? Am I going to have to jump into the new year without you? Please let me know if I am, because I need to be prepared. I’ve spent holiday after holiday waiting for you to come back, for you to spend it with me again. I get my hopes up every single time just for you to not be there.

RJ keeps asking me what’s wrong, and I’m honest with him. I miss you. I miss you so badly my chest aches. But he doesn’t understand. He thinks I just miss my best friend. And I do, you’ve always been my best friend. But you’re so much more than that, and I can’t explain it to him until you get back because I need someone to hold on to while you’re gone. When are you coming back?

Are you waiting for an apology? Because I’ll give you one, I’ll give you as many as you want. I’m sorry about RJ. I’m sorry about the proposal and that I didn’t say no. I’m sorry about Mr. Dylan, he never should’ve touched you. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye properly. I’m sorry I avoided you after the proposal, I was just scared and didn’t know what to do.

I’ll say sorry for anything you want or need. Just please answer me. Please come home. I don’t want anything else for Christmas, I don’t want any other miracle, I just want you. Please come home.

I miss you.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

January 24th

We searched Roy’s room and found all his guns gone.

I’m done asking, darling, you need to call us or send us a letter. Now. Now, I don’t believe Roy would do anything to you, but your daddy is on a kick about how unstable he was. How he’s still sick from the devil and all that nonsense he would always preach. I know he wouldn’t touch a hair on your head, but I really need you to answer me.

Lorraine has been losing her patience with RJ. She yelled at him the other day just because he tried to hold her hand. Told him not to touch her. It was quite the show. And it’s going to get her in trouble. She needs you, you know? You’re not the only one who has to hide.

I’m sorry, but I went through your room. It’s been long enough, your momma practically gave me the go ahead. You didn’t take any of your letters from Lorraine. Did you mean to leave them? I hope you didn’t. I hope it was an accident, and you didn’t mean to leave us behind.

Beau has a letter for you too, but he’s not done with it. I don’t know how to help him. He’s got himself convinced he should’ve done more. I don’t know what he should have done. I don’t know what he could have done differently. Did you want him to propose? The three of us could’ve moved off somewhere, you know. We could’ve made it work if it’s what you wanted.

Everyone wants you home. They need you to come home. No one is complete without you, it’s like a big part of town is missing. Stevie from the bar finally pulled me aside and asked about you last weekend. I couldn’t even give him an answer. He said he’d pray for you. Said he’d keep a shot of the good stuff saved for when you get back.

Fuck it. I miss you too. You’re one of my very best friends, hon. You’re the one who’s been with me through everything. Hell, you introduced me to Beau. You’re the only one I can truly talk to about things. I need you home too, okay? You’re part of my home, so I need you to come back.

I need you to write back.

With love, Huck

—---

January 30th

You’re an absolute bastard. You know that? You’re a fuckin bastard. A vacation? Give me a fuckin break, you didn’t go on no gotdamn vacation. Where’d you go, huh? Somewhere we’d never find you? Did Roy convince you to leave? He probably did, the prick. Ain’t no way you would’ve left on your own, you’re not stupid.

What the hell were you thinkin? Just up and leavin like it ain’t nobody’s business. Well it’s my business. It’s my fucking business and you should’ve told me. You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. I don’t care that we’re pretendin, I still fuckin care about you and you just fuckin left? Did I mean that little to you?

We had a pretty great thing goin, you didn’t have to leave and ruin it. I don’t care that it was a lie, we were happy. I still had Huck, and you still had Lorraine, and we were happy. You didn’t have to pack your bags and leave like a thief in the night to, what, prove a point? Well I get it now, you weren’t as happy as I thought. You could’ve told me instead of doin all of this.

You’d better answer the gotdamn letter this time. I ain’t playin around anymore. You better answer the letter and get your ass home. And if Roy is readin this, then you better get her home. You’d better have kept your gotdamn hands and your guns away, and you better get her home. Now.

Beau

—---

February 15th

Hey, momma said I should try to send you something. She said you might answer me since I’m your baby brother. Are you and Roy okay? I don’t care what Pap says, I know y’all aren’t dumb, y’all didn’t go do something stupid. Roy probably just grabbed his guns to keep you safe. He’s not crazy.

Gramma came down with something nasty. The doctors think it’s pneumonia, but we’re still waiting for tests to come back. You both should probably get back just in case it’s bad. She misses you. She prays for you both twice a day. It’s really sweet, she just wants you both safe.

Seminary has been alright. Boring. You would’ve liked it more. Heck, you would’ve been better at it. No one knows the bible quite like you, I don’t care what Pap says. If any one of us should’ve gone off to study, it should’ve been you. Maybe once he sees how bad at it I am, he’ll change his mind. Think so? Probably not.

I’m waiting to propose to Liz until you both get back. I’ve got it all planned out and everything, even bought a ring. You’d like it, I think. But I can’t get married without my big siblings, right? Don’t worry, I can be patient. Y’all just get home safe and sound, you hear?

We love you. The both of you. We’ll see you soon.

Jimmy

—---

February 18th

Your Gramma passed away today. The funeral is in two weeks. That should be more than enough time for you to get back.

We’ll see you soon, love.

With love, Huck

—---

March 4th

Your Gramma’s funeral was today. You weren’t there. Why weren’t you there? You meant the world to her. She meant the world to you. You were the one she wanted to see, and you weren’t even there to see her buried.

She would have wanted you to be here.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

April 4th

A police report came in that they found two bodies in the river a few hours away from here. The bodies are decomposed too much to make identifications. I swear to god, hon, it better not be you. I know things were hard. For the both of you. But you didn’t have to go and do that.

It better not be you.

With love, Huck

—---

May 26th

Your daddy practically declared you both dead at church this morning. I guess after almost a year, he’s tired of worrying about it. He was never a patient man. I don’t think anyone really believed him, but who’s going to argue with their preacher? No one in this town, that’s for sure. Momma and daddy said you’re probably fine, just got sick of your daddy. No one would blame you if that were the case.

After church, Mr. Dylan told your daddy you and Roy had tried to kill him the night you left. If that were true, I don’t know why he didn’t bring it up when everyone was asking where you were. Don’t know why he saved it for now, but he did. Said you had both tried to kill him in the church.

He told your daddy you were a queer. Said you were a queer and you were going to infect the town with your sin. Huck hit him. Square on the jaw, knocked him out cold. I had thought it would be Beau. I hope he gave Mr. Dylan a concussion.

Did he really find out? Because I didn’t tell anybody, I swear. We always kept things a secret. At least I think we did. No one was ever around that didn’t already know. I know none of my crew told, they wouldn’t dare. I promise I didn’t tell anyone.

Momma asked me this evening if you really were queer. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what her reaction would be. She has always loved you, I didn’t want her to think any less of you because of what Mr. Dylan said. Daddy said we shouldn’t talk about it while you’re not here. Said it wasn’t right to talk behind your back. I don’t want them to hate you.

I won’t ever let them hate you.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

June 1st

I hate you. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hate you. I hate you, and I hate Roy, and I hate this fuckin town and everyone in it.

You were supposed to be here, gotdammit. You were supposed to be here, and we were all supposed to grow old together. What the fuck were you thinkin? Don’t you know how much you’ve hurt me? Don’t you understand? We might not have been in love, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love you. I loved you, and you went and broke my heart like this?

We were all supposed to be together, you know. No matter what, remember? I thought you were my Huckleberry. Well what are you now, huh? A coward. You’re a fuckin coward. What, times get hard so you leave? You just pack your shit and leave with your crazy fuckin brother?

What were we to you? Were we just a means to an end? Nothing more than a toy for you to play with? Cause you were never that to me. You were never anything less than my best friend, the only girl I ever loved. And you just fuckin left me. Was I not good enough for you?

If that’s how you feel, then good fuckin riddance. Stay away. We don’t want you back in this town anyway. Go stay with your new fuckin friends that won’t ever fuckin know you or care about you the way we do. No one is ever gonna understand you like we do.

Don’t even bother comin back.

Beau

—---

June 2nd

Please come back. I can’t do this without you.

Beau

—---

June 4th

I broke off the engagement today. It’s all just too much. I can’t even stand looking at him anymore. Every time he looks at me makes my skin crawl. I can’t even stand being in the same room with him anymore. Each time he touches me makes me feel like a piece of my soul dies.

Did I do this to you? Did I push you to leave? If I did, I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. If I had been smarter, I would’ve suggested dating Huck instead. Then none of this ever would have happened. The four of us would’ve been together and no one would have ever known. We could’ve been happy.

Were you that unhappy? I never wanted you to hurt. All I ever wanted was you. Every time I had to fake a smile with RJ, or play nice, I always thought about you. I didn’t care about him, he was just a good distraction so no one would know about us. It was stupid. I never should’ve been afraid of how I felt.

I need you to come home. I need you to come home and tell me everything will be okay. Nothing feels the same without you. Foods don’t taste good, the sun isn’t as bright, nothing is fun. Most days I don’t even want to get out of bed anymore. I would rather rot away than go another day without you.

I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for everything. I’ll take everything back, I’ll tell the whole world that I love you. I’ll hold your hand at the store. I’ll sit in your lap at the bar, and pull you to dance with me. I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want. I just want you back. I need you back.

I love you. You’re my home. I need you here with me.

Please come back to me.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

July 1st

You took my heart with you, you know. No one else is ever going to have it. Please keep it safe.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

The bonfire was hot against Lorraine’s skin. Far too hot. Combined with the sweltering summer heat, it was painful. She didn’t care. Painful at least felt like something. It felt like something real, something she could focus on. Almost as real as the pile of letters in her hands, all stamped with the same thing on the front in red.

Return to sender.

“I’m sorry,” Max said softly. Her hand was surprisingly cool against Lorraine’s upper arm.

On the other side of the fire, off in the distance, she could hear Beau yelling. Drunken, incoherent rambling that no one could really understand. Huck had given up on trying to console him. After all, how could he console him about something that they couldn’t fix? What would be the point?

Another beer bottle shattered against the hard ground.

You were supposed to come back. You were supposed to be there waiting for Lorraine when she got back from filming. Then you were both going to talk, and you were going to come up with a plan to get out of the engagement, and then everyone was going to be happy. Maybe you could’ve gone out East for real, like the four of you had always talked about.

The letters in her hand felt like lead.

“Do you want us to give you a minute?” Bobby-Lynne asked. She squeezed Lorraine’s shoulders. It was comforting. Grounding.

“No,” Lorraine said softly. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.”

The letters were the last connection she had to you. Your daddy had quickly emptied out yours and Roy’s rooms, labeling you both as sinners and traitors. She had been lucky enough to grab your hat before he had thrown everything out. It sat comfortably on her head right at that moment.

Her last remnants of you.

No tears came as she held the letters over the fire. The flames licked the skin of her damaged fingers. She knew, logically, it should have hurt. It didn’t. Maybe, if she kept her hand there long enough, you would appear and pull her back. You would scold her for doing something dangerous, and then you could both go to bed.

That’s all she wanted. She just wanted to go to bed.

Her fingers pried themselves away from the letters, and she watched them fall onto the bonfire. One by one they caught a spark, turning a dark brown and curling around the edges before igniting. She could see the different handwriting on each page. Beau, Huck, Jimmy. Her own. All filling the pages with their thoughts, their concerns, their feelings. Things they would never dare tell each other.

She watched the fire until the very last letter burned. Your name faded away into the orange flame. You faded away into nothing, and when your name was no longer legible, Lorraine felt her own heart go with it. There was a space shaped exactly like you within her chest. No one would ever fill it, and she didn’t want them to.

You were her heart and soul. Her home.

She would never find anyone else for as long as she lived. And then, she would find you in death.

She would find you in every lifetime. No matter how long it took.

[bea-ce]

asking your boyfriend to take a bath with you!

characters: alhaitham, childe, diluc, kaeya and kaveh!

genre: fluff

summary: in which you ask your boyfriend if he’d like to take a bath with you!

notes: i’m extremely biased and you might be able to tell, hehe whoops anyways i thought i might give some fluff before i drop some angst that i have in my drafts! (none of you are safe from my angst writing.)

warnings: slightly suggestive in childes and kaeyas part, but other than that it should be safe!

Al Haitham

You’d either have to drag him by his cloak into the bathroom and push him into the bathtub with force to get him to take a bath with you or be lucky enough that he deliberately wants to take a bath with you. He’ll be extremely reluctant the first times you ask to take a bath with him. Not because he’s shy, but just because he doesn’t see the point of it. Eventually he warms up to the idea and it becomes another thing the two of you do together amongst many other things.

“You’re so filthy, you should take a bath. Come now, I’ll take one with you. What? I have to make sure you get properly cleaned off.”

Childe

He’d have a smirk plastered across his face the first time you suggest taking a bath with him and he’d be damned if he didn’t take the opportunity to tease you to the point you’re left with no more retorts to throw straight back at him. He’ll make suggestive comments while you undress and get into the bathtub that’s filled with lukewarm water. You can only smack him as he settles down in front of you. Despite the impure praise he’ll bestow on you while washing your hair, you can sense how much he cares about you and loves you from his actions alone.

“Turn around so I can wash your hair for you, unless you like getting soap into your eyes. Have to make sure you’re well taken care of, right? Can’t have people think I’m not taking proper care of you.”

Diluc

Poor man, he was rendered speechless and defeated from your suggestion alone the first time you had proposed the idea of taking a bath together. The way he blankly stared at you with no response being rendered any time soon had you wave your hands reassuringly that he didn’t have to if the idea made him uncomfortable, you’d be lying though if you were to say that his reaction wasn’t a little bit disappointing for you. Diluc is quick to compose himself as you wave your hands and assures you that he’d love to.

“Is that what you really want? Alright then, sure. I can’t see why I wouldn’t take up on such offer, especially if it’s with you.”

Kaeya

He’s extremely smug about it and won’t stop teasing you by leaving lingering touches and words that only insinuates that he’s out to make you flustered and embarrassed. Despite that he’s quick to agree and get to it by being the one dragging you to the bathroom along with him instead of the other way around like you had intended to. 

“Oh my, is that really a proposition? Do you have any other plans while we are taking a bath together? Relax, I’m just kidding. Unless you really want to.”

Kaveh

Ugh, he’s all shy about it- hesitant and tripping over his words at the suggestion of taking a bath with you. He’s quick to agree once he finds himself composed again and checks in every 2 minutes to see if you’re still alright with the idea of taking a bath with him. Of course you are, and a part Kaveh knows that too. But he wants to be sure and leave no space for doubt that you might’ve regretted the proposition. Kaveh is sweet while the two of you take a bath, letting you sit in front of him with your back pressed against his chest as he washes both of your hairs together with one of his products.

“Are you sure that you’re alright with this? Okay, okay, I’m just checking. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’d never want to do something you didn’t want to do. I love you too much to do something like that.”

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

[rogerswifesblog]

If you still take requests for the drabbles:

„I think I want to marry you“ Steve Rogers and reader, fluff please

Hi! Thank you for this request (that was in my inbox for what feels like years😅) but I finally found some more motivation to check out all the requests:) from now on I’ll try to choose a request from my inbox at least once a week to write and post! There’s a lot but I don’t mind if you send new ones. I won’t write it chronological, I’ll just write whatever I’ll be in the mood for:)

My Masterlist

Proposal pie

Warnings: none?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right?

You walked into the kitchen, in the hopes it’d be empty since you really wanted to cook something instead of ordering take out. Again.

Since you became an avenger you’ve noticed how little time you had to cook proper meals, especially when you had to go from one mission to another.

But finally you had three days off, unless there’d be a life and world threatening villain terrorizing the city.

After buying some groceries you came back to a mostly empty compound. From what FRIDAY had told you Tony was in the lab, Clint and Nat training and Steve was jogging with Bucky.

You’ve decided on a very simple dish, spaghetti with meatballs, knowing it was Steve’s favorite dish. Even though he hadn’t told you this you had noticed the ungodly amount of orders at the italian restaurant a couple blocks away, always ordering some kinds of pasta.

Maybe he’d like your dish, too, you hoped.

“FRIDAY, please turn on my playlist for good mood”, you said before getting busy with preparing the food, not even noticing when Steve and Bucky walked past the kitchen to their rooms to shower.

“God, it smells good”, Steve whispered to Bucky, peeking into the kitchen and noticing how you stirred the sauce, while still shaking your hips to the beat of the music a little bit. A smile crept onto the soldiers lips, which Bucky definitely noticed but didn’t mention. “It definitely smells good. You should go and ask her if you can have some before the rest of the team smells it”, Bucky said, patting him on the shoulder.

Steve felt himself blush before nodding and slowly walking to the kitchen, clearing his throat loudly to get your attention. But the music was too loud.

“Miss, Captain Rogers is trying to get your attention”, said FRIDAY, turning down the volume of the music, making you stop immediately, “oh god…”, you whispered while slowly turning around to face him.

That was embarrassing. Especially considering your crush on him.

“Hi Steve, how was the run?”, you asked, blushing furiously while also trying to look at least somewhat casual. “It was alright…what…what are you cooking? It smells really good”, he asked, looking past your shoulder to the pan.

A smile crept onto your lips when you saw the appetite growing in his eyes. “It’s spaghetti with meatballs…would you like some? You must be hungry after all the running?”, without waiting for his answer you turned around to give him some of the food on a plate.

When you turned back around he was already sitting at the counter with a big smile on his face. “It smells really tasty”, he chuckled, scratching his slightly damp hair from the sweat. “I hope it’ll taste as good…I have a surprise afterwards, too”, you said while placing the plate in front of him.

After he asked for you to join him too, you sat down in front of him. Then he finally tried the first bite, moaning quietly in pleasure. “Fuck, this is good. Wow”, “it sure has to be to make the captain swear”, you chuckled, eating too.

He ate quickly, without talking much, especially since he had been hungry from all the running. Homemade food definitely tasted better than ordered. It was really good. He hadn’t eaten such a good meal in a while.

When he finished eating (while you still had half of your own portion left), you got up and walked over to the already turned off oven, taking out a pie.

“Wait is that-“ “apple pie. Yeah, you’re all America, aren’t you? With the favorite pie being an apple pie?”, you chuckled while cutting two slices and then bringing them to Steve. A blush had crept onto his face at your comment. “What can i say…I could never refuse apple pie”, he laughed quietly while stabbing his fork into the slice, before wrapping his plump lips around the piece.

He inhaled loudly, closing his eyes. “This is…heaven…”, he mumbled, shaking his head slowly. “Oh my god, I had no idea you were such a good cook and baker…I want this forever.” A chuckle escaped your lips as you listened to his words, “I think I want to marry you”, at which you two blushed furiously and looked up at each other.

“Ask me to dinner first, and then a proposal”, you tried to lighten up the mood, not expecting the coming invite to dinner tonight.

Hi! Thank you for reading!!

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Flood my inbox with HC, Drabble/OS ideas or questions! Just whatever you want to leave there! Anons welcome 😋

[cherryblossom-heart]

I loved you once B.B

Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Masterlist

Summary: Loving Bucky Barnes was never easy but breaking your heart seemed to come naturally to him. A love story about your heartbreak,his betrayal and a chance at redemption.

19.1 k words

Content Warning: ANGST, heartbreak, cheating, mature themes, +18 SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (Pussy job, penetrative sex p in v, sad/angry sex? Rough sex mixed with a little pain. It will make sense once you read it) . Fluff, mentions of bad mental health from both Bucky and reader, graphic violence, character's death, mentions of women trafficking as well as assault.

A/N: Wow 19k words. Im sorry this took so long to finish but as you can tell it is super long as I promised. Buckle up y'all, this is sad. Also this is my first time writing a proper cheating fic so if you can/want let me know if you like it or not. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this 😊

Post dividers by @firefly-graphics and @cafekitsune

Now  

"Fuck you," you spat the words.    

Tears fell from your eyes as they made their way down your neck, making dark spots in the collar of your red turtleneck. Even when pain was drowning you, beauty never left you. Bucky felt as if he were watching a beautiful Renaissance painting—a tragedy of sorts.   

"Is that all? I really don’t have time for this."   

He didn’t recognize his own words or the indifference they came out with. He didn’t mean to say them, but it was as if his own body was working on autopilot, and he was only a spectator to the shitshow it was causing. He wanted to stop. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to say so many things, but the only thing he was capable of was hurting you.   

"Are you kidding me? That’s all you’re going to say?"   

"What else do you want me to say? You know what happened, you saw her with your own eyes. Anything I say is either going to make you angrier or make you cry even more. Let’s just be done with this, you’ll eventually get over it."   

The sound of your hand connecting with his face put an end to his sentence. The hit didn’t feel as such, his skin barely processed it as anything more than a simple graze, but once the initial shock wore off, the sting came along. But it didn’t compare to the pain he felt in his heart when his eyes connected with yours once again.   

"I always knew you were capable of many things, but not once did I think you would ever be this cruel."   

Your eyes drifted to your hands, your right hand playing with the ring you wore in your left. A sigh left your lips, and more tears fell before you finally slid it off your finger, placing it on the table next to you.   

A bucket of iced water. Painful, burning, scorching coldness— that’s how Bucky would describe looking at you while silently breaking your engagement. His mind was telling him to get on his knees, beg, and try to fix everything he had broken. But the darkest part of him, the one that had taken over his life was assuring him you were bluffing. You couldn’t leave, you always stayed. You always fought for him, even when he didn’t deserve it.   

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes rolling with the uninterested façade he had perfected.   

"I’m done, I can’t keep doing this anymore." You turned your back, strong and determined steps leading to his apartment door.  

Please, fix this.   

His trembling hands made their way to your wrist, anything that could mend the cracks in your heart that seeped with pain, the cracks he had caused with his own selfishness. Before his fingers could even graze your skin, your hand quickly swatted away his pathetic effort to stop you.  

"God, stop being so goddamed drama—"   

"Don’t fucking touch me. Don’t try to contact me ever again, I won’t answer."   

"Can you just—"   

"If I ever see you again I swear I’ll murder you. I didn’t kill you the first time we met but I swear I’ll do it if you even dare to breath in my direction."   

Your words hurt, it seemed as though each one stabbed him right through the chest in a taunting way, a reminder of how much he had screwed up. Bile rose to his throat when you recoiled at his proximity, and the hate in your eyes burned him with such force that he was sure you wouldn't wait until the next time you met.   

He deserved it either way.  

Bucky's eyes opened just as the car jolted, his heart racing against his chest, his ears buzzing. For a fraction of a second, he's confused, not remembering why he was in the car, but the fogginess of his thoughts was replaced with anxiety when he heard the tracker beeping on Sam's thigh. 

"Good, you’re awake. I think we’re almost there." Sam kept his eyes on the road, occasionally glancing down at the device that told him where to go. Judging by his demeanor, his friend didn’t seem as nervous as he did, if at all. It wasn’t like Sam had a reason to, he was the only one who had fucked up.  

He looked out at the vehicle, and the passing trees in the darkness of the night numbed his mind while he tried to forget about his dream. No, it wasn’t a dream, it was his worst memory to date. Usually, his nightmares were about the crimes he had committed while being the Winter Soldier, and he could blame them on his consciousness not being there with him. His own body didn’t belong to him, so he couldn’t keep blaming himself for the things HYDRA had forced him to do.  

With you, on the other hand, he could not blame anyone else but himself. His mind wasn’t tortured by a secret organization in hopes of ruining his relationship, nor was he forced to hurt the person about whom he cared the most to save thousands of lives. He did it all by himself, and now the nightmares have not only scared him but hurt him all over again.  

You started to show up in his dreams more frequently once Sam told him they needed your help. As expected, the super-soldier's first reaction was total and complete refusal. His friend thought it was a childish reaction the former winter soldier was having to avoid the awkwardness of meeting you again, only knowing your relationship had ended on bad terms without hearing the specifics. But the blue-eyed man wasn’t doing it for himself, he was doing it for you. The night you left, you made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with him, or even anything related to him, your resignation from the Avengers Team and subsequent evaporation from the face of the earth was a strong message to leave you alone.  

After a few hours of arguing, with both men going back and forth on why they did or didn't need you, Bucky finally agreed to go look for you. Lives were at stake, and no matter how hard he tried to look for a solution that avoided you, there seemed to be none. Before he could ask where to even start looking for you, Sam pulled out a device that seemed familiar to a phone. You had given Sam, and only Sam, a tracker that could find you anywhere in the world and could only be unlocked by a password you had whispered to him  

The depth of his tormenting cycle of thoughts didn’t let him register they weren’t on the road anymore until his partner stopped the vehicle. They were surrounded by tall, dense trees, and the crickets and cicadas that hid in the dark made an orchestra that filled the emptiness of the night. Sam grabbed his gear, the sound of a duffle bag being opened broke the rhythm of nature.  

"Why are we stopping here?" Bucky asked with a frown. His own duffle was placed across his back, the tinkering of the metal inside it annoying him slightly.  

His friend threw an annoyed look at him before rolling his eyes and scrambling through his belongings. "As I said like twenty minutes ago while you were brooding and having your own pity party, this thing shows her inside a building in the middle of the woods. I’d like to take a look around the area before going in blind."  

"Oh."  

Normally, the super soldier would’ve had a comeback for the annoying yet harmless insults his friend and partner would throw at him, even a snide comment. But this was different, no matter what Sam would say, he could only think of what was about to happen. So he let it slide, submerging himself in his own thoughts while Sam threw the little flying robot he nicknamed "Red Wing" into the air. Once it was hovering above them and Sam made sure to have full control of it, they began a walk that would last about thirty minutes before the device would find any signs of life.  

Sam and him were waiting somewhere near the alleged building, Sam's robot scanning the surroundings.The thumping in his chest returned, and his fingers became ice cold.He was so close. Close enough to see you, close enough to talk to you, and perhaps close enough to apologize. 

How would you react to seeing him? Would you be happy to see him? Probably not, considering the last thing you said to him was that you would kill him if he ever came near you. He knew he deserved it, but hopefully time changed your murderous resolution. Maybe even forgave him.  

Could you ever forgive him?  

A slight swat from Sam brought him back from his thoughts, silently letting him know they were ready to go. Bucky could sense it before the place was even visible, the vibrations of the music resonating through the ground. The smell of smoke, alcohol, and humanity reached his nostrils right as they saw the line of cars parked in a plain field next to what resembled a warehouse.  

To an untrained eye, it would look like a normal, unsanitary, and probably unsafe rave done by stupid people. But the polarized windows of the cars, the shine coming from the inside of the guards' jackets, and the lot of security cameras installed in the building told another story. Whatever or whoever was in there was dangerous, and as usual, you had gotten yourself in the middle of it.  

Bucky wasn’t an idiot. He knew you couldn’t stay away from helping people, no matter how hard you tried. He saw the breadcrumbs, microscopic, little clues that he could recognize as your style. A missing girl suddenly returning to her family, a kidnapped journalist in the middle of war returning to their respective embassy. A child trafficker falling from his hotel room in the twentieth floor. You had always been... effective when it came to missions, sometimes going overboard with your methods, but Tony, Steve, and himself had always guided you towards the good and righteous path that a person with your abilities was supposed to take. 

You lost all three of them in the span of a year.  

They were lucky that it was relatively easy to get inside, and even luckier that their clothes didn't draw too much attention to them. Sure, they seemed to be wearing more clothes than needed, as most people seemed to enjoy themselves topless and/or pantless, but with the darkness of the room barely being lit by the flashing blue and red lights, no one really noticed them.  

Guys, girls, and people he wasn’t sure how to label were grinding against each other. Hands touched him, pulling his jacket, and he had to push them all away, trying to make his way through the sea of people. The inside of the warehouse could pass for a functioning club, with couches, dance floors, and screens accommodating everyone inside.  

Bucky wasn’t sure he had ever seen anything like this; the debauchery that people showed shocked his old-fashioned ways. He was sure he had seen several people inside each other, whether it was fingers, tongues, or dicks, no one seemed to mind that everyone else could see them. How had you gotten yourself into the middle of this disguised orgy? What were you even doing here?  

Both men made their way to the front of the place, where a private section was installed looking over the dancefloor. Two large guys guarded the stairs that connected the lower and upper levels, allowing mostly attractive girls to ascend. Both men agreed that if you were to be found somewhere, it would undoubtedly be there. They scanned the room, looking for any way they could access the VIP level without having a pair of tits and long legs.  

He had never understood scenes in movies where they showed time slowing down. Every time he had been in a fight, whether it was as himself in the forties or as the winter soldier, everything seemed to happen too fast to process. Even the night you left, time had seemed to go at an abnormally fast pace, and by the time he could finally react the way he wanted, it had been too late.  

He never understood those scenes until he saw you walking to the protective railing surrounding the edge of the private section. Above the deafening music, the moans, and the music, he could hear your voice talking to someone else.  

It was as if he was seeing you for the first time. Your beauty had remained the same your hair, your eyes, and your lips all looked the same, yet his heart started racing just as it did all those years ago. You weren’t dressed like everyone else dancing around him, your black dress with a dangerous deep cleavage was sensuous, but it held a certain level of class that made you stand out from the crowd.  

Thump, thump, thump.  

Time moved at a slow pace, the slowest he had experienced. He was grateful for it, as it allowed him to appreciate every detail from you. The way your lips came close to the drink you had in your hand, the drumming your fingers did on top of the railing, the glint in your eyes—he knew it meant you were lost in your thoughts.   

Bucky had never been more grateful for the way time passed. Until he saw a pair of hands sliding across your waist, fingers gripping your hips so roughly, he was sure they would leave a mark on your skin. A semi-attractive man whispered words in your ear, his beard scruffing against your skin. You smirked, turning around to plaster your lips against his in a kiss that could make a pornstar blush.  

He knew you'd moved on; nearly a year had passed since the last time he saw you, and you'd probably found someone to sleep with, but he wasn't ready to watch you become someone else's. His mind was prepared to face your happiness, but his heart wasn’t. And even now, he was sure you were just tagging along with the man, using him for information for whatever mission you had gotten yourself into, yet he felt as if what remained of his heart had been ripped out of his chest.  

With strong, rough movements, the man turned you around, pressing your body against the railing. As his hand grabbed your neck, your hips grinded against his, your mouth open as you licked your lips. 

The super soldier couldn’t take it anymore, his heart begged him to stop the torture. He wasn’t even sure where Sam was, nor did he care. He cared about you, and he could only think about what he had lost. With the last of his dignity, he began to look away from you and your companion, who had leaned over to your ear once more. Except this time his eyes found Bucky’s, his fingers tightening around your neck.  

He knew. Somehow the man knew who he was and, most importantly, who you were.  

Your eyes widen slightly, searching through the sea of people dancing downstairs. But it didn't take you long to find those blue eyes you once adored. He was there, looking exactly the same as the night you left him, along with your heart.  

"I know who you are." The man whispered in your ear—a threat not so subtly hidden behind every word.  

But you couldn’t dwell long on his words because ice-cold eyes looked back at you. Ice cold eyes brought back the pain you thought you left behind, and the rage surfaced once more as you remembered the promises you made him.  

Cold metal was pressed against your neck, the edge of it grazing your skin. Bucky’s eyes widened in alarm, and his hands turned into fists, making him look like he cared. Like he actually had a heart.  

He barely took two steps in your direction when the wicked smile you wore stopped him. It was sinister. It was deadly. And when you turned to the man to say something, his grip faltered as one word left your lips.  

"Good"  

Your head connected against the man’s nose, a crack let you know it was most likely broken. You barely heard the man’s yells when bullets made their way to you, a couple of them grazing your skin. The room that was once filled with hips swaying, alcohol, and moans had transformed into a frenzy of screams and people running to get out of the building.  

The crowd tried to take Bucky away; their desperate attempts at escaping dragged him away as he fought his way through the sea of people. Seconds passed, and he could hear your grunts as well as more shooting coming from the upper floor, with girls running down the stairs, some of them with splashes of blood staining their clothes.  

He didn’t know whose blood it belonged to, and that frightened him.  

Sam’s voice pulled him out of his trance. "What the hell happened?"  

His friend had managed to make his way to him, both of them still getting pushed around. Bucky offered him a quick glance before resuming his previous task of making his way to the stairs.  

"Her cover is blown," was all the explanation Bucky offered, and somehow it was enough. Before any of them could add anything, screams came from the front door, three bulky men were making their way there while carrying very large and dangerous guns. "Take care of them, I’ll go help her," the super soldier said without leaving any room for discussion.  

When his fingers finally grabbed the banister of the stairs, Bucky was close to losing his mind. Climbing two steps at a time, he finally found himself a scene that froze him in the spot.  

You were there, your black dress ripped in some places, your makeup ruined by mascara running down your cheeks, and blood splashes tainted your flawless skin. Bucky had managed to get there just in time as you twisted a man's arm to an unnatural angle, the crack of his joint popping out of place was followed by his screams. You had managed to kill/knock out everyone except for the guy who had previously had a knife to your throat, and Bucky knew better than to think that was just a mere coincidence.  

After the last man fell to the ground, blood sputtering out of his neck, you lifted your gaze towards him. He couldn’t read you as easily as he had once been able to and he hated it. Before, he was sure he knew you better than you knew yourself, more than once already sure of your likes and dislikes before you asked him for an opinion. He had treasured those times in his mind, and the memories were as comforting as they were painful. A constant reminder of what he had lost.  

He was right there, right in front of you. The man you fell in love with when you still had a heart. The man who still had a tight grip on it and who would probably always own it. He could keep it for all you cared, your heart was tainted with memories you didn’t wish to keep.  

It was the first time both of you were this close, every scream gone as you were absorbed by your own bubble. He looked so familiar that your own body reacted the way it used to whenever you saw him. Your heart stammered in your chest, and even after so long, the butterflies in your stomach appeared for a millisecond. He was the man you had once loved, he was the man with whom you imagined a future together.  

Then, you remembered why all your hopes and dreams had been destroyed.  

Bucky noticed the hurt flashing through your face, your jaw tightening right before you made your way to him. For a moment, he thought you were about to hug him, your desperation to reach him in your long strides mirroring his as his body begged him to touch you. He wanted to apologize, beg for forgiveness at your feet, and profess the love that he wasn’t able to forget.  

Perhaps if his mind hadn't been plagued with all the things he wanted to do, he would’ve noticed your foot rising to give him a solid kick on the chest.  

The force and unexpectedness of your attack launched him back to the railing, throwing him over it. His back landed with a loud thud on the floor, fortunate enough for him, everyone else seemed to have dissipated and his fall wasn’t that high up. A second later, you jumped from the banister, landing on top of him with your knife in hand. Your knee found it’s place on his chest, feet pressing his hands flat on the surface. Before Bucky could even muster a word, the blade was pinned against his throat.  

"I told you if I ever saw you again, I would fucking kill you." 

Then  

Steve had changed so much in the years they had spent apart. His friend, who had once been the fragile little Brooklyn boy he would protect with his life, was now a fully grown man with a strength that could crush a person if he wasn’t careful enough. He was also now his protector, not from bullies that would harass him because of his own stubbornness but from a secret organization that wanted to take over the world. That and his own fractured mind.  

He had lost control once the man had given him the commands to bring back the deadly assassin they had turned him into. He remembered it all, but it had felt as if he was under water the whole time, falling deeper and deeper the more he tried to fight against it. His own body didn’t belong to him, no matter how hard he tried to control it.  

For a year, he had thought it was possible to lead a normal life; his time spent in Romania had given him false hope that he had gotten away from his captors. How foolish he had been, thinking he could ever be far away from his grasps. He wasn’t the man he was before, just a weapon designed to hurt people.  

He supposed he was lucky Steve still saw good in him, at least enough to turn against his teammates and friends to help him clear his name. And now, as they drove to one of Steve’s friends' hideouts, he couldn’t help but feel guilty about everything that was going on. If he hadn’t lost control, Steve wouldn't be a wanted criminal. If he wasn’t captured, a shit ton of innocent, good people would still be alive. If his mind had been stronger, he could’ve broken free of HYDRA's mind control.  

Maybe it would’ve been better if he had actually died when he fell from that train.  

Steve parked outside an abandoned apartment complex, it seemed no one had lived there in years. He threw a questioning eyebrow at Sam, who just shrugged before getting out of the vehicle. Another of Steve’s friends had decided to help him out of loyalty to Steve, not because he particularly liked Bucky or entirely believed in his good side.  

All three men walked inside the building, not a sound inside other than their footsteps and heavy breathing. Steve looked around for a couple of seconds before making his way to the second floor, his intuition telling him where to go. He stood in front of a door with a big C plastered on it, his friend's hand hesitating before knocking on the wood.  

After the third knock came back without an answer, Steve decided to open the door. He had called a name while crossing the threshold, looking around for any signs of life inside the apartment. Bucky was surprised to find the apartment filled with computers, blueprints, documents, and lots of military-grade equipment. Everything gave away the signs of someone working there, yet there was no one who took ownership over them.  

It was too late when Bucky heard you standing behind him, with his feet being swept by your leg and effectively knocking him down. The wooden floor amplified the echo of his fall, catching Steve and Sam’s attention. Your frame landed on top of his, gun aimed directly between his eyes.Bucky's hand reached to grab your ankle in an effort to destabilize you, but the barrel of your weapon was pressed right on his forehead.  

"I wouldn’t do it if I were you," you said coolly. "I promise you, I’ll blow your brains out before you can even land a hit."  

After your words filled the room, Bucky’s eyes finally took their chance to look at you, actually look at you.  

God, you were beautiful.  

Maybe it was only your physical beauty that had taken him by surprise, or the fact that you had taken him down so easily with just one leg movement. Or even the fact that you seemed to have no fear towards a man who was being marketed as a "dangerous and armed terrorist." Whatever it was, Bucky couldn’t deny the fact that you were the most beautiful human being he had seen.  

After a few explanations from Steve’s part and some begging for help, you released the super soldier from your hold, weapon holstered in your back. Your hand extended to help him get off the floor, and you offered him a charming but wary smile.   

You told the three men to make themselves at home and take anything they needed. Bucky had chosen to keep guard, being by himself in the top floor while looking out through a window that hid him from everyone else. He was stewing in his own complicated thoughts when he heard a knock on the wall. You were there, standing a few feet away from him with a shy smile on your face as you extended to him a cup filled with hot coffee.  

Thump, thump, thump.  

"Sorry about the whole thing holding you hostage," you said as he welcomed the cup.  

His fingers accidentally grazed against your own, and it was as if he had touched electricity itself. Heat extended from his hands all through his body, and his ability to think was thrown out of the window. He looked at you, and he couldn’t tell if you felt the same or not, but he could feel how your eyes burned him, with a curiosity behind them that was so easy to read that he was surprised you were the black ops/spy Sam had told him.  

"It’s whatever, I would’ve done the same thing if I were you." Bucky answered after a few seconds.  

He turned to look through the window again, trying to keep his thoughts in order. You settled down next to him, the warmth of your skin reaching his own. Nothing could be heard other than your breathings, not even the cars outside or the sound of the busy city that hid you. And for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt relaxed with someone he didn’t know from the past.  

"I’m James."  

He could’ve sworn he heard you smile before you gave him your name. 

Now  

"What the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?"  

The music was still on, as were the blue and red lights that lighted up the darkness in the room. Bucky could feel the breeze of your breath on his face and the smell of expensive whisky and tobacco in every word you said. He wasn’t surprised, the man that you knocked out probably tried to impress you with them.  

But behind the traces of blood, alcohol, and gunpowder, he could smell your shampoo. The same peony smell mixed with lavander filled his nostrils, and it brought him back to the many nights you had spent together. Your fingers were drawing circles on the skin of his back, and his nose was buried in your hair.  

You, on the other hand, were reminded of the suffering he caused you with every passing second.  

"I told you to stay away from me," you muttered.  

Your hand pressed the edge of the blade on his skin, and you were sure if you kept going you were going to start drawing out blood, but you couldn’t care less. Bucky Barnes had always been an expert at instilling unwanted emotions in you, and it was difficult to keep those emotions at bay right now. 

You felt anger. You felt resentment. You felt pure, long-lasting hatred.  

"Maybe I should slit your throat right now, that’ll make you stay away from me permanently."  

Your words were intimidating, filled with the same promise you had made him that fateful night. This was his chance, his chance at the apology that had died out in his throat when you closed the door behind him. This was the chance he had chased in his dreams for almost a year.  

But he couldn’t say anything.  

He loved you. God, he loved you so much. He missed seeing your face other than in the few pictures he kept or in the memories that did no justice. Because even now, as you threatened to kill him, you were a dream come true, just like the first time he saw you. 

"Say something!"  

"You’re beautiful."  

Your grip faltered on the knife, your eyebrows slightly furrowing at his words.  

No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t come back out of nowhere, say some cheesy, basic compliment, and make the walls of hate you had built crumble. Even if he had only managed to knock down one brick, he didn't deserve it. You knew it, he knew it, and everyone else who knew what happened between you two knew it.  

Then why did your heart flutter at his words?  

"Hey," Sam said, breaking the silence, your head snapping in his direction."I know he’s an asshole, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t kill my partner."  

You look back at Bucky for a few seconds before giving up, throwing your knife to the floor. Sam leaned over, his hand extended to help Bucky get up.Your murderous eyes went from Bucky to Sams, your gaze softening at his friend.  

"I told you to only contact me in emergencies," you grumbled.  

A hiss left your lips when you touched your arm, one of the bullet wounds was still seeping blood. Bucky thought about telling you something, but this time he listened to the rational part of his brain that told him to shut the fuck up.  

"Believe me, if we had a choice, we wouldn’t have come," Sam said.  

Your eyes flickered between both men, not convinced about helping them. Well, on helping the blue eyed super soldier. A pathetic excuse for why you couldn’t help them died on your lips once you saw his blue eyes. Please, help us they begged.  

You didn’t owe him anything. You shouldn’t help him, but in the back of your head, Steve’s voice rang through. Good ol’ Steve Rogers and his everlasting moral lessons. That's what we have to do, he said. 

So you put aside your feelings because helping people mattered more than an idiot who broke your heart.  

"What do you want?" You sighed.  

"We’re looking into something... odd. A bunch of pregnant women missing, still in their early stages of pregnancy. Most of them show up dead after giving birth, but the babies are nowhere to be found."  

You shrug. "They take the kids, so?"  

It was cold, you were aware of it. But after the things you had seen, the things you had done, you were aware that people kidnapping woman for their babies wasn’t something out of the ordinary, let alone something that required Captain America to look into it. Things like that were always forgotten, pushed back into a slew of cases alongside more missing women. 

"They had traces of the super serum."  

Fuck.  

You laughed. A joyless, cynical type of laugh. Destiny, of course, had to be a jerk. 

"Well, you’re in luck. I think we’re tracking down the same people." Sam raised an eyebrow at you with a simple request for you to elaborate. "A girl showed up dead in México a couple of months ago, she’d been missing for almost a year. Autopsy showed she had a miscarriage before dying, the bleeding killed her. The remains had traces of the serum too."  

"Are you saying that—?" Sam couldn’t finish his sentence, the thought sending chills along his spine.  

"Yeah."  

The air is somber between the three of you. Sure, the flag smashers were a problem when they appeared, as you knew from all the news reports you'd seen.People with ten times the strength of a normal human being were dangerous, especially if they were associated with a terrorist organization. 

This was different, though. This was sinister.  

Groans coming from the top floor broke the eeriness that surrounded you, making you finally remember why you were here. You tore apart part of the black dress that was once pristine and wrapped it around your arm.  

"Look at this guy over there," you said, motioning behind you. "He has intel on this, he’s the one that gets the girls and delivers them."  

"Well, let’s take him in and—"  

You cut Sam off. "No. Look, you came looking for me because this is my specialty. I know how to handle guys like him, and I sure as hell know he won’t tell us shit if we take him to a precinct and threaten him with some jail time. He’s a big fish. A few phone calls and he’ll be out in no time." They knew you were right, but they didn’t like your arguments. "We do this my way, or you better pray you find them before I do."  

Sam looked hesitant. He knew what you were going to do to the man, and his good conscience chastised him for even thinking of letting you torture someone. But the rational part, the part that knew that in this case there wasn’t much of an option, knew that they needed you, and perhaps you also needed them.  

"Just, don’t kill him." Sam said before walking away.  

Compromise. You could do compromise.  

"Fine," you said, rolling your eyes. 

After Sam slammed the door shut on his way out, you were reminded of the fact that you weren't alone. Bucky’s eyes were already looking at you, the same apologetic eyes you had seen before you kicked him in the chest.  

"Thanks for helping us." He spoke, thinking it was an appropriate way to break the ice, but it only managed to make you scoff.  

"Let’s make something clear, I’m not doing this for you." you spat. "I’m doing this because Sam needs my help and so we can save those innocent girls and stop any more from being taken. This doesn’t change anything between us, as soon as this is over, you go back to leaving me the fuck alone, got it?"  

Say something. Fight for her. Explain what happened, his mind begged him.  

But he couldn’t, because even if it had been almost a year since he last saw you, he was still the same coward who let you walk away without a fight.  

So he agreed.  

"Yeah."  

"Good. I’ll meet you outside." 

Then  

"Thanks for the coffee." Bucky said before taking a sip.  

Droplets of water fell from his forehead, a strand of unruly black hair was hanging on the side of his eyebrows. The towel that hung from his waist, showing his torso all the way down to that sculpted V of his abdomen, made it too difficult to concentrate on the files you were trying to organize.  

The man was hotter than the sun.  

"No problem." you smiled at him.   

You had no idea it would be the best and worst decision you'd ever made when you suggested Bucky stay with you while Steve went to rescue the others.You liked Bucky, and the few days you spent with him while Steve and the others gathered everything they needed so they could go find Zemo had been nice. Sure, he was a man of a few words, but it didn’t bother you. It was weirdly comforting to be able to enjoy someone’s company in silence. And the times he spoke, he did it out of pure curiosity, curiosity about the world, about what had happened while he was in the ice, but mostly about you.  

He asked about your cases, how you met Steve, and how you came to partner with some of the most powerful people in the world. He asked about your life, about your childhood in the orphanage, and what made you choose to help people. He asked so many questions, yet he still respected you when you didn’t want to answer some of them. He asked, not to pry, but to get to know you, and in return, when you asked him something, he was as honest as he felt comfortable being.  

And that was the problem. No matter how much you tried, you knew your days with Bucky Barnes were numbered. Ever since you were young, you knew that being in this line of work would prevent you from having a normal life. You couldn't have a normal relationship. You weren’t meant to have the love story your favorite movies portraited, the white picket fence and the family of five wasn’t in your future.  

Neither was he, maybe in the forties he would’ve came home from war and found himself a pretty girl to marry. But now, after everything he had seen and everything he had unwillingly done, he probably wouldn't want a relationship any time soon. Or maybe not at all.  

But after three weeks of being cramped up in the same little apartment, you were getting used to him. You had developed a little routine together that always ended up with a cup of coffee at the end of the day. Sometimes both of you would just sit in silence, taking in each other's company while you sipped on your cups. Other times, just like now, he would sit next to you as you watched whatever movie you had decided to put on.  

You had to cut this at the root before it became too hard to let go.  

"So, you’re going to Wakanda?"  

He sighs. "Yeah. Steve says they have someone that might be able to help with... help with my..."  

"I know." You finished for him, suddenly placing your hand on top of his. He tensed at your touch, both of you looking down at your hands before you took away yours, embarrassed at your own lack of control. "Well, if you’re not too busy there, I could go visit you sometimes."  

"You would?" he questioned.  

"If you want me, too," you shrugged, trying not to reveal your excitement. 

He looked at you, his thoughts unreadable through his face. For a moment, you thought he was going to reject your offer, but something changed in his eyes. He smiled, the faintest, littlest hint of a smile you had seen, but it was there.  

You made him smile for the first time.  

"Yeah. I’d like that."  

If someone were to ask Bucky when he first felt he could love you, it would be right now. With the dim light of the TV lighting up your face and a shy smile on your lips as you told him you were willing to travel such a long distance just to see him.  

And as you lay next to him, your head against his shoulder, you thought to yourself that maybe you could be selfish for once and allow yourself to enjoy his company a bit more. 

Now  

There were drops of water leaking out of a pipe, he could hear them from the other side of the room. Everything around him was dark, it seemed the only source of light was on top of him and the woman on the floor pleading for her life.   

"Please don’t do this," she begged with a Spanish accent. "I don’t want to die, please."   

He wanted to move, he wanted to throw away the gun in his hand, but it was like he was a spectator of his own life. His body was not his, or his breathing. Not even his heartbeat listened to the inner panic attack he was having. Nothing belonged to him.   

"Kill her," a distorted voice told him. His eyes glanced at him quickly, and he noticed the man had no face. No one around them had one.   

Everything felt like it was in slow motion. His finger moved, pressing the trigger of the gun, but he refused to give up. He had to try, even if his own consciousness was trying to kick him out, sucking him into the pool of darkness he had been resting in for a long time.   

But even if he tried for years, he couldn’t win. He was powerless.   

Broken.   

He could only witness how the other "him" obeyed. The woman's eyes changed from scared to lifeless in less than a second. A splash of crimson staining his combat boots kept his attention. He couldn’t hear what the other people in the room were saying, he didn’t exist anymore, or he didn’t want to. The sound of the water leak was deafening now. Growing louder and louder until it consumed everything around him   

He didn’t want to be awake. Not like this.   

And as he felt himself disappearing, he hoped this was the last time he came back to the surface. He would rather be surrounded by emptiness.   

Yet something interrupted him, pulling him back up.   

A woman's voice, so familiar it made his heartbeat change.   

"Bucky!"  

Bucky's eyes opened wide. His head was spinning, his breathing was rapid, and his heart felt like it was going to burst through his chest. The adrenaline in his system made him dizzy, and he could feel his hands shaking. And he was feeling. A lot. Scared, angry, hopeless. So many emotions constricted his chest, burying him under their weight.  

"Bucky," you repeated. His head snapped at you, showing you a pair of wide, terrified eyes.  

Your feet almost moved. A pure protective instinct filled you with dread at the fact that you couldn’t help him anymore. Your head and your heart were in conflict. In one hand your heart begged you to go to him, stroke his back as you peppered kisses along his shoulder. Then you would lie back in bed while your hands surrounded his body, your front pressed to his back in a way to say, I’m here, I love you, and everything will be alright.  

On the other hand, your brain told you to turn in the other direction. Walk away from the night terrors that plagued his mind and let him suffer in silence. He wasn't your responsibility anymore, and you shouldn't be concerned about helping him with whatever was wrong with him. 

Was it possible to hate and care about someone at the same time?  

"Nightmares?" you couldn’t help yourself from asking. 

His left hand rubbed his eyes, a sigh leaving his lips. "Yeah. Sorry if I woke you up."  

"You didn’t."  

You sat at the table in front of the couch he was lying on, a steaming cup of lavender tea between your hands. The cling of the spoon clashing against the ceramic filled the uncomfortable silence between you.  

"Where’s Sam?" he asked, sitting straight as a couple of droplets of sweat fell down his forehead.  

"He has a contact in the city. He left to meet them."  

"Oh."  

Whatever else he was about to say died on his lips. You noticed he seemed to do that often since meeting again, his eyes speaking the words he would never say. Sometimes you would catch him looking at you, the frown on his forehead deepening with the passing of time. It made you wonder if he would now be open to answering your questions.  

"He said you’re going to therapy."  

He was taken aback by your question. It probably was the first time you said more than the necessary to him. Also, it was the first time that you showed any sort of interest in his life.  

"Uh, yeah. Court mandated."  

You hummed, sipping on your tea.  

"Does it work?"  

You saw the hesitance in his eyes. The way his jaw clenched and his grip on the couch made his knuckles white made you think he was about to change the subject with a witty, bitter, or sarcastic remark, or maybe even just ignore the question at all. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did, by the end of your relationship, he was an expert in it.  

Bucky didn’t change much after all, you thought to yourself  

But he broke the silence.  

"In some ways." he started, his gaze dropping to the floor. "The nightmares don’t come as often anymore, and I don’t feel the need to shoot every asshole that drives a shitty car with a shitty exhaust pipe." You chuckled at his confession, making a slight smirk show on his face. "But she’s too much."  

"What do you mean?"  

He sighed. "She pisses me off. I hate that she keeps trying to make me feel better by just saying my life is better now and I shouldn’t feel like shit anymore. But it’s not that easy. Just like it’s not easy to follow the stupid set of rules she gave me."  

He looked up to see your reaction to his words, expecting to see the same hardened look you’ve given him the past couple of weeks. And it was just that what greeted his eyes, your lips slightly pressed together and your eyes decorated with a slight scowl that only showed up for him.  

But behind the tough exterior, he could see your eyes had softened. For a brief second, your eyes showed care and understanding to what he siad before going back to the usual void stare you gave him.  

"She sounds like a bad therapist." He shrugged in agreement, he couldn’t say anything against the truth. "She also sounds like a bitch."  

He laughed. The type of laugh that caught him off guard and made his lungs run out of air. Granted, your joke might’ve not been as funny as his laugh was giving it credit for, but he had always been fond of your bluntness.  

You couldn’t help but laugh with him too.  

Laughing with Bucky felt foreign yet so familiar at the same time. It felt like reminiscing on a memory you didn’t remember you had, a bittersweet memory that brought back the same good feeling of the memories you built together  

But moments like that couldn’t last forever. Your heart couldn’t afford to remember.  

A text message from Sam lit up your screen, saying his contact had useful information. You stood up from the table after texting him back and drank the rest of the cup's contents. 

"You should try to get some sleep, we have a long day ahead."  

His shoulders dropped slightly.  

"Yeah, you’re right. I’ll try to."  

With nothing left to say, you walked away, leaving Bucky in the loneliness of the night.   

You didn’t go right away to the room you had adopted as your own, though. He heard you going through the kitchen, a dim sound of clinking and pouring reaching him due to his enhanced hearing. He didn't think anything of it; maybe you needed more tea before going to bed. 

Your steps brought you back to him before you placed an object on the coffee table right beside him.  

A cup of lavender tea. 

Then  

"It’s kinda late to be outside, huh?"  

Bucky jolted at the sound of your voice, your presence taking him by surprise. He was completely sure that when he left a couple of hours ago his house was empty and you hadn’t sent a message of your arrival.   

Something had happened? Was someone injured? Were you in trouble?  

His questions died on his lips as you cut the space between you and him short, your arms tightly embracing him. Your head found its place in the crook of his neck, his long hair falling on your face. His hands took a second to respond, but they eventually wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to his chest.  

You stayed like that for what felt like ages, just taking in each other's warmth. He missed you, even if he tried to deny it every time his thoughts would wander to you. He tried to convince himself that his reclusion made him miss everyone he considered a friend, and in a world where everyone seemed to want him dead, you were one of the few people he trusted.  

He had been staying in Wakanda for nearly six months, and out of those six months, you had visited him at least once every month. The duration of your trip would vary, sometimes you would stay only a few hours, with most of your time spent in his hut while sharing stories of the outside and his progress. Other times, you'd stay for days, with the longest stay being a week and a half. In those cases, he would show you the surroundings, the forest that surrounded the back of his hut or take you on a long walk alongside the river that crossed his home. Sometimes you'd sit outside and stare at the stars, your only company being the animals and the flora. 

He also came to hate every time you would leave, feeling like a part of himself was leaving with you.  

One of his hands landed on the side of your hips, the other searching for your face.Your grip on him grew tighter once his fingers brushed the skin on your face but you eventually let go, allowing his hand to guide you slightly away from him.  

"What happened?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You didn’t respond, but one look into your eyes, and he knew the answer. Whatever it was, it had affected you to the core, the broken look in your eyes could only be compared to the one he saw every time he looked at his reflection in the mirror.  

His forehead rested on yours, both your eyes closing at the contact.  

"It’s ok. I got you."  

His hand found yours as he guided you toward his bed. It wasn’t until then that he noticed you still had your tactical gear on, dirt and crystals still hiding in some places. He grabbed the buckle of your vest, his eyes asking for permission to get it off. A slight nod gave him the confirmation, beginning the process of somewhat freeing you of the events you had seen. He got rid of his own garments too, leaving you both standing in front of yourselves with only underwear covering you. He dragged you into bed, your frames covered by the light white sheets on his bed. 

Not many times had he allowed himself to think of you in a sexual manner, knowing how his body would react in a lustful way. But as he found himself looking at you with barely any clothes on, the desire was left on the back burner of his brain. You needed him. You needed his comfort, and he was more than willing to give it to you.  

He would give you anything you asked for.  

His hand rested on your face, tracing circles across your cheek, your eyes closed at the soothing action.  

"I’m sorry." Your voice trembled. He could see you wanted to say more, but words failed to come out of your mouth  

Bucky’s heart ached. He had never seen you in such a vulnerable state, and his mind was going cray at the thought of not being able to do anything to help you.  

"It’s ok, sunshine. You don’t have to talk about it."  

So you lay there, head against his chest, as he kept you between his arms, with nothing other than the sound of the crickets outside his hut surrounding you. And for the first time in a long time, you felt what being loved felt like.  

That night, you kissed him for the first time. You didn’t stop, not even the next morning when he woke you up with breakfast already made and a cup of lavender tea. 

 Now  

"Bring him to the table!" you yelled.  

Your hand swept across the surface, knocking over every piece of paper, pencil, and piece of equipment. The vibrations of the heavier objects on the concrete floors matched the beating of your heart.  

Bucky dropped Sam on the table. The man had gone unconscious on the ride to the safe house, the bullet wound that oozed liquid crimson was most likely the cause.The same crimson color now stains Bucky's clothes, and his leather gloves were also covered in a thin layer of it.  

You brought your knife to slash through his clothes, the sharp metal cutting through them as if they were butter. The hole on his shoulder seemed to have no exit, the bullet was still inside him. You were glad Sam wasn’t conscious for the next hour.  

The super soldier hovered over you for the entirety of the time you spent cleaning through the fragments that splintered from the bullet. Everything went relatively well until Sam started waking up, his body contorting in pain as you dug through his wound. Bucky brought him a bottle of vodka while you injected him with some local anesthesia.  

Hours later, the wounded man was now resting on the only bed the safehouse had, his breathing bringing great comfort as it meant he was still alive. After half a bottle of vodka and a some painkillers diluted on his IV, you were sure he wouldn’t wake up until tomorrow.  

The faucet sprayed cold water onto your palms. Your nails desperately tried to scrape away the traces of blood that still lingered in your skin, leaving red marks all across your knuckles. Dirt and dried blood were trapped underneath your fingernails, and no matter how much you tried to dig it out, it would stay right there.  

Bucky’s footsteps brought you out of your trance, the heavy sound of his combat boots felt deafening with each step he took. You tried to tune him out, focusing once again on the sound of water, but it seemed as if Bucky had made it his purpose to be as loud as possible. You held onto the sink so strongly that you were sure it would snap.  

A deep rage came from your stomach, spreading all over your body. The anger constricted your chest in such a way that you weren’t sure if somehow you were buried under a collapsed building, its weight invisibly crushing you.  

It was his fault. It was all his fault.  

You didn’t remember walking outside the bathroom, nor did you remember walking up to him and slapping away the cup of water his hand held.  

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you barked at him.  

"I—"  

"I gave you one task. You had to wait until I gave you the signal so you could come in. Not guns blazing, not punching everyone that comes your way, not drawing everyone's attention to us. Your only fucking job was to wait for the distributor to show up and wait for my goddamn signal."  

"What did you want me to do? Just stand there and do nothing?" he argued.  

You were taken aback by his response. Part of you expected him to just let you scream at him and give you the same soft eyes he always gave you when you spoke to him.You weren't expecting him to snap back at you or to defend himself. 

Maybe if things hadn’t gone sour between you two, you would’ve listened to what he said, and in return, he would’ve listened to you. But the anger was too strong to be subdued.  

"I wanted you to follow the fucking plan."  

"He was about to torture you!"  

Bucky's thoughts returned to the old factory turned whorehouse.The way you had purposefully gotten caught and how they had tied you to an exposed pipe line. He could still hear the sound of the man’s hand smashing against your cheek.  

"I can handle myself! I told you guys to stay put until the distributor was there. He knows I’m after him, and this was our only chance to catch him. And now he’s god knows where and Sam got fucking shot."  

A heartbeat passed before Bucky came close to your face. His big frame towered over you, and his breathing hit your face.  

"You’re fucking delusional if you think I was just going to let anything happen to you."  

You scoffed, "Oh, so now you care?"  

"I’ve always cared."  

You pulled away from him, your eyes rolling at his pathetic words.  

"Sure."  

Perhaps it was the fact that you had been in danger no longer than a couple of hours ago, or maybe it was the heat of the fight that had left some residues on him. Whatever it was, it made Bucky courageous enough to reach for your arm.  

"Look at me."  

You swatted him away.  

"Don’t fucking touch me."  

But this time he wasn't going down without a fight.Not again.  

"I know I was an asshole at the end of our relationship, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you anymore."  

A bitter laugh came out of you. All of this had to be some sick joke. "When you care about someone, you don’t treat them like that. You didn’t care about me, and you sure as hell didn’t love me."  

His hand tried to touch you again, and this time you let him. You were tired. Tired of fighting with him. You closed your eyes as soon as his skin came in contact with yours, his touch consuming all of your senses.  

You opened your eyes to find him staring back at you, the blue eyes that once hurt you shining the same way they did the first time you kissed him.  

"I did love you," he whispered into your lips. "I still do."  

His words burned you like someone had branded you with hot iron in the chest.Even after all this time, he could still hurt you, Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? Why did he have to bring back the past you so fiercely tried to leave behind?  

"Don’t." Your lower lip quivered. "Y-you can't just break my heart and then come back into my life and just say you still love me."  

"I never stopped loving you."  

Those five words were all it took to tear down what little control you had over yourself. A year ago it would've broken you to hear them but now they only brought a deep sense of indignation. 

With a quick move, you pulled his hand away from you, your hands pushing against his chest until he hit the wall. You wanted him to hurt. You wanted to carve his heart out of his ribcage and throw it far away, maybe then he would understand what it felt like.  

"Where was your love when I needed it, huh? Where was your love when I had no one else? Where was your love when I reached for you every night but you were already gone? Where was your love when I begged you to love me, to be there for me?" Your hands were clutching his jacket, and your vision was blurred by tears."Where the fuck was your love when you brought that girl to your apartment?"  

Bucky never saw you like this, not even when he stomped on your heart with his indifference. Under the anger, the hate, and the surface indifference you showed him, he could see how broken you were. He could see how you were constantly struggling to put the pieces of yourself back together that he had torn apart. 

He hated himself for extinguishing parts of you. 

"I’m sorry."  

A lapse of judgment.  

That’s what you would tell anyone who asked you why you kissed Bucky that night. You would say that you had been blinded by the pure rage his mere presence would bring you. Or perhaps you would take the easy route and you would say that with everything that happened that night, almost being tortured and Sam getting hurt, you had acted in a primitive instict of searching comfort.  

The truth was different. You could lie to yourself and say that you didn’t needed Bucky, not after all the things he had done. You lied to yourself constantly when you told yourself you were over him. You also lied to yourself when you claimed that your one-night stands had fulfilled you in the same way that Bucky had. 

You couldn’t feel anything, not ever since you walked out of his apartment. You had tried different people, different cities. You had tried different alcohols and different drugs. You had tried anything that could help you fill the emptiness that had found a permanent home inside you. You felt nothing, not until you saw those cerulean eyes again.  

Your kiss was aggressive, your lips smashing against his with strength and your hands finding their place in the back of his head. It took a second for Bucky to kiss you back as he thought his mind was playing tricks with him. But after you pressed yourself against his chest, his body reacted on muscle memory alone, his arms surrounding your waist.  

It wasn’t what you expected, though. You thought that the specks of love that remained between you would be enough to bring back whatever it was that you were missing. Instead, you were met with the most intense hatred you've ever felt, mixed with the melancholy of what could've been. 

He tasted like the past, but he still hurt like the present.  

So you made a decision.If you couldn't bring yourself to love Bucky Barnes anymore, you would hate him with all that remained of your soul. You would hate him until both of you burned in the flames of your agony. You'd despise him until you'd ripped every part that matched the ones he'd so easily broken. 

"I hate you," you whispered between kisses. "I fucking hate you."  

Your words were daggers to his heart. His chest tightened, and his grip on you faltered for a second before he snapped out of it. This wasn’t about him. If you needed to tell him how much you despised him, he would gladly let you kill him with your words. It was the least you deserved.  

"I know," he mumbled against your lips.  

He felt your body guiding him through the room until the back of his legs hit against the couch where he would sleep. Your hands pushed against his chest, making him sit on the couch while you straddled his lap.  

Clothes flew across the room, and you found yourself tearing his shirt apart in two while he only pulled yours off.You'd worry about that later; right now, nothing was more important than feeling your skin against his. 

Your hands traveled over his chest, fingers grazing every part of his abdomen as you trailed down to his zipper. You palmed him over his jeans, his cock already hard, and you felt it twitch against the fabric with every touch you gave him. Groans left Bucky’s lips.  

"I hate you," you repeated as a mantra.  

He shouldn’t make you feel this way, but as you see his head going back when your hand opened his fly and found it’s place around his cock you felt your own desire pooling in your lower belly and the aching in your core became unbearable.  

With swift movements, Bucky got rid of his pants and his underwear while you remained on top of him. With your frame still covered by a black lace bra and your black tactical pants on, he couldn't help but feel exposed when he looked at you.Deciding he didn’t wanted to be the only one naked his hands went to the side of your hips in efforts to get you rid of the fabric but your hand swatted him away.  

Beg me, your eyes said.  

For a moment, he considered tearing your pants apart the same way you had done with his shirt. However, the seriousness behind your eyes warned him that he might end things too soon if his stubbornness got in the way. So he gave in.  

"Please, Sunshine." His hands gripped your waist, his hips grinding against your still-wrapped core, sending shivers down your spine."Please, let me see you."  

You relented, unbuttoning your pants and throwing them away with your panties. In what were the longest seconds of Bucky’s life, you unclasped your bra, finally getting rid of the last barrier your body held on to.  

You stood there, completely naked, staring at Bucky.He remembered the way your breasts felt when he held them. He remembered how soft your skin was. He remembered that if he bit on the skin of your neck, right where the jugular is, you would clench around him. He remembered. In the lonely nights when he needed some release, he would close his eyes and imagine your lips around his cock as he fisted himself in the solitude of his apartment. 

All those memories didn’t compare to watching you in the flesh, with hungry, hateful eyes on him as you walked back to straddle him again.  

His cock twitched once your legs fell to his sides, the heat of your body settling on his crotch. You sat on top of him, your wetness welcoming him once you lowered yourself. His length placed itself right between your lips, and a groan left him.  

"Fuck."  

Your hips began rocking in slow but sharp motions as he felt his cock coated with your slick. Slowly, you built up a rhythm that made both of you moan. His hands landed again on your hips, his fingers pressing on your skin in a way that was certain to leave bruises the next day. Your own hands gripped on Bucky’s biceps for stability, and you squeezed them every time you would feel him brushing against your clit.  

You felt amazing on top of him, but that wasn’t what made his heart pound against his chest.  

It was your eyes. Your eyes never left him, no matter how much pleasure you were pulling from both of you and how badly you wanted to roll your eyes as the coil inside of you tightened. Your eyes, which once showed him what love could look like, now looked at him with a simmering hatred he could not shake.  

His chest tightened at the thought of never seeing them again. The electricity that ran through his body was replaced by a deep sense of hopelessness, and the more he kept his gaze on you, the more it amplified. You must’ve sensed the change in him because your movements stopped.  

Broken eyes now stared at you with the ghost of tears in them. The anger that had driven your actions and your thoughts through all this had now subsided, allowing itself to mix with melancholy.   

I love you. I’m sorry. I miss you. His eyes said.  

I hate you. I’ll never forgive you. I wish I never met you. Yours answered.  

And in the middle of the lust that was taking place right on the couch, both of your hearts broke again.  

You pulled him back for a kiss that tasted of desperation and sorrow as tears fell from both your eyes. The saltiness of the tears bled into the kiss and mixed with it.Quickly, your hand guided his tip to your entrance. You needed him inside you like a person lost in the desert needs water. You craved him with every cell in your body, and it tore your heart apart.  

"So tight." He moaned in your mouth as you sank into him.  

The stretch of his length burned as you forced yourself to take him fully. It hurt, and even with your arousal completely covering him, you weren't prepared to take his thick length.You didn’t care though, you hoped it would make you forget your heartbreak. Bucky tried to stop you as he felt you struggling to take him in. His hands held your waist, but you shook your head before you started bouncing on him.  

You didn’t want love from him. You didn’t want tenderness or care. You wanted roughness. You wanted strength and aggressiveness until the only thing you could feel was the ache between your legs.  

The super soldier gave you what you wanted.  

Bucky’s pace was brutal, his cock hitting the sweet spot only he could reach. The sound of his hips colliding with yours filled the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing through the hallway outside.In the back of his mind, Bucky was thankful Sam was knocked out with meds so he could be spared from the obscene orchestra your bodies played.  

The pain quickly turned into pleasure. Your walls hugged him tightly, each thrust carried a strength that left you breathless. At some point your legs had given in, the only reason why you kept bouncing was the snap of his hips pushing you. He didn’t let go of you though, instead he pushed you against his chest in an embrace that surrounded you tightly.  

Your head rested against his while your hands stayed on his chest. The sadness that mixed with the pleasure numbed everything else except for the bubbling up of your release. It pained you to admit that no one else could make you feel like Bucky, you had tried to find someone who could replicate what his touch could do for you, but no one ever came close.  

You hated how much you missed him and how much you needed him.  

"I wish you would’ve stayed dead." you panted. The poison behind your words shredded his heart. He knew you were saying it to hurt him, he knew you didn’t mean it, but the conviction behind it felt like a kick in the chest. "I wish we never brought you back."  

"Me too." he finally admitted.  

Bucky felt your walls constrict around him, and he could tell you were close. He drew you in for one last kiss, the kind that took your breath away. The type of kiss that was a solace in a world of agony. The type of kiss that meant a promise that carried forever.  

You tightened around him as you came, and his thrusts slowed down as he rode you through your high. As you closed your eyes, more tears fell from the corners, so he reached out to wipe them away.Once you had recovered a little, his brutal pace came back, this time chasing his own release. You brought your lips to kiss his neck, feathery, soft kisses, and he felt his balls tightening. He was so close.  

He tried to pull out so he could fist himself to the end but you didn’t budge, instead whispering in his ear.  

"Inside."  

He came harder than he had done in the last year. You felt his cock twitching inside as he covered your walls with his cum, the mess between your release and his own dripping out of you. You kept bouncing on top of him, making sure to return the favor by guiding him all the way through the end.  

You stood up, the feeling of emptiness making you shudder when his cock left you, and his cum started leaking out of you. You turned to go find something to clean yourself up, but his metal hand stopped you. He guided you back to the couch before he walked towards the bathroom. A few minutes later, he came back with a towel, and he positioned himself right between your legs.  

He cleaned you up just like he had done for so many years before.His other hand caressed your thigh as he made sure to wipe everything. And just as he always did for years, once he finished, he kissed your inner thigh, a couple of inches away from your pussy.  

Bucky threw the towel to the floor, he would worry about it in the morning.As for right now, the only thing he wanted was to hold you close. So he did. He thanked the couch was big enough to fit you both as you layed together. He pulled the blanket he used to warm himself every night over you, and his arm surrounded your waist, his grip making your back settle against his front. His left hand traced lazy circles over your stomach while the other was used as your pillow.  

For a few seconds, both of you allowed yourselves to reminisce in the past. He kissed the top of your head as you snuggled against him like you usually did. And as you felt his warmth behind you and inhaled his scent, everything seemed to be alright once again.  

Except they weren’t. Bucky wasn’t the man who made you feel secure anymore, and you weren’t the woman who trusted him with all her heart. Both of them belonged to the past.  

"I don’t love you anymore. I will never love you again." you broke the silence.  

Bucky held you tighter as his heart broke once again.  

"I don’t deserve your love." He whispered. "But I’ll still love you forever." 

Then  

Loving Bucky Barnes was never easy.   

It wasn’t all bad, though. For many years you had been together, three and a half to be exact, where you could imagine a life with. Three years where there was no one you trusted more or preferred to be with.Three years that were the happiest of your life.  

Those were a few of the reasons why he had asked you to marry him. And those were also a few of the reasons why you had said yes.  

You had told yourself at the beginning that you couldn’t get attached to him for the safety of your heart. It didn’t matter that his touch felt like home or that during the times you spent apart, his eyes would be the only comfort you would find in your dreams. He would bring more heartbreak than love.  

Oh, how right you had been.  

Unfortunately for you, the heartbreak would come in a way you couldn’t have prevented.  

The snap came and took him away from you. One second he was standing next to you, the next he was turning into dust that flew into the wind. The last thing he had said was your name and after that half the population was gone.  

The years went by in a blur. Between nights filled with drugs and alcohol and days spent cramped up in your apartment, you were wallowing in the type of sadness that the rest of the population could understand. You kept your ring in your finger, it reminding you that what your memories craved for were real.  

Bucky had been real.  

With his departure, he had also taken your heart. 

After a particularly bad night where you crashed your vehicle into a contention bar, Tony had taken it upon himself to help you, offering you a home close to his secluded one. You took it, not because you wanted to get better but because you wanted solitude. But if life had taught you anything about Tony Stark, it was that he was as stubborn as they come.  

Every morning he would bring you breakfast along with a visit from a certain little baby that always wanted to be held by you, and sometimes she would be able to bring a small smile to your face. With time, the little baby turned into a little girl that would ask for a sleepover every once in a while, and you would gladly accept the offer to allow Tony and Pepper a night alone.  

Things got better. You visited Steve and Natasha at the compound and even allowed yourself to go in missions of your own, as it turned out not even The Snap could make criminals take a break. You even went to one of Steve’s depressing support group meetings, never returning for the next one.  

You couldn’t be strong all the time, though. Some nights, when the pain was so strong that it drowned you and the grief was too powerful to keep at bay, you would find yourself staring at the hundreds of pictures you had taken of him. Most of them were of you together, but there were a few you took when he wasn’t looking. The sunset behind him as he breathed in the clean air of Wakanda, or the small smile on his face as he tasted the food he cooked for you both.Even when he was reading some of the books he kept under his bed and a few wrinkles would show on his forehead as his whole focus remained in the text, he always looked beautiful.  

With time, everything felt like a routine. Waking up alone, eating alone, going outside alone. Sleeping alone. Everything seemed to be stable, not good or bad, but just stable. You were sure this was the best you could do, or at least the best it could get.  

That is, until a ray of hope appeared. 

Time travel was the answer. Taken as a whole, it seemed like something out of a science fiction film, but it made sense.Bring the stones back and along with them everyone that had died. Surprisingly, it had worked, everyone that had been snapped away came back just as they had left. It should have been a moment of joy. It should've.  

The thing about hope is that it comes with a price. Natasha and Tony were the price to pay.  

Steve left shortly after.  

You understood him. You understood why he left everything and everyone behind to go live a life with the woman he had always loved. You would be a liar if you said you wouldn’t have done the same if you were in his position. You understood why he did it but it still hurt to know you weren’t enough of a reason to stay and live a life together.  

It seemed like you were on a streak of losing people. Wherever you turned, more people kept leaving your life. Wanda was gone, turned into the madness that grief could bring. Thor left to save other planets that needed him. Bruce... well, you weren’t sure where Bruce was, but he didn’t try to contact you.   

Everyone was gone but Sam and Bucky.  

Bucky. Your Bucky. The man you had spent the past five years crying for. The man who made you the happiest you'd ever felt.The man who felt like home.  

But he wasn't your Bucky any longer. 

This Bucky didn’t kiss you with the same tenderness he did so many years ago. Instead, he'd barely move his lips once yours touched his in what you'd call a mediocre peck.He also never initiated a kiss, it was you who always reached out for him.  

This Bucky didn’t held you at night. Instead, he'd turn around, his back to you, and even if you reached for him between dreams, he'd guide your hand back to your side of the bed.Some nights, he would even choose to sleep on the floor of the living room when he thought you were asleep. It was as if the thought of touching you seemed appalling to him.  

This Bucky never hugged you. 

This Bucky never talked to you with love  only with annoyance and indifference.  

This Bucky never woke you up with breakfast.  

This Bucky never tried to sleep with you.  

This Bucky never said I love you.  

Because this Bucky didn’t love you.  

But you held hope, foolishly. Every day you tried to talk to him, show him in every possible way that you were still here with him. Every day you tried to make things better between you, you poured your heart and soul to try to fix what you didn’t even know was broken.  

Things got worse a couple of months later.   

As it turned out, time had taken a toll on Steve’s body, and one night he went to bed and never woke up. You found it a bit ironic the man out of time had finally run out of time.  

His funeral was held on a sunny spring afternoon. People from all over the world showed up to say their final goodbyes to the man who had saved the world so many times. Friends, people he had saved, and heroes paid their respects to him. The first super soldier had finally been put to rest.  

After everyone had cleared out, you went back to drop one last token for his departure. It was a picture of the both of you. Steve’s arm hung over your shoulders while both of you held a couple of beers. It had been the first time you had seen Steve outside of work related situations. That was the beginning of your friendship.  

As you got back to his tombstone, you saw Bucky standing in front of it. His eyes were void of any expression, and he didn’t seem to be talking to Steve’s grave either. Bucky was just there, staring at the place where his best friend was buried.  

He didn’t seem to notice when you stood next to him, nothing in his body gave any signs of acknowledgement. You gave him a couple of minutes before you reached for his hand. You knew that, even if he didn’t show it, he was in great pain. He had lost his last connection to the life he had once lived.  

You wanted to be there to help him through his pain.  

The contact only lasted a few seconds. Your touch surprised him, as he had jolted once your skin grazed his own. He turned his head to the side to give you a glare that you’ve never seen before. His eyes had been filled with pain, as you guessed, but they also carried hatred and disdain. He must’ve seen your expression, because a second later his eyes changed to a neutral expression.  

"What are you doing here?" he muttered.  

The shock of his stare lingered in you for a moment, but you quickly returned to yourself, a friendly smile on your face."I came to leave a little parting gift."  

He hummed in acknowledgement, not sparing another glance at you as you put the photograph against the headstone, right in between the dozens of flowers that decorated it. Both of you stayed silent after that, the sounds of the birds and the faint rumbling of cars were the only sounds keeping you company. It was peaceful. It was good. Just the two of you enjoying a moment's calmness in silence. 

For a few moments, you felt comfortable next to him. The first time in months since he came back. But good moments like that never lasted long.  

Without notice, he turned around. Long, desperate strides guided him towards the exit of the graveyard. He wanted to create distance between you and him, find somewhere that was as far away from you as he could be. You felt how you were losing him.  

But you fought for him, even when he seemed to not deserve it.  

"Bucky." You called for him. He stopped in his tracks, but he didn’t turn around, so you took that as a sign to keep going. "I know you’re hurting right now, I am too, but I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you."  

He didn’t answer for a few seconds, and you thought you had made a breakthrough. Maybe this was the time when things went uphill. This was the little push he needed to start healing and perhaps to try to rebuild the bridges that had burned. This was the little thread of hope you'd hung up on.  

You were wrong.  

"You have no idea how I feel," he said before leaving.  

That night you came back to your cabin, and Bucky’s things were gone. The only thing left was a note that rested in the middle of the bed.  

I found an apartment in the city. I need space.  

You didn’t see him for a couple of months after that. You considered tracking him down but ultimately gave up as he had asked for space. He needed time on his own, and you could give it to him. You would give him anything he asked for.  

You kept your word until Strange came to visit you, announcing news about Wanda. She was dead.  

You barely remembered tracking down his address or making your way there. It wasn’t until you were facing his door that you realized what you had done. He asked for space but in that moment, you couldn’t give it to him. You needed your Bucky.  

Knock, knock, knock.  

It was late in the night, and you could hear the TV going on in the living room. He had to be home. After a few minutes without an answer, you knocked again, but the only thing that welcomed you was silence.  

"Bucky," you called. Your voice was broken, you tried to fight the tears away, but saying his name broke what little self-control you had left. "Please open the door."  

You rested your forehead against the door, finally allowing yourself to feel everything you had been pushing back ever since the fight with Thanos. Pain, grief, loneliness, hatred, sadness, despair. A cocktail of emotions ran through you in an overwhelming way and seemed to want to drown you.  

"I know you’re in there." You cried. The tears that ran down your face landed on the floor. "I just— I know I said I could be strong for the both of us, but... I need you."  

You knocked on the door again, this time with the side of your fist. The desperate sound of your knocking bounced through the walls of the deserted hallway.  

"Please Bucky, please open the door. Wanda is dead." Your own cries stopped you from talking, the hole in your chest seemed to get bigger and bigger with each passing second. "Nat, Tony, Steve, Wanda. All of them are dead, and I—I can’t. I can’t keep losing people. I can’t lose you."  

You couldn’t do this alone, not anymore. Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.  

"I love you. God, I love you so much. I know you want space, but right now I need your love, Bucky. I need you to love me like you used to. Please love me." You begged.  

And you waited. You waited for what seemed like hours, but it probably was just thirty minutes until you accepted he wasn’t coming out.  

 You left with half a heart that night.  

Two weeks later, you came back to his apartment, ready to demand an explanation. Your love for him was strong, but you needed him to talk to you. You were ready to fight for your future. You were ready to fight for your love.  

"Bucky!" you yelled as you knocked aggressively. "Bucky, open the fucking door!"  

The door didn’t take long to open. It surprised you, your confidence and anger faltered for a second. This was a sign, perhaps it was him being ready to fight for you too. This was him showing you he still loved you.  

Except the person who opened the door wasn’t Bucky.  

It was a girl. A short brunette that was covered by Bucky’s black T-shirt and nothing more.  

"Hi."  

You wanted to scream. You wanted to burst into tears. You wanted to burn the world and leave everything behind. You wanted to die. But the only thing you could do was stay there and stare at the girl.  

"Umm, Bucky is not here." She said awkwardly, your intense stared made her uncomfortable.  

"Do you know where he is?" You questioned her. The words came out rougher than you intended, but as the heartbreak and despair set in, you couldn't care less. 

"No. I, um, when I woke up he was already gone." She pulled the hem of the t-shirt down in an effort to convey her nervousness, but it only infuriated you more. "Are you a friend of his?"  

You wanted to laugh. God, this couldn’t be happening.  

"Yeah, of sorts."  

"I can let you in so we can wait for him, but I have to leave in like twenty minutes."  

"You can’t call him?" you asked, bitterly. You knew Bucky had gotten a new phone but he never gave you his number.  

Her face blushed before she answered. "No, uh. We met last night, and he didn’t give me his number.  

"Oh."  

You didn’t know what would be worse, if he had seen this girl ever since he left your cabin or the fact that he had a one night stand with a random girl. It didn’t matter, though, Bucky Barnes had crushed your heart.  

The girl, whose name was Clara, kept her word, leaving minutes later as she had to go to work. She seemed like a nice girl who had no idea the man she had slept with was engaged. And perhaps in another world you would’ve been nicer to her if your heart hadn’t collapsed in on itself when she opened the door. Maybe she was a little naïve, as she let you stay inside the apartment so you could wait on Bucky. She had also asked you to give him her number, the digits scribbled on a piece of paper.  

You broke down the moment she closed the door behind her. You thought of trashing the place, breaking every piece of furniture he owned, and burning all his clothes in a pit in the middle of his living room. You imagined yourself hurling the stupid leather jacket he seemed to be fond of lately.You also thought about settling for burning everything to the crisp, wanting to see the look on his eyes once he saw his apartment consumed by flames.  

You didn’t do any of those things, though; instead, you waited. This time, hours actually went by, the once bright morning turned into the darkness of the night, and you never moved from your spot on the couch, not even to turn on the lights.  

Bucky came back to his apartment around 11 p.m. When he noticed the apartments' lack of lightning, he felt relieved not to have to deal with the girl he had taken home the night before. By the looks of it, she left a while ago.  

He turned on the light before taking of his jacket, placing it on the coat hanger next to the door.As he walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water, he tossed his keys on the counter.He had to change the sheets on his bed and do laundry tomorrow. The glass was half full when a voice behind him spoke.  

"You have a nice place here."  

The glass dropped from his hands into the kitchen sink. His head snapped quickly towards you, finding you seated in the middle of his couch. He turned off the sink, before making his way toward you. You couldn’t be here, not today of all days.  

"How the hell did you get in here?" he barked.  

He didn’t mean it like that, not in the way it sounded. He wasn’t angry at you being inside his apartment, he was scared. Scared that you had arrived at the wrong time and seen something you weren’t meant to see.  

He finally stood in front of you and saw it. Your nose was slightly puffy and red, like you had been crying for some time. Your shoulders were slumped, defeat washing over your posture. But the thing that hurt the most to see was the pain behind your eyes. It wasn’t the normal type of pain of loss or grief as you had experienced these past months. No, it was something else.  

It was the pain of heartbreak and betrayal.  

It couldn’t be.  

You couldn't have been here when she was still in his house. There was no way, life could not hate him this way. It had to be something else that broke your heart, he had hurt you many times this past couple of months, and today was probably the day it all crashed down. It had to be that.  

"Clara let me in."  

No.  

"Nice girl, she left her number for you."  

You knew, you had seen the girl who was apparently named Clara, he didn’t really remember it. Bucky knew he had to do something, anything that could save your relationship. Perhaps if he begged you not to leave him, to let him explain everything that had been going on with him, and if he spent the rest of his days making it up to you, then you would stay. Maybe you could forgive him.  

He didn’t do any of that, though. The same thoughtless attitude washed over him like it had done ever since he came back. It was as if his brain forced him to act this way in order to protect his own heart in the long run. 

Instead of doing everything he could to fix this, he shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest.  

"How long?" you asked. Bucky could see your eyes watering as you tried to keep yourself together. He hated himself. "How long have you been cheating on me?"  

His mouth answered without his permission.  

"Does it even matter?"  

Maybe he was right. Maybe it the answer wouldn’t change the way you were feeling; if anything, it was bound to hurt you more. But a part of you wanted to know the truth, to extinguish the other half of your heart.  

You didn’t budge, so Bucky finally answered, not before rolling his eyes. "She’s the only one. I met her yesterday in a bar. "He shrugged. "It just happened."  

You knew the answer, yet it still hit you with the force of a thousand bricks. He admitted it. He fucking admitted it and he didn’t even show a single morsel of remorse. There weren't any apologies or begs, no promises, or big romantic and sorrowful speeches. You could feel your own love being smothered, the flames that had once brought so much warmth to your soul were replaced by cold and emptiness.  

Bucky Barnes didn’t love you anymore. 

Now  

Bruises covered your body as well as new injuries that would probably give you more scars. Dirt and blood slid down the drain, exhaustion settling in as your muscles relaxed. The droplets of water fell against your body, washing away everything that had happened today.  

You found the intel, you knew every single name of everyone involved with the heinous experiments you were chasing.  

You had almost died, one of the guys Bucky and you had cornered, had a bomb attached to his chest. You tried to stop him, your gun pointing at his head, but you were too slow. The explosion shook the entire structure, causing a chain collapse of the floors around you. 

Bucky had jumped to protect you, his body acting as a human shield, deflecting some of the impact.His flesh arm had a large metal piece embedded in it, as well as some burns on his back. The explosion had knocked you both out of the air, and the resulting wave had thrown you both across the room. 

As you tried to shake away the confusion and the ringing from your ears, you felt his hand find its place along your face and travel to your stomach. As he scanned you, blue eyes looked at you with fogginess but also deep concern. 

"You ok?" he had whispered.  

You nodded, but your mind was still fuzzy, perhaps you had hit your head, but you couldn’t remember much.  

But you remembered the desperation. You remembered everything crumbling apart as you tried to make your way to the exit. You remembered Sam’s voice screaming through your earpieces to get the fuck out of there. You remembered Bucky's hand always keeping you safe, guiding you through the clouds of cement and smoke.  

You also remembered how Bucky’s steps faltered before collapsing. Neither of you had noticed he had a second piece of metal scrap buried between his ribs. If he had removed it, his enhanced healing would have taken care of it, but the extenuating movements had caused damage to his lungs, bleeding, and a lack of oxygen, causing him to pass out. 

You remembered screaming for Sam’s help, begging him to help you save Bucky. You remembered the tears falling from your eyes as you tried to pull Bucky to safety, begging him not to die, begging him to wake up. You remembered the fire catching up to you, it’s warmth burning your skin. You wanted to kill Bucky, you would be happy if you never seen his face again, dance on top of his grave as you celebrated the end of his existance.  

Then why were you fighting so hard to save him?  

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. You can’t do this to me!"  

"Bucky wake the fuck up!"  

"Please! I can’t lose you like this!"  

Fortunately, Sam came for you, him and all his Captain America glory had saved both of you, his wings protecting all three of you as you carried Bucky outside. You had barely gone a few steps ahead when the building finally set one last explosion, ending with everything on it's way.All three of you landed on the floor with a thud as the shock wave reached you.  

You focused your attention on Bucky's wound, which was already healing, but his lack of response worried you.His breathing was barely existent, and his heartbeat was decreasing. You had straddled his lap and began performing CPR on him while asking Sam to go fetch the adrenaline shot you stored in the vehicle. You had punctured Bucky's chest with it, and after a few seconds, he had woken up.  

You remembered clinging to him as he tried to sit straight, the desperation finally gone from your body.  

The body behind you wrapped his hands along your waist, pulling you out of your memories and spreading the soap he had covered you with. Bucky's fingers traced all the way down your body, removing every trace of stress. 

After everything happened, Sam told you to go back to the safehouse while he met with Joaquin to try and start locating people with the intel you had gathered. You thought about fighting him, but one look at Bucky and any fight you had left was done.  

A knowing look from Sam told you this wasn’t just to let both of you rest and get cleaned up. It was a second chance.  A second chance at the talk you had avoided to had with Bucky ever since that night you slept together.  

You drove back to the safehouse, and once you had gotten inside, everything crumbled apart inside of you. As you reached out to Bucky, your tears had fallen, your hand lingering in his fleshy arm, right where his wound was.His hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the stream of blood that fell from your eyebrow. In the silence of the room, no words were exchanged, but both your hearts understood.  

Just for today, you would allow yourselves to comfort each other.  

His lips peppered kisses along your shoulder as he cleaned you, his lips sometimes finding your neck or your lips when you would press yourself against him. As you spread the shampoo over his head, your fingers massaged his scalp with the tenderness he had missed, his eyes closing every time you hit the right spot. 

After drying yourselves and changing into new clothes, you both layed on the bed, covered over the head with the thin white sheet you had. You faced each other, blue eyes meeting yours. Your fingers found his face as you traced along every crevice and line you hadn’t seen before. Bucky appeared to have aged years in the time you hadn't seen him, but he remained as beautiful as ever. 

Your heart ached in your chest, and you couldn’t fight it anymore. You had denied yourself the other feelings that remained inside of you other than hate and betrayal, but today, as death seemed to call for both of you, it was clear you didn’t want Bucky Barnes to die. A part of you hated him so deeply you weren’t sure you would be able to stop, but no matter how strong the hatred was, you were sure a part of you still loved him.  

However, that part of you was broken. Battered and bruised to death by his own doing but it was still there. It was locked inside the thousand-foot wall you had built around it to keep it safe. Refusing to ask questions, refusing to talk to him, and refusing to admit the pain you were in. But in doing so you hadn’t given yourself the opportunity to heal. To move on.  

So you allowed yourself to feel and to talk. For both your sake and his. 

"Why did you do it?" you broke the silence. His breathing faltered as your hand retracted back to your side. "Why did you hurt me like that?"  

Bucky struggled to find the right words. You were asking him the same question he had asked himself for many, many nights. He asked himself that question when he wouldn’t reach for you at night. He asked himself that question when he didn’t open the door for you.  

He asked himself that question when you walked out of his life.  

You deserved the truth. The whole, unapologetic, heartfelt truth. So he gave it to you.  

"The first time I came back to myself, after fighting Steve in the helicarrier, I realized the world had moved on without me. My plans, my family, and the people I knew were all left in the past. They all moved on without me, everyone was gone except for Steve. I had a plan, after the war I would go back and find myself a beautiful girl to marry." A sad smile posed on his lips as he reminisced. "I wanted the white picket fence and three kids package. Cookouts with my family and friends while I was still a war hero. But all of that was gone the moment I woke up in a time that wasn’t mine. My dreams were gone."  

He paused before reaching for your face, his eyes closing before opening again, tears streaming down his cheeks."Ever since I woke up, I was a man drifting in a time that wasn’t mine, in a life that wasn’t mine. I didn’t have any dreams, or aspirations other than to survive and perhaps discover the truth. Nothing made sense to me, not until I met you." His thumb wiped away the tears you didn’t know they were falling. "You were the very first person, aside from Steve, that was kind to me. You talked to me, listened to what I had to say. You showed me what this new world was about, how to survive in it, and above all, you never doubted my innocence. It wasn’t because you knew me like Steve did, or because he had asked you as a favor. You were my friend, the very first I made when I was lost. And along the way, you turned into more, you were my new dream. I fell in love with you, and suddenly it didn’t matter that I wasn’t supposed to be here, or what it could’ve been because with you, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere."  

A sob escaped you, his words burning your heart, branding them with the love you once felt for him. The heartbreak and the pain came once again, but it felt different. It was comforting in a way that scared you, terrified you. You knew he had loved you once, but you had stored those memories far away where they couldn’t hurt you. Because it was easier to tell yourself that Bucky had never actually loved you than to think he had loved you and had still betrayed you.  

"But no matter how much time passed or how loved or comfortable I felt, I was still scared. I was terrified. Terrified of the same thing happening again. Every day, I'd tell myself, 'Something is going to happen, something is going to take me away from you, and when I come back, another hundred years will have passed.' And it did happen. When Thanos snapped me away, I came back, and to me only seconds had passed, but for you it was five years. Everything had changed again, even you. There was this sadness that seemed to have nested behind your eyes every time you looked at me. And every time I looked at you, I could see how much you had suffered because of me, it was my fault, and I couldn’t do anything about it."  

"It wasn’t your fault." You tried to argue, but his words interrupted you.  

"I felt like it was. I felt like I must’ve had some sort of curse that would always take me away from what made me the happiest, and in return, I would hurt everyone around me with it. I had died once again and the world kept going, once again. And I tried really hard to fight those thoughts, but it was as if a cloud of darkness would whisper to me that I didn't belong here anymore.That everything had changed once again, and it would happen again and again and again until I finally died. And I didn't know what to do; it was as if this voice was drowning me, washing away every ounce of happiness I had left inside me until all that remained was anger and resentment." 

His voice had broken, as had his ability to hold back the tears.He had buried this for so long, too embarrassed to say them aloud, to admit how he had messed up everything because he was afraid.He wasn’t the man who had sworn to protect you against everything, he was a coward. A coward who had let his own fear hurt you in ways he could never fix.  

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." Bucky kissed your forehead. "You didn’t deserve any of what I did to you, and I don’t think I could ever forgive myself for doing that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, I’m sorry I pushed you away when all you did was trying to help me. I’m sorry I slept with someone else. I'm sorry I messed everything up because the truth is, you have been the best thing that has ever happened to me, past and present, and if I had to go through all of the pain, torture, and heartbreak all over again just to meet you, I would." 

You stayed there in silence for minutes. Neither of you dared say anything else that would break the silence. Both your hearts had been through a lot today, from the threats of death to the realizations of love and pain that had been confessed. But amongst the suffering and the torment, both of your hearts began to heal, and the pieces that had been ripped apart came back to where they belonged.  

You took his hands into yours, your lips kissing his knuckles. "I don’t know if I could ever forgive you for what you did." Bucky’s eyes closed in ache, he knew it was a possibility, but it still hurt to know there was no hope, but your words stopped him from spiraling. "But I would like to try."  

Hope. A tiny silver of hope. 

"Do you think there is a chance for us in the future?"  

You considered it. Your mind and your heart still pulling towards different directions but none of them letting you decide. Would you be willing to risk your heart once again for Bucky Barnes, or has the damage been too great to be fixed and covered? "I don’t know."  

"That’s ok. I'm not going to ask about it again unless you want me to." 

He kissed you one last time. His lips still had a subtle taste of smoke and burned, but above it was something overpowering, something both of you felt as he deepened the kiss. You both tasted redemption and forgiveness. 

Forever 

"Thanks for helping me."  

"Don’t thank me, I’m only doing it for the beer."  

Bucky and you chuckled at his poor attempt at a joke, your footsteps echoing in the half-empty apartment. A couple of seconds later, your mattress landed with a loud thud in your bedroom, making you happy to be finally done. You threw yourself on the bed, Bucky following you close behind, his heaviness bouncing you off. You turned to your side, resting your head on your hand, and he replicated your pose.  

It had been a year and a half since you decided to bring Bucky back into your life, and things had changed dramatically since then.You stopped doing solo missions and moved to New York, where you split your time between assisting Sam and Bucky with their shenanigans and volunteering at the woman's shelter Sam had connected you with. 

In the beginning, it was difficult to adapt to a tamer lifestyle than the one you had lived in the past year, but listening to all those women, the things they had been through, showed you that sometimes the thing people need to start healing is to have someone along the way.  

Bucky and you had become friends, just as you had been when you first met. It took time to get back to the beginning, but soon you found out how much you needed him as a friend, not a lover or a soulmate but just someone with whom you could talk. And, over the course of the many nights you spent talking, forgiveness found its way into your heart.You didn’t forget the past between both of you, but along the way there was understanding and care.  

"How was your date?"  

You shrug. "It was ok, not that great to be honest." 

During this time you had gone on a couple of dates, even went out with a guy for a couple of months, and since you and Bucky were ‘just friends’ you thought it would be uncomfortable to talk to him about them. But he had developed a habit of surprising you, and as it turned out, he was okay with it. When you asked why he was okay with it, his response surprised you. 

"I love you, I’ll always love you. But if you need me as a friend and nothing more, then I’ll be your friend."  

Your heart was still reluctant about him, after all, pain is a thing you can hardly forget. That had been the reason why you had tried to find someone else. Someone who could make you laugh as hard as he did, someone who could make you blush with just a cocky smile, someone who could calm you down and make everything better by simply holding you close at night.Someone who could make you happy. But all of them failed, because they weren’t Bucky Barnes.  

No one ever compared to Bucky Barnes, because after all the lies, heartbreak, and death surrounding you, he was still the only person who felt like home.  

Blue eyes stared at you and all you could feel was your heart racing. He was the man you had once loved and he had betrayed you, but time had mended your heart. The part of you that hated him was gone, and instead the love you felt for him came back, maybe not as strong as it once was but it didn’t matter. Your love was willing to build itself up, your love was willing to let him in one last time.  

"Ask me" you uttered. Your voice was so quiet that you thought he wouldn't hear you, but his puzzled expression told you otherwise. 

"What?"  

Your hand grabbed his, your thumb was drawing circles on his skin.  

"Bucky, ask me."  

Bucky’s heart stopped. A part of him had always told him that you would never want him back, and he couldn't blame you. He had hurt you in so many ways that he could never forgive himself. He had been sure the best he could have from you was friendship, and he had made his peace with it. Having you as only a friend was better than not having you at all.  

But you were giving him an opportunity, and he would be damned if he didn’t take it.  

"Would you—" he paused, clearing his throat.The nervousness inside him erased his ability to speak. "Would you like to go out for dinner? As in a date?"  

You made it seem as if you were thinking about it, but he didn’t worry about it. He knew your answer already.  

"Yeah, I guess I can make time for one date."  

You smiled. You gave him your biggest, most genuine smile in a long time.He smiled too.  

Loving Bucky Barnes hadn’t been easy. But as you both lay in your beds, his hands caressing your face and new hope brewing between you, your heart told you that this time would be different. 

He wasn't the same tormented man from another time you'd fallen in love with, and you weren't the same broken but hopeful girl he'd loved with all his heart.You both had hurt each other, but you had also grown, both of you in your own ways, and yet destiny had brought you back together.  

This time, neither of you was scared. 

This time, loving him would come as easily as breathing.

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[shina913]

I wish you would write a fic where....reader is going to get a pedicure but her normal nail tech is out, and the owner's cute son (you pick the member) who's back in town volunteers to do reader's appointment. (hehehe)

Jess!!! I did it 🤣 I didn’t think I could but I actually had a lot of fun with this! Thank you for this ask. I hope I did it justice 💜

******

Self-Care Sunday | JJK

Pairing: NailTech!Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Meet cute; fluff

Warnings: Some naughty thoughts but nothing explicit; slight references to gender stereotypes and occupations

Word count: 3k+words

Summary: You arrive at your mani-pedi appointment to find out that your usual technician is unexpectedly out. Instead, the salon owner’s son offers to do your nails instead.

A/N: Just for fun! Also, I was too impatient and wanted to actually post on a Sunday, which is why I didn’t have time to find a proper banner image for this. I’ll fix that tomorrow 😅 Thank you @midnightagust for your eyes 🥰 hope you all enjoy this!

Every weekend, you make a point to treat yourself to some form of pampering. Whether you went out to get your hair done or simply curled up on your couch to enjoy a book, ‘Self-Care Sunday’ was a big deal for you. It was a way to reset and prepare for the week ahead.

This weekend, you’re going for a mani-pedi. You walk into the nail salon about five minutes before your appointment time.

The small reception booth in front is empty, but the rest of the ladies who are busy with customers pause to greet you since you’re a regular. You begin to scan the room for your usual manicurist, hoping to check in and get set up.

Oddly, she’s nowhere in sight so you ask one of the ladies closest to you, who was giving a pedicure to another client.

“Annie just left. She said she was feeling sick,” she says to you.

“Oh no.” You look around again to see that everyone else is tending to their own clients. There’s no way any of these ladies would be able to take you on this morning. You’re disappointed but it’s not the end of the world. “I guess I could just reschedule my appointment–”

“No, hun, you don’t have to! It’s why she didn’t call to cancel. Our manager will take care of you.”

The salon’s manager, Lily, wasn’t afraid to jump in to help out whenever it was busy. It was a small comfort to know that the day wasn’t going to be a complete waste and you knew that you were in good hands.

The nail technician points to the vacant spa chair next to her and you help yourself. She pauses her work to fill the basin with warm water so you can soak your feet in while waiting for the manager.

“He’ll be right out, okay?” She says with a smile before turning back to her client.

Your eyebrows scrunch in curiosity. You could have sworn she said 'he,' but maybe you were hearing things. You dismiss the thought and activate the massage function on your chair, then start scrolling through your phone while waiting.

A few minutes later, you notice movement in your peripheral vision. As the figure settles on the low stool in front of you, you raise your head to greet them. Your voice gets caught in your throat when you realize that it isn't Lily.

"Hi!"

You’re stunned at the sight of a man sitting in front of you. He looks young and devastatingly hot. You would never expect to see someone who looked like him at a nail salon, let alone working at one. His big, round, beautiful eyes make you want to melt into the water your feet were soaking in.

“Uhm…h-hi,” you choke out once your brain lurches back to life. “I thought the manager was going to do my mani-pedi.”

He grins proudly, spreading a towel on the footrest of the spa chair. "Yep! You're looking at him!"

You feel confused. Did Lily quit or hire someone new? It’s been three weeks since your last appointment. In the background, you hear the other nail technicians giggling amongst themselves.

Seeing the worried look on your face, he explains, "My mom is taking a break, so I'm filling in for her."

You vaguely remember Lily mentioning her children in passing. Since she looks relatively young for her age, she’s always said that people are shocked to hear when she tells them that she has a grown son.

Well, consider yourself shaken to the core.

"I'm Jungkook, by the way," he extends his hand towards you. You're both baffled and overwhelmed by how handsome he looks. The massage chair's tapping setting propels you forward, snapping you out of your daze.

You reach forward to shake his hand and introduce yourself. Although he has a firm grip, his hands are surprisingly soft, sending a chill down your spine.

“When Annie said that she wasn’t feeling well, I offered to take the rest of her appointments for the day,” he divulges.

You look at him skeptically. You’ve never received a manicure and pedicure from a male technician before—especially not from one who was this cute.

He chuckles. "I know, I know. You're probably thinking, 'Does this guy even know what the hell he's doing?' Well, let me assure you that my mom personally trained me. If she's ever worked on you, you can expect the same level of quality from me. But I understand if you feel uneasy. The last thing I want is for a client to feel that way.”

You’re still apprehensive but he sounds confident. You get a grip and nod, giving him consent to continue with the appointment.

“Thanks,” he says softly and with a look of relief. “You booked a deluxe pedicure and manicure, right?”

The deluxe mani-pedi comes with a longer-than-usual massage on your hands and feet. Thinking about this man's hands kneading your tired muscles makes you sweat.

“Y-yes, I did,” you nervously confirm.

He nods in acknowledgment, and you gulp as he begins to dip the pumice sponge into the basin to scrub your heels. He’s careful and gentle with each pass, totally unlike what you’ve been used to. It’s a stark contrast to these ladies, who have manhandled you in surprising ways—especially the petite, older techs. They’re still sweet, though, and they do a great job, but you admit that this is a nice change of pace.

The rest of your pedicure prep goes smoothly until it was time for the massage.

He drains the water from the basin then he props your feet on the footrest. The stool is too low for his frame but he doesn’t complain. He’d rather make the adjustment so you wouldn’t have to bend awkwardly from your seat.

After drying your feet with a towel, he squeezes some lotion into his hands and starts massaging it into your calf muscles. Typically, some ladies prefer to keep their gloves on for sanitary purposes, but Jungkook has taken off his gloves just before the massage. You figured he was the manager on duty, so he could do whatever he wanted. And not that you had any objections, as the skin-on-skin contact feels nice. Better, actually.

You don't know why, but your gaze is drawn to his thighs, which are spread widely in front of you. It's incredibly distracting and you struggle to look away. You wonder if the awkward positioning of his knees against the spa chair is causing him to sit like that, or if there is something else between his legs that he's trying to adjust for.

“Is the pressure okay?” His question pulls you back into reality.

"What? Oh, yeah. It's good. It's fine," you manage to cobble together. His touch is firm, yet gentle enough to be relaxing. Silently, you think, if he was this good with your legs, how would his hands feel on the rest of your body?

"Are you sure? I could apply more, if you prefer. I always try to start off slow, but I can go deeper, depending on how you like it."

You grip the chair's armrests in response as your mouth goes dry. "N-no, you don’t need to go deeper. What you're doing is...great.” Your voice comes out breathy, but in an effort to distract yourself, you dig your phone out of your purse and start randomly scrolling through your social media feed. Now was not the time to be getting horny over your nail technician.

He suppresses a smile at your response. "Okay then.”

******

You manage to survive the rest of the pedicure without any additional incidents, much to your relief. He slips your sandals back onto your feet with ease, without smudging your freshly painted toes, and helps you over to the manicure table.

Once you settle in your seat, you rest your hands on the cushion and dip them into a cuticle-softening solution while he sets up the rest of his tools. While waiting for your fingers to soak up the solution, he checks in with you.

“Can I get you anything while you wait?”

“I’m good right now, thanks.”

"Okay.” Then, he leans in, lowers his voice, and asks, “How do you think I’m doing so far?"

You smile warmly at him. "I have to say, I'm pleasantly surprised." Your toes didn't look streaky, nor did he get polish on your skin. You were impressed!

Your response makes him smile from ear to ear, his nose crinkling in amusement.

"Thanks. I know most women think it's weird to get a mani-pedi from a dude."

You sigh and decide to fess up. He seemed self-aware and appreciated honesty. "Well, I have to be honest—I was definitely apprehensive at first," you admit then follow it with a shrug. "But then I thought, hey, it's a job. If you can do it and have the skills for it? Why not? It shouldn't be restricted by gender."

His brow arches at your remark. "My thoughts exactly!" He agrees emphatically.

You feel another spark of electricity surge through you as he lifts your hand. You watch as he examines your fingers under the light.

“Mm…nice, long, nail beds.” His compliment followed but his thumb brushing over your fingers makes your belly flutter.

“But I bet you probably get that a lot,” he adds with a laugh.

“Not as often as you think,” you say. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was coming onto you.

“Just a regular manicure, right? Not gel?”

“Yeah. I thought, if I got the gel, I can’t get the usual hand massage—”

“I can still give you the massage,” he interjects.

“Oh. But what about the oils? I thought it’s not good for the gel base?” You hesitate.

He shrugs as if it's a non-factor. "I can do the massage after I cure your nails under the light. That way, the polish adheres nicely and it’ll be all set. But if you still prefer a regular manicure, that's fine—we’ll do that. I just want you to know that you have the option," he assures you.

You purse your lips to think for a few seconds. “Well, if you’re sure the massage won’t mess with the gel—”

“It won’t, I promise!” He says confidently. “My mom’s old school and she’d never do it that way but I think that you can still make it work.” After he says it out loud, one of the female technicians next to him scoffs. Seems like she prefers the standard method, too.

Jungkook rolls his eyes subtly at her reaction and turns his attention back to you. “If you don’t like it, I’ll give you your money back.”

That sounded fair to you.

“Alright. I trust you.”

After you decide on gel polish colors, he begins to trim your cuticles and file your nails. But just when you thought you could easily survive the pedicure, him being this close, and at eye-level, was going to be an uphill battle. He looks so focused and precise in his movements; it’s relaxing to watch. Even the little pout he does while maneuvering your finger to apply the polish with the utmost precision to cover every surface of your nail is cute.

You make small talk while he works. Not the usual gossip that you’re used to with the female technicians. You feel comfortable around him but not enough to spill all of your secrets.

“So, are you doing this full-time?”

“No,” he answers before he guides your hand into the curing lamp. “I have a day job but I mostly work from home. My mom said that needed help and I didn’t hesitate to step up. She works very hard.”

Oh no…he’s not only cute but he also loves his mom. You can’t help but feel endeared. You also note that he doesn’t have a ring on his finger. Lily hasn’t mentioned any daughters-in-law, that you recall.

You decide to sound casual to break the tension a bit. “This job must be a great way to pick up women, too, huh?”

He pauses before meeting your gaze. The corner of his mouth curves into a cocky smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Your cheeks heat up. You immediately realize that your comment may have crossed a line, thinking you were at that level of comfort with him just because he touched your bare feet. You kick yourself internally for being presumptuous.

“S-sorry,” you shyly tear your eyes away from him. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

He brushes off the exchange. “It’s cool. Honestly, there aren’t many women falling over themselves to go out with a male nail technician,” he says in jest. “Some people have specific perceptions. They’re usually wrong but I don’t bother to correct them.”

“Oh,” you suddenly feel bad as you’d made assumptions about him too. “I mean, I think you have a lot of patience to be working on nails. Not to mention that you’re a handsome guy who gives great foot massages. I don’t see why any woman wouldn’t want to get more of that.” You catch yourself too late when you realize what you’ve just said.

He snorts your comment but doesn’t pile on it. “You’d think, right?”

You clear your throat and attempt to recover. “Well, you’re also easy to talk to. You keep the conversation flowing.” Your voice is still tight, embarrassed from your ‘cute guy who gives great foot massages’ comment.

“I appreciate that,” he smiles. He examines your nails, one last time, running the pads of his fingers over the polish to make sure that it has set properly. When he’s satisfied, he says, “Looks good. I’ll be right back, okay? Then we can get to your hand massage.” He excuses himself and gathers his tools to soak them in a cleaning solution.

When he walks away and disappears into the back room, you release a breath you seemed to be holding in for far too long. You’d never been this wound up during a mani-pedi.

A few minutes later, he returns and sets a warm towel down. He then moves the magnifying lamp out of the way, giving you a complete and unobstructed view of him. Unfortunately, this doesn't bode well for you.

“So, do you have any plans after this?” He asks casually while massaging circles into your forearms.

You’re all flustered again. “Not much. Maybe I’ll grab some mid-day coffee or something then head home.”

“Nice. Where do you grab coffee?” The feel of him dragging the pads of his fingers on your slicked skin, couple with his piercing gaze are causing your breathing to go ragged again. Suddenly, your brain blanks out on where your favorite coffee spot is.

“Just, uhm—” you struggle to pull the name out of your memory at first but manage to blurt it out when he squeezes your fingers. “It’s not far from here.”

“Oh. I don’t live in this neighborhood so I’m not familiar.” His thumb and forefinger knead your muscles in a way that should normally not feel arousing to you, but it does. And you can’t help when your thoughts slide back into wondering what else those magic fingers can do.

“I figured, if I was going to be helping out here more, maybe I should get to know the area– especially places to eat. You think you can you give me directions to the cafe?”

You shift in your seat. “Well, it’s sort of a hole-in-the-wall place. The GPS is kind of spotty on it. You have to be a local to really know where it’s at.”

“Well, my break’s coming up after this. Maybe we can drive together?”

It takes a couple of seconds for you to realize it. He's not stupid, and you were right – he's definitely self-aware. He knows that you're affected by him. Smiling to yourself, you’re happy to let him know that the feeling is mutual.

Your eyebrows twitch at how forward he’s being. “A break? But it’s only 11:30?” You laugh.

“What can I say? I think I worked you really hard–”

His response makes your eyes bulge and causes your jaw to drop.

“Oh, sorry–I meant to say, you worked me really hard.”

You throw your head back in laughter, and it makes him laugh out loud, too. He was a cocky little shit but you’re not mad at it.

When your laughs die down, he says, “I think we can both agree that we did our best to fight this–” he gestures at the space between you two.

“Oh, is that right?” You ask playfully.

"Yeah. I think we deserve a little treat. Maybe grab some lunch, wherever you want." You’re mildly aware that the massage is over but his fingers are still lingering on your hands while he patiently waits for your answer.

This is one of the most unusual ways you've been asked out, but there's a first time for everything. After thinking it over, you decide to give it a chance. "Okay. But if I agree to go to lunch with you, do I still need to tip you for the mani-pedi?”

He purses his lips in thought for a few seconds before countering. "Tell you what—if you let me take you to dinner tomorrow night, the service is on the house. We can call it even then.”

His playful proposition catches you off guard but it also intrigues you. Again, you find yourself unable to resist his charm.

“Alright.”

Your response makes him smile full-on and it’s infectious, so you can’t help but smile back. He starts to clean up his station, then turns to the older nail technician next to him who saw the whole situation unfold.

“Auntie, please don’t tell my mom,” he whispers mischievously, causing her to laugh after she agrees not to rat him out.

You giggle at his request and tell him, “I guess I’ll meet you out front whenever you’re ready?”

“Sounds good. We’ll take my car so we don’t ruin my masterpiece there,” he points at your hands.

You laugh at his retort and shake your head. Never in a million years did you ever think that you’d find a date a the nail salon. It’s one of the better things to come out of your Self-Care Sundays.

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You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!

If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜

[kriffingstars]

johnny mactavish; t-shirt

pairing: Johnny MacTavish x Price!Reader summary: Uncle Price doesn’t know how to feel about you wearing Johnny’s t-shirt warnings: verrrrrry slight age gap (I imagine reader to be around 20, Johnny is 26), allusions to sex a/n: hahaha left you all on a cliff hanger! sorry not sorry. this series is intended to be released in non-chronological order, which allows me to write whatever i’m in the mood for. it alsoooooo allows you guys to send in requests so keep ‘em coming. prompts, lines of dialogue, non cod gifs. and once again, thank you all for your continued support! i promise i will post a continuation of found out, but i want to flesh the relationship out a little more so we can understand everyone’s reactions better, and build on the lead up to the Price/Soap confrontation

You expected the morning after to be awkward. One night stands aren’t really your thing, especially when said one night stand works with your Uncle and you already have feelings simmering beneath the surface.

Never one to disappoint, Johnny is sauntering into his bedroom with a mug of coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs. It’s not his smile or the corny, but still somehow endearing joke he makes, that causes you to laugh.

No, it’s the kiss the cook apron he’s wearing with nothing but the boxers he slipped on when he got out of bed, long before you were awake.

Once both things have been handed off to you, he’s pressing sweet kisses to your forehead before chasing after your lips.

In the sanctity of his flat, nothing else matters, it’s just the two of you, and the surprising domesticity.

“I want to take you out, proper date. Dress up and everything for you.”

He admits as you rest your head in the crook of his neck, breakfast long since finished. His hands dance innocently on the outside of your thigh, appreciating the feel of your skin on his.

“I’ve got nothing to wear,” you giggle, pressing your face further into him.

You don’t think you ever want to leave his embrace.

“I don’t mean now,” he mumbled, another kiss to your crown.

“I mean when you’re home. I’ll pick you up…want to do things properly with you.”

Now’s not the time to question about what your Uncle is going to think of it. That’s a worry for later, and whilst you’re here with Johnny you’re going to make the most of it. Leave the overthinking for when you’re back in your own bed at home.

The morning slips away far too quickly for either of you. Johnny savours every moment he can, as if this is the only chance he’ll have.

It will be for a while. Two weeks at least, until his leave is over. He knows he can’t go back to base too soon. I mean he would, but he knows you’d hate the thought of him spending any extra time in the barracks, instead of the comfort of his own home.

When it’s time to get your things packed and ready for the short flight home he chucks a t-shirt from his draw at your head, muttering about how it would be more comfortable than the smart top you were wearing yesterday.

It doesn’t really match the bottoms you have, but you think it doesn’t really matter and Johnny’s not thinking about anything other than he wants to see you in his clothes more, because you look mesmerising.

The drive to the airport isn’t that long, but it’s spent in constant conversation. By the time you’re out the car, your sides are aching from laughter, and you’re beaming at the Scot in front of you.

“Safe journey, text me when you’re home.”

And that’s all he really says as a goodbye, before letting the hand resting gently on your waist slip a little lower and connecting your lips in a sweet kiss.

It leaves you yearning for the slightest bit more, and you guess that was his intention because with one more peck to your cheek his heading back to the car, glancing as he goes and flashing you that boyish grin that lights up his whole face.

The flight is uneventful, and before you know it your bag is in the boot of your Uncle’s car as he drives you both home.

It’s uneventful, mundane conversation about how your conference was, and what he’s been up to in your absence.

Even if it is mundane, it feels like home, and you relish the time you get to spend with the man, before he’s jetting off to some country in need of him.

It’s only when you’re in the kitchen, making the both of you a brew, when Johnny comes up in the conversation.

“That’s not your t-shirt,” is what breaks your concentration from the two mugs in front of you.

“No, it’s not.”

Fuck.

You completely forgot about it, it’s not like you can pass it off as a new one of yours either.

“Put it in the wash, I can give it back to Soap when we’re back at work.”

That’s definitely not the response you were expecting. You were expecting something more chastising and another warning about leaving the man alone and not getting too invested.

“Hope he didn’t try any funny business.”

Ah, there it is.

Your Uncle is trying to be as nonchalant as possible, and had you not had a pang of guilt punch you in the gut it would be funny. The way he’s trying to casually lean on the counter in the kitchen and carefully studying your face for any sort of micro reaction.

As good as John is at his job, when it comes to you, he can never read you quite right. Sure he can tell when you’re happy, sad and anything in between, but what irks him the most is that her can never tell when you’re lying.

Maybe it’s because your tells are exactly the same as his, and recognising that is that bit harder. Either that or you’re just as good a liar as him.

So he misses the brief flash of panic before you plaster a smile on your face, recounting how he was the perfect gentleman, and even slept on the sofa and gave his room up for you.

“I’d expect nothing less,” He surmises, as he accepts the tea from you.

He doesn’t even bat an eyelid when your phone doesn’t stop buzzing all evening, a quick, “It’s just Georgie, from uni. Wants to know all about the conference. She’s gutted she couldn’t go.” settles any doubt he had.

Of course it’s not Georgie, it’s the man he warned you about.

The rest of John’s evening, once you’ve gone off to bed, is spent sat on the sofa, catching up on the episodes of bake-off he’s missed over the last few weeks.

It’s nice, and it’s the perfect monotonous activity to tune his mind off from the ruckus that usually follows him.

It’s not long before he’s padding out to the stable door the leads to the back garden, and swinging the top open before lighting the cigar hanging from his mouth. No use letting all the warm air out.

Thanks for looking after her. Appreciate it, mate.

It’s intended as a genuine thank you, and also a subtle reminder of the conversation they had when Soap first met you.

His phone chimes with Soap’s reply.

All good mate, anytime.

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