#I'm really happy with how this turned out

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

[fireinmoonshot]

soft hearted | joaquin torres x fem! reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: You're not the type of person to go clubbing – but Joaquin is pretty good at convincing you to come along with him when he goes. Yet, when an interaction with another man at the club goes badly, Joaquin is there to pick up the pieces and make sure you're okay. Warnings: Mentions of drinking/clubbing/eating/food as well as a guy at the club being creepy and physically grabbing the readers wrist, causing a bruise. Word Count: 4.1k A/N: Here I am with another Joaquin fic! I really love how this one turned out. I honestly wrote it just this afternoon in a few hours, I started it and I couldn't stop working on it. I'm really happy with it so I hope those of you who read it enjoy it, even though it's longer than my last Joaquin fic! Please let me know if you liked it and if you'd like to read more Joaquin from me! 💗

“Did I ever say thank you for coming out with us tonight?” Joaquin says, placing a hand on the small of your back to help guide you as the two of you make your way through the crowd, heading back to your booth where your friends are waiting for their drinks.

He’s been texting you all day trying to convince you to join them tonight – but you are the one member of your friendship group that isn’t into partying and clubbing. It’s always difficult to convince you to leave your house once you’re there. 

It never stops Joaquin from trying though. He always enjoys clubbing more when you come out with them. Even just being in your presence is something he loves – whether he’s at a club or anywhere else.

“Oh, just about ten times,” you flash him a grin, trying to avoid bumping into anyone and spilling the drinks. Your friends had been waiting long enough considering how busy the club was. 

Joaquin laughs, the sound audible above the loud music in the bar. It’s a familiar sound and one that instantly comforts you despite your unease at being in such a crowded place. “Definitely room for me to improve, then, angel. What do you think?” 

“I think, pretty boy, that you could probably benefit from inviting me out somewhere other than a packed club sometimes, simply so I can talk to you without having to yell!” You joke, flashing him a look as you finally get back to the booth where your friends are waiting, placing the tray with all of their drinks on it on the table. They all take their drinks, yelling thank you’s at you and Joaquin as you take your seats again. 

“You guys made it!” One of your friends, Cruz, yells out at the both of you.

Joaquin meets your eyes from across the table with a grimace. Cruz is incredibly drunk by the sound of his slurred voice. Joaquin is only a few drinks deep and he’s nowhere near as far gone as Cruz is. You both share an amused smile as Joaquin takes a swig of his beer.

Clubs are not your thing, never have been. It just so happens that you’ve befriended several people that love them – Joaquin being quite the enthusiast. He’s dragged you out to many clubs over the city in the time since you’ve known him. If it were anyone else, you were pretty sure you never would’ve gone… but with Joaquin, you don’t mind it. His presence is comforting, even in such a busy and chaotic atmosphere.

Joaquin is the kind of guy that all the girls and guys in clubs like these like, and on nights like this, you can understand why. The way he looks, a smile on his face as he laughs at something one of your friends says, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead from the warm air. He’s effortlessly attractive to anyone that looks at him. He’s so comfortable here. You’ve always found Joaquin attractive, but even you can admit that he looks even more attractive when he’s in a place like this – if that’s even possible.

You take a long sip of your drink – water, having decided early in the night that you were gonna be the designated driver for your friends so that they could all enjoy their night properly. 

“I’m just going to the bathroom, okay?” You lean into your friend, Katy, sitting beside you to tell her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll take my phone with me if you need me!”

She nods, a little pre-occupied in a conversation with the guy beside her – someone she’d met earlier in the night at the club and had been with you guys ever since. Your eyes fall on Joaquin briefly, still laughing at something he’d heard, as you stand from the booth.

It’s difficult to make your way through the crowd without Joaquin guiding you, making you feel safe with his hands on you, but you manage. When you see the door to the bathrooms you almost let out a sigh of relief. They’re empty when you finally make your way inside – another relief. Girls at clubs can be nice, but they can also be the entire opposite and it’s nice to have a moment completely to yourself to have a second to breathe.

Once you’re done, you take another long breath before leaving the bathroom, preparing yourself for the walk back through the crowd of people dancing so you can get back to your friends. You walk past the bar first, finding it to be a little less crowded than the dance floor.

It’s louder over this side of the room, the music thudding and thumping since you’re closer to the speakers. It’s probably the reason you don’t hear the voice of someone beside you at the bar trying to talk to you as you attempt to make your way past. You only realise when a hand grabs your wrist, tugging you backwards. You stumble a little, bracing yourself on the edge of the bar, eyes falling on a light haired man sitting on a stool at the bar. The way he’s looking at you already makes you feel uneasy. 

“Do you often ignore people who are trying to talk to you, honey?” He says, voice raised enough for you to be able to hear him.

“I’m sorry?” You furrow your eyebrows. “If you said something before, I didn’t hear it. It’s pretty loud in here.” You point towards the roof of the bar where the speakers are. 

He laughs, a sound completely opposite to the sound of Joaquin’s earlier. This mans laugh immediately unsettles you and if he wasn’t still holding onto your wrist, you would be gone. But he has an uncomfortably tight grip on it and you doubt he’s planning to let go.

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, then picks up his drink and takes a long sip of it. “Listen, I don’t appreciate being ignored, okay? I put myself out there to talk to you, so I’d appreciate it if you gave me the same energy in return.”

You swallow, heart in your throat, and attempt to take a deep breath. This is not good. Why had you gone to the bathroom by yourself? Especially on such a busy night in a busy club.

“Okay,” you start. “If you let go of my wrist, I’ll sit down here and we can talk for a bit.” You figure it can’t hurt to try and bargain with him, even though you have every intention of trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible when he lets go.

“How can I be sure you won’t run away? Nah, I don’t think I will let go.” He adjusts his grip on your wrist, pulling you a little closer to him. Your heart starts beating faster as the fear starts to set in.

You risk a glance across the bar in the direction of your friends booth and feel your stomach drop as you realise you can’t see them from here, meaning they can’t see you either. Surely Katy would notice that you hadn’t come back yet and would come looking for you… you aren’t too far away from the bathrooms, so there’s a chance she’d see you on her way… but you know that she’s too occupied with her new man to come looking for you. 

This is why you don’t like coming out. This is why you always say no when Joaquin or your other friends ask you to come out with them. And the one time you say yes, this is what happens. You should’ve told Joaquin where you were going as well but you figured it’d be okay – it was just a quick trip to the bathroom, what could go wrong?

Panic starts to rise in your stomach and you try your best to push it down and not let it get the better of you. You know you need to keep yourself calm in a situation like this, especially around a man like this, or things can go south quickly. 

“I promise I won’t run away,” you lie, trying not to let your nerves come through in your tone of voice. “But you’re actually really hurting me right now, so I’d appreciate if you let me go. Can we make a deal? I won’t run and you’ll let go.”

You can tell by the look in the mans eyes that he isn’t going to give up this easily. The longer he keeps holding your wrist, the more your breathing starts to get heavier. How can you get out of this situation when he’s not willing to make this deal with you?

A hand gently lands on your lower back and you flinch, just as you hear a soft voice in your ear. “It’s just me, you’re okay,” Joaquin whispers, calming you immediately.

It’s impossible not to let out a breath of relief as your eyes fall on him. He’d come after you. He’d noticed you were gone or Katy had told him you hadn’t come back yet. He’s here. You’re not alone with this man and you know Joaquin isn’t going to leave you.

Joaquin’s hand gently rubs up and down on your back.

“What you’re gonna do right now is let go of the ladies wrist,” he says simply.

You watch as the mans eyes flicker towards Joaquin but then fall back on you, his grip still tight around your wrist. You attempt to step a little closer to Joaquin but it’s impossible to move with him still holding onto you.

“Hey! Eyes over here, man. Not on her.”

The man sighs. “Listen, man–”

“No, you listen to me,” Joaquin steps in-between you and the man, his voice forceful and loud above the music. “What you are going to do right now is let go of her wrist or I am going to break yours right here, right now. And that won’t be all I break either.”

“Okay, sure. You definitely look strong enough to do that, pal,” he scoffs.

You inwardly wince. You know Joaquin is strong enough to do that and worse. He’s a Captain in the Air Force and he’s The Falcon. You’re pretty certain that he could inflict a lot more damage than a broken wrist.

“You wanna find out?” Joaquin asks.

The look on Joaquin’s face must be intimidating because the man finally relinquishes his hold on your wrist. You immediately wrap your other hand around your wrist, holding it to your chest and trying to ignore the pain throbbing through it from his grip.

The man throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes before standing and walking away, further into the crowd of people. Before he’s even disappeared from your view, Joaquin has turned around, his hands moving to take your arm and carefully examine your wrist.

“It’s already starting to bruise… that bastard,” he mutters, his eyes dark. You can hear every word despite the loud music around you simply because of how close he’s moved into your space. “You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I only just noticed you were gone a few minutes ago and Katy mentioned something about the bathroom so I went there straight away but I couldn’t find you.”

The fear and panic in your stomach has gone, now replaced by nausea. You can feel yourself starting to shake, the adrenaline of everything starting to wear off. “Can you take me home?”

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist, hold you close and leading you out of the bar. He figures he’ll just text your friends once you’re both safely in a cab to tell them where you’d both gone – that and he’s a little annoyed at Katy for letting you go to the bathroom alone. He’s annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner that you’d disappeared. 

“I’d drive you home myself but I’ve been drinking, angel,” Joaquin says as the two of you wait for a cab on the sidewalk just up the street from the club. His arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you close. It’s comforting to you, helping you to remember that he’s still there beside you, not going anywhere. “My place is closer, but we can go to yours if you feel up for a longer cab ride.”

You shake your head. “Your place is fine.” You’ve stayed over at his apartment before, several times, both alone and with other friends. His bed is much more comfortable than your own, you’ve learned, since he never lets you sleep on the couch.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing your back gently as the cab pulls up in front of you.

He lets you in first before sitting beside you and telling the cab driver his address. One of his hands holds yours, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth over your skin in an attempt to help calm you down. He can see how uneasy you still feel after it all. Why had he not gotten to you sooner? Not realised you were missing sooner? 

The cab ride back to his apartment is silent, as is the elevator ride up to his floor. You wait beside him, arms crossed over your chest as he unlocks his front door and lets you inside first. 

“You wanna shower or something?” He asks, closing the door behind you.

“Yeah, I think that’d help,” your voice is small. The sound of it makes Joaquin’s heart hurt. 

“You remember where I keep my clothes? You can help yourself, angel.” 

You nod, reaching over to gently squeeze his hand again before heading towards his bedroom to get some of his clothes to change into before heading into the bathroom just off of his bedroom. 

While you shower, Joaquin kicks off his shoes, steps into the kitchen and starts working on making you something to eat. Something warm, something comforting. He’s become a pretty decent cook over the past few years and cooking for you is one of his favourite things to do. He’s always inviting you over for dinner, which is exactly the reason why you know where he keeps his clothes – you eat, you stay late talking, Joaquin refuses to let you go home when it’s so late at night and he has a perfectly comfortable bed.

His heart almost stops in his chest as he sees you walking out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a shirt. “I know I’ve said this before, angel, but you look damn good in my clothes,” he flashes you a grin. 

You teasingly roll your eyes at him as you walk into the kitchen, arms crossed over your chest as you try and suss out what he’s cooking you. “Bet you say that to all the friends you let stay over and borrow your clothes, Torres.”

Joaquin snorts. “Bold of you to assume I have other friends staying over.”

He doesn’t. Even out of your friendship group, you are the only person who’s stayed over in the last several months and especially the only person he’s let sleep in his bed and borrow his clothes. He’s not willing to admit to himself what that really means. Not yet.

“What are you cooking?” You ask, peeking inside the pot on the stove.

“Pozole,” he says, coming up beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. He’s apparently incapable of keeping his hands to himself when he’s worried about you. “It won’t be ready for another hour and a half at least, but I figured cooking you something comforting and warm might be nice. I was already gonna cook it for dinner this week so I had everything in the fridge ready to go.” 

“Joaquin, you didn’t have to do that,” you glance over at him. “Really, I would’ve been fine with a cup of tea or a pack of cup noodles. And it’s so late.” You mean it honestly, even though the fact that he’s been prepping everything for this while you were showering sits heavy and meaningful in your stomach. No one ever does things like this for you… except Joaquin.

He shrugs his shoulders and moves away from the stove, hands on your waist so that you move with him. He directs you over to the couch, waiting till you sit down before he puts a blanket in your lap and attempts – badly – to tuck you in. 

“What are you doing?” You can’t help but laugh. 

“You are gonna sit here for the next hour and a half, till the pozole is ready, put on a movie or something, and just try and relax. And I am gonna sit beside you, once I get changed out of these sweaty ass clothes,” he says, standing back up straight. “I’ll be two minutes, angel!” He calls out, hurrying away from you towards his bedroom.

You smile to yourself as you grab the remote to the TV and try your best to curl up under the blanket. It’s amusing, how quickly things can change. An hour ago, you were in the club with Joaquin, who was having the time of his life, and now here you are, curled up on his couch in his clothes. Your eyes drift down to your wrist, where a bruise is already starting to form, and you wince. That’s going to be painful when it fully forms.

Joaquin comes back out a few minutes later, wearing a similar pair of sweatpants and a muscle tank that causes you to focus on his biceps for much too long. You barely even notice that he’s carrying something in one of his hands. 

“Uh, what’s that?” You ask, motioning to the tube.

“It’s cream that’s meant to help bruises,” he says, lowering himself down onto the couch beside you. “I forgot I had it but I bought it for myself not long after I became Falcon. Will you let me put it on you?” 

You nod, letting him take your arm in his gentle grip. He squeezes some of the cream onto your wrist and gently massages it in. It hurts already, even with just the slightest bit of pressure, but you try your best to ignore it and focus on the look of concentration on Joaquin’s face. He looks up at you afterwards, catching you staring. 

“See something you like, angel?”

You look away, a little flustered, and pull your wrist out of his grip. “Thank you.”

He grins and stands up, heading back towards the bathroom to put the tube away and wash the cream off of his hands. He knew it might not be the right time to be teasing with you, but he had to be – this was the Joaquin you knew, and he could tell that right now, the last thing you wanted was for him to treat you like you were something breakable, like what had happened at the bar was something you couldn’t move past. 

“All right, what are we watching?” He says as he walks back to the couch, climbing over the back of it and settling down next to you, resting his arms up on the back of the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “You pick somethin’ good?”

You surprise him by passing him the remote. “You choose. I can’t find anything.”

He almost freezes solid when he feels your head lean down on his shoulder. He lets his arm fall around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest so you can rest comfortably. 

“What if I pick something you don’t like?” He asks, trying his hardest not to stare at the top of your head and hope to hell you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, even though you’re laying on the opposite side of his chest.

“Nah, you won’t,” you say. “I like everything you like.”

Joaquin clears his throat and huffs a laugh. “Yeah, what if I put on The Conjuring or something?” 

“You wouldn’t,” you mutter, knowing him well enough to know he’s joking.

“What if I’m being serious, angel? What if all I want is to put on a scary movie so you get all frightened and have no choice but to cuddle up to me in search of safety?” He grins. 

“Joaquin, I’m already cuddled up to you.”

He pauses. “Okay, well that’s true.”

“Just pick a movie, Joaquin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You’re thirty minutes into the movie by the time you speak again. Joaquin is invested in the story but the second you speak, his entire attention is on you. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight, Joaquin,” your voice is quiet.

Joaquin gently rubs your shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. You don’t have to thank me for anything, angel. You know that, right? I should’ve noticed and come after you as soon as you left. Katy should’ve never let you go to the bathroom alone either.”

He can’t help the bitterness in his tone. 

“I didn’t meant to ruin your night, Joaquin,” you mutter, seemingly ignoring everything that he’d just said to you. 

Joaquin is quick to sit up straight, making you move from your spot on his chest. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed at his sudden movement. He gently cups your face in his hands. 

“Ruin my night? Angel, you did not ruin my night. Did you not hear anything I just said? In fact, you probably made my night even better than it already was. I mean, c’mon, pozole and being curled up on the couch watching a movie with you is a hell of a lot better than being out in that club without you,” Joaquin admits, his honesty getting the better of him. 

You frown a little, eyes clouding with tears. Joaquin is quick to wipe one from your cheek after it falls. His heart hurts at the sight of the tears in your eyes. 

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you into his chest again, wrapping his arms around you and letting you cry into his chest. Your arms wrap around him, gripping the material of his shirt. One of his hands rubs up and down on your back in an attempt to relax you. “I always ask you to come out with us cause I enjoy it more when you’re there. I thought you knew that. And I know the clubs aren’t your scene, but I figured you didn’t hate them that much if you said yes to me every now and then. I promise I won’t ask you again, angel. Especially after what that prick did tonight. I almost knocked his jaw in then and there.”

He smiles as he hears something that sounds like a sob like laugh come from you. 

“If I ever see him again, I can’t promise I won’t break his wrist, believe me.”

“No, you won’t,” you mutter, pulling away from his hug. 

His hands immediately move to your face again, clearing the tears off of your cheeks. 

“Maybe I will,” he shrugs.

“You’re too much of a sweetheart for that, Joaquin Torres. I mean… look at everything you’ve done for me tonight. You telling me you’re not a soft hearted person?” You ask.

Joaquin smiles to himself. “Angel, I’m just soft hearted for you,” he confesses. “Now, I’m gonna quickly go check on this pozole okay?” He stands up from the couch, stretching his legs and padding over towards the kitchen – mostly just to make it so you don’t feel obligated to say anything in return. 

He’s standing in front of the stove, stirring the pozole with a wooden spoon, when he feels your arms snake around him from behind, surprising him with a back hug. “Uhhh, what’s happening right now?” He asks, pausing his stirring.

“Thank you,” is all you offer in answer.

“Angel, what’s going on?”

You remove your arms from around him so he can turn around and face you again. He’s about to ask you what you’re thinking when you lean up and press your lips to his cheek before bounding back over to the couch without another word. Joaquin stands, staring after you in shock. He feels like his cheek has been burned – in a good way, if that’s even possible.

“Hurry up and finish stirring that pozole, pretty boy!” You call out from your spot on the couch. “I wanna finish watching this movie and my pillow has gone missing.” 

Joaquin lets out a small laugh, gives the pozole another small stir and starts walking back over to you. “I suppose I’m the pillow?” He asks, shaking his head. “I’m comin’, angel. I’m comin’.” 

[quinngefail]

Tf is happening at Walmart right now :/

Can I just do my damn job, man 😪

Another collab with @cloroxium !!! This is smn I've had in mind for a good while now lmao. There was just a day I was working at good ol Walmart, and I noticed that one of the light strips had fallen in the freezer section- and I was just like 'ha ha lol that looks like the glass coffin'

And then the wheels started turning, and I was like man hold up wait that'd be a really funny drawing

But anyway I'm very happy with how it turned out, I just adore the smug ass Hoffman and it was super fun to collab again 😭 I hope you all enjoy HSKGKGK

...And uh this kind of shit honestly wouldn't be out of place at a Walmart, if I saw this I would simply keep walking 🙌 that is none of my damn business 😩

[bbokicidal]

Who You Are | SKZ [B.C]

a new mini-series where I list some random head canons about the boys based on facts we know about them/can catch onto from media.

genre: fluff / tiny angst pairing: Bangchan x GN!Reader warnings: none

I just noticed there's some like. random facts/things the boys do/how they behave that aren't really talked about in fics on here so I'm doing a mini-series to fix that.

Chan | Lino | Changbin | Hyune | Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Something more commonly known - This man is SUPER into hugs! Affection in general, but HUGS. Even if it's just hanging on you, he's always happy to be hugging you whether it's something casual and he's just holding on for fun - or if it's more intimate or even comforting. He just really, really likes having you in his arms whenever he can.

Please bake for him. Lix doesn't have a lot of free time these days so his baking duties go to you instead - especially when Chan is whining quietly to himself that the cookies he bought from the store are too hard for his liking. Make him soft cookies - the chocolate chip ones that are gooey, fall apart and melt on his tongue. He wants those types of cookies, please.~

His 'I need to be behind everyone so I can see where they're at' habit also goes for you as well. Whether you're with the group or on your own, Chan's always walking either right beside you or behind you. He loves holding your hand and being close to you of course but he almost prefers walking behind you sometimes because he can actually see you without having to turn his head or side eye you like he's judging whatever it is you're doing. He just needs to have you in his eyesight if you're out and about - who knows what could happen.

If you need something fixed - he's your guy! The boys have said before that Chan is a great mechanic when it comes to fixing wiring for electronics, if a TV or computer isn't working, even other household appliances. And when he's done fixing it all up, he'll organize the cords so that they're neat and aren't too tangled. He leaves it looking brand new every time, even if your television is almost 8 years old. (He gives it a little clean while he's there.)

Chan is wildly good at pretending that he isn't sick even if he is. Or, worse off, while he's injured. Sometimes he overdoes it while working out or maybe he just slipped up and dropped a weight or his wrist bent when he was boxing with Minho; Either way, he is too good at hiding the pain he's enduring. The only time he's open about it and vocalizes how much he's hurting is if it's something more severe; And even then you have to convince him to go in to get it looked at.

Man has a really hard time taking compliments. While you might think it's funny - the way he shies away from your words and gets pink in the cheeks - Chan finds it a little too much; Overwhelming, actually. He'll eventually ask you to maybe tone it down with the teasing, the over complimenting, etc - because while he does appreciate it all, it's just overstimulating for him. It makes his mind reel and whirl with thoughts of 'I need to continue being this accomplished because if I don't, I'll let them down.' and nobody likes having those thoughts plaguing their mind 24/7.

^ Instead of direct compliments that are detailed, i.e. "Chan, you looked so good today! Your hair looked incredible and the outfit you picked out was perfect!" - Chan would rather a simple, "You look really nice today." A simple, sweet acknowledgement of the effort he puts into things whether it be his work, outfits, dates, whatever - is plenty enough for him to feel praised and appreciated.

But while we're on the topic, he does get a little bit pouty if you don't acknowledge something he thought he put a lot of effort into. For example; There was a time he had picked out a new shirt just to match the one you wore for a little date-day he had planned for you and when you didn't notice, he got quiet and a pout settled on his lips until you asked him what was wrong.

The good news is, with this situation, Chan is extremely good at communication. He can tell you, without making you feel bad, that he feels a little unappreciated when you don't notice things he does either for you or with you - or even in general.

Chan also just loves feeling needed. He loves it when you seek him out for advice, to vent, or just to talk to. He thrives off of feeling like he is doing a service to people even if he's just sitting there and listening to you babble about something you got into recently and really like.

He is also quite the perfectionist. Not to the point of him needing to plan every little detail down to the T; But he does take everything into account especially if it has to do with his work. But -- this also applies to dates! He's going to plan your date as well as he absolutely can and he's going to do it in a way that almost prevents anything from going wrong.

That being said, he's also very respectful and willing to listen to anything you have to say, ever. Which means he's more than happy to hear you out with your own date ideas; You feed him your little date fantasies and in turn, he'll make them become your reality!

Chan's mood also determines the atmosphere most of the time. When he walks in the room and it's clear he's not having a great day, people tend to understand that it isn't a good time to pick on him or touch him. Most just give him space. You, though; You're one of the only people he'll ease up on if you come close or cuddle up to him. You're like a little exception.

Chan is a huge fan of Dreamcatcher! If he has the opportunity, he wants to go and see them - which is something you overhear while visiting the studio one day. You end up buying him a concert ticket as a birthday present, even though he probably could've gone for free being in the industry and all - but he highly appreciates it and is almost in tears with how much joy he feels when he sees the ticket. He can't help but ball up his fists and wave his hands around in excitement, eyeing the ticket so hard like he's afraid it'll disappear if he blinks or looks away.

Chan has a fascination and heavily enjoys - drones. He owns a few, or - use to - maybe just one now. Either way, he really enjoys getting to control them and watching them whip around when other people are in control instead. The first time he introduces you to his drone, which he has named (comment what you think he would name it), he insists you try to fly it on your own. When you're too nervous and afraid you'll break it, because it IS expensive, he waves off your worries and helps you control it with his hands laid over top of your own.

During a Trivia event held by the boys in Changbin & Hyunjin's apartment, Jeopardy style of course, Changbin asked a question in which contestants (you, Seungmin, & Jisung) had to name what program Chan uses for Producing. You ding the bell before Jisung has a chance - and Seungmin is completely clueless - and to Jisung's dismay, get the answer right. "Cubase!" Chan's eyes widen in surprise at your knowledge and though he isn't sure how you know that, he's flattered for some reason. Meanwhile, Jisung is clutching his hair in his hands and crying, "How do you even know that?!"

During one year for Christmas, Chan found himself being gifted with a brand new bottle of the Kilian "Back to Black" perfume. He instinctively turned to thank Jeongin, who grew confused as to why his Hyung was doting on him, before claiming he didn't gift that to him. Chan sits back deadpan and turns to look at you instead, where you're sitting next to Felix with a giggly grin. Chan knew you liked his cologne - he was well aware, as you were always huffing his scent when the two of you hugged - but he wasn't aware you knew the name of it. Unless you went snooping...

[theyluvivi]

crybaby by sza...༊*·˚ c.s

You've been sulking all day. Well, all week. You've been trying so hard to keep your mood up, to act like whenever you go out, you don't spend the time counting how many seconds until you can snuggle up in Chris's bed again.

He's noticed it, too. The fake smiles, the way you keep to yourself. He's started to watch you more. Maybe you're not as good at hiding your feelings as you thought.

You're in Chris's bed, in his hoodie that practically drowns you, covers wrapped around you as you desperately try to read a book that's been collecting dust on your shelf for months to distract yourself from how shitty you feel.

You've read the same page over and over again, missing new things each time. You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood—This can't be what makes you come tumbling down. But, you can't stop adjusting the way you're holding your book. You can't stop feeling like Chris yelling at Matt through a screen is the most overstimulating you've ever experienced. Can't stop yourself from tears starting to blur your vision.

And God, you're so happy that Chris is so immersed in his game of Fornite that he can't hear you crying.

Chris slowly turns around in his chair, taking his headphones off his right ear. "Baby... are you crying?" You shake your head, wiping roughly at your face. "Are you okay?" He asks, tilting his head at you and fully taking his headphones off.

That's it. The cue for everything you've held in the past week to come pouring out. Chris gets closer as your sobs get louder. "Holy shit— I'm sorry, princess, did I do something—?"

You shake your head again, choking on a sob. "No! No— I- it's just been a really rough week—" He pulls you into a tight hug, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You melt into him, his warm embrace making you cry more. It's something you've needed for so long, but were afraid to ask for. "No...just.......this, please." You murmur into his chest, "Shhh, I got you, princess I got you."

"We can stay like this for as long as you need to."

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns @drewswife @strnilolover @elysianpearls @courta13

a/n: this is all i need rn... m so bummed out

[avastrasposts]

Thank you so much for this incredibly lovely comment! I don't even know where to start you said so many nice things! It was a huge undertaking but I wasn't even aware of how long it would be when started. If I had, I might not have done it :D

There's a scene in Triple Frontier when Frankie kills the man in Lorea's kitchen, and he's completely turned off from the fact that he's killing a man, his face is blank. That scene sparked the whole story as I watched TF around the same time that TLOU tv-series was airing. The look on his face reminded me so much of the look on Joel's face in the hospital scene at the end. On one level, I admired Pedro's acting, but I also saw the similarities between the two characters, and it made me think about who would Frankie be if he was in Joel's situation. If he lost his daughter and then had to live in a world that would make it very difficult for him to overcome the PTSD he already had.

Fleshing out this world was easy enough as I'm a HUGE fan of the game so it was all in my mind already. I loved the idea of the boys from TF in this world because it was so easy to imagine how they'd react to it, how their skills would be so useful in that kind of world. But also that they'd all suffer in various ways because of what they'd already been through and with Frankie's issues, he seemed like the one who might struggle the most.

I'm really happy to hear you appreciate all the aspects of his PTSD and the stages he went through. I did so much research on it and I really wanted it to be as accurate as possible and get the readers to feel his pain and anxiety around it. It couldn't be a quick fix, or something he'd get over for "story reasons". His girls has to fight for him, even when he won't do it himself, and at the core of it, I really wanted him to be able to get past it in the end because he had her who always believed in him, but then she's on the verge of leaving. And that's what makes him take the final step. But even then, that underlying worry for him will always be there.

Thank you again for such a lovely, lovely comment! I'm so glad you loved the story!

The Pilot and his Girl - complete

Series Master List

Frankie Morales in The Last of Us AU

Frankie Morales meets the love of his life and starts creating a new life for himself, her and his little daughter. But things are about to change in ways no one could've imagined with the outbreak of the cordyceps infection.

Warnings (contains spoilers)

I finally finished this monster of a fic and I've been overwhelmed by all the love it's been given! I love you all for bearing with me and reading through my monster chapters of angst, heartbreak, grief and two fools very much in love. Don't send me your therapy bills! 😅

I love hearing from you all, even if you think you're cringe or embarrassing or the fic is too old to comment on, if you like the fic, please let me know! It will make my day! Comments, reblogs or asks are always welcome! ♥

No age gap, our reader and Frankie are the same age, no use of Y/N, no physical descriptions.

Chapters with ** contain smut

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 **

Chapter 6 **

Chapter 7 **

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 **

Chapter 10 - part 1 **

Chapter 10 - part 2

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 **

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17 **

Chapter 18

Chapter 19 **

Chapter 20

Chapter 21 **

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25 **

Chapter 26 **

Chapter 27

Chapter 28 **

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32 **

Chapter 33

Chapter 34 **

Chapter 35 **

Chapter 36 **

Epilogue

Bonus Christmas chapter - part 1

Bonus Christmas chapter - part 2

[vbecker10]

What Were You Going to Ask Me?

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Sam & Steve push Bucky to ask you out on a date but every time he tries to ask you, something or someone interrupts him. After several failed attempts to find out what Bucky needs to ask you, he acts as if he forgot his question when he mistakenly thinks you have a daughter and husband.

Sam rolls his eyes as he turns on the lights in the empty gym, "Okay seriously Buck, I'm tired of hearing about Y/N. Can you give it a rest for like ten minutes?"

"Why? What's wrong with Y/N?" Bucky asks defensively, following Sam over to the boxing area.

"Nothin'..." he explains with a sigh. "But you haven't stopped talking about her for a solid week."

"I don't talk about her that much," Bucky argues, folding his arms across his chest as he drops his gym bag at his feet.

"It's literally all the damn time," Sam insists. "I mean come on, I know how Y/N takes her coffee and her favorite pizza place-"

"It's good pizza," Bucky interrupts.

"That's not even close to my point," Sam opens his bag and digs around for what he needs.

"I hate to say it but Sam's right," Steve joins the conversation finally, putting his gym bag down at the end of a row of punching bags.

"Really man?" Sam asks as he takes offense to Steve's comment. "I'm right pretty often."

"Yeah, like when?" Bucky counters with a smirk.

"Stop it, we're getting off topic," Steve says in his Captain America tone before Sam can start an argument with Bucky. "Look Buck, we both know you like Y/N, it's painfully obvious."

Bucky kneels down and unzips his gym bag, pulling out a long wrap for his hand. Keeping his head down, he ignores Steve who continues to talk with Sam. He really thought he was hiding his growing feelings for you better than this. If his friends noticed, were you able to tell too? Maybe you did know and you didn't feel the same and that's why you never brought it up.

"Dude really?" Sam stands over the super soldier and finally gets his attention.

"What?" Bucky looks up then stands slowly.

"Would you please just ask her out already?" Sam asks desperately.

Before Bucky can explain all the reasons why that's a bad idea, his oldest friend puts his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly and looks him straight in the eyes. "If you don't ask her by the end of the day, I'm doing it for you," Steve says. "You're driving me nuts Bucky."

After training, Bucky goes back to his apartment to shower then heads straight for your office before he loses his nerve or worse... Steve makes good on his threat. He knocks on the door and waits anxiously on the other side.

You sigh, looking up from your screen as you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes tightly. You had spent the last two hours training the new SHIELD intern but you have a feeling he didn't retain a single thing you told him. That better not be Josh with more questions already, you think.

"Come in," you call with as little annoyance in your voice as possible. Picking up your cup, you finish your second lukewarm coffee of the day as the door opens. "Oh, hi Bucky," you say cheerfully as soon as you see the super soldier walk into your office. He smiles at you and you immediately forget how aggravated you had been only seconds ago.

"Hey Y/N," he smiles back as he closes the door, his nervousness easing slightly by how excited you are to see him. He takes a seat across from you, his eyes leaving yours momentarily to take in the tall stack of case files and two empty coffee cups. "Busy day?"

"Always is," you shrug and you notice his smile fade slightly which is the last thing you want. You can't explain how much you love to see him happy, it gives you butterflies anytime he smiles, especially when you are the one who caused it to happen. "I always have time for you though. What can I help you with?" you ask. "I didn't think you had any up coming missions, did I miss one?"

"Uh, no. I actually have a question for you," Bucky replies. He shifts on the chair and runs his metal fingers through his hair.

"Oh, okay. What's-" you start to ask what he needs but your attention is pulled away from Bucky to your phone ringing. You groan when you see who it is, "Sorry, I need to get this, it's Agent Hill."

He nods and gets up to leave. "It'll just take a second, you can stay," you tell him but he's already out the door.

At lunch you decide to go looking for Bucky, still curious about what he wanted to ask you. You head up to the Avengers living quarters and make your way to the kitchen. He's standing with his back to you as he digs through the fridge for something to eat, when he turns and sees you behind him a smile spreads across his face.

"Hey," he says, carrying the ingredients for a sandwich over to the island.

"Hi again," you smile back and walk closer to him. "I was hoping I'd find you here." That was only a little lie, you knew you would find him here. Bucky always eats lunch in the kitchen unless he's on a mission or stuck in meetings.

"You were looking for me?" he asks as he assembles his lunch.

"Yeah, I was wondering what you wanted to ask me before," you explain.

"Oh, umm..." his cheeks redden and you can't help but wonder if he's blushing or if you're seeing things. "Well I was wondering if-"

Tony walks in and Bucky's mouth clamps shut tightly which only makes you more curious. "Hey," Tony greets you both as he makes his way to the fridge to grab a drink.

"Hi," you respond but keep your eyes on Bucky who suddenly seems overly focused on his lunch. He gathers the remaining ingredients and quickly puts them away. "Oh, did you still need to talk?" you ask Bucky, hoping he won't leave yet.

"Yeah, maybe later. I'll come by your office in a bit," he says without looking at you as he walks past Tony and heads towards his apartment with his plate.

"So that was weird even for him," Tony says when you two are alone.

"It was right?" you ask. You're tempted to follow him but before you can leave the kitchen your phone alerts you that you have a meeting starting in fifteen minutes. With a sigh, you head back to your office.

Two hours later, you've completely given up on the idea that Bucky will come visit your office and finally ask you his question. The fact that he didn't want to talk about it when Tony was there just makes you even more curious. It obviously doesn't have anything to do with work so what the heck is it?

You bite your lip and just as your mind begins to wander, your phone vibrates. The initial disappointment you feel when the call isn't from Bucky vanishes when you hear your sisters voice on the other end of the line.

You check your watch to make sure you're not late while the coffee maker works on your third cup of the day. You need to be down in the lobby in the next ten minutes or so.

"Hi Y/N," Bucky's voice fills the previously empty kitchen.

"Oh, hey," you give a small wave and your smile brightens when you see him, Steve and Sam. "I've got a few minutes until I need to do something, can we talk about whatever your question was?"

"You didn't ask yet?" Sam looks at Bucky as you reach for the sugar in the cabinet above you. Your back is turned to the trio so you miss the disappointed look Steve gives his friend but not the sound of Bucky smacking Sam's shoulder to quiet him.

You laugh, "I've been trying all day to find out what the heck he needs to ask me."

"Yeah, about that-" Bucky starts, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

Your phone vibrates and you take it out to check the new message. "Sorry Bucky, I need to head to the lobby," you interrupt him.

"Right," he nods. "I'll uh... I'll ask you later."

"Come with me," you tell him. "You can ask me on the way. I'm dying of curiosity here."

He laughs nervously, "Yeah, sure." Steve pats his back hard as he walks past his friends and follows you.

The elevator is crowded with people leaving to go home for the day and you frown knowing Bucky won't even give you a hint as to what his question is. On a more positive note, the cramped elevator means your back is pressed against his chest for the duration of the ride down. This is as close to the super soldier as you've ever been, you've thought about giving him a hug once or twice before but you always held back.

Bucky closes his eyes, keeping his hands in his pockets to ensure he doesn't reach out without thinking to hold you tighter to his body. His mind wanders briefly as he wonders if you'd let out that adorable giggle of yours if he kissed your cheek or put his arms around you.

When the elevator reaches the lobby, you hear what sounds like Bucky sighing in relief behind you. You bite your lip at his reaction and take as big of a step away from him as you can while you wait for everyone else to get out.

Bucky follows you, curious about who you are meeting since he had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts he forgot to ask. Maybe one of your friends? Hopefully not a boyfriend, you hadn't mentioned one but there was a lot he still didn't know about you. He stops walking and his heart sinks when a little girl runs over to you, hugging you tightly as you kneel down to greet her. You stand up, holding the child then walk a few steps closer to a man Bucky fears is your husband as he's obviously the girls father. He hands you a small backpack and kisses the little girls head which makes her giggle. The sound reminds Bucky of you and he does his best not to let his emotions show on his face as he watches you.

"Say bye to daddy," you tell the girl and she waves as he leaves through the front doors. You turn back to Bucky with a smile. "Ready to go back up?"

He doesn't answer, his mind swimming. He thought for sure you were flirting with him but maybe you were just being nice. Had he read the whole situation completely wrong?

"Bucky?" you ask to get his attention.

"Bucky," the girl repeats and giggles.

"Yes, that's Bucky," you put her backpack over your shoulder and wave at him. The little girl copies you.

Bucky wiggles his metal fingers as he waves back which you find far too adorable. His bright smile returns and he pushes the button for the elevator as he takes the pink unicorn bag from you. "Hi there, what's your name?" he asks.

"Lucy," she answers with a wide smile, showing off a missing front tooth.

"It's nice to meet you Lucy," Bucky tells her as you follow him onto the elevator.

"Okay, so what did you want to ask me?" you ask and laugh a little. "Sorry we keep getting distracted."

"Oh, I forgot what it was," he shrugs. "I guess it wasn't important."

"Seriously?" you ask not believing him. "All day I've been trying to figure out it and that's all I get?"

"Sorry," he responds, his eyes focus on the elevator buttons and he remains quiet until you reach the common floor.

"Oh my goodness, who is this?" Nat smiles when the three of you enter the kitchen. Sam and Steve sit across from her, their discussion about what to order for dinner coming to an abrupt end.

Lucy bites her lip, looking at all the new faces and turns in your arms, hiding herself against your shoulder. "Aww, are you feeling shy?" you say to her gently.

She nods and Bucky rubs her back slowly which takes you by surprise. Lucy looks up at him and he smirks, "Don't be shy, everyone's so excited to meet you. Want to show them your missing tooth?"

She giggles excitedly and smiles wide as she faces your friends, pointing to the little hole between her teeth.

"Wow," Sam says. "You get a dollar from the tooth fairy?"

Lucky nods quickly as you set her down now that she seems more relaxed.

"Y/N, she looks just like you," Nat states, looking from you to Lucy.

"Right?" you laugh. "I always thought that was funny cause my sister and I don't really look alike."

"My brother-in-law got called into work early and my sister got stuck in a late meeting so I told them I could watch her for a few hours," you explain.

Bucky nearly drops the backpack when he goes to place it on the island and the sudden slip doesn't go unnoticed by the spy or his friends. You, however, don't notice as your preoccupied watching Lucy wander over to Bucky.

"Wait, so she's not your daughter?" Steve asks, his tone a mix of confusion and surprise.

You laugh again, "What? No, I'm on aunt duty tonight." Looking around, you see Bucky's mouth hanging open and Sam shrugging at Steve. "Wait, did you guys really think I had a daughter I forget to tell you about?"

"No, of course not," Steve says quickly.

"Absolutely not," Sam says at the same time.

Bucky remains quiet but you see the smile return to his face and wonder if that's why he had been so awkward in the elevator. "The three of you are idiots," Nat shakes her head, voicing your thoughts perfectly.

"Well yeah, but I just thought..." Bucky's thought trails off when Lucy grabs onto his pants leg and tugs to get his attention. "Hi," he smiles down at her.

She giggles up at him and reaches her arms up, "Bucky."

"I don't mind," he smiles as he sways a bit back and forth. "I think someone is tired."

"You tired of me already?" you pretend to pout but it doesn't get her attention, she continues to smile up at him and he kneels down to be at eye level. "Oh I get it, you just want to tall, handsome, soldier to hold you?" You blush when you realize you said that last part outloud and you can tell by Nat's expression and the way Bucky's head snaps in your direction that they all heard it.

Bucky gently lifts her up with his right arm and she cuddles against his chest. "You don't have to..." you tell him.

"Are you ever going to tell me what you wanted to ask me?" you look up at him as the elevator doors close, leaving you alone and him with no way to escape the question that's been following you around all day.

"I-" you try to process a question that wasn't anywhere on your list of possible topics. He bites his lip as he watches your brain slowly catchup. "Yes! Yeah, yes I'd love to," you giggle and notice his smile returning but then yours fades. "Ooh no... I can't, I'm sorry."

"Now seems as good a time as any," he says with a nervous smile. He clears his throat, "I was wondering if you'd like to go on a date this Friday?"

"What? No, I mean, yes I still really want to but just not this Friday. I promised I'd watch Lucy so my sister and her husband could go to a wedding," you explain quickly before he thinks you aren't interested in him.

His smile disappears completely, "It's okay, I'm sorry. I knew I shouldn't have asked."

He nods, putting his hands in his pockets. "Maybe next weekend?" he suggests with a shrug almost as if he's not sure he believes you.

"Or you could come over and help Friday?" you counter and he looks at you curiously. "Please? She already loves you and I get really bored after I put her to bed. I really want to spend more time with you. We could watch a movie or something."

"Sure," Bucky relaxes and you grin happily. "You think your sister will be okay if I come over?"

"I don't think she's going to mind an Avenger watching over her kid while she's out," you tell him.

"Fair point," he takes a step closer to you as the doors open. "Its not quite a date, but I'm looking forward to it."

"Bucky!" Lucy screams excitedly when your sister opens the door and sees you with the super soldier.

"Wow, I'm forgotten about already," you say trying to sound overly hurt when you close the front door.

"She's been talking about him coming over since you called," Rachel laughs and gives you a hug as Bucky picks up your niece.

"Can we braid your hair?" the little girl asks with a smile as she pulls his hair gently.

"Maybe," he says with a smile that very obviously means yes.

"Glitter?" Bucky repeats nervously and you giggle with your sister as she puts on her coat.

"Oh and decorate your arm?" she asks as she reaches to play with his metal fingers.

"You going to make his arm pretty?" you joke with your niece who takes your question very seriously.

She nods, "Glitter."

"No glitter," your brother-in-law thankfully steps into the conversation. "Be good for aunt Y/N and Bucky okay sweetheart? We'll be home before you wake up."

She nods quickly, "I'll be good daddy." Bucky sets her back down so she can hug both her parents goodbye.

He leans over to whisper to you, "If I see one piece of glitter, I'm picking the movie and what we're doing on our date tomorrow."

"That was the worst threat ever," you smile back at him as the front door closes. "So, where's the glitter Lucy?"

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💙💙 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @ash-muses @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @wolfsmom1 @sabspoetic @peaches1958 @catsladen @michellewgrt @crimson25 @jaidenhawke @mochie85 @itscomplicatedx

[captain-huggy-bear]

I was watching the video where the Utah team were asked their Karaoke song, Clayton's being Wagon Wheel. Then I listened to it and then I realised that I think he'd call you mama when you're pregnant (tbh I think he'd sometimes call you it even if you're not pregnant or a mum) Also I'm less than 200 away from 1000, should I do a celebration? Maybe prompt lists or something idk? Let me know what you think baring in mind it'll probably take me 500 years to write everything anyway lol Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You feel like a very sick, very achy whale. That's really the only way to explain how being 7 months pregnant felt. You were dealing with feeling sick every day, baby deciding she wanted to twist and turn at all hours and kick you at every opportunity. She was heavy as well causing your back to ache, your ankles to swell and your entire body to hurt.

You're just trying to grab something to eat but have to stop halfway to the kitchen, hands pressing to your back, leaning in such away that your bump presses out further. You're starting to get fed up with this pregnancy stuff and Clay hates watching you feel so wrong in your skin every day...even as he thinks you look the most beautiful you ever have, carrying his baby.

Hands are sliding over your lower back, long sturdy fingers pressing into the tense muscle there as Clay presses his chin to your shoulder, having spotted your discomfort a mile off. He knows this pregnancy is being rough on you and he's trying his best to be attentive, supportive even when he's away on a roadie.

"How you doin', mama?" Even as you're annoyed at him for getting you pregnant and putting you in this position, you can't help but relax into him, shoulders pressing back against his chest as his hands move around to your belly, rubbing across the taut fabric of your t-shirt there. The moment you found out you were pregnant Clay had started calling you mama more than he called you baby, a shift that melted you ever single time. Even when you were irrationally and hormonally angry at him.

"Everything hurts and your baby is making me sick." You moan at him, huffing and annoyed even as your body relaxes into him, putting your weight back on him. He just huffs out a laugh at you, knowing you're not actually upset with him and that even if you were he has no right to be upset about that. Not when you're dealing with all the aches and pains of giving him a baby.

"My baby? Mama, you cannot blame me entirely for her actions." He says this even as she kicks you under his palms as if she knows exactly where his hands are and aims for them. You're almost certain she'd be a penalty box baby.

"You put me in this position."

"I know...I know." He hushes you, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He feels bad on some level for how uncomfortable you are, even as he's happy you're having his baby, "What's hurting the most right now?"

"My back, your baby is a fucking giant. Big ass head." It's ridiculous you think, that he's only 5ft 10 and yet his baby feels like a giant. You can't even begin to contemplate how large she'd be if he'd been someone like Michael...it makes you shudder in dread. God help his future partner if she decides to have a baby with him.

"C'mere, mama." He's pulling you back against him even as you start to resist his movements, trying to pull away from him unsure what he's about to do and overly suspicious of his motives. You don't want any of his hairbrained schemes right now, you're too uncomfortable for it.

"Clay..?"

"Come here. Trust me, baby." You stop resisting until he's pressed flat against your back, hands sliding over your bump and underneath with a softness, a gentleness that always surprises you. For a man who can shoot a puck at 90mph he can be astoundingly gentle.

It's almost a shock, the good kind, how Clay's large hands cup your belly from underneath and lift until he's taking the brunt of the 10lbs you're certain your baby is going to end up being.

"Oh..." You sigh back into him, relaxing so completely that you're almost jelly. Head leaning back onto his shoulder, eyes closing. It's instant relief from some of the back pain and the aches, all of that weight lifted from you by his hands so easily because to him the weight is nothing, but then he's not carrying it all day, every day.

"That feel better, mama?" He mumbles it against your temple, pressing intermittent kisses there as he watches the way you ease into him, the smile of relief on your face. You're his baby too, his first baby, and you're important, as important if not more than his baby baby. Taking some of the pressure off you, helping you feel good? That's more important than anything else.

"Mmmmm...yeah, much better." You're so soft against him, pliable, boneless. Clay feels a certain sort of pride at the fact he's able to help like this, that he can take some of that pain and pressure away even for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry she's being mean to you..." God, he can't wait to meet her, but he also hopes she's not as difficult once she's here. Terrified she's going to be a hellion that has him pulling his hair out from stress. All she's done is spend the pregnancy kicking you, keeping you awake at night and making you vomit while making you crave food you hate and be unable to stomach foods you love. If anyone should get an award for patience and resilience it's you.

"She's going to be a handful...but I love her anyway." You smile as he kisses your temple again, firm enough you can feel it, but not too rough that it'll jar you.

"You're going to be the best mama, baby."

"I hope so..." You mumble as he eases your belly back down. Pulling you to lay on the couch with your swollen ankles in his lap. Fingers massaging against the swollen skin as you lean back into the couch pillows.

"You worried?" He watches you, assessing you as he works his fingers into the arch of your heel, pressing at tense little spots. You're biting your lip worriedly as you watch him, gone into that spot in your head you go to sometimes, even as your hand strokes across your belly in an attempt to sooth the baby who's started kicking you again.

"Mmm, just get scared sometimes that she might hate me," There's this part of you that's terrified you won't bond with your baby, that no matter how hard you try she won't love you back...or worse that you'll mess up, do something that makes her hate you.

Clay's hand smooths up your calf to the back of your knee, his eyes impossibly soft as he looks at you. A gentle reassuring smile pulling at his lips.

"Not possible, mama. Promise she's going to love you as much as I do."

And you believe him. In that moment, it's hard to imagine that Clayton's wrong. He knows you better than anyone else, the only other person who knows your baby almost as well as you do. Knows what makes her kick, how best to get her to settle so you can sleep and what foods stop her making you vomit. In that moment you can't imagine that he could possible be wrong and it makes you want to cry because all you want is to be a good mum to your baby, to be a good partner to Clay, to have it all work out.

"...thank you."

"Anytime, mama."

[xiepheer]

how would shadow milk cookie comfort soft!reader if they were sad and crying?

Shadow Milk cookie x Soft!Reader

Hey guys! >:3 hope yall like this one!

Also kinda yanderish??

First things first, someone would dare hurt his dear Y/N?

OH HOW DARE THEY! He would think.

He would be furious to see their soft darling Y/N crying.

Why? They hurt his one and only! Who wouldn't be mad!

Not at you the of course.

Shadow Milk cookie when furious would destroy anything in his path.

You are an exception.

Now Shadow Milk cookie would eventually wear his anger down as he sees that he has no reason to be angry at you and instead, walked to you.

Now he doesn't really know what to do as he hasn't comforted anyone before yet.

"Uhhh are you okay?"

he asks. He was awkward because it's really just the first time he asks someone that.

He would try his best to comfort you.

He would give you gifts, cheer you up, make you laugh.

If those don't work, then he'll eventually give up on the mission to make you laugh when crying and instead just. You won't be live me but. Pull you on his chest.

Now you're soft with him and now he thinks it's his turn to be soft.

To comfort you like how you did to him.

Now that was something new.

The Jester, the goofy jester, the master of deceit, doing this to such a weak fragile cookie?

A cookie he could easily crumble underneath his hands but he chose not to.

All because he cares for you.

All because he wants to care for you like how you did to him.

Now eventually, when he finds out why you're crying, he would either be sad or angry.

Sad because maybe someone you know died or something.

Angry because someone might have hurted you and is ready to crush them under eat his palms.

Now this cookie of Deceit would NOT and absolutely NOT let your reason of crying slide.

If it's because of another cookie of course.

If you got bullied, then that was the last time they'll ever get to see you because they would perish.

To comfort you and make you happy again in his life, he would do anything that would make him think that you'll be happy.

Yes he would pat you, hug you, cuddle you, but when you've fallen asleep, that's when the chaos starts.

Him desperately trying to find the person who hurted you and destroying everything.

He would make sure to make that cookie suffer for making you sad or cry.

Now after he's done that, he would take a sigh of relief as he knows the problem you once had has been taken care of him once and for all.

A single drop of tear can cause a destruction of the world.

Hello everyone! I'm here! Hope yall like this one even though it's short!

Love yall 🫶

[elixirfromthestars]

Can I start this off by saying that as a girlie who appreciates a good playlist, I am fully enjoying reading this while listening to the accompanying playlist you created? 😌💖 And after how the prologue started us off I am seated and ready to read what happens next! 👀

More under the cut ᯓᡣ𐭩

Firstly, Liz 🥺 you have me scared now after this:

I'm going to have to prepare my tissues, my heart, my mind, and my soul for this one aren't I? 😅🥺 Well I'm ready as I'll ever be then!!

I don't know if you've answered this before, but I was curious to know what year you set/imagined this au in? 👀 I would love to get an idea of the era for the fashion and environment 🫶🏼

A grin of your own broke out, and the carriage had barely stopped before you threw the door open and practically flung yourself out and into the arms of the man before you. "Benji!" You exclaimed with a laugh, hugging your brother tightly. He reciprocated with a chuckle, resting his cheek on top of your head. "It's good to see you too, Scout."

^ Am I going to like Benji? Because something tells me I’m going to adore Scout’s brother 🥺 I think it was really nice of him to go off and move out west first to prepare everything, so things could be set up by the time Scout arrived! 🫶🏼

“Yes! Oh, Scout. You’re going to love it! It’s a grand, old thing. The furniture has already been placed, but of course you’re more than welcome to rearrange. I’ve even set aside a small plot by the side of the house for you to garden.”

^ He set up a little plot for her to garden?? 🥺❤️❤️ I officially have a soft spot for him 100% 🥺

And Natasha ending up as Benji's secretary...interesting 👀 I wonder what role she'll play in the plot 🤔✨ I hope her and Scout become friends, so Scout can have someone to talk to while she adjusts to this new life. 💖

“The Daggers are nothing to be concerned about,” he started, stopping when you shot him a skeptical look. Sighing, he continued, “They don’t usually cause trouble for those in town. Maverick has a sort of…truce with them.”

^ A truce? 👀 Sounds to me like Maverick has to keep all his children in check 😂

“I really am glad you’re here, Scout,” he said softly. Turning to meet your brother’s gaze, you saw the familiar fondness in them that you had missed the past six months. Benjamin was eight years your senior, and had declared himself as your protector from the second you were born. He had been one of the many constants in your life, and now he seemed to be the only one left.

^ 🥺🥺🥺 that's all just 🥺🥺🥺

“Without an escort?” You spluttered, eyes widening in shock. Benjamin let out a hearty laugh, his head falling back as his shoulders shook. “Welcome to the west, baby sister.”

^ Something tells me this won't be the first 'cultural shock' Scout experiences 😂 Although, after mentions of the outlaws, rowdy folk, and men stumbling out of taverns...I think I too would be a little shocked of not having an escort. 😳

And my first impression of the small town of Maverick is that its a nice little town with possibilities of trouble around the corner 👀

“Perhaps you’ll be my friend,” you mused. The horse lets out a snort and you laugh out a breath, smiling softly. Your father had loved horses, and he had made sure to pass on that love to his children. Many happy memories were made riding along the countryside of your family’s country home.

^ I don't know who this horse is, but I love him. 🥹 I hope Scout befriends him and gets to bring him treats later ❤️ Because it sounds to me like he deserves all the treats!!

“Well, darlin’. There must be something special about you, huh?” Came a male voice from behind you. You whipped around just as a sturdy body leans against the post. He was unbelievably handsome. Gold hair complimented golden skin, and green eyes held twinkles of mirth and mischief with a smirk to match.

^ 🤭🤭 Is this who I think it is?? 🤭🤭 I swear I can hear the accent clear as day when he says darlin' 💗💗

“Whiskey here doesn’t warm up to just anyone,” he grinned, resting a hand next to yours. “In fact, he doesn’t like much of anyone accept me.”

^ It's official. Whiskey the horse, a good judge of character, and the matchmaker. I love him. 🐴💘

“Figured,” he chuckled. “I would have remembered seeing someone as pretty as you walkin’ around.”

^ Keep talking, I'm listening 🥰❤️

“So, sugar,” he started, “how much for your debut?”

^ Never mind, please stop talking because—WHAT 😦

Chuckling, he continued. “How much is it going to cost me to have you in my bed for the hour?”

^ EXCUSE ME DO I LOOK LIKE A HARLOT TO YOU?! Actually, don't answer that because apparently I do 💀

“C’mon, honey. It’ll be worth your while,” he smirked, running his eyes up and down your form. “Promise it’ll be good for you too. Hell, I’ll even pay for the night.”

^ *clutches pearls tightly* Jake, please stop I'm begging you, you're making it worse for yourself. 😭💀

“I’m not a whore!” You shouted, drawing looks from passersby. The man held up his hands in surrender. In any other situation it would have been almost comical how frightened he seemed of you considering how he towered over you. “My sincerest apologies, miss,” he offered, trying to hold back a grin.

^ In all seriousness, this is actually such a funny and fitting way for these two to meet and the fact that he's being a little shit and trying not to smile, its such a Jake thing to do. 😂🩷What a set up for them, I love it!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

“Nonsense,” Jake chirped, “what kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed a beautiful young lady to walk around unescorted through town?” You gave him a dubious look which only caused the smirk on his face to grow into a full blown grin.

^ Sir, you just said we looked like a whore I mean, I don't know if an escort through town is how you make it up to someone after that buddy. 😂💀

“You come here to join your fiancé?” He asked, tone even and face still unreadable. Surely he wasn’t... “Are you jealous, Mr. Seresin?” Jake looked at you then, jaw set and green eyes ablaze. “Answer the question, darlin’.” You shook your head. “No. I’m not even engaged. Benjamin is my brother.” He seemed to relax at that.

^ Jealous already, Jake? 🤭💖 I’m still a little weary after that little misunderstanding 🤨 but I’ll let it slide for now 😌

“Because I don’t believe our paths will cross again, Jake,” you said, lips curling in a small smile.

^ Oh, I have a feeling they will. 🤭🩷 Many times. I have a feeling Jake would carve out his own path just to cross it with Scout's if need be. 🙂‍↕️💗

“How can we be of service, Hangman?” he asked tensely, and you looked up at him with a puzzled expression. Hangman? But that was the name of… Your head whipped back around to look at Jake who just grinned at your brother before shooting you a wink. “Just escorting your sister back to your door, Benjamin. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, would we?” He grinned, not taking his eyes off of you. Benjamin stiffened beside you.

^ Benjamin and Jake have crossed paths already?? 👀 I wonder how that went 🫢 because it seems Benjamin is very cautious of Jake.

Oh my, oh my, oh my, what a beginning this was!! Arriving to Maverick, getting a bit more of a feel for Scout and Benji’s sibling dynamic, meeting Whiskey, meeting Jake, and then that tense interaction between Jake and Benji in the end 🫢💕 Maybe I should be weary of outlaw Jake, but I fear he might’ve captured my attention already!! 🫶🏼 Deep down I want to trust Whiskey’s judgement that Jake’s a good guy, but I guess I’ll have to keep reading to see!! 👀💖

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter One

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger Gang of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Language, reader being a tad bougie, flirty Jake, ogling men, use of y/n...I think that's it for this one?

Word Count: 2.95k

A/N: Here it is! Chapter One! I hope you all enjoy reading this! As always, likes and reblogs are very much welcome as I crave validation. And again, this blog is 18+!! You are responsible for your own reading! You can also find this story on AO3 written under arcane_vagabond!

Series Masterlist || DGU Masterlist

People bustled about the small town as your carriage passed by. Children ran ahead of their parents, men stumbled out of what could only be the local tavern, and women dressed entirely too scantily waved at anyone who passed by.

Frowning, you sat back in your seat, once again contemplating how you ended up in this situation. Peering out the window, you looked up to see a tall, wooden building painted in a fresh coat of white paint. Blue shutters hugged the windows along the walls, and a wooden sign with your family’s name hung just past the set of stairs. Most importantly, a tall man stood at the base of the steps, grinning from ear to ear.

A grin of your own broke out, and the carriage had barely stopped before you threw the door open and practically flung yourself out and into the arms of the man before you.

“Benji!” You exclaimed with a laugh, hugging your brother tightly. He reciprocated with a chuckle, resting his cheek on top of your head.

“It’s good to see you too, Scout.”

It had been months since you had seen your brother. Benjamin had insisted on moving out west before you in order to get things settled, and you were to stay home and oversee that your family’s heirlooms were shipped safely to your new home. That had been six months ago, and now here he stood before you, still clean shaven, but he had definitely developed a darker complexion during his time in the town of Maverick. Pursing your lips, you look up at him.

“Benjamin, how much time have you spent in the sun these past months?” You scolded. He had the decency to appear ashamed as he ducked his head down, offering you a sheepish smile.

“Longer than you would approve of, I’m sure y/n. But, the house needed seeing to and land was not going to till itself,” he smirked, taking your arm in his and walking up the steps of the building.

“The house?” You inquired with a raise of your eyebrow. Benjamin nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! Oh, Scout. You’re going to love it! It’s a grand, old thing. The furniture has already been placed, but of course you’re more than welcome to rearrange. I’ve even set aside a small plot by the side of the house for you to garden.”

“You have?” You asked as you walked into the building. A parlor of sorts greeted you with newly made furniture and various pieces of artwork hanging on the walls. A door opened up into the hallway that held, what you assumed, the offices for the firm.

“Oh, Benji,” you breathed, placing a hand over your heart. “Daddy would be so proud of this place.”

Benjamin’s chest puffed up in pride as he led you down the hall and into his office. You passed a woman who came out of the office closest to the door. She was beautiful with her dark hair pulled back and her blue dress perfectly complimenting her complexion. She offered you a smile and then looked expectantly at your brother.

“Benjamin,” she began, “aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Of course,” chuckled Benjamin. “Y/n, this is Natasha. Natasha, this is my younger sister, y/n.”

“Please, call me Phoenix,” she said, offering you a hand. You took it and gave it a firm shake. “A pleasure, Phoenix.”

“Your brother has been so excited to see you. All he ever does is talk about you! I feel like I’ve already known you for years,” she teased, causing him to look embarrassed. You chuckled and dropped your hand back to your side.

“I know the feeling. He’s gone on and on about the ‘remarkable, young woman who I’ve had the great pleasure of taking on as my new secretary.’”

“Must you two tease me so?” Benjamin groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“I have work I need to return to anyway,” laughed Phoenix, already turning to head back to the entrance. “Don’t be a stranger now, y/n.”

“She seems nice,” you said to your brother once Phoenix had rounded the corner. Putting a hand on your back, Benjamin guided you into his office, taking the chair opposite you as you both sat down.

“She certainly keeps things interesting around here,” he laughed. You scoffed, thinking back to your earlier conversation with your driver.

“As if things need to be more interesting around here,” you muttered. Benjamin gave you a perplexed look, and you sighed.

“I know all about that…Dagger Gang, Benji. Outlaws running about? Honestly, I don’t know how I let you talk me into coming here.”

“The Daggers are nothing to be concerned about,” he started, stopping when you shot him a skeptical look. Sighing, he continued, “They don’t usually cause trouble for those in town. Maverick has a sort of…truce with them.”

“Usually?” You questioned, still not convinced.

“There have been the odd occasions,” he stated slowly, seeming to pick his words carefully. “Usually when the odd person in town picks a fight or one of them gets too rowdy at the tavern. It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Scout. Really.”

“If you say so,” you relented, dropping the subject and looking out the window. Benjamin sighed in relief, and the pair of you sat in silence for a moment.

“I really am glad you’re here, Scout,” he said softly. Turning to meet your brother’s gaze, you saw the familiar fondness in them that you had missed the past six months. Benjamin was eight years your senior, and had declared himself as your protector from the second you were born. He had been one of the many constants in your life, and now he seemed to be the only one left.

Sighing, you replied, “You’ll have a lot more convincing to do in order to make me decided that this was a good idea.”

Benjamin cracked a smile, and placed his feet on his desk, leaning further back in his chair.

“I’m willing to do that,” he grinned.

“Get your feet off the desk, Benji,” you scowled. “We’re still civilized even if we’re living in the middle of nowhere.”

Ignoring you, Benjamin reached down to open a drawer, pulling out a packet of paper. Dropping the large stack onto the desk with a loud bang, he looked back up at you with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“I’d love nothing more than for you to keep me company, Scout, but I still have paperwork I need to do before I’m finished for the day. If you’d like, you can sit here while I get it done, or you can get acquainted with the town you’ll be calling home.”

“Without an escort?” You spluttered, eyes widening in shock. Benjamin let out a hearty laugh, his head falling back as his shoulders shook.

“Welcome to the west, baby sister.”

You walked slowly down the dirt road that ran through the center of the bustling town. Each building was painted a different, bright color which made it easier to distinguish which business was which. A group of young boys suddenly ran in front of you, nearly knocking you to the ground. Stumbling back a few steps, you managed to regain your footing as the boys shouted an apology back at you from over their shoulders. Looking after them with a bemused look on your face, you felt a chill run up your spine as you hear a low chuckle from the porch of one of the buildings. Glancing up, you saw two older men leering at you. Both missing several teeth and covered in layers of dirt, you suppressed a shudder as one of them gives you a gummy grin. Smiling politely, you quickly made your way down the road.

The sun had started to set, and a chill settled in the air. A stark contrast from the heat of that morning. Slowing to a stop, you watched as several men went around lighting the lanterns outside of their businesses and along the streets. At least some things were reminiscent of home.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the large figure walk up behind you. You jumped when said large figure bumps into your back. You spun around to come face to face with a beautiful, buckskin stallion. Placing a hand on your chest and letting out a sigh of relief, you gave a halfhearted glare to the horse before you.

“You scared me,” you griped, earning an ear flick from the stallion. Turning to face the creature fully, you placed your hand gently on its snout, stroking lightly.

“My, aren’t you a pretty thing?” You cooed. The horse swung his head up and down as if nodding in agreement. You giggled, moving your hand to stroke his neck as he nuzzled into your hand.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything for you,” you laughed, earning another ear flick. You wondered how long he had been left out here. The reins attached to his bridle were tied around a post along with three other horses who paid you no mind. Humming, you look into his eyes.

“You know,” you began thoughtfully, “it wasn’t even my idea to move here. I left all of my friends back in Baltimore. I would go to parties in the evening and go for a stroll in the park the next day. There’s none of that here, I’m sure. What even is there to do?”

The horse moved closer, pushing his head into your arms.

“Perhaps you’ll be my friend,” you mused. The horse lets out a snort and you laugh out a breath, smiling softly. Your father had loved horses, and he had made sure to pass on that love to his children. Many happy memories were made riding along the countryside of your family’s country home.

“You’re right,” you relented, “I doubt I’ll be seeing much of you after tonight.”

You continued to stroke the horse’s neck, murmuring soft praises as the large beast seemed to bask in the attention.

“Well, darlin’. There must be something special about you, huh?” Came a male voice from behind you. You whipped around just as a sturdy body leans against the post. He was unbelievably handsome. Gold hair complimented golden skin, and green eyes held twinkles of mirth and mischief with a smirk to match. He wore a simple, white cotton shirt with a brown vest and wool pants. His boots and the blue bandana tied around his neck looked a little worse for wear. You blink as you realize that you’ve been staring for longer than would be deemed appropriate.

“I’m sorry?” You questioned, still caught in a daze at the beautiful man before you. You didn’t even think men like him existed in this part of the world. The man gestured to the horse you were still cuddled up by.

“Whiskey here doesn’t warm up to just anyone,” he grinned, resting a hand next to yours. “In fact, he doesn’t like much of anyone accept me.”

You didn’t answer, not sure how to respond. Instead, you turned your attention back to Whiskey who was attempting to nibble at the strands of hair that had fallen out of your updo. Giggling lightly, you pushed the horse away and take a half step back.

The man took a half step closer to you, the grin having given way to a salacious smirk. “I haven’t seen you ‘round these parts before. You new in town?”

“Yes,” you answered politely. “I just arrived here.”

“Figured,” he chuckled. “I would have remembered seeing someone as pretty as you walkin’ around.”

You blushed, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. This seemed to embolden the stranger.

“So, sugar,” he started, “how much for your debut?”

You looked at him with eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Chuckling, he continued. “How much is it going to cost me to have you in my bed for the hour?”

Surely you had misheard him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“C’mon, honey. It’ll be worth your while,” he smirked, running his eyes up and down your form. “Promise it’ll be good for you too. Hell, I’ll even pay for the night.”

You felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, and in a most completely undignified manner, you began to splutter, trying to maintain your sense of calm while feeling a red hot wave of rage overtake you.

“How dare you!” You shrieked. You saw the smirk on the stranger’s face falter. Good.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?”

“The matter,” you seethed, “is that you have just assumed that I am some woman of ill repute, sir.”

He paused, studying you. “Well, I just figured since you were dressed up so pretty, it must have been to draw in customers.”

“I’m not a whore!” You shouted, drawing looks from passersby. The man held up his hands in surrender. In any other situation it would have been almost comical how frightened he seemed of you considering how he towered over you.

“My sincerest apologies, miss,” he offered, trying to hold back a grin. You turned to walk back towards your brother’s firm with a scowl. Stopping, you peered over your shoulder, fixing the stranger with another glare.

“I would advise you, Mr…?”

“Seresin. Jake Seresin.”

“Mr. Seresin,” you breathed. “I would advise you to not make such horrible assumptions next time you come across a woman you don’t know.”

You didn’t wait for his response as you continued walking. You hadn’t made it ten steps before a shadow blocks the last remaining rays of the sun from your field of view.

“What are you doing, Mr. Seresin?”

“Call me Jake,” he smirked. You frowned up at him, stopping in your tracks to face him.

“I most certainly will not,” you huffed. “Now answer my question.”

Jake stared at you for what felt like entirely too long, and you started to fidget under his gaze.

“Well, since I accidentally insulted you,” he cocked his head at your glare, “I figured the least I could do is walk you to wherever it is you���re going.”

“While I appreciate the gesture,” you said with gritted teeth and a polite smile, “that is entirely unnecessary.”

“Nonsense,” Jake chirped, “what kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed a beautiful young lady to walk around unescorted through town?”

You gave him a dubious look which only caused the smirk on his face to grow into a full blown grin. Huffing once more, you turned back towards the path and began walking. Jake slid up to your side smoothly and offered you his arm. You scoffed at him, and he raised his eyebrows. Scowling, you took his arm and tried your damndest to ignore the obnoxious grin on your companion’s face. It took you only minutes to arrive back at the firm, and you turned to face Jake who glanced from the firm back to you.

“The lawyer?” he questioned, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yes,” you stated simply, stepping away from him to put some distance between the two of you. Jake crossed his arms and stared up at the building.

“You come here to join your fiancé?” He asked, tone even and face still unreadable.

Surely he wasn’t... “Are you jealous, Mr. Seresin?”

Jake looked at you then, jaw set and green eyes ablaze. “Answer the question, darlin’.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m not even engaged. Benjamin is my brother.”

He seemed to relax at that. He gave you another look that you couldn’t quite place before shifting back to his now familiar smirk.

“I don’t think I got the pleasure of your name, sugar.”

“I highly doubt you’ll need it,” you stated simply. He raised an eyebrow.

“And why is that?”

“Because I don’t believe our paths will cross again, Jake,” you said, lips curling in a small smile.

“Ah, that’s no fair, darlin’. All I want to know is your name,” he grinned, leaning in so close that you could feel his breath fan across your face. Your own breath catches as you locked eyes with him.

“Just my name?” You whispered. He nods.

“Just your name.”

At that moment, your brother and Phoenix chose to walk out the door, stopping in their tracks at the sight before them.

“Scout?” Benjamin said hesitantly at the same time Phoenix said your name. Jake’s eyes shifted to the pair, and that smirk settled on his face once more. His eyes flickered back to you as he leaned away and you found that you were able to breathe normally once again.

“Y/n, huh?” he chuckled. Then he cocked his head and gave you a mirthful look. “Or is it Scout?”

“It’s neither to you,” you scowled, causing him to let out another laugh.

Benjamin walked quickly down the steps and down to your side where he leveled Jake with a stare.

“How can we be of service, Hangman?” he asked tensely, and you looked up at him with a puzzled expression. Hangman? But that was the name of…

Your head whipped back around to look at Jake who just grinned at your brother before shooting you a wink.

“Just escorting your sister back to your door, Benjamin. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, would we?” He grinned, not taking his eyes off of you. Benjamin stiffened beside you.

“Yes, well,” he began, “thank you, Hangman. It’s greatly appreciated.”

“Anytime,” replied Jake, already turning to walk back. He gave you another wink. “I’ll be seeing you around then, Scout.”

And with that, he turned on his heels and walked away. The three of you watched him walk away in silence. What on earth had just happened?

[phoenixortheflame]

Bound: The Favourites: A @mallstars Anthology

Typeset and bound by: me, @phoenixortheflame. Featuring art by: @basiatlu, @appleslightning, @reliand, @itsphantasmagoria, @faiell

Here's a little tidbit you should know about me: The first Drarry I ever read was Save the Date by mallstars. I had listened to a few before that, but the first one I actually downloaded to my e-reader and read front to back was STD.

It captivated me. It made me feel things. And it kicked off a record-breaking year of reading nearly 3 million words of Drarry fanfic.

Needless to say, I have a soft spot for mall and their work. And I'd seen a lot of binds of "Save the Date" and "Cut From the Sky," but not their other works. So.. enter the anthology.

I'm a big science fiction fan, so my designs kept skewing that genre. It didn't help that @basiatlu made this epic artwork, which she created in collaboration with mall for their sci-fi AU piece, Blood Orange.

I had already decided on a colour palette: orange, purple, and lavender (don't ask me why), and Bosh was an absolute legend to offer to adjust the colours of her original art to match. (Ty, Bosh!)

It was my first time using printable canvas as a wrap cover, and though there were a few, "oh, fuck" moments, ultimately it turned out really well, and I'll absolutely be doing it again.

I had planned not to do a dust jacket and instead apply the fic titles and anthology title directly onto the canvas with HTV. But then I got scared as shit that I would melt the canvas, and so I chose to leave the cover blank - and, honestly? - I'm super happy I did, because it really showcases the art.

Speaking of art... the typeset is brimming with it. From top-left we have art from @appleslightning, @reliand, @itsphantasmagoria, and @faiell.

The rest of the typeset is heavily influenced by science fiction aesthetic, as you can see with the fonts and my frankly excessive use of gradients. (Take a guess at how many ink cartridges I blew through.)

And the colour palette continued through to the bind itself in the end papers, as well as the end bands and speckled edges, which I achieved using acrylic ink and a toothbrush (thanks to @maleekamolscreates for holding my hand through the process!)

As always, I added a cheeky barcode.

I literally cannot help myself.

It's a line from one of my favourite mallstars one-shots, Birthright, in which Draco is a kleptomaniac. It's romantic! Really!

Also on the dust jacket flap is a buncha nice stuff people have said about mall and their work. (Looking at you, @fastbrother, @smehur, @desertforestfic, @tripably, @garagepaperback, @kk1smet.)

I hope you love it, mall!

[maryymaruu]

I present to you, the Iterator oc number two, the child that refused to be named, now having many, hah! _(:3 」∠)_

While I adore the true name I finally scrambled for him, and couldn't resist disclosing it, for lore reasons it'd be best to address him with his title;

Sentinel Of The Unforgiven, [SOTU] or just The Sentinel.

This one's novel is even longer, so for those who don't have the patience, the trivia board on the ref is a pretty good TLDR! ^^);

This guy needs to have quite a few more clarifications made first, as I'm stepping quite further away from the canon here, and even more into fanfiction/AU territory.

Some background;

[We're talking about one and the same group Three Signals (TS) is included in. They are neighbours of Sliver Of Straw, far away from in-game locations.]

- This group exists in a very mountainous area, and from the very beginning, the Benefactors decided it's more efficient to use their already existing underground tunnels (from drilling for Void Fluid) as a transportation modus; turned into an underground train system for Iterator construction process. That system runs quite far into the group, connecting Iterators like roots, with SOTU at the near center (first one built in the area).

- Due to some harsh weather conditions and poor decisions the city was equipped with "wind-breaking" walls, giving a quite claustrophobic effect. Citizens began feeling discomfort there even before resource problems.

- Once the resource demand problem became eminent, the citizens expressed lack of care or attachment to the city and/or the Iterator. It was agreed upon to simply use the underground trains to relocate to now already standing, various newer cities.

- The justice system is... blurry at best. This post is getting too long already so I'll fully explain it another time; for now it's only important to know SOTU is not the one judging the criminals, he merely holds them up to the verdict.

- The notion of "a stay in SOTU's city feels like a punishment in itself" became wide spread amongst the Benefactors. In face of necessity it evolved into an effort to make it a reality; SOTU was repurposed into a prison facility. Instead of upgrading him to be able to be more habitable, they completed the claustrophobic city with taller sealed walls and gates, and a new set of laws/taboos for the Iterator to obey. Making for a secure, depressing, fully automated trap box.

Now more about the Sentinel himself...

SOTU has always been a rather reserved personality that struggled to express emotion or weakness. There was a specific idea he had to live up to, (be it conditioned into him or self-imposed) of someone competent, serious and strong. Giving off a strict, cold and unapproachable first impression. The Group Senior that believes he has to carry the woes of the world on his shoulders alone and never break, in order to be a good example.

However, despite poorly expressing it, SOTU does deeply care about his people and about his peers. And always tried his best to be someone they can relay on, without directly admitting it though. Like a grumpy old man, would chew one out for making a mistake first, and then help them out of trouble, without sparing any effort.

Would never admit it, but feels quite hurt by how easily his citizens decided to abandon him, and resents them for what he's been turned into. He really tried to take care of everyone. He doesn't enjoy what his city has become, he doesn't enjoy being feared. Secretly wished it was a lot more like something that of TS's city... full of life, bonded and happy, but is unable to let go of the false idea what a Senior should be like, denying himself vulnerability to even express that.

The reformatting into a prison only worsened this problem. The new, additional programming discouraged acts of compassion or affection. (So that he doesn't pity the prisoners)

Despite best efforts, his group did not integrate very well. His ways of handling things left much to be desired, some labeling him a tyrant no one can ever reason with. Some just simply disliked him too much to ever relay on his advice. Communicating within the group was difficult, hence why eventually many stopped bothering and kept to themselves, or to smaller private cliques.

The repressed emotional impulses did catch up to him eventually, allowing for small acts of disobedience against the law.

Didn't stop SOTU from feeling it though. And feeling he sure did....

Those efforts were too little too late, inadequate to prevent the conflicts escalating into hostility. Once an arrest warrant was cast from the Benefactors above, there was nothing he could do. And once the poorly integrated group got a taste of connection against a "common enemy" it was over.

Delays, stalling, omitted reports, "errors", "lost" data, "unreceived" broadcasts... All in efforts to keep the prisoner numbers low, and make the stay of those present shorter and more bearable. Ignoring all reports about what was going on in TS's city in particular- hoping to at least protect something SOTU could never be.

(More to come)

TS got hurt, and the lively community on top was broken up. It is unclear who is responsible for the malware attack idea, nor who exactly deployed it, but SOTU feels fully responsible regardless. He wallows in ever growing guilt and regret since.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Holding It Together

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST 

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,065ish

Summary: It all becomes too much and Logan can tell.

Warning(s): some angst, mental breakdown

Notes: I wrote this because I'm really struggling right now and I wish I had someone to break down to. You can really imagine any type of Logan you want.

Everything had slowly piled on. From every direction. Work. Family life. Your insecurities. The political climate. Your health problems.

On the outside, you forced yourself to seem put together, positive, and okay. But on the inside, you were breaking faster than you could put yourself together. You didn’t want anyone to know how bad it was getting, but someone was slowly seeing the cracks you didn’t know were coming through your facade. 

Logan first noticed when you laughed at one of Scott’s lame jokes one breakfast. It wasn’t as loud as it usually was, more hollow. The next time, he found you zoned out in the library. He watched you curiously for a moment. And before he could go to you, Ororo pulled you out of your daze and dragged you a long to come help her.

Logan noticed that you were being pulled in too many directions. Everyone wanted your help all the time. To collaborate on lessons. To ask questions. To hang out. Or to run trainings and missions. Then there were the family events you were constantly going to when you had time. He couldn’t remember the last time you took a day off or insisted on staying in your room for the night. Logan was growing concerned that you weren’t going to be able to handle all of this much longer.

One night, on his way to bed, Logan saw you in the hall. You clearly didn’t notice him as a few tears slipped down your cheeks and you seemed to head to your room on autopilot.

“Y/N?” He called your name.

You froze and quickly wiped away your tears. “Hey, Logan,” you forced out a smile. 

“Y/N,” he repeated, his tone full of concern as he stepped closer to you. “Are you okay?”

You bit your lip and nodded. “I’m fine.”

His brow quirked. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

He didn’t believe you one bit. “I’ve noticed that you been non-stop lately.”

“It’s just life,” you shrugged.

Logan shook his head. “No, it’s not, sweetheart. This is much more than that.”

You sighed. “I’m okay, Logan.”

“Y/N—“

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” Then you disappeared into your room.

~~~

Logan kept his distance the next day but also made sure that you were in his line of sight most of the day. You were holding yourself like the weight of the world was on your shoulders and Logan hated to see you that way. He just wanted you to be happy and relax.

As they day went on, Logan watched you continually put others before yourself in unhealthy ways. You really had no boundaries. When Kitty asked for your help with prepping dinner, Logan stepped in. He had had enough.

“No, Y/N’s going to go rest,” Logan said, placing himself between you and Kitty.

“What?” You questioned. “Logan, I’m fine.”

He turned around to face you. “No, you’re not. Let’s go.” He gently turned you around and began guiding you to your room. 

“Logan—“

“Not hearing it, sweetheart.”

“Logan, please.” Tears collected in your eyes.

“I’m done watching you run on fumes. You’re going to rest and I’ll bring you whatever you need.”

“No.” You pulled yourself from Logan’s grip and spun around to face him. “I can’t, Logan. I need to keep going.”

“You’re going to get sick if you continue on like this.”

“I have to keep going. If I don’t… Just, please, Logan. I’m fine.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m not dropping this. You’re running yourself to the ground and I can’t stand by and watch it anymore.”

“There’s just so much,” you admitted quietly, allowing the tears to fall. “If I help everyone else, I don’t have to think about it.”

“Sweetheart…” He stepped closer and carefully cupped your face in his large, rough hands. “Ignoring the problems are just going to make it worse. Trust me, I’m the king of doing that.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just all too much, Logan… It’s all too much.” You broke down into sobs and Logan quickly pulled you into him, holding you close.

“I got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” 

Gently, Logan picked you up and carried you the rest of the way to your room. He tried to set you down on your bed but you gripped him tightly. He toed his boots off as he held you before moving to lay on the bed. 

“You can’t keep going like this, sweetheart,” he told you as you cried against him. “You’re wearing yourself down and it’s hurtin’ me to see.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried.

He shushed your apology. “Don’t do that.”

“Everything’s just so overwhelming… I’m so alone and I don’t know how to handle any of it.”

“I’m not goin’ to let you handle it alone anymore. I’m right here for you, sweetheart.”

You pushed yourself up to try to get off of Logan and shook your head. “No, I can’t put my burdens on you, Lo—“

“Stop that.” He pulled you back against him. “You can’t keep your burdens to yourself any longer. I’m here and willing.”

“Why?”

Logan looked at you and hesitated. How could he possibly tell you that he had a major crush on you when you were at such a low? He would have to wait and be okay with just being a friend for now.

“Because, sweetheart, I care about you,” he responded. “And I’m your friend. Let me help.”

You nodded. “And it all… won’t scare you away?”

“Never, darlin’. Nothing you could say would ever scare me away from you.”

Your breath caught at his words and the look in his eyes. You could see that he was serious and that there was something else behind it. You didn’t push though, not in the right mindset.

“I need you to stop holding it all in, sweetheart,” Logan continued. “I need you to be straight with me and allow me to help you.”

“I don’t know where to even start, Logan… Just the thought of any of it… I get emotional and I—“

“Calm down, darlin’. Breathe. We don’t have to talk about anything right now. Whenever you’re ready.” He kissed your head. “Right now, let me just hold you. Okay?”

You let yourself sink into him further, tears still slipping from your eyes. “What if I fall asleep?”

“Then I’ll hold you until you wake. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

[dizzyditzblitz]

' Invited ' | Chp. 2

Shadow Milk x Fem!Reader (please understand from here on out i dont proofread 😭 i literally just write all of this in one go)

went a very different direction because I'm finishing this after the sage of truth costume came out and it makes me emotional

fluffy angst

After the kingdom found out, although it was painfully obvious, Shadow Milk was here, the cookies staying at Y/N's castle had become restless.

There was this Beast Cookie in their kingdom. Near their homes. Especially after the damage Shadow Milk did to Y/N and not to mention Pure Vanilla? Why was he here? Was he here to crumble the queen?

Pure Vanilla had also found out, although he found out via the fact he ran into Y/N walking with Shadow Milk throughout the town.

His heart dropped, but he attempted to recollect himself. Pure Vanilla beelined, his steps light. It didn't take long for him to finally catch up to Y/N and Shadow Milk,

" Y/N Cookie! " Vanilla chirped out, masking his deep concern with a smile,

Shadow Milk was the first to look over, Y/N following suit. Y/N stared at Pure Vanilla, trying to equally play it cool,

" Hey, " Y/N responded, clearly nervous about what Pure Vanilla was to say,

" Might I ask what you have there? " Vanilla implored,

Y/N glanced at Shadow Milk before averted her eyes elsewhere,

" I just want to talk to him, " She finally murmured,

Pure Vanilla blinked, his eyes finally opening to stare at the two. His other half holding hand-in-hand with Y/N. It wasn't jealousy in his heart— it was fear.

Pure Vanilla's hand had been gripping his staff, clearly on edge. Yet when Y/N finally looked at Pure Vanilla, Vanilla softened just a smidge. His mind kept asking why, but he wanted to trust Y/N. And he did; but his distrust for Shadow Milk was far greater..

Yet, Shadow Milk himself had actually been quiet during their whole conversation. It was a rare moment. Shadow Milk still felt Y/N's trembles whilst they held hands; he also felt Pure Vanilla's eyes burn right through him.

Shadow Milk's expression was unreadable, but he was growing furious. Why was he feeling so small? How dare Pure Vanilla crumble him with just a glare? And why was his heart hurting? Shadow Milk knew the pricks of pain in his heart, but he refused to acknowledge it.

All of their minds were ticking, like a three-way draw. Y/N finally broke the silence with a soft sigh,

" I'll be okay, " She finally reassured Pure Vanilla, her tone quiet yet convicted,

Pure Vanilla frowned a bit but relented gently,

" Alright.. " He sighed, giving Y/N a slightly forced smile,

" And— " Y/N abruptly started, seeming sheepish, " Can- can you try and soothe the town? Please? " She begged, " You're really good at that.. " She mumbled in a pout,

Pure Vanilla couldn't help but laugh a little at her pout. 'What a mess she is' he thought to himself,

" Of course, " He assured,

" Thank you, " She smiled gently, watching Vanilla turn with a wave.

Y/N let out a heavy sigh, now looking at Shadow Milk. Apparently, he had been brewing silently in his own mental turmoil throughout the majority of that conversation.

" Shadow Milk..? " Y/N hesitantly called out,

Shadow Milk's eyes widened a bit before snapping over to Y/N's eyes. It was unnerving how quick and wide-eyed he was..

But when he finally returned to reality, surprisingly, he softened. Shadow Milk stared at Y/N. Both looked tired.. especially emotionally. He looked down, realizing she still had his hand. He had to fight the urge to give Y/N's hand a squeeze..

The silence continued, and Y/N kept returning the shared stare. And she noticed something. She noticed vulnerability. A grief that eroded a once warm and happy heart.

The weight of what she noticed in Shadow Milk's eyes finally cracked her. Y/N's hand squeezed his hand as if she was trying to convey a planetary weight of emotions. She broke down, her tears pouring and sobs of everything hitting her all at once..

Shadow Milk jumped a bit at the sudden grip and her tearful display. He usually would mock tears, relish in the dramatic display, and laugh. But his thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar drip of his own tears,

He felt his breath hitch, staring at Y/N having a breakdown. Hesitating for a few moments.. Shadow Milk caved and pulled Y/N into a hug.

It was strange. It was bizarre. Especially since Y/N clung to him and returned the hug. Her and Shadow Milk wept in unison, both holding onto one as if in fear the other would vanish.

It was exposure therapy to Y/N but also therapy all around to Shadow Milk and Y/N,

Shadow Milk's knees finally gave out, falling down onto his rear, taking Y/N with him. He essentially kept her snugged close in between his knees, like a big plush toy, his tears not letting up; his frilled collar even seemed to droop a bit due to the tears,

Y/N's hands had clawed and balled up fists of fabric from his clothes, her own tears slowly letting up. Her breathing hitched rapidly with each breath. Slowly, she adjusted her head and rested her chin on his shoulder..

Y/N leaned her head against his, her eyes closing as she felt herself tear up again, listening to Shadow Milk cry.. feeling his entire frame tremor.. She let out a heavy and shaky sigh..

" I never wanted to be like this.. " Shadow Milk finally started, his voice very unsteady,

Y/N gave a confused frown, gently pulling back to look at Shadow Milk, his hair disarray and tears never-ending,

" I didn't want to hurt other cookies.. I never asked for the responsibility! " He exclaimed, his voice cracking,

Y/N jumped a little at the display. This was so far, so-so-so far from the Shadow Milk whose ego was bustling like the sun. This was a cookie. A cookie's life who was robbed from them..

Y/N couldn't help but softly cry again, instinctively cupping his face,

Shadow Milk flinched, pulling away, wide-eyed and deeply suspicious. But when he saw her sincerity, Shadow Milk couldn't help but sob again and slowly lay his head in her hands,

" I—I wanted to say..to say yes.. " He mumbled through tears, " To— to be friends... " He finally admitted, strained,

Y/N listened to him vent, feeling his head in her hands and her thumbs brushing away his tears,

" I'm so tired... of being alone... watching everyone from afar.. " He whispered, slowly falling silent again as his tears slowly slowed down..

Shadow Milk lifted his head to look at Y/N, his own sniffles and hitched breaths filling the silence.

Y/N stared up at him, but she was met with Shadow Milk leaning down and bumping his forehead with her own, gently.

Shadow Milk and Y/N found their heads on the other's shoulder, their heads leaning against one another,

" ...I'm sorry I hurt you... " He whispered, his voice only loud enough for her to hear, " and your friends.. " Shadow Milk mumbled,

Y/N's gave a small noise, signaling she heard him whilst her arms slowly went around and began to hug Shadow Milk again,

" It's not okay.. " She started, which prompted a shift of discomfort from Shadow Milk,

" But I don't hate you... " Y/N concluded, hiding her face in his shoulder, " I can't bring myself to hate someone who just wanted company... " She hushed,

Shadow Milk softened in relief. It was his turn to listen and listen he did,

" Your actions were awful.. " Y/N continued, slowly pulling from the hug and sitting back on her calves and knees, " I'm not happy you hurt my friends and myself.. " She continued,

Shadow Milk gave a small nod, understanding the vast depths of his actions. The games. The lies. The toying with essentially everyone and everything. He became a little more saddened, jumping to the conclusion he would be shunned away,

" But I believe everyone can have a path to redemption.. " Y/N added, her voice now soft after the tears finally left,

This response prompted a look of surprise from Shadow Milk, staring at her to look for any deceit.. yet he saw none..

Shadow Milk lifted his own hand and began to gently cup one of Y/N's cheek. He stared at her, the silence slowly swelling again,

Y/N softened further, now leaning her own head into his palm,

" It's going to take some time to repair things.. but I wanna try.. " She confessed,

Shadow Milk gave a nod, pulling Y/N back into a hug, practically engulfing her. The hug seemed to last a while... the atmosphere slowly easing off weight..

[girlyyypawp]

Tear drops on the dining table

"You think a house runs by itself!? Everyday I work DAY AND NIGHT like a dog to make this house into a home and this is how you repay me??" You said, voice filled with agony and frustration.

" I..." He holds eye contact with you for a moment before turning away.

" Are you fucking serious? How much effort does it take to ACTUALLY be present huh?" You point your words at him with sharp, arrow-like precision as you hit him on the chest with the rolled up newspaper.

" All I ask..." You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing "All I ask is for me to not be the only one present in this marriage."

" I'm... trying sweetheart, but you know work keeps me busy." This time he looks at you, really looks at you—hoping that somewhere deep down you might still forgive him.

A smile breaks into your face as you break character and tell him-

"Man I was hoping you would be more of a bitch."

" Well I'm trying but it's hard to be a bitch to my girlfriend when we're playing pretend husband-and-wife darling" He says while chuckling.

"....This wasn't intense enough, do you think we should go for a scene where you cheat on me-"

Before you can finish your sentence, your words register in his mind as a scrowl develops on his face.

" I would rather not even think about it, let alone enact it with you"

"Man...you're boring as hell, - 1000 aura."

" My apologies for being a good boyfriend and not arguing with you much."

A moment of silence passes by as you tell him your next move, which to your dismay, doesn't gain his approval.

" what if you were my step-"

" fuck no"

" I could be stuck in the washing machine-"

" Sweetie we have a vertical one"

Am image of you being very unsexily stuck in your tall ass washing machine comes to your mind as you cringe at thought. You rack your brain as you try to come up scenarios to act out.

"... What if you were my teacher?"

" Weren't we supposed to be fake arguing rather than enacting porno scenarios?"

" C'mon be a little sex positive dude" you tell him as you latch onto his arm.

" Ain't nothing positive about your sex life" He snorts.

Now this is not how you imagined it to go when you suggested a teacher role play, here on the dining table with your books laid out, which you had done so to make it more immersive, being oblivious to what effect it might've had later on.

"How the fuck did you pass high school?"

You grip your pen a little tighter as your boyfriend, now chides you for doing your work wrong. At first you were happy he was getting into the whole teacher thing but you hadn't assumed that he would ACTUALLY start teaching you.

Vietnam War flashbacks come back to you as he ask you

" When was the Harappan civilization found?"

" I- uhh"

"Let me give you a hint." A sigh of relief leaves your lips, thankful at his mercy-

" WHEN WAS THE HARAPPAN CIVILISATION FOUND?"

He yells the same question louder as if doing that will make you remember the date.

As you sit there, with your notebook filled with tears of not remembering the fucking date of an age old civilization, you make a mental note to yourself to never ask him to role play with you ever again.

LMAO I rlly dk wtf I just wrote but I hope yall like it😭❤️💀

Reader wanted to fake argue with the boys since they're such green flags that arguments are rare 😭💀

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience: ~Until the day it becomes a pumpkin!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: It is halloween in ouran academy ➼ what to expect:  "Am i your girlfriend now? I don't recall you asking" ➼ warnings: none ➼ Part Nineteen | Part Twenty One

"I regret ever agreeing to wear the costumes with you guys" you sigh as Kyoya helps to lace you into the big gothic gown that Tamaki had provided you. "At least it makes sense to dress up at this time of year"

"What is the appeal of vampires anyway I don't find blood loss to be all that attractive" Kyoya pondered, pulling out the fake fangs. "I think it's the danger aspect, the same reason that girls like werewolves I guess"

"I do find it strange that Tamaki has asked you to be the bride of dracula"

"I guess it is the closest we're ever gonna get to a couple's costumes" Kyoya raises an eyebrow "I was unaware that was something that interests you" you shrug "Not particularly but it's just a bit of fun"

"I suppose so"

The two of you step out from behind the curtains "Wow y/n-chan you look so cool!" Honey exclaims. "Thank you Honey-senpai" Tamaki stares back at you in awe "Ah y/n look at you! You are so cute! Look at my beautiful daughter!" Tamaki spins you around.

This is the magic spell. Tamaki calls the host club family, and you are here with your fiance, happy.

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

Until the day it becomes a pumpkin!

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

"Trick or treat, girls. Give me candy, or else your blood.” 

"Oh tamaki, you make such a handsome vampire" "Those fangs look real"

Tamaki leans into one of the girls "May I nibble on your lovely neck for a treat?"

"Oh no you musn't, you will have to play a trick on me instread"

"And indeed I shall"

"Hello" The twins and haruhi slide into the host club "Why are you guys late? Hurry up and change"

"Sorry boss but from now until Halloween count us out, okay?"

"What?"

"Count you out?"

"We're on the preparation commitee for a special event, class 1-A is sponsoring it."

"Duty calls then"

"Good luck without us here for the week" "And that reminds me, y/n, our numbers are uneven so we need extra person, do you mind joining our group for it? Its a test of courage tournament"

"Me? I'm second year though"

"It doesn't matter the event is school wide we are just organising it"

"Oh, well i guess its okay then"

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

You, haruhi, the twins and the class president end up huddled against a wall after you get caught up on his phobias. "Are you not scared y/n?"

"Scared? No, I live for halloween, and horror movies"

"I guess Halloween does have a flare for the dramatic, not surprising from a theatre kid" "Gee thanks kaoru"

Haruhi is busy caught up with reading an anxiety selfhelp book to the class president. "Are you kidding me? None of those things actually work! Call me the captain of all cowards, you can scream it from teh rooftops, just get me out of here!"

"Really? Even if it means Kurakano will think you're a big chicken"

"Huh?"

"Woah, wait a minute, what's going on with you and Kurakano?"

"No! It's nothing like that! We're just friends! I've known her since we were little, none of this has anything to do with it!" The class president is turning redder by the second.

"Fine, fine, we understand"

"Funny how you had told us you didn't wanna throw your weight around..." "When the reason you agreed to any of this is because you didn't wanna look like a freak"

"That's not it, that's not the reason why I couldn't oppose it. I...it's just...Kurakano...well, she had her hear set on this tournament. I didn't wanna let her down, so I couldn't say no"

"You mean...oh crap! He's totally pure!" "He's got a heart of gold, Hikaru!"

"Our powers are nothing against his wholesomeness!"

"Believe it or not, not all guys are manipulative pervs like you two" you butt in.

"Hey!" "We're not Manipulative!"

"That's the part you're arguing?" You raise an eyebrow.

"So, does this mean we have to help him now?"

Something passes the window "Did you see that?"

a skull drops down the staircase nearby "No way, it's a sneak attack from those A-team hacks!" "Hey it's not your turn guys! Follow the rules!" Hikaru kicks the skull back up the staircase

"Yeah you show them!"

"My skull..."

"My skull..."

The clocktower chimes, and a shadowy figure appears at the top of the stairs "Could it be the clocktower witch?"

"Why did you kick....my skull!?"

The five of you run off, you and Kaoru tripping and ending up in some net trap.

Nekozawa stands back in the corridor watching in glee as you all run away and freak out "My fright strategy was perfection itself...Kyoya are you not joining in on the fun?"

Kyoya is leant against a wall nearby reading a flashlight "I am not, I'm just waiting for my girlfriend to be done with this and then we're leaving."

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

"Ow! This is supposed to be a tournament not a hunt....Hikaru! Where is he? I've gotta find Hikaru!" He starts thrashing around "Hey cut it out! I know you worry for him when you two are apart but he will be fine...now I'm sure I have something on me that can get us out of this..."

You route around your bag to pull out a letter opener "Why do you have that on you?" You shrug "I recieve a lot of mail"

"Hold still for a second...this is gonna be awkward I apologise" You lean over to start hacking at the rope. "Excuse me miss l/n you have a boyfriend"

"Something tells me Kyoya will forgive me...besides...I don't know if he's my boyfriend"

"Huh? I thought you guys were together? That photo from the play seemed pretty final on it"

"We are we just haven't really put a label on it, we have been introducing eachother as fiances even before there was anything between us so I guess it does not really matter anyway"

"i see"

"I'm not to bothered about it...one day...a bit sooner than I would like, I will be married to him anyway"

"Do you not want to marry Kyoya? I mean I know you have not been together long but surely dating your fiance is good for an arranged marriage"

"It is not so much about being married to Kyoya but what it means about our lives, our responsibilities will widen much. I think you know what I mean too Kaoru. We all have something waiting for us after we graduate. we can't all live in denial forever"

The spell is upon us, where we can all wit around in nice outfits and hold tea parties. But when the clock strikes, and the carriage turns back to a pumpkin, the spell will break.

The rope snaps, dropping you both to the floor.

Kaoru sits up "I need to find Hikaru" He gets up, running off in the direction that the rest of the group went"

"There you are"

Kyoya wanders up to you, standing over as you look up at him. "Do you want to go now?" he outstretched his arm to offer help up.

You nod, taking his hand "I think I've had enough of this tournament"

"Our driver is waiting outside, there should be candy waiting for us at the apartment"

You raise an eyebrow "you hate sweets"

"I do, but you love halloween, the candy isn't for me"

You pause looking up to him, his eyes still trained ahead. "Kyoya...is this a date?"

"You sound shocked"

"I am a little"

"Is it so shocking that I may want to take my girlfriend on a date"

"Am i your girlfriend now? I don't recall you asking"

"Do you need me to ask?"

You roll your eyes "Whatever, I have a craving for sugar"

The two of you walk out of the school hand in hand.

♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡        ♡

The two of you are sat on the couch in the apartment, 'veronica' playing in the background. "I must admit when I said you can pick the movie I didn't expect it to be in spanish"

You shrug "Horror knwos no bounds, including language"

the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. "Are we going to talk about it?"

"Hm?"

"The email I got, about your family...and what my father is covering up..."

"That email is not proof that what you think is true"

"There is no other way to interpret it Kyoya"

"My father is not exactly the most morally sound man but I refuse to believe that he would do this"

"It is the only explanation Kyoya there is something going on in your families hospitals, and whatever it is people are potentially dying from it."

"I know....I just refuse to belive it...let me look into it more"

"Okay...." Eventually you fall asleep halfway through the movie, slumped over leaning on Kyoya. But the question still lingered in Kyoya's mind.

Next time on patience 'Mori senpai has an apprentice candidate!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows @missbrebre1012 @sleep-7372 @strawberrbitch @reticent-writer @eternal-dokja @meme848 @mistyhydrangeagarden @nanaloverz @hyuninslutbbgirl @rebel-author-chick