#again this is just a feeling I had and thought I could share

[i2sunric]

HAPPY VALENTINE’S, BABY (l.hs)

PAIRING: heeseung x reader (f)

SUMMARY: you decide to get your nails done for valentine’s day, fully expecting they’d be wrapped around heeseung by the time you got home.

WARNING: smut, blow job, established relationship, mentions of creampie and sex, hand job, dirty talking, pet names (baby), meandom!heeseung, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

WC: 1.1k

PUBLISHED: February 4th 2025

TAGLIST: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @who-tf-soddhi @enhamonsterghoul

a/n: well, sorry for disappearing, but i’m into writing again nowadays and might publish small drafts i was able to finish! let me know if you liked it, and please REBLOG & SHARE!

You'd spent the afternoon in the nail salon, finding just the right shade of red-deep, sultry, the color of wine and desire. The little black "H" painted onto the ring finger of your left hand was inconspicuous, but meant the world. A little mark of him, a reminder that no matter what, you were his.

Heeseung was already home when you arrived, sprawled across the couch and scrolling through his phone. At first, he barely looked up, greeting you with a soft, lazy, "Hey, baby."

But then you moved closer, holding out your hands for him to see, “Got my nails done for Valentine's," you said matter-of-factly, watching as his expression changes.

His eyes landed on your fingers, his brow arched a little as he took in the color, the ribbons you had attached, then— his initial.

The phone fell onto his lap as he reached out and tugged you closer into him. The pad of his thumb brushed over the small "H," and his jaw slightly clenched.

"You did this for me?" His voice was lower now, the playful tone replaced with something darker, something more possessive that never failed to make heat pool at your stomach.

You smiled, all fake oblivious "Of course. Who else would it be for?"

Heeseung’s lips curled into a smirk, but his grip on your wrist tightened. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and full of intent. "You know what I’m thinking, right?"

You did. Oh, you did.

He pulled you onto his lap, guiding your newly manicured fingers to brush against the bulge in his sweats. Even through the fabric, you could feel how hard he was getting just from the thought alone.

"Fuck," he muttered, his head tipping back for a moment before snapping back to you. "You knew what you were doing getting these, didn't you?"

You tipped your head, innocently . "What do you mean?"

Heeseung let out a low, amused chuckle, but there was nothing light in the way he reached out, grasping at your chin and making you face him.

"You wanted me to see these and think about them wrapped around my cock, mh?" His thumb traced your lower lip, pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch. "Wanted me to lose my mind over you?" He then pressed in between your lips, making you suck on it.

Your stomach had contracted at his words, the heat pooling between your legs. You loved how he was like this— when teasing turned to something more, more intense and overwhelming.

"You're staring really hard, Hee," you whispered, letting your fingers trace up his chest, your touch light and teasing. "You wanna test them out?"

He exhaled sharply through his nostrils, the hold on your waist tightening as he shifted beneath you. "Get on your knees, baby."

The order ran a shiver down your spine, but you listened, falling off his lap and onto the floor between his legs.

He leaned back, hips rising enough to tug his sweats down and free his cock. Already hard, the tip glistened with precum, and the sight alone had your mouth watering.

"Show me what those pretty nails can do," he murmured, voice thick with desire. You wrapped your fingers around him, moving slow at first, letting him feel the cool polish against his hot skin. His breath hitched and his jaw clenched as he watched your every move.

"Fuck, that's so hot," he groaned, his hand tangling in your hair. "You have no idea how much I love this, baby."

You smirked, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to his tip before flicking your tongue against it, savoring the way his grip tightened, his thighs tensing beneath you.

"Happy Valentine's, Heeseung," you whispered before taking him into your mouth, giving him exactly what he wanted.

The groan that tore from Heeseung's throat was guttural, deep, like he'd been waiting for it all day. His hand in your hair fisted tighter, but he didn't push, didn't hurry you. He wanted to enjoy it.

"Fuck, baby," he muttered, voice already breathless as you took more of him in, your freshly manicured fingers stroking what your mouth couldn't reach. The cool gloss of the polish against his heated skin had him twitching in your grasp, his thighs tensing beneath you. "I’m gonna ruin you.”

You hummed around him, making him curse under his breath. His head tipped back against the couch as his chest rose and fell unsteadily with your movements in slow, measured tempo, allowing your tongue to swirl around the tip before sinking back down.

His free hand was clutched on the edge of the couch, his knuckles white. "God, you're so good at this," he groaned, looking down at you with dark, hooded eyes. "Look at you— fuck, you love this, don't you?

You met his gaze, your eyes wide and innocent as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper. His grip on your hair tightened; his hips jerked up just slightly, just enough to make you gag. But you didn't pull away.

The wet sounds filling the room were sinful, your hands moving in sync with your mouth, twisting around his length with practiced ease. Heeseung was falling apart beneath you, his breathing ragged, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle ticking.

“Shit, baby,” he panted, his head tipping back for a second before he forced his gaze to go back to you, dark with something almost feral. “You’re gonna make me come so fucking fast.”

You smirked around him, moving faster, your nails gliding against his sensitive skin in just the right way. His hips stuttered, his body going tense as he let out a strangled groan.

Then, he pulled you off him as his hand tugged at your chin, making you look up.

"Not yet," he huffed out huskily; his thumb made a swipe of your swollen lips. "I wanna come inside you.

You barely had time to react before he pulled you up onto his lap, his hands grasping your waist, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising, hungry kiss.

“Ah, you're in for it now, baby,” he whispered against your lips, hands sliding under your dress. “Gonna fuck you so good you'll be needing a whole new set of nails by tomorrow..”

And from the way he manhandled you onto the couch, you knew he meant every word.

[valkyrien]

'Super old fics... like 2+ years'

But yes, absolutely, any comments on anything from any era are still comments and the desire to know what someone thought of one's work does not diminish simply because the work has existed for longer than a year or so. The idea that it would or should is a little absurd in the broader context of how fandom spaces work and evolve organically.

For one thing, just because a work has existed for longer than a year or so does not mean that this reader commenting now had any idea it existed prior to their finding and reading it now, and for another, had I as a writer wanted older works to vanish or become unknowable or un-commentable-upon, I would have removed them, stated outright within them that I didn't want comments, or locked access to them etc..

The very fact that my older works remain available to peruse and comment upon should tell readers that comments are still welcome, and I have not yet met a writer or artist who does not agree with this.

If we hadn't wanted our work to be approachable, we would have made it unapproachable. If we hadn't wanted to know what people who are viewing it for the first time now because they've only just found it feel about it, or if we wanted to limit the ability of repeat viewers of the work to eventually let us know their thoughts, we would have removed the option to comment or simply removed the work itself so that it could no longer be viewed much less commented upon. If we wanted to disavow or delete our older works, it would be gone. You only have to look at how many deleted bookmarks or orphaned works are on AO3 to know that.

This idea that commenting on 'older' work - often operating within a very, even ludicrously, slim margin for what constitutes 'older' at all - is somehow awkward or unwanted by the creator or seems 'weird' in some way is a fairly new conceit driven by the rise in younger consumers of fanart and fan spaces who very much do view their interactions with those works and spaces as a kind of consumerist behaviour on par with modern algorithm-driven social media interactions, and it's an immature approach to those interactions which reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of what fanworks and fan spaces are for and what they do and how the framework surrounding them functions.

Liking someone's work that isn't from this year is not the same as 'deep-liking' a picture on someone's Instagram or whatever that reveals that you've been scrolling back really far in their timeline or archive in a way that can be socially construed as 'awkward'. There is no workable comparison and yet this idea that it's more or less the same has very much permeated particularly younger fans' view of fandom interactions and led to a very offputting rise in, again, particularly younger people anxiously wondering and asking whether it's somehow wrong or unwanted or 'cringey' for them to interact with 'older' work, and the question itself is nonsensical within the wider structure of fandom.

If you pick up a book written seventy years ago, or look at a painting painted three hundred years ago, or watch a film made thirty years ago, and you enjoy it, and you tell someone about it, that's not weird.

If the creators are still alive and they see that you've reviewed or shared or praised their work in some public way they're not going to think 'Wow, what a cringefest, that thing came out/got made/was published so long ago, what a freak for having found it and enjoyed it now and talking about it, ew'. They're going to be pleased someone is still enjoying and discovering their early work and is making them aware of that enjoyment.

It's no different with fanworks just because they're often more directly accessible and the creators often are, too.

In fact, fandom creators are likelier to have more control over the accessibility of their works than other types of creators who license or publish their work, meaning fandom creators can at any time simply remove the work or limit access to it or reduce or restrict direct feedback opportunity on the work if they don't want to see or hear direct-to-creator comments directly aimed at their creations.

So if that fanwork is still up, and the comment option hasn't been restricted?

Chances are that creator is still absolutely open to receiving comments and would love to hear how you loved their work, whether it was made available seven minutes or seven decades ago. Sometimes you only vibe with a creator's early work, sometimes you only like that one Yu-Gi-Oh! phase they had back in '04, and sometimes you can't get enough of their massive Single-Pairing Covid-Era Hurt-Comfort series that began last year featuring two obscure characters from a sci-fi novel published before you were born. It's all okay. If you liked it, and you have the option, tell the creator you liked it. They're just going to love that you liked it. If they didn't want to know, you wouldn't have the option of telling them.

people who write fics. how do you feel about comments on super old ones you wrote like 2+ years ago

[wosoloml]

crawling back to you II leah williamson x reader

warnings: toxic, hidden relationship, jealousy, angst

summary: After hiding their relationship for years because Leah was still in the closet, they eventually broke up. Yet, they always found their way back into each others lives.

wc: 1,3k I based on this request

"it´s been two years, Leah. Why are you still referring to me as your best friend and roommate to your teammates? You didn´t even tell Keira about me?! She's your best friend!" I yelled at Leah, more out of frustration than anger. I'm so tired of hiding this relationship, of hiding myself behind the 'best friend´ label.

leah being in the cloest was never a problem for me - for us. But since rumours about her dating her male best friend were a thing it as hard to keep everything private. Growing up in milton keynes it was hard to be openly gay.

"Y/n you know its hard for me to tell everyone we are dating. We both know how they reacted after Keira came out to them. She still suffers from it and i dont wanna experience it please undertstand that." leah tries to explain her situation to me and i wish i could understand her the way i want to. But im too hurt.

"I should understand you? Have you ever tried to understand me? I can't do this anymore, Leah. You deserve someone who can handle this - but I can't. I'm sorry, Lee. It's for the best if we break up."

I say the words with tears in my eyes, my voice barely holding steady. It's a hard decision, but itt's one I have to make.

Being with Leah from the time I was 14 to now, at 17, has meant everything to me. I'm so grateful for the past three years, but I just can't do this anymore.

---------

"Y/N, I BOUGHT US TICKETS FOR THE NEXT GAME AT JOIE STADIUM!"

My girlfriend's excited voice echoes through our shared apartment. It's been seven months since I moved to Manchester and three months since we started living together.

"I'm already excited!" I shout back while checking who City's opponent is. Of course - it's Arsenal.

It feels strange to be thinking about football again, especially after breaking up with Leah almost a year ago. But maybe she's not even playing anymore.

Little did I know, she's been captaining the squad for the past year.

Our seats are incredible, giving us a perfect view of the pitch. As the teams walk out, my eyes immediately land on the captain's armband wrapped around Leah's arm. A strange sense of pride swells in my chest. Playing for the Gunners - leading them - had been her dream since she joined the club so many years ago. Seeing her live that dream now brings an unshakable smile to my face.

My thoughts are interrupted when my girlfriend starts chanting loudly, her passion for the game contagious. For a moment, I forget my ex is even on the pitch.

I never told Sarah about my past with a certain blonde Arsenal player.

I could feel Leah's eyes on me the entire game.

A part of me wanted to tease her, so every time she came over to take a corner, I laughed extra loud at whatever Sarah said or kissed her deeply-just to make a point.

I wanted her to see what it felt like to be in a relationship that didn't have to be hidden. To know how beautiful it is to be loved loudly and openly.

Later that evening, my phone buzzed.

leahwilliamson wants to send you a message. My heart started racing. My eyes widened as I read her message.

'Cute little show you put on earlier today.'

I had no idea how to respond to that, so I just sent back a few question marks. It didn't take long for her to reply.

'The way you laughed extra loud at whatever that girl said. The way you kissed her while checking to see if I was watching. I don't care, Y/N' . My blood starts to boil.

----

"Y/N!!"

I snap out of my thoughts as my coworker calls my name. I hurry over to the counter, my eyes widening.

'Can you serve them? I need to make a quick call.'

I manage a nod, but then I notice here - Leah. Sitting in my cafe. With another girl.

I take a deep breath, forcing a polite smile. "Hey, what can I get for you?" I ask, keeping my tone professional.

Leah smirks. "ll have a matcha latte. And what about you, babe-?" She turns to the girl beside her. "A flat white, please. Thank you" the girl says with a warm smile.

I already don't like her.

"Give me one second"

I know exactly why Leah is here - to get under my skin. And it's working. But beneath the teasing, beneath the smug attitude, it just hurts.

Seeing her be so open, so affectionate with someone else. calling her pet names, touching her without hesitation - it stings in a way I can't ignore.

Whenever we were out together, she barely even said my name, let alone held my hand. Now, she's making sure I see how different things are.

Every time I glance at their table, Leah is already looking at me, eyes filled with something I can't quite place. But I do notice how touchy she is, how overly flirty she's being.

And it makes my blood boil. I text her 'now we are even'. Her eyes darkened as she read the message.

-------

The club was alive with loud music, the clink of glasses, and the smell of sweaty bodies. It was my best friend's 25th birthday, and we decided to celebrate it in our hometown, London. I was also hoping it would serve as a distraction from my recent breakup. After two years of dating Sarah, she ended things last weekend because I couldn't bring myself to tell her I loved her. It's not that I didn't care about her or that I wasn't in love, but things felt different. The only woman I will ever truly love is Leah. Forever.

Suddenly, someone bumped into me, spilling their drink all over my shirt. "Oh god, I'm sorry!" They said as I looked up, meeting their eyes. It was Leah. Who else could it be?

"I didn't know you were here" she said, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, it's Anna's birthday today, and I thought Id come back to London for the occasion" I replied. "What about you?"

Leah seemed taken aback by how easily I kept the conversation going. "Actually, we won the league today. It was the last game of the season against Aston Villa, and we won."

The conversation flowed naturally, and then, unexpectedly, she asked THE question.

"So, is your girlfriend here?" she asked.

"No,†I said "we are not together anymore." "Oh, really? Im sorry to hear that. Funny enough, my girlfriend broke up with me two weeks ago" she replied, a look of surprise crossing her face. I was stunned, my eyes widening in disbelief. The tension between us shifted, and an unfamiliar but unmistakable feeling of missing her washed over me.

After that, we kept texting and even FaceTimed a few times. The vibe was strange but oddly familiar, as though we had never stopped talking, despite having broken up over 3.5 years ago. Nothing had really changed.

---------

"Happy one year, baby!" Leah greeted me with breakfast in bed and the most beautiful bouquet of red roses. I couldn't have been happier with her by my side.

Even though she had a game on our anniversary , it didn't make the day any less special. I cheered her on from the 'Friends and Family' section, proudly wearing her name on the back of my Arsenal jersey. When she scored the winning goal, she celebrated by making a special gesture just for me.

Right person, right time.

[maretinelli]

CRYING FOR EVERYTHING

Lando Norris X fem!reader

Summary: When Y/n is the most soft and crybaby person and this makes Lando laugh, but ends up comforting her when she cries over silly things.

Words: 4.1K+

Warnings: Nothing (??) Just cute and romantic.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. This can be funny but also sad because she cries over everything hahaha

MASTERLIST

Lando turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door to the apartment he shared with Y/n. A sweet, slightly buttery scent hung in the air, but he didn't comment on it right away.

He just smiled as he felt the warmth of home and called out in a light, excited voice: "Honey, I'm home!"

No response.

He frowned slightly and walked into the kitchen, where he found Y/n standing at the counter, staring at a cake. So absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't even notice his presence until she felt Lando's arms close around her waist, his chest warm against her back.

"What's going on here?" He asked quietly, peering over her shoulder at the cake, which looked perfectly baked.

Y/n blinked a few times, her eyes brimming with tears. "I asked for the recipe for the cake my grandmother made..." Her choked voice revealed how much it meant to her. "And I tried to recreate it, but it didn't work."

Lando stepped back a little, positioning himself next to her. He looked intently at the cake before turning his gentle eyes to his girlfriend.

"But he looks great."

She took a deep breath, fighting back tears, but when she pointed to the cut piece, she murmured, "It didn't turn out like Grandma's... And it even sank when it came out of the oven..."

The first tear fell silently.

Lando smiled slightly and took a slice of the cake, tasting it without hesitation. He chewed slowly, enjoying the taste, and then looked at her with a sincere smile.

"It's delicious."

But Y/n just quivered her pout before starting to cry again. "But it's not like Grandma's..." She sniffed, sobbing softly. "I wish you could have the experience of tasting her cake, but she died a long time ago and I don't know how to recreate the family recipes!"

Lando felt his chest tighten.

Without thinking twice, he dropped the slice of cake on the counter and pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping her completely, feeling her small sobs against his chest as she hid her face in her hands.

He stroked her hair lovingly and whispered, in a tender voice: "I know I can't taste your grandmother's cake, but I have something much better..."

Y/n moved slightly, looking at him with moist eyes. "What?"

Lando smiled, gently wiping away a tear with his thumb.

"The amazing experience of tasting all the wonderful cakes you make."

She sniffed, giving a weak smile through her tears, and Lando took the opportunity to hold her even tighter against him.

"And I will taste them all, every time."

Y/n chuckled softly, burying her face in the crook of his neck as Lando continued to cradle her in his cozy embrace.

•••••••••••••••••••••

The light rain beat against the apartment window, a comforting sound that filled the room amidst the soft dim light of the lamp. It was a quiet night, perfect for cozy moments.

Lando and Y/n had spent the day together, enjoying his day off and her vacation. In the late afternoon, they decided to ride their bikes around the city, returning just before the rain started. By now, Y/n had already showered and was comfortable on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, while Lando was still in the shower.

Before leaving, he had told her to start watching the series they were watching together for the third time.

Time passed, and Lando appeared in the living room, drying his messy hair with a towel. He was wearing only sweatpants, leaving his chest exposed to the night's cold.

"Honey, I hope you didn't watch too much without me, or else-"

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Y/n crying softly, wrapped in layers of blankets. The box of tissues rested on her lap, and her eyes were red and watery as she stared at the TV with a devastated expression.

Lando smiled, holding back a laugh. But then he put the towel he was using to dry his hair aside and approached his girlfriend.

"Crying over O'Malley's death again?" He said, gently pulling the blanket from her hair and leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead.

Y/n looked up at him, sobbing. "He... he, he..." She tried to speak, but her voice failed.

Lando crouched down beside her on the couch and wiped away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

"Breathe, love" Lando said softly, patiently waiting for the outburst he knew was coming.

Y/n sniffed, pulling out a tissue and wiping her nose before continuing, "He was treated like a nobody, and when he was dying, he managed to say he was 007. He... he died to save someone else, Lan..." Her voice wavered, and she looked at him, her eyes bright with emotion. "He died."

Lando bit his lip to contain his laughter.

"Honey... you knew this was going to happen. This is the third time we've seen it."

"But it doesn't make it any less sad!" Y/n retorted, crying softly.

Lando sighed fondly and pulled her into a tight hug. She buried her face in his bare shoulder, sobbing softly as he stroked her sweatshirt-covered back.

"I know, love. But it's just a series. He's fine in real life, filming another movie or something." He murmured against her hair.

Y/n sniffed again, lifting her face and looking at him. "You're cold. So cold." She said with a small sob, looking at his bare chest.

Lando chuckled at the observation and let her pull the blanket away, making room for him. He settled in beside her, pulling her down onto his chest as he slowly ran his fingers through the soft strands of her hair.

"There, now I'm warmed up" Lando joked.

Y/n sighed against him, relaxing a little.

Without saying anything, Lando grabbed the remote and skipped the episode, putting on the next one to avoid more tears.

"Hey!" Y/n protested softly.

"Pretty girls don't cry," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

And, between one caress and another, Lando smiled as he realized that, little by little, Y/n's breathing was returning to normal, and the sadness of the episode already seemed a little more distant.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Lando spent the afternoon organizing the apartment. It was rare to have a day off with Y/n, and he wanted to make the most of it. He cleaned every corner, straightened the couch cushions, washed the dishes, and even wiped the floor with a scented cloth. He wanted her to be able to just throw themselves on the couch and cuddle for the rest of the night when she got home from work.

It wasn't long before Y/n arrived, so he lit some scented candles, the same ones she loved and had been buying since before they started dating. The soft aroma filled the room, and he smiled contentedly as he saved the rest to use in the next few days.

As soon as he heard the key in the door, Lando came down the stairs excitedly, ready to surprise her.

"Honey, I cleaned the whole apartment!" He announced proudly, turning to her.

The smile disappeared as soon as he saw her face. Y/n was slowly taking off her shoes, her shoulders slumped, her expression dejected. She left her bag on the table, and Lando knew immediately that something was wrong.

If he knew his girlfriend well, he knew that if he spoke first, she would break down without being able to tell him what had happened. So he waited.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes watery and her lips trembling before she murmured,

“When I was driving here, I saw two kitten brothers abandoned on the street…�� Her voice broke, and a few tears escaped. “I thought about taking them in, but our building doesn’t allow pets, and my parents aren’t home to drop them off…” Her breath hitched, and she nervously picked at her nail polish. “I had to leave them there and just walk by…”

Lando felt lighter. For a second, he feared it was something work-related. But still, seeing Y/n so shaken broke his heart.

"Oh, love, come here" He said, opening his arms.

Y/n threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and crying softly into his shoulder. Lando wrapped her in a tight hug, running his hands comfortingly down her back.

"How could someone do this?" She sobbed. "To abandon two helpless puppies to die in the street..."

Lando sighed, hearing the pain in her voice. "I don't know, love. But we can do something." Y/n pulled her face away to look at him, and he took the opportunity to wipe the tears that were running down her cheeks. "We can go there and get them!" He suggested.

She shook her head, sniffling. "Lan... I've thought about that. But our building doesn't allow pets, and my parents don't get back from their trip until next week..."

Lando smiled slightly, shaking his head. "No, no, love. You know we're visiting my parents this weekend, right? We can take the kittens there."

Y/n frowned, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

Lando gently ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the last traces of tears, and smiled. "We can take them there. Flo will love taking care of them, and they'll have a home." Y/n's eyes filled with emotion again. "They only need to spend two days here, the building manager won't even notice. We can buy a carrier. The plane is animal-friendly, and they'll be well taken care of."

Y/n hesitated for a second, hope rising in her chest. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

"Sure. Let's do it."

The tears flowed again, but now they were of relief.

"Oh, okay. Tears again." Lando laughed, pretending to be dramatic.

Y/n lightly slapped his chest, sniffling. "I'm happy now, idiot."

Lando laughed and grabbed Y/n's hand, grabbing the car and apartment keys. "Then let's go, before they run away."

Y/n smiled and hurriedly put on her sneakers. Within minutes, the two of them left the apartment, ready to give their two little kittens a happy ending.

••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/n stopped by her parents' house after work just to say hi, but ended up staying a little longer than planned. They were doing a big cleaning and, among boxes and boxes of souvenirs, they separated some things for her to take to the apartment she shared with Lando.

"This is something nice for you to share with Lando" Her mother said, handing over a large box.

Curious, Y/n took the box without asking much. She didn't know exactly what was in there, but she decided it would be more fun to open it with Lando.

When she got home, she was excited, balancing the box with her computer bag, trying to unlock the door without knocking anything over.

Lando appeared quickly, taking the box from her hands before any disaster could happen.

"Wow, what's this?" He asked, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

"I have no idea," Y/n laughed, setting her bag on the table. "I stopped by my parents' house after work and they were cleaning out the attic. They gave me this box and said it was something cool to share with you."

Lando arched his eyebrow curiously. "Okay, now I'm interested too."

He followed Y/n into the living room, where she sat down on the rug and pulled the box closer. Carefully, she opened the lid and was greeted by a burst of memories.

Inside were several objects from her childhood: old dolls, her favorite shoe as a child, drawings scribbled with crayons and even a small notebook that looked like a diary.

"Oh my God!" Y/n exclaimed, picking up one of the dolls. "I played with this doll every day!"

Lando sat beside her, watching with a smile as she rummaged through the box, each new object bringing back a new memory.

"That shoe..." She picked up the little shoe in her hands, laughing. "I wore it for everything! My mother said I refused to take it off."

"Sounds like something you would do," Lando teased, making her roll her eyes.

She picked up a drawing and laughed.

“Okay, this is a little embarrassing.” She turned the paper toward him. It was a scribbled drawing, clearly made by a child. “I used to say I was going to be an artist, but looking back on it now, I think I was right to choose another profession.”

"I don't know..." Lando picked up the drawing, pretending to study it seriously. "I see great potential here."

Y/n lightly slapped his arm, laughing. But soon the laughter turned into something else.

Every new object I picked up brought a tightness to my chest. She thought her parents had gotten rid of those things years ago. Seeing everything there, intact, as if your childhood was preserved inside that box, was so moving.

Tears began to well up before she could stop them.

Lando noticed immediately and frowned, gently touching her arm.

"Hey... what's up?"

Y/n sniffed and smiled, even as tears fell. "I'm just... I'm happy." She ran a hand over her eyes. "I thought my parents had thrown all this away years ago... but they kept it."

Lando chuckled softly and pulled her into a side hug. "Are you crying because you're happy?"

"Yes!" She laughed between sobs, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He thought it was adorable. He wanted to laugh, because it was cute to see her so emotional, but he held back.

Y/n took the small journal from the box and ran her fingers over the worn cover. "This..." She sniffed. "I wrote about everything. My childhood crushes, my dreams..."

Lando took the diary from her hands and opened it to a random page.

"Today I saw a little dog on the street and I really wanted to take him home, but Mommy said I couldn't." He read it out loud and laughed. "Well, some things never change, do they?"

Y/n laughed, slapping his arm again. "You're insufferable."

"I'm a great boyfriend, actually."

She picked another drawing out of the box and laughed when she saw what it was. "Okay, you'll like this one."

Lando took the paper and widened his eyes when he saw a car scribbled on it. "Don't tell me..."

"Yes. That was my "dream race car" when I was five years old."

He looked at the drawing and then at her. "Can I say something?"

"What?"

"You definitely did well to choose another profession."

Y/n let out a laugh and threw herself at him, making Lando fall backwards onto the carpet with her on top. He laughed and held her tight, looking at her face still wet with tears, but now lit up with a smile.

"I love you" He said, running his thumb across her cheek.

"I love you too."

They stood there, surrounded by the memories of her childhood, while Lando knew that, from that moment on, he was also part of the best memories of Y/n's life.

The Silverstone race has always been special for Lando. Racing at home, with the British fans behind him, was indescribable. But that Sunday was even more magical. He didn't just race, he won.

With an impeccable strategy and aggressive driving, Lando held the lead in the final laps, crossing the finish line first. McLaren erupted in celebration. The fans chanted his name, the car radio filled with the team's cheers and the excitement took over.

In the garage, Y/n watched the moment alongside Cisca and Adam, Lando's parents. They treated her like a daughter, and nothing seemed more right than being there, celebrating with them.

"He did it!" Adam exclaimed, clapping his hands proudly.

"Our boy!" Cisca smiled, her eyes shining.

Y/n laughed, feeling her heart beat faster. She always knew Lando was capable of this. Since the first years in karting, since the difficult days, the doubts, the criticisms, she always believed.

Then the podium ceremony began. As Lando stepped onto the top step and raised the trophy to the British sky, something inside Yin broke. She began to cry softly, overcome with overwhelming pride.

Cisca, who already knew her daughter-in-law well, smiled and pulled her into a side hug. "He deserves it, doesn't he?" The mother-in-law said affectionately.

Y/n nodded through tears. "Very!!"

Without hesitation, she turned around and hugged Cisca tightly, crying on her mother-in-law's shoulder.

"Oh, honey" Cisca murmured, stroking Y/n's back. "He's so lucky to have you."

When Lando returned to the garage, still covered in champagne and with a giant smile on his face, Y/n was still crying.

Adam approached his son and murmured softly, somewhat worried. "She's been like this ever since you stepped onto the podium... And your mother hasn't been able to calm her down."

Lando chuckled, nodding in agreement.

He walked towards them, seeing Cisca still hugging Y/n, who was sobbing discreetly. Her mother also had tears in her eyes, but she tried to stay strong.

Cisca smiled when she saw her son and reached out her free hand to hug him. "I'm so proud of you, my dear" She said, squeezing him.

Lando returned the hug, closing his eyes for a moment. "Thank you for everything, Mom."

Cisca then looked at Y/n lying on her shoulder and made a comment to Lando. "I knew she was going to cry, but I thought she would stop before you arrived."

Lando laughed, approaching his girlfriend's side. "Love..." He ran his fingers through her hair, making Y/n look up with red, teary eyes.

She smiled at him, still crying. "You won at home, Lan..." She said, emotionally. "I always knew you were capable. All your effort paid off. I saw this potential in you from the beginning. I'm so proud of the man you've become, and I can say that because I've been with you for years. Years of being happy by your side and celebrating every victory."

Y/n's words hit Lando in a way he didn't expect. Suddenly, he felt his eyes burn as well.

"Thank you, love" He said, his voice breaking. "Thank you for always being here... I'm also proud of this strong, incredible woman you've become." He pulled her into a tight hug, and now they were both crying together.

Adam, who was watching the scene, widened his eyes. "Ah, there. Now we have two crybabies."

Cisca laughed, wiping away her own tears. "At least they cry with happiness."

Lando and Y/n pulled away a little, laughing through their tears. But when they looked at Cisca and Adam, they realized that Y/n's in-laws were watching them fondly.

"Those two are still going to get married," Adam commented quietly, crossing his arms. But the couple listened.

Cisca looked at her husband and nodded. "Yes, they will. Their love is true. Everyone can see that."

Lando looked at Y/n, who smiled at him. He didn't say anything, but at that moment,

They both knew: One day, this would really happen.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The apartment was silent, except for the sound of the TV playing some series. Lando was snuggled up on the couch, with Y/n lying on his lap. Her legs were propped up on the back of the couch, while her boyfriend stroked her hair absentmindedly. It was a quiet night, just the way they liked it.

Y/n was on her phone, swiping her fingers aimlessly across the screen, until she found a folder of photos that she kept dearly. A folder full of photos of the two of them since the beginning of their relationship, when they were still 18 years old.

She began to scroll through the images slowly, looking at the younger versions of them. Some were silly selfies, others moments captured by friends. One in particular made her smile—Lando trying to make a face as she kissed his cheek.

Her smile quickly gave way to a tightness in her chest. Tears began to well up in her eyes as memories flooded back. Each photo told a story, a phase of their relationship, and the weight of their years together hit her hard.

Until she stopped at a photo. From the quality, you could tell it was old. They were hugging each other in the middle of the racetrack after Norris' F2 race, both smiling at the camera. Lando held his helmet under his arm, and Y/n's cheeks were flushed, as if she had just laughed.

A sob escaped before she could hold it back.

Lando, who was still running his fingers through her hair, noticed the sound and smiled. "Honey, you don't have to cry just because I stopped stroking your hair for a moment." He joked, without taking his eyes off the TV.

But when another sob came, he frowned and finally looked at her. Y/n bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears, but she couldn't.

Lando paused the series. "Hey, what happened?" He asked softly.

Y/n sat up slowly and handed him her phone. Lando looked at the photo and, as soon as he recognized it, he smiled.

"Hey, our first picture together as boyfriend and girlfriend." He chuckled a little, his eyes filled with nostalgia. "Look how we were still teenagers."

Y/n smiled through her tears and snuggled closer to him, peeking at her phone screen as Lando handed the device back to her.

"I have more" She said, sliding to the side.

Lando watched as she scrolled through each photo, pausing for long seconds on some. Her eyes were shining, full of emotion. Until, upon reaching a specific image, Y/n dropped the phone on her lap and cried.

It was a normal night in Lando's room, when they were still in their twenties. The picture showed Y/n lying on the bed, wearing one of his baggy t-shirts and sweatpants, her hair messy on the pillow. She was laughing, her eyes shining with joy, while Lando held the camera with one hand and stretched his arm out to capture the moment. He was smiling too, his face close to hers, his cheeks flushed as if he had just laughed along with her.

It was one of those spontaneous photos, without poses or worries. Just the two of them, young and in love, living a peaceful and happy moment.

Lando chuckled, turning to her. "Baby, why are you crying like that?"

Y/n raised her head, her eyes red and teary. "Because I love you," she said with a choked voice. "You're the love of my life, Lan. I'm so happy to have been with you for so many years... I... I'm just crying with happiness."

Lando's heart melted. He ran his fingers down her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling. "We'll spend many, many years together," he promised. "I don't want any other life than with you, Y/n. You're my best friend, my companion... The person who knows me better than I know myself. I'm so grateful that you're with me."

Y/n cried harder, hiding her face in his shoulder. "I love you so much."

"I love you so much, love" He murmured, holding her close.

After a few minutes, she picked up her phone again and looked at the photos. Now, between one funny comment and another, Lando laughed at her reactions.

"Honey, why are you crying now?"

"Because this picture is perfect! Look how beautiful you are!"

In it, Lando was in overalls, still sweaty and disheveled, sitting on the step of the McLaren motorhome. His smile was huge, radiant, as he held a bottle of water in his hand and smiled at his girlfriend. But the most special detail was Y/n, sitting one step below him, holding his face between her hands and looking at him with a sparkle in her eyes.

Lando hadn't even realized that photo existed. Probably someone on the team had recorded the moment without them knowing.

"You cry over everything, you know that?" He laughed, shaking his head. "And I'm all sweaty in this picture. Far from looking good."

"Oh, mind your own business!" Y/n laughs, pushing him lightly on the couch and making him laugh out loud.

But Lando was already used to that. Since he was 18, he had been dating the sweet girl who cried at everything. At first, he thought it was because of those female hormones, but he soon discovered that Y/n was, in fact, a sentimental girl who valued every detail.

At the beginning of their relationship, her parents had to help him understand this. They said that their daughter had been like this since she was a baby and that when she started crying, it was best to let her get it all out.

Over time, Lando learned his own ways to soothe her. He knew that holding her tight helped. That whispering sweet words in her ear made her sobs lessen. And that sometimes she just wanted to know he was there.

And Lando always would be.

He wouldn't change a thing about her. Because he loved Y/n exactly the way she was.

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.4

Chapter Four: Everybody Wonders What It Would Be Like To Love You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Bullying, Physicological Bullying, Mean Girls,

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Heads up, there’s a bully in this chapter but dw, you got Pedro on your side hehe. Again, this is all fictional. To any Cecilia’s out there in irl, no hate to you girl, I don’t even know you LOL.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: gold rush by Taylor Swift

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING  

The hum of set life surrounded you like a familiar melody—the rhythmic chatter of crew members, the distant clatter of equipment being adjusted, the occasional burst of laughter from someone off-camera. You moved through it all with ease, exchanging quick words with a fellow PA as you double-checked the last-minute details before call time.  

You didn’t notice him watching you.  

Pedro sat in the makeup chair, already in costume, his eyes drifting away from the mirror as Coco worked her hands through his hair. His body was still, but his mind was somewhere else. Or rather—on someone else.  

It was the way you tilted your head as someone from production rattled off instructions, your brows furrowing slightly in concentration. The way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, nodding once before offering a soft, assured smile. You weren’t just hearing what they were saying—you were listening, absorbing every detail like you belonged here. Like you had always belonged.  

He felt something tighten in his chest.  

God, you made him feel strange.  

It was the words that stuck in his throat when you were near, the way his pulse stuttered for no damn reason. The way his thoughts—usually so steady, so controlled—felt unruly around you. It was dizzying. Unsettling.  

It had been a long time since he’d felt like this. Since he’d been caught so completely off guard by someone.  

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from looking for you.  

In the crowd. In the moments between takes. In the quiet spaces where he thought maybe—just maybe—you were looking for him, too.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

Lunch break rolled around, bringing a much-needed lull in the day’s chaos. The crew scattered—some retreating to their trailers, others grabbing quick bites from catering, the energy shifting into something looser, more relaxed.  

Your phone buzzed just as you were sitting down at one of the outdoor tables, the screen lighting up with a message.  

Pedro: Wanna grab a bite later?  

You smiled to yourself, thumbs already moving across the screen.  

You: I do, but I kinda wanna hang with my friends for a bit too.  

His response came almost immediately.  

Pedro: Oh yeah, of course. Mind if I tag along?

You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want him there—but because you weren’t sure if he really wanted to be there.  

You: Are you sure? 

Pedro: Obviously.  

So that’s how Pedro Pascal ended up at lunch with you and your friends, settling into the group like he had always belonged there.  

He was easy to talk to, of course. He charmed his way through introductions, seamlessly jumping into conversations, laughing in all the right places, making everyone feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. But his attention always had a way of drifting back to you.  

The way you scrunched your nose as you tried to pick apart a joke someone had made. The way your eyes lit up as you talked about some old inside story with your friends. The way you were currently demolishing a cookie like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.  

Pedro noticed.  

He didn’t say anything, but he noticed.  

His lips twitched as you took another enthusiastic bite, completely unaware of his amusement.  

There were other things, too—subtle things. The brush of his knee against yours under the table, lingering just a second longer than necessary. The way his fingers would graze your wrist when he leaned in to say something, as if testing the waters. The way his eyes would flick to your lips when you spoke before quickly darting away, as if he hadn’t meant to.  

And then, of course, there was the teasing.  

"Did you even taste that cookie, or did you just inhale it?" Pedro mused, finally breaking his silence, amusement lacing his voice.  

You swallowed the last bite, leveling him with a mock glare. "It’s really good."  

He smirked. "Clearly."  

"Don’t judge me."  

"Never." The word came softer than expected, a little too sincere for just teasing. His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.  

Your heart stuttered.  

He looked away first, but not before you caught the slightest hint of pink creeping up the tips of his ears. It was such a small thing—barely there, really—but you noticed. And it made something warm unfurl in your chest.  

The conversation around the table carried on, your friends swapping stories and teasing each other between bites of food. Pedro chimed in here and there, laughing along, but every now and then, you felt his gaze flick back to you.  

You were hyper-aware of him now. The way his arm rested casually on the back of your chair, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth. The way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the table, his other hand occasionally brushing against yours as he reached for his drink.  

Then, he sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket, frowning slightly at the screen.  

"Ugh, my phone’s about to die."  

Without hesitation, you reached into your bag, pulling out your power bank and a charging cord. "Oh, no worries, here—use this."  

Pedro blinked, momentarily caught off guard.  

You handed it over without a second thought, already turning back to your food. But he didn’t move to plug his phone in right away. Instead, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression.  

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the charger, his touch lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.  

“You just carry this around with you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, something softer beneath the teasing edge.  

You shrugged, popping another bite of food into your mouth. “Yeah, of course. Never know when you might need it.”  

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything right away.  

Instead, he plugged in his phone, then glanced back at you, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t quite believe you.  

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.  

Pedro exhaled a small laugh, tucking the power bank into his lap like it was something precious. "Nothing. You’re just—" He paused, searching for the right word, before finally settling on, "—thoughtful."  

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.  

You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. "It’s just a charger, Pedro."  

"Yeah," he murmured, still watching you. "I know."  

But his expression said something else entirely.

You weren’t sure what to do with that look—the quiet weight of his gaze, the way he seemed to be memorizing you like you were something worth studying. So, instead of dwelling on it, you reached into your bag and pulled out your notepad and pen.

Doodling had always been second nature to you. Something to keep your hands busy while your mind wandered. While your friends continued chatting, their voices washing over you in waves, you let your pen glide over the paper in absentminded strokes.

Pedro, however, wasn’t nearly as distracted.

From the corner of his eye, he watched, his attention flicking between you and the small spirals and shapes forming beneath your fingers. It was mesmerizing in a way he didn’t expect. The way your brow furrowed ever so slightly when you concentrated. The way your pen tapped softly against the pad before committing to a new line.

He shifted in his seat, subtly angling himself so he could get a better look.

It wasn’t just mindless scribbles.

You were sketching. Really sketching.

A rough outline of the restaurant table, the glasses, the crumpled napkins. And just beside that, the faint beginnings of a face—strong jaw, slightly furrowed brows, lips curved at the edges as if they were on the verge of a smirk.

His lips.

Pedro’s throat tightened.

"That me?" he asked, voice pitched just low enough for only you to hear.

Your pen paused mid-stroke, and you glanced up at him, caught. He wasn’t teasing, not really. If anything, there was something almost—fond—about the way he was looking at you.

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile. "Maybe."

Pedro huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "I didn’t know you could draw."

"It’s just something I do when I’m listening," you admitted, flipping the page like it was nothing.

But he didn’t think it was nothing.

He wanted to say something else, something lighthearted to keep you from looking so shy about it, but before he could, one of your friends called your name, pulling your attention away.

Pedro exhaled, leaning back in his seat, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.

Thoughtful. Talented.

Yeah. He was absolutely in trouble.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

The shift in the air was subtle at first, almost imperceptible.

But you felt it.

It was the way certain conversations would quiet just as you approached. The way people who had once been warm and welcoming now exchanged knowing glances when they thought you weren’t looking. The way whispers followed in your wake, hushed giggles that felt anything but good-natured.

And at the center of it all was Cecilia.

She was the kind of woman people noticed when she walked into a room—stunning, sharp-witted, and utterly ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted.

And for whatever reason, she had decided that you were a problem.

At first, it was small things. A pointed look. A lingering smirk. A brush of her shoulder against yours as she passed by.

But then, it escalated.

"Did you hear?" one of her friends whispered just loud enough as you walked by. "She totally forced her way onto this project. Some kind of nepotism thing, I bet."

"Ugh, so cringe," another voice giggled. "She acts all sweet, but like, we know the truth."

You gritted your teeth, kept your head down, and moved along.

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was. Psychological warfare disguised as petty gossip. You’d seen it before, and you'd see it again.

The worst part?

You refused to let it get to you.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Pedro noticed.

It started with the way you brushed things off too quickly, like you were trying not to care. The way your usual smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your laugh—one of his new favorite sounds—had dulled just a fraction, too forced, too polite.

And Pedro wasn’t an idiot.

He saw the way Cecilia and her group slinked around set like vipers, the way their eyes always seemed to flick toward you before whispering behind manicured hands.

It pissed him off.

But when he asked about it, you just waved it away.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You shrugged, reaching for a prop clipboard. “Just tired. Long day.”

Pedro arched a brow. “Really? That’s it?”

“Yep.”

He studied you for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “You’re a terrible liar.”

That made you scoff. “I am fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “So, you’re totally cool with the whole… weird vibe around here lately?”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

It was enough.

“Pedro,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t care what they think, okay? It’s just… you know how some people are. They get bored.”

“They get mean,” he corrected.

You frowned, looking away.

He softened, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t suck.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the clipboard.

“It doesn’t suck,” you insisted. “Because I don’t care.”

Pedro’s stare was unwavering, but you held your ground.

Because if you admitted it did hurt—if you let yourself feel it—you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

And you weren’t going to let them win.

Pedro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fine. You don’t care," he murmured. "But if you ever do care… you’ll tell me, right?"

Something in your chest tightened at that.

You forced a small, teasing smile. “Wow, Pedro. That almost sounded like a serious conversation.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it."

And just like that, the tension cracked, relief flickering behind his gaze.

For now, he’d let you pretend you were fine.

But he’d also be watching.

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEEKEND…

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING

The next two days were a slow, grating kind of miserable.

It started with small things—so small that if you weren’t paying attention, you might have convinced yourself they were nothing. The way conversations would quiet just as you walked past, the barely-concealed laughter from across the room, the occasional, suspiciously misplaced item that had definitely been right where you left it.

It was the kind of thing that chipped away at you in small, insidious ways.

Like the way Cecilia and her friends would conveniently stand right where you needed to go, their backs turned but their voices just loud enough.

“I swear, some people just don’t belong here.”

You’d walk past without reacting, even as the words burrowed under your skin.

Or the way your neatly organized stack of call sheets had been mysteriously scattered all over the breakroom counter when you came back from a coffee run. No one claimed responsibility, but Cecilia had walked by, tossing you a slow, syrupy-sweet, “Oops, was that important?” before sauntering off.

You clenched your jaw. Breathed through it.

Not worth it.

But then there were the more deliberate moments.

Like the wardrobe rack incident.

You had been helping move costumes between trailers when Cecilia and one of her friends conveniently brushed past, sending a precariously hung dress tumbling to the ground.

“Oh no,” Cecilia pouted, pressing a hand to her chest with mock concern. “You should really be more careful.”

You bent to pick it up, biting back the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. The last thing you needed was to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you smoothed out the fabric and rehung it.

Then, there was lunch.

You had been balancing a plate of food in one hand, your phone in the other, when one of Cecilia’s friends accidentally knocked your elbow in passing.

It was a tiny movement. Just enough to send your fork clattering to the floor, just enough to make you hesitate—because was it intentional? Or were you just being paranoid?

“Careful,” the girl sing-songed over her shoulder, giggling as she caught up with Cecilia.

You let out a slow breath. Swallowed back the lump in your throat.

Not worth it.

So you kept your head up, kept moving, kept going. You told yourself that if you didn’t acknowledge it, if you pretended it didn’t exist, then it couldn’t touch you.

Right?

But it did.

Because by the time you got back to your trailer that night, you had to sit on the edge of your bed and press the heels of your hands into your eyes, breathing slow, measured breaths to keep yourself from crying.

Because it was working.

Because no matter how much you told yourself you were fine, no matter how much you smiled and laughed and acted unbothered, the cracks were starting to show.

You barely had a moment to yourself.  

Between running last-minute errands for production, keeping up with the crew’s rapid-fire instructions, and dodging the subtle but constant hostility radiating from Cecilia and her group, you were stretched thin.  

The exhaustion was creeping in—settling in the space between your ribs, behind your eyes, in the way your shoulders sat just a little tighter than usual.  

But you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.  

So you pushed through, past the carefully calculated inconveniences. The way they always seemed to cut in front of you when you were in a hurry, the stolen side-eyes and smirks exchanged whenever you spoke in a group, the way your things somehow always ended up in different places than you’d left them.  

You pretended not to notice when Cecilia’s voice turned just a little too loud whenever she spoke to someone near you.  

"Oh my god, you know what I hate? When people think just anyone can belong in this industry. Like… babe, you’re only here because they needed extra hands. It’s cute, though."  

You told yourself not to react.  

Even when Daisy—who had been standing beside you, her grip tightening on her clipboard—made a noise that sounded a lot like she was about to launch herself across the room.  

“It’s whatever,” you had muttered, tugging her back before she could make a scene.  

Daisy had narrowed her eyes. “It’s not whatever. She’s being a bitch.”  

You had only sighed. “I know.”  

Omar wasn’t as easily convinced.  

The next morning, when you found him loitering near Cecilia’s usual coffee spot, arms crossed and expression unreadable, you had to physically drag him away before he did something stupid.  

“Do not get yourself in trouble over this.”  

“She’s messing with you,” he seethed. “I hate people like her.”  

“She’s not worth it,” you said, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too thin, too tight.  

Omar wasn’t buying it. “Okay, but are you okay?”  

You hesitated. The truth was, you weren’t sure anymore.  

The worst part wasn’t the pettiness or the whispered insults—it was the fact that it was working. That somehow, in all the noise and nonsense, they had managed to make you feel small.  

But admitting that felt too much like defeat.  

So you forced a smile. “I’m fine.”  

Omar gave you a long, knowing look before muttering something under his breath and stalking off.  

That afternoon, as you sat on a bench outside the studio, your notebook balanced on your lap, you felt a shadow fall over you.  

“Hey,” Pedro’s voice was soft.  

You glanced up, startled. “Oh. Hey.”  

His brows knit together. “You okay?”  

You blinked. “What?”  

“You’ve been… different.” His voice was measured, careful. “Quieter.”  

You tried to play it off, shaking your head with a small laugh. “I’m just tired. Long shoot days, you know how it is.”  

Pedro didn’t look convinced.  

For a moment, he just stood there, watching you with that steady, unreadable gaze of his. Like he was sifting through the words you weren’t saying, trying to make sense of them.  

Then, without another word, he sat down beside you.  

Close enough that his arm brushed against yours.  

You tensed, just slightly, before exhaling.  

Neither of you spoke for a moment.  

Then—  

“Can I see?” he asked, nodding toward your notebook.  

You hesitated.  

It was just mindless doodles—tiny flowers curling around the corners of the pages, half-finished sketches of set pieces, a rough outline of something that might have been Pedro’s profile if you hadn’t abandoned it halfway through.  

You felt a little embarrassed, but you handed it to him anyway.  

Pedro flipped through the pages, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “These are really good.”  

You rolled your eyes. “They’re just sketches.”  

“Still,” he murmured, fingers skimming over the paper. “They’re yours.”  

There was something about the way he said it—soft, sincere—that made your stomach tighten.  

For the first time in two days, something in you eased.  

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

And when Pedro leaned in, just slightly, warmth radiating from his shoulder where it rested against yours, you didn’t move away.

Pedro was still flipping through your sketches when a sharp, saccharine voice cut through the air.  

“Oh wow, there you are, Pedro. I was wondering when you’d finally come up for air.”  

Cecilia.  

You felt your whole body go rigid.  

Pedro barely glanced up, his fingers still tracing one of your sketches absentmindedly. “Hey.” His voice was flat, distracted.  

She took a step closer, her presence invasive in a way that made your skin prickle. “I was just telling the others how dedicated you are to your work. You know, always finding ways to get into character.” Her gaze flicked toward you, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Even off set.”  

You swallowed hard.  

Your chest felt tight, exhaustion pressing against your ribs, making it harder to keep your expression neutral. You were already hanging by a thread, stretched too thin over the last two days, and Cecilia knew it.  

Pedro, still looking down at your notebook, gave a vague hum of acknowledgment, barely engaging. It wasn’t the reaction Cecilia had been hoping for, and you could see it. The way her expression twitched for half a second before smoothing over again.  

She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth curling. “It’s sweet, though. That you take the time to entertain people. I mean, it’s not like everyone gets that kind of attention from you.” She let out a light, airy laugh that made your stomach turn. “Guess it pays to be in the right place at the right time, huh?”  

The implication was clear.  

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to react.  

But then—  

“Cecilia,” Pedro’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it now. His fingers tapped against the notebook, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing?”  

Cecilia blinked, all faux innocence. “What do you mean?”  

Pedro finally lifted his head, and when he met her gaze, something in his expression shifted—something sharp, something distinctly unimpressed.  

“I mean, what are you doing?” His voice was just as smooth as before, but there was weight behind it now. “Because if you’re here to talk about the shoot, you should probably be talking to the crew.”  

Cecilia’s smile faltered.  

It was subtle, but you caught it.  

She opened her mouth, probably to smooth things over, but Pedro was already looking back at you, tilting the notebook toward you slightly, as if she weren’t even standing there.  

“You should finish this one,” he murmured, tapping his finger against the half-finished sketch of his profile. “It’s really good.”  

You could feel Cecilia’s eyes burning into you, but Pedro wasn’t giving her anything to work with.  

Her lips parted, like she might try again, but then she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she let out a small, sharp exhale through her nose, rolling her eyes as she turned on her heel and stalked off.  

The moment she was gone, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your hands gripping your notebook a little tighter.  

Pedro glanced over, brow furrowed. “You okay?”  

You nodded, even though your throat was tight. “I just…” A deep inhale. “I think I need a break.”  

Pedro studied you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached out, resting his hand over yours where it lay against the bench.  

Warm. Steady.  

Grounding.  

“Let’s take one, then,” he murmured.  

And for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it.

The evening air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of rain on the pavement as the last of the crew wrapped up for the day. You were exhausted, your body aching from hours on set, but when Pedro leaned in—voice low and warm—you felt something in you unwind.  

“Wanna grab dinner before heading back?”  

You blinked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Like… out-out?”  

His lips quirked into a small smile, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. Out-out.”  

You hesitated, glancing around as crew members bustled past, some already heading toward the shuttle van waiting to take everyone back to the hotel. “But, like… what if people see me with you?”  

Pedro gave you a look. “So?”  

“So… you’re you,” you gestured vaguely at him, “and I’m just—”  

He cut you off with a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “Nope. We’re not doing that again. You’re you. And I wanna have dinner with you. End of discussion.”  

The finality in his tone made your stomach flip.  

You bit your lip, then nodded. “…Okay.”  

Pedro’s face softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he bumped your shoulder lightly. “Good.”  

By the time you both made it to the shuttle van, most of the cast and crew were already piling in.  

Vanessa was the first to notice. She raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Ohhh, where are you two off to?”  

Before you could answer, Joseph leaned forward from his seat. “Are we witnessing a secret rendezvous?”  

Ebon chuckled, shaking his head. “A little late-night dinner date?”  

Coco, already buckled in, smirked knowingly. “Have funnnn,” she teased, dragging out the last syllable.  

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. Pedro, for his part, was completely unfazed, flashing them an easy smile as he opened the door for you. “Don’t wait up,” he called, earning a chorus of laughter and whistles from the others as he shut it behind you.  

The restaurant wasn’t far—a quiet little spot tucked away from the main streets. The walk there was peaceful, the city buzzing around you but never pressing in too close.  

Pedro, dressed down in a hoodie, jeans, a baseball cap, and his glasses, was trying his best to blend in. But even like this, effortlessly casual, he still had a presence. He still walked like he took up space, like the world had to move around him.  

The height difference was almost comical. You felt it every time he turned his head down to look at you, every time his arm brushed against yours.  

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.  

You glanced up at him, caught off guard. “What?”  

Pedro gave you a look, one that made it clear he wasn’t buying whatever act you thought you were pulling. “Cecilia.”  

Your stomach twisted.  

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal.”  

Pedro stopped walking.  

You took two more steps before realizing, turning back to find him standing there, arms crossed, brows drawn together in frustration.  

He looked at you, really looked at you. “Of course, it’s a big deal,” he said, voice quieter now but firm. “If it’s hurting you, it’s a big deal.”  

You swallowed.  

The weight of his concern settled over you, warm and heavy. No one had ever really said that before. That what you were feeling mattered. That you weren’t just overreacting.  

Something in your chest cracked open, just a little.  

“…I just don’t want to make a thing out of it,” you admitted, voice small.  

Pedro’s features softened. He stepped closer, dipping his head slightly to meet your eyes. “You don’t have to,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you, either.”  

A lump formed in your throat.  

And then, just as easily as he had turned serious, he pulled back, tilting his head toward the restaurant. “C’mon. Food first, then we plot Cecilia’s demise.”  

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.  

Pedro grinned, pleased with himself, before nudging your shoulder with his own.  

And as you walked the rest of the way, some of the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

The restaurant was dimly lit, warm and intimate in a way that made the rest of the world feel far away. Soft jazz hummed through the air, mixing with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clinking of glasses. The hostess greeted you both with a polite smile, barely sparing a glance at Pedro—either because she didn’t recognize him or, more likely, was being professional about it.  

Pedro let you choose the table, and you picked one near the window, a cozy little booth that felt tucked away from the rest of the diners. As you slid into your seat, Pedro pulled off his cap, running a hand through his messy curls before setting it down on the table.  

He looked… comfortable. Relaxed. And yet, there was still something unreadable in his expression as he watched you settle in.  

“You know,” he started, leaning forward on his elbows, “I’m kind of mad at you.”  

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why?”  

“Because,” he huffed, “I’ve been trying to get you alone for days, and the first time it actually happens, it’s because some Mean Girls knockoff has been making your life miserable.”  

You snorted. “So dramatic.”  

“I am dramatic,” he agreed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But seriously. I don’t like that it took this for me to get to steal you away.”  

There was something in the way he said it—lighthearted, sure, but laced with something else. Something quieter. More honest.  

Your stomach flipped.  

Before you could figure out how to respond, the waiter appeared, handing over menus. Pedro thanked him with a charming smile before glancing back at you. “What are you in the mood for?”  

You shrugged, scanning the options. “Something warm.”  

Pedro hummed. “Soup?”  

“Maybe.”  

“Or,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “we get a huge plate of pasta and reenact Lady and the Tramp.”  

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not.”  

Pedro placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. That was a little too fast. Like you’ve thought about rejecting me before.”  

You bit your lip, trying to fight the smile threatening to break free. He made it so easy to forget the exhaustion pressing down on you, the weight of the last few days.  

The waiter came back, and you both placed your orders—him getting some kind of hearty stew, you settling on a creamy pasta dish. The conversation flowed as effortlessly as ever, touching on everything and nothing all at once.  

At some point, Pedro leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. His knee brushed against yours, but he didn’t move away. Neither did you.  

“So.” His voice was softer now, less teasing. “Cecilia.”  

You sighed, slumping slightly. “Can we not?”  

“We can,” Pedro allowed. “But I still hate it.”  

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, tracing the fabric between your fingers. “It’s not like she’s saying anything outright cruel. Just little things. Looks. Comments. Stuff that doesn’t sound like much but still…”  

Pedro’s jaw ticked. His fingers drummed absently against the table. “That’s how people like her work. They know how to make you feel like you’re imagining it.”  

You swallowed, looking down. “Yeah.”  

A beat of silence stretched between you. Then—  

“Do you want me to talk to her?”  

Your head snapped up. “What? No.”  

Pedro tilted his head, eyeing you. “Why not?”  

“Because,” you exhaled sharply, “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”  

His gaze softened, a flicker of something fond in his eyes. “I know you don’t. But I also know that you’re tired. And I hate seeing you like this.”  

Something in you wavered.  

Pedro sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I just—God, I don’t get it. How could anyone not adore you?”  

Your breath hitched.  

The words were so sincere, so effortless, like he wasn’t even trying to be charming—just saying what was in his heart.  

Heat crept up your neck. You looked away, focusing on the flickering candle in the middle of the table. “You’re biased.”  

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”  

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”  

Pedro grinned. “And yet, here you are. Having dinner with me.”  

“Unfortunately.”  

He clutched his chest in mock agony. “You wound me.”  

The waiter arrived with your food, and Pedro’s dramatic antics were temporarily forgotten as the delicious aroma filled the air. As you picked up your fork, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand—just for a second, just long enough to send a small shiver up your spine.  

“Hey,” he murmured.  

You glanced up, and for the first time all day, you felt seen.  

“Don’t let her get to you,” Pedro said, voice gentle but firm. “You’re worth so much more than whatever bullshit she’s trying to pull.”  

Something tightened in your chest.  

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”  

Pedro studied you for a moment, then smiled. “Good.”  

The weight on your shoulders didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened, melted into something manageable under the glow of candlelight and Pedro’s unwavering attention. You let yourself relax, let yourself exist in this small, intimate moment where it was just the two of you, where the laughter was easy and the warmth between you was something real, something steady.  

Pedro caught your gaze mid-conversation, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in just slightly. “There she is.”  

You blinked, tilting your head. “What?”  

“That smile,” he said simply. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”  

Heat bloomed in your chest, warm and unfamiliar, something delicate but deep. You rolled your eyes, but it lacked any real bite. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” Pedro teased, mirroring your words from earlier, “here you are.”  

You shook your head, lips twitching. “Unfortunate, really.”  

Pedro pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Wow. First, I get turned down for Lady and the Tramp, and now this? My ego is in shambles.”  

You laughed, a real, unguarded sound, and he grinned like that was exactly what he was hoping for.  

The conversation stretched long into the night, ebbing and flowing between playful teasing and quiet sincerity. The kind of talk that felt effortless, that felt safe.  

Somewhere between the last bites of food and the soft hum of the restaurant around you, Pedro reached across the table, his fingers skimming yours. The touch was featherlight, a quiet question rather than a demand. You could have pulled away.  

But you didn’t.  

Instead, you let your fingers curl around his, grounding, steady.  

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just squeezed your hand, a silent promise, and you squeezed back.  

Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of the city with it. The restaurant door shut softly behind you, leaving you and Pedro standing beneath the glow of streetlights, his cap pulled low, his glasses perched on his nose.  

It should have felt different—stepping back into reality after the small bubble of warmth inside the restaurant. But somehow, it didn’t.  

Pedro rocked back on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets. “Still okay?”  

You exhaled, watching as your breath curled into the night air. “Yeah,” you admitted, surprising yourself. “I think I am.”  

Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied.

It turns out Vanessa, Coco, Joseph and Ebon got dinner somewhere else in town away from the two of you and they were waiting already in the shuttle and as soon as you both stepped inside, the teasing started. “Ohhh, look who finally decided to show up,” Vanessa sang, kicking her feet up on the seat in front of her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Joseph smirked from his spot by the window, arms crossed over his chest. “How romantic was it, really? Scale of one to ten?”

Coco grinned. “I’m betting solid eight.” Ebon scoffed. “Nah, Pedro’s smooth—at least a nine.” Pedro sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You guys seriously have nothing better to do?” Vanessa waved a hand. “Nope. Now spill.” You rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt as the van pulled away from the curb. “We ate dinner. Like normal people. And then we walked outside. Like normal people.” Coco squinted. “That’s exactly what someone who did kiss would say.” Pedro groaned, leaning his head back against the seat, while you fought the smile tugging at your lips. Joseph held out his hands. “Okay, okay, let’s be serious for a second. Was it cute at least?” You blinked at him. “Was what cute?” “The date—” “It wasn’t a date,” you and Pedro said at the same time. A pause.

Then Vanessa gasped, clutching her chest. “You’re already finishing each other’s sentences?” “Oh my God,” Pedro mumbled under his breath. The laughter rolled through the van, easy and infectious, and despite the relentless teasing, despite the way your face burned under their knowing looks, you couldn’t help but feel… good.

The knot in your chest—the one that had been coiled so tight these past few days—had loosened. Maybe not completely, but enough that breathing didn’t feel so hard. Pedro shifted beside you, turning his head so only you could hear him. “They’re never gonna let this go.” You sighed. “Yeah. I figured.” His shoulder brushed yours, a quiet reassurance, and when he spoke again, there was something soft in his voice. “You sure you’re okay?” You hesitated. Because truthfully, the weight of the past few days still sat heavy on your shoulders. Cecilia had made sure of that. The quiet digs, the passive-aggressive comments, the knowing smirks—it was a kind of exhaustion that seeped into your bones. But right now, in the warmth of this moment, with Pedro looking at you like he actually cared about the answer, you found yourself saying— “I think I will be.” Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied. It was a small thing—just a simple gesture, barely more than a shift of his head. But somehow, it carried more weight than it should have, like he was silently saying I see you. I hear you. You swallowed. It was nice to have a friend. But then—was that all this was? You glanced at him again, at the way he was sat with you so easily, like he’d always been meant to be there. At the way he felt beside you, like a quiet anchor in the storm of the last few days.

End Notes:

I told you there would be drama O_O

Again, no hate to any girlie named Cecilia, everyone calm.

Don’t worry girlies… it will turn out fine, mostly… I think… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

YA'LL SEEN THE TEASER TRAILER!?!?!? IM UNWELL AND DYING AND SO EXCITED AND I WANT TO MELT AND DIE VANESSA KIRBY YOU LUCKY WOMAN I WANNA KISS HIM TOO T^T

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer To Home IV

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.7k

Synopsis: The storm changed everything. A week spent trapped together, moving around each other like it was second nature. Mornings spent wrapped in his warmth, nights spent unraveling under his hands. And now, the words you’ve been swallowing for months are fighting to break free and you don’t know how much longer you can keep them in.

You love him. And he knows it. But love has never been easy for Bucky. And if you say it—if you let yourself finally speak the truth—will it pull him closer, or will it send him running?

Trigger Warnings: Emotional breakdowns; Angst, banter, and all the feels. Surprisingly no smut this time around... but their chance will come!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Author’s Note: The words are out... now we can focus on their other shenanigans. Loving to see your thoughts about this story and my ask box is always open if you wanna know more. P.S.: There'll probably be more updates this week, but I'm not setting it in stone. B xx

--

“Just kiss me. Keep my mouth shut, will you? Do it until I forget my name.”

The kissing had worked. The slow, lingering press of his lips, the desperate way his hands had explored your skin like he was learning you by touch alone—every moment had distracted you from the pressing truth of your feelings. And when he finally took you, when he split you open at your very core only to put you back together again with every roll of his hips, every whispered praise against your lips, it had done its job.

You hadn’t said it.

Those three little words that kept haunting you, lingering on the tip of your tongue every waking moment since Bucky Barnes had stepped into your life.

I love you.

They could cement everything you had built together or crumble it into dust. And yet, they pressed behind your teeth, growing heavier each day, aching to be voiced, desperate to reach his ears.

You loved him.

God knew when it had happened. Was it when you first read his files, when he was still just a name and a tragic history? Or when he first looked at you—really looked at you—after you were assigned to work alongside him and Sam? Maybe it was the day he effortlessly picked up the stack of reports you had been struggling to carry, flashing you that small hesitant smile he wouldn’t normally share with anyone.

Or was it that first night he offered to walk you home?

No. Who were you kidding? It had happened long before then.

It had crept in through stolen glances over mission briefings, through late-night talks over cups of coffee you always made for him without asking, in the hopes of stealing just a moment of his time. It had settled in the quiet, in the routine of his grumbled, "Morning, doll," when he found you in the communal kitchen, in the way his tired eyes softened when you gave him that worried look as he walked in, battered and bruised from a fight.

And now, it was torture.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The snowstorm had come and gone, the city slowly crawling back to life after nearly a week buried in ice. You and Bucky had spent those days together, and you had been blindsided by just how easy it had been—how natural it was to cohabitate. As if this was something you did all the time, as if domesticity had always been woven into the fabric of your relationship.

In the midst of unspoken feelings and a push and pull you actively ignored, you learned things. That he liked to watch you cook, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, incapable of hiding he was mesmerized. That he didn’t mind washing the dishes afterward, sleeves rolled up as he worked in comfortable silence, so long as you kept him company. That he’d rub your ankles while you lounged on the couch after hours spent bustling around the house, his strong hands kneading into your skin with practiced ease, relishing in the way your breath hitched when he squeezed just right.

He was the perfect boyfriend.

Except he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Because you couldn’t call him that. Could you?

You groaned, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, your head dropping onto your desk. Hours had passed, and you still couldn’t concentrate on anything. Your mind was consumed by the what-ifs, spiraling around the impossible tangle of your relationship with a 1940s super soldier who carried more trauma than you could count on both hands.

Fantastic. Just great.

The faint scuff of boots outside your door jolted you back to reality. You lifted your head just as Sam Wilson leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He held a file in one hand, but the amusement in his eyes told you he had other priorities.

"Well, did I just catch you napping on the job?"

You snorted, leaning back in your chair. "I wish. And good morning to you too, Sam. How can I help you?"

"Mission stuff," he said, tossing the file onto your desk. "Figured I’d go over it with you before Barnes shows up to derail our day with his useless questions. Also, wanted to check in—how was your week harboring a former assassin cyborg in your apartment?"

You pressed your lips together as memories of those days surged through your mind—his touch, his warmth, the way his eyes held you like you were something he never wanted to lose, the hunger in them when you straddled him. You hesitated, caught up in the memories, which was enough to set Sam off.

"Did you talk about it yet?" he pressed.

"About what, exactly?" you asked, feigning innocence.

"Oh, I don’t know—your big ol’ feelings? The fact that you two have been dancing around the subject for months? Did you ask him to be your boyfriend yet?"

With the playful lilt in his voice and the mischief dancing in his eyes, it was hard to believe this man was a war veteran—let alone Captain America.

You rolled your eyes, tapping your nails against the desk. "Don’t you have aliens to fight, Cap? Kittens to rescue? Children to kiss?"

"I’m Captain America, not a politician," Sam shot back, dragging out a chair and dropping into it with a pointed look. "So, that’s a no?"

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temples and urging the flush on your cheeks to go away. "We didn’t really… talk much. Not really."

Sam let out a long whistle, shaking his head. "Damn. Didn’t think Barnes had it in him."

"Sam—" you groaned.

"Oh, come on. You spent a whole week holed up with Terminator, what do you expect me to do? Just sit back and not pry?"

"You are way too invested in my love life for someone who has yet to offer a single useful piece of advice."

Sam grinned, leaning forward. "Alright, spill. What happened during the storm?"

You hesitated, glancing down the hallway to make sure Bucky was nowhere in sight. When the coast was clear, you exhaled, shoulders sagging. "We stayed at mine for most of it, but one night, we went to his place, and… I kind of lost it."

Sam’s smirk faded. "Lost it how?"

You swallowed hard, fingers twisting together. "I broke down, Sam. Full-on sobbing, ugly crying—everything. He wanted to know why, and I just—" Your voice caught, and you forced yourself to push through it. "I told him. That I know about Hydra. The torture. And... I saw the way he lives, like he’s punishing himself. Like he doesn’t think he deserves anything good. It wrecked me."

Sam’s expression tightened, but his voice stayed level. "And how did he handle it?"

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "I didn’t give him the chance. I was about to say ‘I love you,’ and I panicked. So instead…" You sighed, dropping your gaze. "We slept together. More than once. And now everything’s a mess because I’m—" The words caught in your throat, heavy and terrifying. "Because I’m in love with him. And he knows. But I haven’t said it to him yet."

Sam blinked, then let out a low whistle. "Damn. Maybe I should start brooding—chicks love it."

You shot him a glare, but your heart wasn’t in it. He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. So you’re in love with him. What’s the problem?"

"Everything," you whispered, the weight of it pressing against your ribs. "I love him, Sam. And I haven’t told him because… I don’t even know if I should."

Sam’s teasing faded, his voice softer now. "Why not?"

You swallowed hard, staring out the window as if the answer was somewhere out there. "Because I don’t know if he’ll stay. He’s lost so much already. People, time, parts of himself. What if I tell him, and it’s too much? What if it pushes him away? Or worse—what if he doesn’t feel the same?"

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. "You really are in your own head about this."

"That’s helpful," you shot back, voice thick with sarcasm.

He leaned forward, forearms braced against the desk, voice steady and certain, that way he usually got when he was about to drop some wisdom. "Look. This is Bucky we’re talking about. Yeah, he’s been through hell. More than anyone should have to survive. But you know what else? He’s still here. He’s choosing to be here, with you. And if you love him, and he already knows—because trust me, he knows—then saying the words isn’t going to send him running."

Your chest ached, emotions clawing their way up your throat. "How do you know that? Because this… this is eating me alive, Sam. I just want him to stay. I want to love him. And I’m terrified he won’t let me. There have been so many times I almost said it, but I had to choke it back because…" Your voice cracked, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. "Because I know this will either be everything or it’ll be the thing that breaks us. And I don’t know if I can face it if it’s the latter."

Sam’s expression shifted, his voice unwavering yet gentle. "Maybe you should let him decide that."

“And what if he decides it’s not worth it?” The words barely made it past the lump in your throat. You dropped your gaze, unwilling to let Sam see the way your lips trembled, the way your hands clenched into fists against your lap.

“He’s had enough people deciding everything for him to last a lifetime,” Sam said, his tone edged with something firm. “Don’t be another one on that list just because you think you know what he'll do. Maybe, if you actually ask him about his feelings, he’ll surprise you.”

“You sound awfully sure of something you know nothing about,” you muttered, but the usual fire in your retorts was absent. It was just exhaustion now, doubt curling into your bones.

“Who said I know nothing?”

That got your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Sam... What do you know?”

“Nothing,” he replied too quickly, the picture of innocence as he shrugged, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

“Samuel, I will call your sister.”

Sam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, but you caught it. He clicked his tongue, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah, about that—maybe don’t. You know Buck had a thing for her back when we were in Louisiana, right?”

Your jaw fell open. “He what?”

Before Sam could respond, heavy footfalls echoed down the hallway. You barely had a moment to process the revelation before Bucky strode into your office, his expression mildly suspicious, his vibranium arm clutching a pastel pink bag. The contrast of the bag’s soft color against his all-black ensemble was so stark it nearly gave you whiplash.

“There you are,” Sam boomed, standing with a grin as he clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “What’s in the bag, Barnes? Something sweet for your sweetheart?”

Bucky shot him an unimpressed look before his eyes landed on you, and his features softened instantly. “Breakfast. For her, not for you,” he clarified, lifting the bag slightly. Then his brows drew together, scanning your face with quiet concern. “Why are you crying? What did he do?”

“I’m not crying,” you rushed to say, though the evidence of your damp cheeks begged to differ. “It’s allergies,” You quickly wiped them with the back of your hands, forcing a smile. “What did you get?”

“I got you a bagel from that place you like,” Bucky said, stepping closer, his voice laced with something almost hesitant. "They didn’t have coffee, so I got you, uh… a strawberry matcha? The girl at the counter said you'd like it." He shifted slightly, as if bracing for your reaction.

You froze for a second, staring at him. The idea of Bucky—gruff, no-nonsense Bucky—standing at a café counter and listening to drink recommendations was almost too much. But then the weight of it settled in your chest: he’d gone out of his way. Remembered your favorite bagel. Chosen something new just because he wanted to bring you something—God, you were in too deep.

“That’s really sweet, Buck.” You pushed yourself up from your chair, unable to stop yourself from leaning in, rising on your tiptoes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath your lips, his stubble rough against your fingers. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

“I wanted to,” he murmured, echoing something you had said to him so many times before it almost felt like second nature now. For a moment, Bucky just stared at you, his blue eyes tracing your face like he was trying to decide on something. Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he shifted slightly, tilting his head, and brushed a kiss against your lips.

It was soft—so soft it almost didn’t feel real. But it was enough to send your mind reeling, your breath hitching in your throat as a jolt of electricity raced through you. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable, and you were too stunned to speak. Your fingers gripped the paper bag, anchoring yourself to something, anything, to help you process what had just happened.

And then Sam’s voice shattered the moment.

“Ah, look at the two of you. My favorite couple,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

Your entire body stiffened. “Sam,” you hissed, heat flooding your cheeks.

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. Right, Buck?”

Bucky didn’t so much as flinch, but his jaw tightened slightly, a tell tale sign of his annoyance that only you seemed to notice.

“Sam, we haven’t even—” You started, grasping at some semblance of control over the rapidly unraveling situation, but Sam cut you off with an exaggerated groan.

"For the love of God, Barnes, put her out of her misery already," Sam groaned, nudging him with an elbow. "Tell her she’s your girlfriend. Tell her she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Do us all a favor."

You wanted to die. Right there. Spontaneously combust and vanish from existence.

“Anyway, that’s my cue to leave,” Sam said, grabbing the file he’d initially dropped on your desk.

“But we haven’t even discussed—” You started, grasping at the one thing that could spare you from the awkwardness sinking into your chest.

“We can discuss it later. Right now, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone to talk.” Sam said with an infuriatingly knowing look before turning toward the door. He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “Oh, and by the way… I told her about Sarah.”

Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaling in a long, put-upon sigh. His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, annoyance now evident. “Sam…”

“Consider it payback for flirting with my sister. And what’s a little jealousy? It adds spice to the relationship,” Sam teased, stepping just out of Bucky’s immediate reach.

Bucky turned fully toward him, which only made Sam laugh, hands up in mock surrender. “She threatened to call her, man! I had no choice.”

Bucky turned back to you, groaning softly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear, he lives to torment me,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “So… Sarah?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

His head shot up, his blue eyes widening, genuine worry flickering across his face. “Nothing happened,” he said quickly. “With Sarah, I mean. There’s—there’s nothing to tell.”

You bit back a grin, warmth curling in your chest at his obvious distress. Reaching out, you took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Relax, Buck. I’m not upset. Honestly, I’m just shocked you had any interest in anyone besides that waitress before I threw myself on you.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as your words landed. “You didn’t force me into anything,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. His thumb brushed slow circles over the back of your hand, grounding you in the moment.

“Good,” you teased, pulling the pink drink bag closer to you with a smirk. “Now let’s try this strawberry matcha you so lovingly procured for me.”

You did it. You got over the awkwardness by skillfully dodging the subject. You nearly sighed in relief—right up until Bucky let out a noise, half scoff, half laugh, before his amusement faded into something else as he stepped closer.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he mumbled, moving behind you with a calculated slowness, his presence looming but never overbearing. His arm slid around your middle, pulling you back against him, and your breath hitched as his chest pressed against your back. “And it won’t work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice unsteady .

Bucky held you in place, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Why were you crying?” he murmured, low and insistent, his lips trailing down to press the faintest kiss to the curve of your neck.

Your knees felt like they might give out, your eyes fluttering shut involuntarily. You sent a silent thank-you to the universe for the secluded corner your office was tucked into, sparing you the humiliation of anyone catching you like this—being thoroughly undone by your super soldier.

“Sam told me I suck at my job,” you lied, barely managing to string the words together.

Bucky chuckled, the vibration of it reverberating against your back. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, finally twisting you around to face him. His arms circled your waist, holding you securely, leaving no room for escape—not that you wanted to.

“And your interrogation tactics are crap,” you shot back, trying to mask your flustered state with sarcasm. Your hands instinctively slid up to rest on his shoulders, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt.

“We’ll see about that,” he warned, his voice teasing but his gaze unwavering as it flicked over your face.

You took a moment to really look at him, letting your eyes trace over every detail—the softness in his gaze, the faint smirk tugging at his lips, the roughness of his stubbled jaw that you knew would scrape deliciously against your skin. Your heart raced as you took him in, suddenly overwhelmed by how effortlessly gorgeous he was. “God, you’re handsome,” you blurted, your voice quiet but sure. “It’s unfair.”

His smirk deepened, though his expression remained serious. “Compliments will get you nowhere,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I will make you tell me.”

You considered his words, tilting your head as you let your nails trail lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe,” you said, your lips curving into a sly smile. “Maybe we can do it over dinner?”

Bucky’s brows raised slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face before he recovered, the smirk returning in full force. “Are you asking me out, or is this another attempt to dodge the question?”

“Maybe both,” you quipped, tugging him just a little closer, your noses nearly brushing.

His gaze softened, his arms tightening around you. “Dinner, huh?”

“Dinner,” you confirmed, your heart thundering as the word hung between you.

The look in his eyes told you he was already on board, but his voice stayed teasing as he finally replied. “Fine. Your place. I’ll bring the food. But don’t think this means you’re off the hook.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against his, but your insides twisted with the promise of the conversation that awaited you. 

–

Instead of leaving work together, Bucky had, surprisingly, let you fend for yourself. You walked the few blocks back to your apartment with a jittery sensation that only grew more restless as you thought about how the night would unfold.

There was no avoiding it. Tonight, you'd have to talk about it, define your relationship once and for all, and you had no idea how it would play out. Or if you were prepared for it.

By the time you reached your door, you were wound so tight with nerves you were unable to sit still. You headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to lose yourself in the steady rhythm of baking. Soon, the rich scent of cinnamon and apples filled the small space, wrapping around you like a hug. The pie had barely cooled and you had just gotten finished spritzing your perfume when Bucky’s knock came at the door. You smoothed your hair one last time, and opened it with a breathless smile.

There he was. Casual, but devastating in his dark Henley and leather jacket, black jeans hugging his frame in all the right places. He had a bottle of whiskey tucked under one arm and a stack of takeout bags in the other—Thai food, from the place you’d offhandedly mentioned wanting to try. How did he remember it? You had no idea.

“You look nice,” he said, his voice soft, warm, and entirely too casual for the buzz of energy humming between you. His blue eyes swept over your frame, lingering just a second too long. You had thrown on a simple outfit after your shower—soft jeans and an oversized sweater that slid teasingly off one shoulder—but the way he looked at you made you feel like you were naked and exposed.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your cheeks heating as you lifted onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He tilted his head slightly, deepening it for just a moment, accepting the way your hands cupped his cheeks to keep him steady, before pulling back with a sigh.

He couldn’t resist giving you another once over, before he got distract. “What’s that smell?” Bucky asked as he stepped inside.

“Apple pie,” you said, closing the door behind him. “I figured I’d take care of dessert since you were handling dinner.”

His brows lifted. “Apple pie? That’s awfully domestic…”

You shrugged, feeling the blood heating up your cheeks. “Thought it might remind you of home—or, you know, simpler times.”

Bucky hummed, setting the food and whiskey down before reaching out and tugging on the hem of your sweater. “Looks good on you.”

“Domesticity or the sweater?” You joked, closing the door behind you and leaning on it as you watched him. It never failed to catch you off guard—how effortlessly he settled into your space. Dropping the bags on the counter, peeling off his gloves and jacket, rolling up his sleeves. He moved like a man who belonged, who knew he was home, as much as he refused to call it home. The sight of it stole your breath.

His lips quirked. “Both.”

Dinner was easy, the two of you falling into a comfortable rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. He teased you about the mountain of spring rolls you’d pulled onto your plate (“Is that all for you, or am I allowed to have one?”), and you ribbed him right back for always stealing bites off your plate instead of sticking to his own. The laughter came easily, and for a while, the tension simmering under the surface felt like a distant echo.

That was, until Bucky leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from playful to intent.

“So,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Ready for the Spanish Inquisition?”

You groaned, your head dropping into your hands. “Oh, come on. Can’t you let me off the hook?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his voice laced with humor but his eyes sharp. “I already let you off. Twice.”

The covert mention of the night you broke down didn’t go unnoticed. Lifting your head, you rested your chin in your hand, meeting his steady blue gaze with a pout. The stare-off felt like a challenge—like you were daring him to back off while he silently willed you to break. The only question was who would give in first. And you had no doubt—it would be you.

You’d do anything Bucky Barnes asked you to. Sighing, you pushed back from the table and stood. “Fine. If you’re going to interrogate me, we’re at least going to make it fun.”

"Fun?" His tone was doubtful, but the slight twitch of his lips gave him away. "In my experience, interrogations usually involve dark rooms and torture."

"Not this one. As tempting as it’d be to watch you try all that Winter Soldier stuff on me—" You cut yourself off before saying too much. This was already giving away enough. "We’re playing Truth or Drink." You nodded toward the whiskey he’d brought. "Grab your liquor, Sergeant, and meet me in the living room."

You plopped down on the soft rug in front of your couch, crossing your legs, an arm leaning over the soft cushions as you settled in. The rug’s texture was a comfort beneath you, grounding you for what you suspected was about to be a very revealing game. Bucky followed, setting the whiskey and two glasses down on the coffee table before sitting across from you, all the way down the other side of the couch.

“You’re so far away,” you complained, leaning forward slightly.

“It’s on purpose,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t let you distract me. I’ve got a mission here.”

His teasing tone made your stomach flip, but you masked it with an exaggerated sigh, rolling your eyes as you reached for the whiskey bottle. “Fine, Barnes. Let’s get this over with.” You poured a generous amount into each glass and handed him one. “You wanna go first, or should I?”

“Ladies first,” he said smoothly.  Ever the gentleman—even when he was expertly deploying psychological and emotional blackmail.

Resigning yourself to your inevitable demise, you pretended to think, tapping a finger against your chin. “Alright. Tell me a story about you and Steve.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a question.”

“Fine. Would you please tell me a story about you and Steve?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he took a slow sip of whiskey. “What kind of story?”

“I don’t know... Something interesting. Something no one else knows. Something fun.”

For a moment, Bucky’s gaze drifted, lost somewhere in memories you’d never be able to touch. Then, a small, genuine smile pulled at his lips, and your chest ached at the sight of it. “Alright… Before the serum, before the whole ‘Star-Spangled Man with a Plan’ schtick, when he was just a scrawny kid, Steve used to put newspapers in his shoes to make himself look taller.”

You grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, well, not so adorable when it rained and he forgot to take them out.” Bucky snorted, shaking his head. “One time, we got caught in a downpour on the way to a dance. Steve walks in, shoes squelching, and suddenly the whole place smells like wet dog and cheap ink.” He chuckled, eyes shining. “God, the way people looked at him. I had to convince the bouncer we weren’t trying to stink up the joint on purpose.”

You laughed, watching the way his shoulders eased, the usual tension in his frame loosening as he let himself revel in a memory that didn’t hurt to hold onto.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you blurted, “Do you think Steve would’ve approved?”

Bucky blinked, confused. “Approved of what?”

“Us,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “Me. Being with you.” You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of the couch cushion. “I mean, we only met a few times before… y’know. And from everything I’ve heard, he was pretty protective of you.”

For a second, you thought he might deflect, but instead, Bucky’s answer was firm. Certain. “Yeah. Steve would’ve approved.”

Your heart did a little flip.

“He would’ve liked that you take care of me,” Bucky continued, his voice softer now, the burn of his unvoiced gratitude not going unnoticed.

Something inside you melted. “See, this is why you need to sit closer.” You scooted forward, shifting toward him. “I need to kiss you and I can’t.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, doll, but you’re not getting out of your turn that easily.”

You groaned. “Fine. What’s your question?”

“When was the last time you dated someone?” His eyes glinted with something unreadable, but his tone was casual. “Before... this.” He gestured again, this time between the two of you.

You scoffed. “That’s what you wanna know? Out of all the things?”

“Just answer the question, sweetheart.”

You groaned, pulling at the fluffy rug beneath you. “I don’t know, four, five years ago? I lost count. Last real relationship I had was before I got into this whole ‘girl in the chair’ thing. And it didn’t go well.”

Bucky frowned. “Why?”

“Communication issues,” you said vaguely, then sighed. “And the fact that he had a habit of sleeping with anything that breathed within a three-mile radius—except me. Which included both his best friends. And my roommate at the time.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up before he could school his expression back into something more neutral. “What do you mean ‘except you’?”

You shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “Exactly what it sounds like. He thought I wasn’t... good enough. Or at least not good enough for him.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, something dangerous flashing in his eyes, but before he could open his mouth, you cut in, “You’re overextending your turn, Sergeant. I’m the one asking questions now.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, visibly annoyed that he couldn’t dig deeper into that revelation, but he nodded. “Fine. Go ahead.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, eyeing him. “Did you really have a thing with Sarah?”

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back against the couch, exhaling like a man who’d just been handed a life sentence. “I knew you wouldn’t just let this go. I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Sam.”

You grinned, biting back a laugh. “That’s not a no.”

Bucky rolled his head to the side to glare at you, but there was no real heat behind it. It made you want to kiss him. But then again, everything made you want to kiss him. “There was no thing,” he huffed, shifting so he was facing you more fully. “We flirted. That’s it. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, though the way you hugged your knees closer and half-smothered your smile into your arm made him smirk.

“Sure. You’re jealous, though.”

You wrinkled your nose. “So what if I was?”

Bucky hummed, his smirk widening as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something infuriatingly smooth. “It’s cute.”

“Ugh. Shut up.” You stretched your leg out, nudging his thigh with your foot to change the subject. “Your turn.”

Before you could pull away, Bucky’s hand wrapped around your ankle, firm but warm. In one effortless motion, he pulled your leg over his lap, drawing you in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed absently against your shin as he settled back, casual as ever. But the way his fingers found the muscle of your calf—slow, deliberate, kneading just right—was anything but casual. A shiver ran up your spine. If he noticed, he didn’t say a word.

He stayed quiet long enough for your nerves to start creeping in. Then his grip tightened, just slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate. “Did you ever think we’d be a one-time thing?”

Your breath hitched. “Us?”

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your calf—deceptively nonchalant. But the way his touch set every nerve in your body on fire? Not even close.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “This… thing we’re doing. Did you think it’d last? Or did you go in thinking it was just for one night?”

You hesitated. Out of all the things he could’ve asked, this hadn’t even been on your radar.

“I…” You exhaled, shifting slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. How warm his hands were against your skin. “I never thought of it as a one-time thing.”

His gaze flickered—sharp, assessing, unreadable. “Why?”

You huffed, trying for annoyed, but it came out breathier than you wanted. “Why what?”

His smile was slow, knowing. “Why’d you think it’d be more?”

Your throat tightened. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading me.”

“Why?”

“Because some things need to stay a secret.” You swallowed. “Some things… you don’t need to know. It’s too much.”

His grin widened, dark amusement curling at the edges. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You curled your fingers into the rug beneath you. “Fine.” The word felt heavier than it should. “Just don’t be mad if you don’t like it.” You pressed on before he could interrupt. “This, you… it was never something I could walk away from.”

His fingers stilled—just for a second—before resuming those slow, maddening circles. “And that’s a bad thing?”

You scoffed, mostly to deflect. “For me? Yeah.”

His thumb pressed deeper into your skin. “Why?”

You sighed, dropping your head back against the couch before meeting his gaze again. "Because I got attached. One kiss, and I was already in too deep. And now? Now, I don’t know how to want you halfway. If you had only ever wanted me for a night, I would’ve taken it. Even if it broke me.” Your voice quieted. “And now we’re here, and it’s been months, and if this goes wrong—” You swallowed hard. “If you suddenly realize you don’t want this, or me, or that it's all too much— I don’t think I’d come out the other side in one piece.”

Bucky didn’t speak right away. Just watched you, unreadable as ever. Then, his thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of your knee, sending another shiver down your spine. “I know”, he said after a moment. Then, softer—raw, stripped of bravado:

“That’s what scares me.”

His words burned, low and true, cutting deeper than you expected. It wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t doubt. It was something else entirely.

It was honesty.

And in that moment, you felt it—the shift. He was cracking open, piece by piece, letting you see the soft, bleeding parts of him that no one else had ever touched.

He let you see him. All of him. Let you peer in for as long as you wanted, as if he had made peace with it. That there was no wall you couldn’t bring down, so he just accepted it.

And maybe that was the real weight of it. Not the sex, not his past, not your willingness, but this—this terrifying, aching certainty that he could ruin you. That you’d let him. That if he asked, you would lay yourself bare at his feet and never ask for anything in return. He knew that if he asked, you would give him everything. Every last piece of yourself, until he was whole and you were the one bleeding.

Silence stretched between you, thick and humming. His eyes stayed locked onto yours, searching, waiting. And you realized—this was the test. Not the chase, not the tension, not even the words you hadn’t yet spoken. The test was whether you could hold his gaze, whether you could sit in the weight of this moment and not look away.

Your breath came shallow, chest tight, but you didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

Not when his fingers curled just a little tighter on your thigh, like he was feeling the way you trembled. Not when his gaze flickered down, tracing the shape of your lips, the quickening pulse at your throat, the way your body betrayed you in ways your words refused to.

His voice was softer this time, but no less intense. “You know… I don’t do halfway either.”

Damn him.

The air between you turned electric. Your pulse hammered against your ribs, a warning and an invitation all at once.

“Bucky…” Your voice barely cleared a whisper, but he heard it. His fingers slid a little higher, grazing the sensitive skin of your thigh.

“What?” His tone was laced with challenge, teasing, but his eyes—his eyes were dark. Intent.

You let out a shaky breath. “Don’t… don’t play with me, okay?”

His smirk faltered, something shifting in his expression. “Is that what you think? That I don’t feel the same way? That this is some kind of game?”

“I don’t know.” You swallowed. “You’re hard to read.”

“I’m easier than you think.”

You shook your head. “I can’t read you right now.”

Bucky hummed, tilting his head slightly as you shifted, letting your arm rest against the couch behind him, seeking another point of contact. Your fingers slipped into the soft strands at the nape of his neck—an experiment, really. His lashes fluttered shut, just for a second, and your stomach flipped. Gravity, that’s what he was. A force pulling you in, impossible to resist. God, you wanted to climb into his lap and devour him whole.

“You can read me,” he murmured, eyes still closed. “You’re just scared you’ll see something you can’t ignore.”

Your heart pounded. “You always say that… Like you’re so sure I’ll wake up one day and decide you're a monster.” Your voice was quieter now. “That I'll finally see you the way you see yourself. It's not going to happen, Bucky.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He finally looked at you, his voice quieter now, but no less sure. “I mean… you’ll finally let yourself believe I feel the same way about you as you do about me.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, and suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe right. His words settled deep, threading into places you weren’t ready to touch—places that made you want too much, feel too much. It was too honest, too real, and if you let yourself linger there, you might drown in it.

So, you did the only thing you could. You swerved.

You sucked in a breath, forcing a smirk. “You really gotta stop saying things like that.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Like what?”

“Like… things that make my heart feel like it’s about to explode.” You made a vague, fluttery motion near your chest. “It’s very inconsiderate. You should warn a girl before you go throwing around words like that.”

Bucky huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh, but he didn’t take the bait. His gaze stayed steady, unyielding, like he was waiting for you to actually sit with what he’d just said.

Nope. Not happening.

Instead, you let a wicked grin curled at your lips, a lifeline in dangerous waters. “Okay, I have a good one.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, wary but intrigued. “Go on.”

You bit your lip, leaning in like you had a secret too tempting to resist. “That first night we had sex… was that your first time since the ’40s?”

For half a second, he just blinked at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually left your mouth. Then, with a groan, he tipped his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ.”

He laughed, but you caught the way the tops of his ears tinged red, his cheeks following suit. “That bad, huh?”

You gasped, swatting at his chest. “I never said that.”

He smirked, reaching for his drink. “Can you get me another one? I might not recover from this.”

You laughed, fingers curling tighter in his hair before dragging down the back of his neck, feeling the way he shivered under your touch. “If I tell you the truth about it, your ego will get so big we’ll both suffocate in this room.” You tilted his chin up with a knuckle, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. “Come on, tell me.”

He took a slow sip of his drink, but you saw through him. He was stalling, rolling the words around in his head, figuring out how much to give away. Your heart picked up pace, watching the way his jaw worked, the way his fingers flexed.

Finally, he exhaled. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice quieter. “It was.”

You swallowed, lips parting, but before you could respond, he continued.

“I didn’t even remember how good it felt. Not until—” Bucky sighed, leaning back into your touch as if it steadied him.

“Until?” You urged him on, your nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

“Until I had you naked under me, wrapped around my fingers.” His eyes darkened, and his voice dipped lower, sending a shiver down your spine. “You were so wet and so… warm. When I—”

“I remember,” you cut him off, voice barely above a whisper, pressing your mouth to his shoulder to ground yourself.

And you did. You remembered the way he had frozen, realization crashing over him like a wave, the way his breath had hitched when he finally understood what it would feel like to be inside you. The memory sent a delicious shudder through you, and when you glanced down, you found his hand still on your leg, fingers tracing absentminded circles over your skin.

“So do I,” he admitted, his laugh coming out breathy, almost disbelieving. “Thought about it more times than I’d like to admit.”

You bit your lip, sliding your palm over his stomach, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. “You don’t have to just think. You can do it again,” you murmured. “Anytime. Anything you want, you can do it to me. You know that, right?”

His breath hitched, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, holding you captive. In that moment, you understood—he wasn’t letting you slip away. Every dodge, every joke, every attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere, he unraveled it effortlessly, guiding you right back to where he wanted you. "Why do you offer me so much?" His voice was low, edged with something unsteady. "Your body. Your trust. Why do you give yourself to me so freely?" The illusion of a lighthearted game shattered, the bourbon forgotten on the table, its amber warmth abandoned in favor of something far stronger—the charged air between you. It pulsed with the weight of everything you refused to admit, with the inevitability of what came next.

It felt like being caught in a storm’s eye, a vacuum where time stretched and condensed, where the world outside ceased to exist. There was only this moment, this man, and the unrelenting gravity of his presence. You could either surrender and give him the truth he was so keen to obtain, or wait for him to relent, to spare you, to step back and let you escape once more.

But you knew—God, you knew—he wouldn’t. His gaze was unwavering, his body coiled with the kind of patience that promised he could outlast you. He would outlast you. He had outlasted every single person in his life, why would you be any different? He wasn’t just waiting; he was chasing, methodical and unshakable.

And you? You were already lost. Because deep down, past all the resistance, you knew there was only one ending to this. You would give in. You would tell him what he wanted to hear.

Because how could you not?

Your chest tightened under the weight of his stare, each word peeling you open. "I want you to take it. To have me." The confession felt too vast, too exposed, but you forced yourself to continue. "You always hold back. Always deny yourself of everything good. I don’t want that for us. If you—if you don’t want this, it won’t be because I never gave you the choice."

His expression didn’t waver. “Is that the only reason?”

“I—” Your inhale was shaky, your eyes searching his.

“Do you only want this because you think I need something to hold on to?”

“No.” The word ripped from your throat, immediate, your head shaking, your voice cracking under the weight of it. “No, Bucky. That’s not… I don’t want to be some rehabilitation for you. I want to be with you. All of you.” 

Your fingers twisted into his shirt, clinging to the fabric like a lifeline, like letting go would unravel you completely. “You don’t understand… I chose you, even when you never asked to be chosen.” A breathless, humorless laugh escaped you, sharp and fragile all at once. “But I couldn’t help it. With you, it’s like I finally—” You exhaled shakily, searching for the words, for air, for him. “Like it’s finally right. It fits. We fit. It’s like I was always meant for this. Meant for you.”

The confession scraped against your ribs, raw and aching, and you blinked hard, forcing back the sting behind your eyes. “I’ve never felt like this. For anyone. Never trusted anyone enough to—to let myself be claimed, to be theirs” Your voice barely held, a whisper on the edge of breaking. “But with you, it just… happened. You looked at me and it was over. I want you to be the one I belong to.”

Bucky’s lips parted, his breath shallow, but his voice was firm. Certain. “Because you love me.”

The moment he said it, you felt it—the trap snapping shut around you with perfect precision. You had to hand it to him; he was a damn good interrogator. You hadn’t even suspected that this was where he was leading you. Your breath hitched, emotions rising too fast to control, clawing at your throat like something primal, something desperate. His hand was still on your ankle, grounding, waiting. But he let you move, sensing the shift, the way your body coiled like a spring, the way your lips trembled as you fought against the inevitable.

“You’re not being fair,” you choked out, voice cracking as you turned your face away from his unwavering gaze.

“I just want to hear it, doll.”

Your chest ached. You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers curling into the fabric of your own sweater like you could hold yourself together if you just squeezed hard enough. “You know why I can’t.”

“I actually don’t.”

“You’ll leave. It’ll be too much…” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “You’ll run. And I don’t want to lose you because of my stupid feelings.”

Silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating. The air felt electric, charged with everything you weren’t saying. When you finally dared to look at him, his expression was unreadable, something soft, something searching. And then, just the slightest tilt of his lips—sad, knowing.

“Doll…” His fingers trailed slowly up your calf, not teasing this time, but tethering. A lifeline. “I’m here.”

“Until when?” The question was a wound, raw and bleeding. The first tear slipped free before you could stop it. The second followed before you even realized it was there. Bucky’s grip faltered, his fingers tightening—then loosening—like the words had landed somewhere deep, somewhere fragile.

Then, he let out a rough, breathless laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Until you’re done with me.” His voice was quiet, resigned. Like he already knew the ending to this story before it ever happened. “Until you don’t love me anymore. Until you realize what a mess I am and find someone better.”

Your breath stuttered, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it hurt. “There’s no one better. No one else.”

You didn’t push him away when he reached for you, cradling the back of your neck with steady, careful hands. His touch was warm, unshakable. The kiss that followed was a collision—of fear, of longing, of too many unspoken things. It was salty with tears, but it tasted sweeter than anything you’d ever known. Bucky cupped your face, thumbs chasing away the stubborn wetness on your cheeks, lips moving slow, deliberate, like he had something to prove to you. And you let him. You let him tilt your head back, let him drag a hand down the length of your throat, let yourself drown in the sensation of him.

He tasted like bourbon and longing and home, and you drank him in like he was the only thing keeping you alive. 

You couldn’t get enough.

Not when he pulled you onto his lap, not when he tangled a hand in your hair and tipped his head back against the couch, letting you take what you wanted—what you both wanted. Not when your kisses turned frantic, desperate, until your lips were bruised and swollen from the way you couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop.

“You ready to tell me now?” His voice was a rasp against your lips, breathless, hungry. His fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck, his free hand dragging under your sweater, fingers mapping the heat of your skin. “I wanna hear it, sweetheart. Do you know how badly—” he pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, “—how badly I’ve wanted to hear it? Since that night at my apartment? You were crying for me, and I—”

He was unraveling. And so were you.

You barely had time to react before he moved, pressing you down against the rug, his hands burning paths down your thighs as he spread them open, pressing himself against you, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he hovered above you.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded. “You want me to take what I want, don’t you? You want me to claim you? This is it, sweetheart. This is what I want.”

Your breath caught. This version of him—raw, unfiltered, pleading—it stunned you into silence. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his name barely more than a whimper on your lips as his mouth found your skin again, leaving bruises, leaving proof.

Your hands were trembling, your pulse a thunderous rhythm beneath your skin. Fear curled in your belly, a living thing, coiling tight around your ribs, squeezing your lungs. You had never been so afraid of words before, of the weight they carried, of the way they could change everything in an instant.

“C’mon, sweetheart, say it,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper against your lips. His hands gripped your waist, grounding himself in the reality of you, as if touch alone wasn’t enough. “I already know, doll. I just—I need to hear it.”

His voice was softer this time, but no less commanding, no less desperate. His eyes searched yours, stormy and endless, as if he were trying to commit you—this moment—to memory, afraid you might slip through his fingers like sand.

His breath hitched, fingers tightening ever so slightly, his forehead pressing against yours. “Give me something real,” he rasped, his voice thick, aching. “Let me hold onto it.”

“James—”

“Say it.” His voice cracked, a raw, broken thing, like he was shattering before your eyes. “Please, doll. I’m begging you.”

Your lungs burned, your heart a frantic drumbeat against your ribs, an erratic melody of terror and longing. Your throat closed around the words, refusing to let them go, but you knew—God, you knew—you couldn’t hold them in any longer. Not when he was looking at you like that. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

“I love you,” you finally breathed, the confession slipping from your lips like an exhale, fragile and trembling. 

The effect on him was instant, visceral, breathtaking.

A sharp inhale. A flicker of disbelief, of something breaking and rebuilding all at once in his expression. His hand tightened at the nape of your neck, his forehead falling to rest against yours as if the weight of your words had stolen his balance. His breath was uneven, shuddering against your lips, and for a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held you there in the space between heartbeats.

His lips parted, but no words came out—not at first. His breath hitched, his fingers curling slightly against your skin like he was afraid to let go. Then, finally, in a voice so raw it nearly shattered you, he whispered, "Say it again."

“I love you.”

[myth1cs]

Our Love is Pure (Yu Ji-min (Karina) x M!Reader)

Hey its been a while huh? Anyways here's Karina smut

Word Count: 2,473

"So, the final question for you two. Both of you are lovers in "Crime Scene Season 2" but the fans are dying to know what you guys are to each other off screen. Are you guys friends, just coworkers, or dating?"

"We are ... very close." Karina responded. She made it a point to respond that way. After all both of you were told to act romantically in front of the media by your boss. Many people liked to speculate whether you and Karina were dating off screen and rather than deny it you guys were told to just "entertain" the idea without actually confirming anything.

"Alright well that concludes the interview. Thank you both for taking time out of your day to come out. And remember to catch the season finale of "Crime Scene Season 2" at 3pm Thursday."

"And cut!"

"Phew well I think that went well. Again I want to thank you both for agreeing to come to this interview. Make sure to travel safely okay?"

"We will."

After the interview ended you and Karina made your way out of the building to a company car. Once you both got in the driver started to drive.

"I think that went well Y/N."

"I'm exhausted Karina I don't think I can do a fan meeting after this. And this makeup is irritating my skin."

Being an actor wasn't easy for you. This was your first big production where you got to be one of the main leads and of course the show became a hit. You thought it was cool at first, many people would get excited seeing you, people took photos with you, and there were many positive comments on social media about you. It was all something that you loved at first.

However it didn't take long for you to get annoyed by all the attention you were getting. You couldn't go out shopping anymore without going out in disguise and as the show became ever more popular the more obligations you had to do as promotion for the show. Karina wasn't new to acting and she often tried to take care of you.

Karina pulled out a makeup remover wipe out of her purse and started to lightly remove some of your makeup on your face.

"If anyone asks I didn't remove part of your makeup."

"Thank you Karina. And don't worry my lips are sealed."

As Karina started to remove some of the makeup off your face you felt butterflies on your stomach. You knew that you shouldn't, you were an actor and being in a relationship was prohibited. But you couldn't help yourself. Remembering those times when you and Karina shared a kiss on camera for the first time made your cock throb a bit. She was really everything you could ever want in a woman. From her personality to her figure everything was just perfect.

The more days of filming that went by it got harder to keep up this "Pure" feeling of love with her.

"Guys we're here."

Both of you arrived at the fan meeting event. Security led you both to a back entrance and you started to change clothes before going out to the fan meeting event.

You got to meet many people from many ages. While you were tired you tried to keep up a happy mood for your fans.

Everything was going fine until a fan asked a certain question.

"Y/N are you dating anyone?"

Before you could respond with something cliche like "My fans are my boyfriend/girlfriend." Karina got up from her seat, made her way to you, and wrapped her arms around you.

"Well I don't think Y/N is currently looking for love. If he was then I think I would know right Y/N?"

She squeezed you tighter and rested her chin on your neck. Of course this got people riled up.

-

After the event was over both you and Karina were taken to an apartment. Since you both had to attend a variety show the next day the company decided it would be best to keep you two together instead of separating you two and needing two different drivers to take you both to the same location.

Both of you started to clean up and get ready to go to bed. You and Karina took off the makeup the stylists had put on and then took turns using the shower.

Now both of you were relaxing in the living room on your phones with the T.V playing some cooking show for background noise.

A few gossip articles were written about this situation already and it hasn't even been 24 hours.

"Y/N you have to hear about this title it's called "Y/N and Karina are dating?! New breaking information!" It's stupid right? I act a little clingy and people act like I proposed to you."

You let out a fake laugh "Yeah ... it's crazy."

Karina put her phone down and made her way over to your side. She put her hand on your shoulder.

"Y/N what's wrong, is the stress getting to you?"

You leaned your head onto Karina's shoulder. She grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to her.

"I just don't know how to feel about something."

"They say that repressing is a bad thing. You should come out and say it. I promise I won't judge you Y/N."

You lifted your head up and looked into the eyes of Karina. You wanted to tell her - your love - but you feared that if you told her and she rejected you then it would make things awkward further on. Besides what if Karina reported you for trying to get in a relationship with her when you were both strictly told that it was off limits.

"I'll tell you one day."

"That's no fun Y/N. Stop trying to deal with everything yourself. We've been actors hanging out with each other for so long now. Are you telling me you don't trust me after everything that we've been through?"

"Jimin-"

"Fine be that way Y/N. If you want something don't come ask me." Karina left the living room and started heading for her room.

"Fuck."

You weren't used to being on bad terms with Karina. In fact you've both have never been on bad terms until now. As much as you wanted to be honest with her, telling her your feeling wasn't an option was it?

Unsure of what to do you went to your own room and laid down on your bed. Twisting and turning thinking about what you should be doing. You pulled out your phone and went through your contacts.

"Mom? no, Mina? She's probably still at work at this hour, Jihyo? she's probably hanging out with her boyfriend, Sana?"

You settled with calling Sana. You knew she was probably sleeping at this hour but you didn't have any other choice. You were desperate for advice.

"H- Hello?"

"Y/N do you have any idea what hour this is?"

"Sana this is personal."

"Just talk to Karina about it."

"It's actually about her."

Sana sighed and you heard her sitting up on her bed.

"What's happened?"

"I've kinda developed feelings for Karina. But I'm worried that she'll report me for it since we're not supposed to be in relationships. Even if she just rejects me then it'll be awkward between us from now on."

"Is that all Y/N?"

"Yeah."

"Okay well she probably feels betrayed that you won't trust her, so you want to know what I'd advise you? You should get your ass up and go tell her your feelings."

"But-"

"I don't know Karina like you do but I know she won't report you for something like this. If she rejects you just go back to being friends. It'll only be awkward if you make it awkward."

Before you had the chance to respond Sana hung up the phone. You tried calling her back but it just went to voicemail.

As much as you didn't want to admit it Sana was right.

You got up and went to Karina's room. You stood outside of her door and put your hand on the handle. After taking a few deep breaths you mustered up the courage to open the door.

To your surprise you didn't see Karina at first. But then you noticed her standing outside on the balcony overlooking the view of the city.

You made your way to the balcony and saw her wearing a pink top with a pink jacket. You noticed she was also drinking some alcohol.

"Jimin what are you doing?"

"Just thinking Y/N."

"Look about earlier-"

"If you don't want to tell me that's fine. I'm over it, I shouldn't overstep your boundaries." Karina said as she took a sip of her alcohol.

"No it's not fine. I owe it to you, besides it related to you."

"It relates to me?"

"Jimin... I- I love you."

Karina's eyes widened. She walked over to you, standing in front of you. Her chest was almost pressed up against yours and you did your best not to look down at them.

"You know I could get you fired over this right? You know you're still a rookie and we're not supposed to be dating right?"

"I- I know."

Karina looked over your body before reaching your face and smiling. She put her hand on your shoulders again.

"For an actor you suck ass at acting you know."

"Wh- what?"

"I can tell you want to look at my breasts. Your not good at hiding it."

"Uhm~"

"Go ahead Y/N touch them."

You weren't sure if it was the alcohol in her system or if she was just naturally this straight forward. Probably a mix of both, but you weren't complaining.

"Shouldn't we go inside?"

"We're at the highest floor Y/N. Nobody can see us up here."

You looked around the surrounding area and realized that the closest building that was actually at a similar height was far away. If you did it up here nobody would know.

Karina dropped her jacket leaving her in her top. She let out a breath and you could smell alcohol from it.

"Did you think I was that butt hurt about you not telling me your "secret"?"

"W- wait did you-"

"Yup."

Karina wrapped her arms around you and pulled you in close to her. Your lips got pressed up against hers. Karina's tongue went into your mouth and her tongue started to rub against yours.

You attempted to take off Karina's top off but before you could do so she pulled away from you.

"Wait Y/N... before I forget to tell you I actually got a message from our director-"

"Jimin, I don't fucking care."

You pulled Karina back on to you and started to kiss her neck. Karina moaned as you started to leave love marks on her. She put her hands under your shirt and started to draw small circles on your stomach.

Her soft chest was pressed against you and it was making you hard. Karina reached her hands down at your erection and started to rub your cock.

"You get so damn pent up over my breasts huh?"

Unable to resist any longer you pushed your face onto Karina's clothed breasts. It made your erection harder and it made Karina smile.

You started to take her top off and got a view of Karina's bare chest. Her pink nipples got hard as they were exposed to the cold air breeze.

"Want something to warm you up Karina?"

She nodded at your comment.

Attaching your mouth to Karina's nipples you alternated from her left to right as you licked and sucked them.

While this was happening Karina was starting to take your pants off. Your hard cock sprung out of its confinement. It was bigger than Karina had imagined it being.

She rubbed your tip which made you start leaking pre-cum. Not letting it go to waste Karina used your pre-cum as a lubricant and got it all over her hand to start to pump your cock.

You started groaning as Karina's hand felt perfect wrapped around your cock. You couldn't help yourself but shove your face deeper on Karina's breasts. As much as you loved her breasts you still had so much more to play with, you reached out for Karina's ass and gave it a firm squeeze making her yelp.

"Agh~"

Karina started to fondle with your balls and your grip on her tightened. Your hands wandered to the waistband of Karina's pants and you started to remove them. Her pants fell to the floor leaving her completely naked outside.

You started to rub her pussy lips and her clit. Both of you trying to make the other cum first.

Since Karina has already been pumping your cock for a while you were the one to ejaculate first. Some of your cum got on Karina's stomach and some dripped onto the floor. You felt bad for the janitor who would have to clean it up later but that wasn't your concern for the moment.

Karina didn't let you cumming stop her. She continued to pump your cock making it hard again. You pushed her hands away and got down to your knees to start licking her pussy. Your tongue being covered in her sweet juices, Karina moaned as your tongue was shoved deeper in her. She was tighter than you thought she'd be but you continued to shove your tongue deeper.

"Y/N I'm going to cum!"

Quickly pulling your tongue out you made her bend over on the railing to the balcony. You shoved your hard cock into Karina's warm pussy. Now you were frantically thrusting in and out so you could cum alongside her.

You reached your hands for Karina's breasts and started to squeeze them. Karina's eyes rolled back loving the feeling you were giving her.

"Imagine if everyone down there could see us. What would they say?"

Karina's pussy tightened as she thought about your words. She felt a rush at the thought that others could see her being fucked and they could do nothing but watch.

"I'd love that."

"Maybe we should ask for us to have a sex scene during our show."

Both of you came not long after. Semen spilled onto the floor but a bit of it was on your cock.

"Let me clean that up for you Y/N."

Karina got onto her knees and started to suck you clean. You almost ejaculated again but you were able to hold yourself back.

After picking up your clothes both of you headed for the shower to get yourselves cleaned up for the variety show the next day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've been busy writing smut for another fandom. But I'm finally back.

Starring: You Karina (Aespa)

[marauder-misprint]

Hiii! So I wanna start off by saying how absolutely in love I am with your writing. It's so fucking amazing and I can never get enough, I swear I've read most of your marauders' fics more than three times cause they just stay absolute gems 😭

I love how you write Remus, he's such a cutie, and I was hoping maybe you'd want to write a little fic with shy!reader x casanova!Remus? Some pining from reader's side, who's not at all popular or well-known and wayyy too shy to ever make a move, let alone on Remus? I'd like it to be fluffy, but it can contain basically anything you want 🫶

Thank you so so so much!

🥰🥰🥰 Thank you for all the love/support and the request!

And if reader won't make a move on Remus, he'll make a move on you. But politely bc that's who Remus is.

'These damn stairs'

Remus Lupin x reader

2k words

cw: fluff, mutual pining

It was a common sight to see: Remus studying in the library at a full table. Occasionally, the other seats were filled by James, Sirius and Peter, but more often than not, they were filled with various girls. He was always leaning over the table to explain something, keeping his voice low enough to not disrupt others. When he wasn’t at his own table, you would watch him offer his assistance to other girls in the area. It was obvious why so many girls loved him and purposefully sat near his table, simply hoping their expression was confused enough to catch his attention.

From what you could tell, he loved it too. How could he not? Pretty girls from every house trying to get his attention. You knew Gryffindor girls were the luckiest; they could vie for his attention in their common room as well and they had the highest chance of sharing a class with him. 

You watched Remus from afar. He was a mischievous genius, part of the Marauders and a prefect. You were a nobody who preferred to stay out of the spotlight. As much as you’d like to have Remus’ attention, you knew it would come with far more eyes on you than you wanted. You made peace with admiring him in secret. You envied the girls with the courage to lean over his shoulder, asking him to read their essay for them. You wished you were a part of the group that surrounded him during quidditch matches. You dreamed that one day Remus might invite you to Hogsmeade on a date, despite knowing that the chances of that were slim. 

You were surviving the day and on your way to the library during your free period. 

At least you were when your foot sunk into a fake step and got lodged. You cried out as your books spewed from your arms, spilling down the stairs. The few students who were around you snickered and walked around you. No one stopped to help you up or free your foot. The embarrassment alone was enough for tears to prick your eyes. You squeezed your eyes shut and took deep breaths to gather yourself.

“Hey, are you okay?” 

That voice. You’d recognize it anywhere. You opened your eyes to see Remus kneeling next to you. He had some of your things that had fallen farther down the stairs. 

“These damn stairs, right?” he joked when you didn’t answer him.

He set your things down a few steps up and then gently reached for your calf. 

“Turn your foot to the left. Then point your toes. It’ll help you wiggle your foot free,” he instructed.

You did as told and soon enough you were free. 

“Thanks,” you said softly. 

You immediately went into gathering the rest of your things.

“Yeah, it’s no problem, love.” He stood up when you did. “I’m Remus, by the way.” Part of you wanted to laugh that Remus thought you didn’t know who he was. Instead, you mumbled out your name and said, “Thanks again, Remus.”

Then, no longer feeling like studying due to your humiliation, you headed in the direction of your common room, holding your book tight to your chest. Remus watched you walk away. He recognized your face from the classes you had together and the time you spent at the library. He had never approached you in the library because of the focus that emanated from your table; he didn’t want to disturb your flow. 

You hoped to put the embarrassment of falling into a false step behind you. You had gotten Remus’ attention, but it wasn’t in the way you wanted. You certainly hadn’t wanted it to be paired with the laughter of your peers. Little did you know how deeply you caught Remus’ attention.

He chatted with his friends outside of the Transfiguration classroom the next day. When you walked by, he smiled at you and said hello. You returned the gesture and hoped you weren’t blushing as all of his friends looked at you. You took your seat and tried to calm yourself down. Simple pleasantries should not send you into such a frenzy. 

Remus noticed your reaction, finding it curious. It didn’t deter him from acknowledging you whenever he was near you. He would’ve been lying to himself if he said he didn’t think your blush was cute. The more he observed you, the more he realized how much you kept to yourself and seemed content to be alone. That, however, made Remus want to get to know you. He wanted to know the girl who hadn’t put herself directly in his path. 

He made sure to stop by wherever you were studying in the library to say hello. He would take a longer route to where his friends were sitting in the Great Hall so that he could ask you a question about homework, whether he actually needed the answer or not. He tried to catch you in between classes, but you proved to be more elusive then. Each interaction left you blushing and flustered, although after two weeks of it, you came more accustomed to it. Remus saw that as progress and hoped you would be open to having a real conversation with him. 

If someone had told you a month ago that you’d be trying to avoid Remus, you wouldn’t have believed them. However, you somewhat were. Every time he spoke to you, you felt like the whole castle was listening in and judging every word you said to him. You assumed that he was just being polite. You assumed that you were just the girl who fell on the stairs to him. 

---

“When I call your name, come get your essay and then you are dismissed,” Professor Flitwick said, holding the stack of graded essays at the front of the classroom. “James Potter, Emmeline Vance, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin.”

The first four students got up and retrieved their essays. You rested your head on your hand as you waited for your name. Obviously they weren’t in alphabetical order, and you assumed it wasn’t grade-wise either since you were confident in the essay you turned in. After a few more names were called, Flitwick called yours. You got your essay, noted the O at the top and left the classroom with a small smile on your face. Maybe it was the order in which the essays were turned in?

“Hey!” Remus called from where he was standing off to the side. 

You kept walking. There was no way that he was talking to you. Sirius or Peter must’ve been called after you. 

Then he called your name. You froze. You could hear footsteps as he jogged over to you. 

“How’d you do?” he asked once at your side. “O! Nice.”

You realized you were still holding your essay and hurriedly tucked it inside of your things.

“Yeah, I put in the work.” 

He gave you his easy smile and then ran a hand through his hair.

“I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Um, sure?” 

“Would you like to study with me later?”

You stared at him, unable to breathe. Had he just asked if you wanted to study with him? Well, yes, he had. But it didn’t feel real. Your mind started to spin with worry. You wanted to study with Remus. You wanted to spend time with him. But whenever he studied, he was always surrounded by so many other people vying for his attention. It was bad enough that whenever he talked to you, you could feel the eyes of everyone passing you; you knew that they were wondering why a guy like Remus was talking to a nobody like you. 

Remus said your name, bringing you out of your thoughts. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’d like that,” you managed to say.

His smile, which had briefly faltered at your hesitation, relaxed. 

“Great!” he said. “Meet you outside the library after dinner, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Erm, I’ll see you then, Remus.”

Remus turned and headed back towards the classroom, likely to wait for Sirius and Peter if they hadn’t been called already. You took a deep breath to steady yourself before you continued on your own way. You had just agreed to study with Remus and he was the one to ask you. He had actually asked you. And you agreed. 

It didn’t take long for your nerves to spike. You were regretting your decision to agree. The feeling of looming embarrassment hung around you for the rest of the day and through dinner. Part of you debated sending Remus a note saying that you were feeling ill and couldn’t make it, but another part told you that he might not invite you again and this could be your chance to make an impression on him. 

You ended up walking to the library. With each step, you felt your heart rate increase. You were sure that if you weren’t holding onto your things with such a death grip, your hands would be shaking. 

Remus was waiting for you, just as he had said he would. 

“Hi!” he greeted you enthusiastically. 

You smiled at him as he held open the door for you.

“I’ve got a table claimed in the back,” he told you, taking the lead.

Your nerves changed into confusion as you passed Remus’ usual collection of tables. He led you to a more secluded part of the library where his things littered one of the smaller tables with only two chairs around it.

Trying not to sound too ecstatic by the sight, you asked, “Oh, is it just us?”

Remus chuckled softly. “I invited you to study, not our entire year.”

A subtle blush dusted your cheeks.

“Oh… I just… You’re usually…” you mumbled.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. There was that easy smile again. “Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I assumed you’d rather have a more private table.” He paused as he watched your face for a change in expression. “We can move to a different table, if you’d like.”

Your blush became more prominent. He actually put thought into what table you’d like to study at? 

“Oh, no, no. This is good. You’re right. I study better when there’s less people around.”

“Helps with focusing, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” you breathed as you placed your things on the table.

His smile grew. He pulled out your chair and helped you in before taking his own seat. The two of you worked diligently in silence for a while. Every once in a while he stopped and watched you work; he loved the face you made when you focused so deeply that nothing around you could catch your attention. 

“What’d you think of Slughorn’s lecture today?” he asked.

“Hm?” You looked up from your assignment and processed what he had asked. “Kind of repetitive, if I’m honest. I guess some students need the review though…”

“Glad it wasn’t just me,” he smirked. “Good thing there are some pretty distractions in that class.”

You gave him a curious look as you repeated, “Pretty distractions?”

“You know,” he said, resting his elbow on the table, “the same pretty distraction that I have Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Defense with.”

You bit your lip. You had those classes with him.

“Believe it or not, saw that same distraction on the stairs a few weeks ago. Strange how she travels…”

Oh. oh. You blushed furiously before turning your attention back to your assignment. Remus Lupin was not flirting with you. There was no way. 

He let you return to your work, watching you sort through your thoughts for a minute before returning to his own. Once again, you worked in tandem. After a while, you started yawning. You cleaned up your stuff, which caught Remus attention. 

“This was nice,” he said as he started to gather his own things. “I’d like to study with you more, if you’ll have me.”

If you’ll have me. 

“Same time tomorrow?” you offered.

“Same time tomorrow.”

As he watched you leave the library, all Remus could think about was getting you to come out of that shell of yours. Maybe then he’d be able to ask you out on a date. 

[cutielando]

runaway bride | charles leclerc

synopsis: in which he saves you from making a mistake

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

The soft music echoed through the church hall, making you let out a deep breath.

There you stood, in front of the huge double oak doors, waiting for the moment to finally walk down the aisle and marry Aiden, your boyfriend of 2 years.

After you had broken up with Charles, you didn't think you would ever find the same kind of love again. The bond that you shared with the Monegasque was something so strong and beautiful, you thought it was for life.

Then, you met Aiden.

He was sweet, kind, understanding, loving. He was an incredible guy, a guy who took care of you, who respected you and who made sure you were safe and taken care of.

However, deep into your heart, you knew the truth that nobody could ever change: he wasn't Charles.

He didn't make you feel the same things that Charles could, he didn't make you feel alive, like every fiber of your being was on fire, he wasn't as passionate and intense as Charles was.

He was just...Aiden.

But you felt comfort that you hadn't felt in a long time, which was the primary reason why you had accepted his proposal. He offered you safety, offered you comfort and stability.

You would learn how to truly love him down the line.

Or so you tried to convince yourself whenever you would get cold feet about going through with the wedding.

"Are you ready?" your father's voice suddenly pulled you back to reality, the oak doors now open, the entire hall looking at the two of you.

You smiled tightly and nodded, looping your arm through his as you slowly started walking towards the aisle.

Watching all the guests around you, a sort of guilt settled deep inside of your gut.

All these people, all of your families having gathered here today to watch you and Aiden get married, watching you supposedly seal your fate and look to a 'happy' future with him.

Not knowing that, deep inside, you knew it was anything but that.

Upon reaching the altar, your father gave you away to Aiden, who took your hand and helped you up the steps.

"You look beautiful" he whispered, his eyes twinkling.

You smiled, trying to make it look as natural as possible.

He didn't deserve this, you knew that. He deserved to be getting married to someone who truly loved him, who wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

But that person wasn't you, and it was probably very selfish of you to go through with the wedding while knowing that your heart belonged to someone else.

What choice did you have, though?

All of these people, your entire families, waiting for this day for months. Aiden, finally happy to have found his one true love.

How could you possibly ruin that?

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to the wedding of Y/N Y/LN and Aiden Becker" the bishop started, prompting the entire wedding hall to sit down and listen with eager.

You didn't hear anything else after that, your feelings all over the place as you looked anywhere but Aiden's eyes.

The church was silent, all oblivious to the internal turmoil you were having before their eyes. Your mother couldn't keep her eyes off of you, and once you had made eye contact with her, you could have sworn that she nodded slightly, a look of understanding in her eyes.

She knew, probably better than anyone, about your conflicting feelings for both Aiden and Charles. She knew how hard it was for you when you and Charles broke up, and she knew that Aiden would never measure up to the way Charles made you feel. She was your mother, after all. She knew you better than anyone.

Out of the corner of your eye, suddenly, you saw movement at the far end of the room, right by the big oak doors you had walked through mere moments before.

Your heart started beating out of your chest as you saw who it was.

Him.

He was standing there in a clad black Ferrari suit, his hands in his pockets, not moving an inch.

Your eyes widened slightly, fixated on his figure standing a mere few feet away from you. He didn't make any move to walk closer, to actually enter the church hall.

He just stood there, his eyes widening in awe as he took you in, tears slowly welling up in his eyes.

Your stomach was in shambles as you couldn't tear your eyes away from him. He was just as beautiful as you had remembered, his eyes just as kind as they used to be.

All kinds of emotions were running through you, making your head spin and your nerves go into overdrive.

Why did he do this? Why did he show up on what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life? Why did he have to show up at your wedding?

Maybe because he knew you would leave Aiden behind and run to him, you thought to yourself.

"Y/N? Is everything okay?" the priest's voice suddenly made you whip your head around.

The entire hall was staring at you, Aiden looked concerned and was looking at you with a worried expression, and nobody had seemed to have seen Charles standing right outside the doors.

"I, um, I..." you croaked, not being able to find your words.

You looked around once again, Charles' figure giving you a sad smile before he slowly began to retreat, up until he was now out of sight.

Desperately searching for a sign on what to do, your eyes gravitated towards your mother, hoping you would be able to communicate with her through your eyes.

And there she was, smiling subtly at you, her eyes sparkling as she gave you a very tiny nod.

That was all the confirmation that you had needed.

You looked back at Aiden, who had an expression like he knew exactly what was about to happen and he knew it had been a long time coming.

"I'm so sorry, Aiden" you whispered, slowly letting go of his hands before you sprinted out of the church hall, leaving behind you dozens of shocked guests.

You quickly ran out of the church, bursting through the front doors and stepping out into the warm summer day.

And then, there he was.

Leaning against his car right in front of the church, his hands crossed against his chest.

And he was smiling.

For a little while, neither of you knew what to say. You had just left your future husband at the altar for him, and he had just shown up at his ex-girlfriend's wedding.

What could a person even say in this situation?

"What are you doing here?" that was the best you could muster up, your voice not louder than a soft whisper.

Charles could only imagine how you must be feeling.

Years after you guys broke up, on the happiest day of your new life, he decides to show up. He knew it was going to be a very long shot, and he was aware that it was extremely rude of him to be showing up at your wedding.

But he couldn't help himself.

He couldn't bear the thought of ever seeing you married to someone else, someone who wasn't him.

Just like he couldn't bear not being with you any longer.

"I couldn't let you go through with the wedding" he said, his expression now somber.

He knew he was already pushing his luck, but he had already ruined your wedding. What more harm could he do?

Dozens of emotions were cursing through your veins, some of which you couldn't even identify.

Hurt? Anger? Disbelief? Disappointment in yourself? Longing for what you once had with Charles? Guilt over a thrown-away future with a great man?

But even in the midst of all the confusing emotions, there was one that stood out between the sea of doubt, clear like a new day.

Your unwavering love for Charles.

A feeling that has not changed from the beginning.

"Why now?" you whispered, your shoulders sagging in defeat.

There was no point in trying to act like you weren't so glad to see him, like your heart wasn't beating out of your chest as you stood in front of him, like you weren't dying to be in his arms after such a long time.

Charles sighed and pushed himself off the car, taking a few steps closer to you until he was almost chest-to-chest with you.

Your breath hitched as you felt the warmth of his body against yours for the first time in years. You had missed it so much, so much more than you had ever admitted to yourself.

"I've spent the past couple of years kicking myself for making the mistake of pushing you away from me. I've never forgiven myself for the way our relationship ended, and I don't think I'll ever be able to put into words just how sorry I am. The moment I found out you were marrying someone else, I couldn't not do anything. I know I sound selfish, and I know it's not fair of me to barge in like this, but if there was even a tiny chance that you might still feel the same way about me, I had to take it" he said, and as you stared into his eyes, you couldn't see even a sign of dishonesty.

He was being real, he was being brutally honest, probably more honest than he had ever been with you before.

And he was completely right, which was probably the worst thing about the whole situation. He was right, you did still love him just as deeply as you had before. And deep down, you probably had hoped that he would show up and save you from making a mistake by marrying Aiden.

"You've always had a flair for the dramatic, you know" you said, hoping the joke would lighten up the atmosphere.

Charles chuckled, nodding his head. He looked up at you again, his eyes sparkling with a sliver of hope.

"Do you want to go somewhere quiet and talk about this?" he asked, a deeper, hidden meaning planted behind his words.

You drew in a breath, but didn't feel any pain or heaviness in your chest. All you felt was peace, peace and love for the man standing right before you.

"Yeah, I'd like that" you said, smiling before giving him your hand, which he gladly took.

And that's how you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of his Ferrari, his hand tightly holding onto yours, driving away from the church and ceremony that was supposed to change your life.

But why change it when you had everything you had ever wanted for, right in this car?

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pairing : husband!sunghoon x female!reader

synopsis : you and sunghoon are a newlywed couple. you're on a flight back from your honeymoon.

word count : 1k

the airplane hummed softly as it soared through the night sky. the quiet murmur of passengers filled the background but all you could focus on was the warmth of your husband beside you. sunghoon was fast asleep, his head slightly tilted toward you, his breath slow and even. the soft glow from the overhead light cast delicate shadows on his face, highlighting his breathtaking features.

your eyes landed on his eyebrows first. thick and well-shaped, resting in a slight furrow even in sleep. they framed his face so perfectly, adding depth to his already stunning expression. how many times had you admired them before? yet every time, they captivated you anew.

then your gaze dropped to his delicate eyelashes. they fanned over his cheeks, brushing against his smooth skin. you had always been envious of them. naturally curled, so effortlessly beautiful. every time he blinked, they fluttered in a way that slowed time itself. you often found yourself staring at them even when he was awake, hypnotized by their gentle movement.

your eyes moved lower, catching sight of the tiny mole adorning his nose. it was just a small detail, something others might not even notice but to you, it was a mark of perfection. you had memorized its placement, your fingers tracing it absentmindedly whenever you cupped his face. it was uniquely his and you adored it.

his nose. straight and elegant with a slight upturn at the tip had its own charm. you loved the way it scrunched ever so slightly when he was deep in thought or how it flared subtly when he was flustered. every little nuance, every habit, every expression of his was something that made your heart swell with love.

and then his lips. full, soft, slightly parted. they held the sweetest memories. your first kiss, the gentle pecks he pressed against your forehead. his lips had always been warm.

a small smile tugged at your lips as you sighed softly. it had only been a few weeks since you had married him yet every day still felt like a dream. waking up to him, feeling his arms wrap around you instinctively in his sleep, hearing the soft murmur of his voice in the morning. it was still surreal.

marriage had always seemed like something in the far off future, something you'd one day experience but never quite imagined so soon. but when sunghoon had stood at the end of that aisle, his eyes brimming with love, you knew, without a doubt that there was no one else you would rather spend eternity with.

the past few weeks had been a whirlwind of happiness. stolen kisses, shared laughter and whispered "i love you" in the quiet spaces between moments. you still couldn't believe that you were the one who got to love him for the rest of your life, that you got to call him yours. the depth of love you felt for him was overwhelming at times but it was the most beautiful feeling you had ever known.

your eyes wandered to his hand resting between you. his fingers were curled into a loose fist, his knuckles relaxed. you tilted your head slightly, charmed by how childlike he looked even in sleep. the way he fisted his hand was so endearing that you let out a small, breathy laugh.

slowly, you reached out, brushing your fingers against his before carefully unfisting his hand. his fingers uncurled one by one under your touch, his palm opening completely in your grasp. you traced the delicate lines of his palm, running your fingertips along the creases before pressing your own palm against his. his hand was larger and warm yet when your fingers intertwined, they fit together so perfectly. like your fingers were made for each other.

you playfully fisted his hand back, watching as his fingers folded into his palm again. then you straightened them, curling them in different directions, tapping the tips, pressing them down, intertwining them with yours, repeating the process all over again. it was silly, maybe even childish but it filled your heart with warmth and joy.

unbeknownst to you, sunghoon had woken up the moment you started playing with his fingers. at first, he thought of opening his eyes to tease you about it but as he felt your touch, he decided to stay still. there was something so intimate about the way you traced his fingers as if you were trying to memorize every ridge and curve. it made his heart melt in a way he couldn't describe.

but when your hand stilled, your breathing evening out as sleep took over, he finally opened his eyes. his gaze softened as it landed on you, his beautiful wife, sleeping so peacefully beside him.

his eyes traced your features, admiration flooding his heart. your eyebrows, so soft and delicate framed your face in a way that made you look ethereal. then his gaze dropped to your eyelashes resting gently against your cheeks. he had always loved your eyes and the way they sparkled when you laughed.

and your lips. slightly parted just like his had been. he knew those lips better than anything else. the way they curved when you smiled, the way they trembled when you cried, the way they felt against his when you kissed.

a soft breath escaped him as he smiled. even now, he still couldn't believe that you were his. that he got to wake up next to you every morning, that he got to hold you close whenever the world felt overwhelming, that he got to spend forever with you.

marriage had been an unfamiliar concept to him before, something he never fully grasped until you. but now, it was the most natural thing in the world. you were his home, his safe place, his greatest love. and he would spend the rest of his life making sure you knew that.

he could have watched you sleep for hours, memorizing every delicate feature, every peaceful breath, every tiny shift in expression. but instead, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered the words he would never tire of saying.

"i love you baby"

then with the gentlest touch, he pressed a soft kiss against your cheek.

[holyblonded]

dia de las madres | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: you sneak around for the ultimate mother’s day surprise for alexia

warnings: no clue but why does the graphic look like that 😭

notes: in honor of alexia’s birthday enjoy this fic before sunday

"The wooden or the black?"

"Mhm... let me see them both at the same time."

"What's going on here?" Alexia asked. She spent the last five minutes of her morning trying to listen into her girlfriend and teen's conversation. Their hushed whispers made Alexia feel concerned, the feeling was not settled by both of them jumping at the sound of her voice.

"Ale," Olga smiled as you turned your phone off and sent an innocent smile to Alexia. "Did you cut your run off early?"

Alexia shook her head, squinting her eyes at the way you squirmed under her gazed. "Sí. I had a bad feeling and it seems I am right. What are the two of you hiding?"

Before either could answer, Alexia's phone rang with a familiar ringtone. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as you recognized the ringtone as Eli's. Alexia sighed before answering, "Hola, mamí."

As soon as Alexia answered her phone, you and Olga shared a look before making your escape.

“Go, go, go,” she whispered, nudging you toward the hallway.

You darted around the corner, trying to keep your footsteps light, while Olga followed a second later, smoothly pulling the bedroom door shut behind her.

Back in the kitchen, Alexia narrowed her eyes as she listened to Eli talk. Something felt… off. The apartment had been way too quiet the last few seconds.

She glanced toward the now-empty living room, her lips pressing together.

“Mami, te llamo luego (i’ll call you later),” she murmured into the phone before hanging up.

Silence.

Alexia’s eyes flicked to the hallway. She knew better than to assume innocence. “Estrellita? Olga?” she called out.

No answer.

Narrowing her eyes, she slowly made her way toward the bedrooms.

Meanwhile, inside your room, you and Olga sat cross-legged on the floor, the glow of your phone the woodshop website.

“Okay, so, wooden or black?” you whispered, scrolling through the options.

Olga hummed, tilting her head. “Wood feels more like her.”

“That’s what I thought,” you muttered. You hesitated for a second before clicking on the customization tab. “And the engraving?”

Olga smirked. “You already know what you want, don’t you?”

You bit your lip but nodded, typing out the words carefully.

Just then, both of you froze at the sound of footsteps outside the door.

Olga’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

“Act natural,” you hissed, scrambling to turn your phone screen off.

The footsteps paused right outside.

“Estrelleta?”

You and Olga sat completely still, staring at the door like two deer caught in headlights.

Alexia lingered for a moment before sighing. “If you two are up to something, I’ll find out eventually,” she muttered before walking away.

You waited a few more seconds before exhaling. “That was close.”

Olga grinned, nudging you playfully. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

You smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

With the crisis averted, you turned back to your phone, your fingers hovering over the final confirmation button.

“Wood it is,” you whispered, clicking purchase.

Lucy, Mapi, and Alexia watched as you completed the extra laps as Vicky teased you from the sidelines.

"Capi, you do know Estrellita hasn't done anything today, sí?" Mapi asked for clarification. "She was actually on her best behavior."

"Sí... but her and Olga are keeping a secret." Alexia explained and if you looked closely, you could see the pout on her face.

"So you are mad that a teenager is keeping a secret from her guardian?" Lucy asked, following Mapi's lead. "Isn't that all they do?"

"Sí, again but-"

Mapi cut her friend off, "So what is the problem? She's just being a teen and isn't that the goal? Also, what happened to not letting her be punished for things she did at home here?"

Alexia closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh, muttering profanities under her breath. Much to her annoyance, both Lucy and Mapi were right. "Nena!" She shouted, causing you to stop mid jog and look over. "Laps are over, go clean up we're going home."

Your face broke out into a gleam, you ran towards Mapi and Lucy to place a kiss on their cheeks in thanks before going to the locker room.

Alexia glared at the two defenders proud, accomplished expressions on their face. "I don't like you two."

"Love you too, Ale."

The secrecy didn't end there, no. In fact, it only became worse specifically at Sunday dinner with Eli and Alba. Unfortunately Olga was in Madrid for a work trip and couldn't join, therefore she couldn't distract Alexia.

"Go to the family room and the box near the fireplace-" You, Eli, and Alba stood in the kitchen plotting together. The sight would've brought a tear to her eye if she didn't know they were talking about her.

"Again! Seriously?" Alexia complained, a serious sense of deja vu washing over her. "What's up with everybody lately?"

Eli gently shoved you and Alba in the direction of the family room, you desperately trying to avoid Alexia's piercing gaze.

"Hija, it's nothing. Si us plau, aneu a la cuina i comproveu la paella per mi, d'acord (please go in the kitchen and check on the paella for me, okay)?" Eli question truly left no room for negotiation so Alexia sighed and went to check on dinner. Eli peaked into the family room to check on you and Alba before going into the kitchen to distract her eldest daughter.

As soon as Alexia disappeared into the kitchen, you and Alba sprung into action.

“Quick, before she comes back,” Alba whispered, leading the way into the family room.

You crouched in front of the fireplace, glancing over your shoulder like a criminal about to commit a heist. “Are you sure it’s in here?”

“Mami said it should be in the wooden box at the bottom,” Alba murmured, already sifting through the neatly stacked albums and trinkets.

Your fingers brushed against cool wood, and you carefully pulled out the small, slightly worn box. The two of you exchanged a glance before you slowly lifted the lid.

“Got it,” Alba whispered, her eyes scanning the contents. “It should be in here somewhere.”

Before you could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway.

“Shit!” you hissed, shoving the box into Alba’s hands and scrambling to look casual.

Alexia appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “What are you two doing?”

Alba, ever the quick thinker, didn’t miss a beat. “Looking for old photos! We thought it’d be nice to go through some memories while we wait for dinner.”

Alexia’s gaze flicked between the two of you, clearly unconvinced. “And you needed to whisper about it?”

“Nostalgia is a sacred thing,” you blurted out.

Alba coughed to cover her laugh, but Alexia just sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I swear, between you, Olga, and my own mother, I’m starting to feel like I’m the outsider in my own family.”

“Hija, stop being dramatic and come set the table!” Eli’s voice floated in from the kitchen, perfectly timed.

Alexia huffed, clearly still suspicious but too distracted to push further. “Fine, but I know you two are up to something.”

The second she was gone, you and Alba exhaled in unison.

“That was way too close,” you muttered, heart still racing.

Alba grinned, slipping the box behind her back. “But we got it. Now we just have to keep her from figuring it out.”

You groaned, already dreading the challenge. “That’s impossible.”

“Then it’ll be fun,” Alba teased before the two of you headed back toward the dining room, acting as if nothing had happened at all.

"Amor! Estrellita and I are going to the market. Breakfast is in the microwave don't wait up!" Olga called out before closing the front door.

Just like that her plan was in effect, Alexia came out of their bedroom dressed in all black with sunglasses on. She had to do this mission alone, she had no one to trust. Not even Alba.

She checked the AirTag she hide in Olga's car and saw she started driving prompting Alexia to run to her car and follow.

Alexia gripped the steering wheel tightly, her jaw set as she trailed a cautious distance behind Olga's car. The AirTag on her phone displayed the tiny moving dot that marked their location, and she couldn't help but feel her chest tighten with every turn Olga took.

"Market, huh?" Alexia muttered under her breath, the words bitter as they left her mouth. Dressed inconspicuously in black and sunglasses, she blended into the sea of traffic, her every move deliberate.

As the car in front turned down a quiet street, Alexia slowed, careful not to draw attention. Her pulse quickened when she saw the destination: a modern building with large glass windows and a sign that read "Martorell & Son Law."

"Why are they at our lawyers office?" Alexia murmured, parking her car just far enough away to remain hidden.

She adjusted her sunglasses and leaned forward, her eyes glued to you and Olga as the pair stepped out of the car. Olga seemed calm, her arm around your shoulder as the walk to the building got shorter.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as Alexia waited. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, her mind racing with possibilities.

Finally, the two emerged from the building. Alexia straightened in her seat, her heart thudding against her ribs. Olga held a stack of papers in her hand, her expression unreadable. Estelle walked beside her, her face serious but calm.

Then, to Alexia's surprise, Olga stopped, turned to you, and pulled you into a tight hug. The embrace was warm, heartfelt—Olga resting her chin on your shoulder as she held you close. You clung back, your taller frame wrapped in Olga's arms.

Alexia's stomach churned as she watched from the car. Something was happening—something important—and she was on the outside, left to piece it together from scraps.

"Bon día!"

"Feliz Día de la Madre (Happy Mother's Day)!"

The shouts from you and Olga woke Alexia out of her slumber.

"Huh, what?"

You stepped up, a tray in your hands filled with Alexia's favorite breakfast foods wearing a nervous smile. Alexia's silence only made the girl more nervous.

"Sorry," You set the tray down next to Alexia. "I knew I shouldn't hav-"

You were cut off by Alexia's arms wrapping around you and pulling you on to the bed. Your head fell into Alexia's neck as you returned the hug. "Estrelleta, it's perfect. Thank you."

"Estrelleta, it's perfect. Thank you," Alexia murmured into your hair, her arms wrapped tightly around you. Her words eased the nervous knot in your stomach as you relaxed into her embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your cheek.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her face. She's still groggy, her hair sticking up in a way that makes you want to laugh, but the soft smile on her face tells you everything you need to know. She's happy.

"There's, um... more," you say, reaching for the small wrapped gift sitting on the tray. Your fingers hesitate for a second before you thrust it toward her. "Here."

Alexia raises an eyebrow but takes the gift. Her fingers carefully undo the wrapping, and when she pulls out the picture frame, her expression shifts from curiosity to something much softer, almost fragile.

The first photo is of her and her dad, a much younger Alexia grinning from ear to ear with a peewee soccer trophy in her hands. Her dad's arm is around her, matching her smile with one of his own.

The second photo is newer—of you and Alexia in your Barça jerseys, confetti raining down around you both as you clutch the Champions League trophy together.

"You like it?" you ask, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

She doesn't answer immediately. Instead, her thumb brushes over the glass, lingering on the photo of her dad, and then she looks up at you. Her eyes glisten, but the smile on her face is brighter than you've ever seen it.

"M'agrada molt," she says softly. "I love it, Estrelleta. Thank you." (I like it a lot.)

Before you can respond, Olga clapped her hands together. "Estrellita, mi nena, don't you want the give her the other gift too?"

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. "Olga!"

"Estrellita..." Olga gave you an eyebrow raise that made you shrink into yourself.

Alexia looks between the two of you, her brows furrowing in confusion. "What's going on?"

With an exasperated sigh, you reach for the envelope you'd hidden under the tray. You hold it out to Alexia, your hands shaking slightly. "Okay, um... so I wasn't sure if this was a good idea, but Olga said it was, and I hope you think so too, and—"

"Estrelleta," Alexia interrupts, her voice gentle. "Breathe."

You nod, inhaling deeply, and Alexia takes the envelope from you. She opens it slowly, her eyes scanning the papers inside.

When she realizes what she's holding, she freezes. Her gaze snaps back to you, and you feel your heart pounding in your chest.

"Are these..." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"Adoption papers," you confirm, biting your lip nervously. "I mean, if you want to. You've already been, like... the best mom I could ever have, actually the best mom I've ever had, so I thought maybe..."

Your words trail off as Alexia pulls you into another hug, this one tighter than the first. She doesn't say anything, but you can feel her tears soaking into your shirt as she holds you close.

Olga, standing in the doorway, claps her hands together. "Okay, I'm crying. Someone needs to bring me tissues. This is too much."

But you don't care about Olga's commentary. All you care about is the way Alexia's arms feel around you, the way her voice shakes when she finally whispers, "Yes. A thousand times, yes."

[kawoala]

howdy!!!! i’d like to place my order at meeyas diner.

mm, for a burger, could I get haikyuu + kuroo tetsuro? (surprise)

sides, hm… could I get something silly and sweet, like curling up on the couch, brushing teeth together, etc??? just domestic shenanigans.

for a drink, i’d like roommates to lovers, if it’s in stock. also, could I get that traditional? thanks! mwah mwah (also this event is sooo freaking cute btw)

HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE; kuroo tetsuro. burger—haikyuu. drink—roommates to lovers.

contents word count ; 855. sickfic. howl’s moving castle mentioned. kuroo is a good friend. also yaku + kenma mentioned.

authors notes LOVE ME A GOOD SICKFIC!! idk if i made kuroo like. accurate but i tried my hardest!! i was going to include a confession at first, but it kind of just went the it went yk? had a mind of its own.

KUROO TETSURO is nothing if not a good person. you’ve only known him for about two years, lived with him for even less, and yet you know that he’s a good person.

he’s the kind of friend to show up at your job with a bento full of your favorite food, the practice excuse of i was nearby rolling off his tongue easily. yaku had been having a hard time adjusting to his new university team, and kuroo really wanted him to make some friends, so he made enough for yaku to share.

he’s also the kind of friend to show up to your apartment unannounced, groceries in hand, ready to make dinner. kenma had been doing his annual 24-hour stream and kuroo noticed he was strictly eating ramen. you’d been creeping on the comment as kuroo was cooking, and they were filled with feral teenage girls talking about how good his forearms looked with his sleeves rolled up.

and, thankfully, he’s the kind of friend to call off work the second he notices you’re sick—even if you beg him not to. today, his counter argument was, “i don’t even wanna go to work, though. plus, i think i’m getting a little warm. feel my forehead; do i have a fever? oh god, i can feel it settling in, y/n. death, knocking at my door.”

and then he flopped down on you, draping his arm over his eyes in a dramatic gesture. 

so, now, you’re here; curled up on the couch, shared blanket pulled up to your chin, howl’s moving castle playing on the TV. kuroo sits beside you, work clothes long gone, replaced by his favorite hoodie and a pair of sweats. early, you’d briefly wondered how he could look good even in clothes like that, but shook the thought away quickly.

you can not be thinking of your roommate like that.

an empty bowl that once had soup in it sits abandoned on the coffee table, along with two mugs of tea. you didn’t want him to stay home at first, but after getting special treatment, you’re glad he did. 

you haven’t been watching the movie for long. sophie is just now meeting howl again, a scene that didn’t make sense to you the first time you watched it, but did after watching it again. you glance over at kuroo again—you’ve tried to stop, but can’t—and notice his brows are furrowed.

you nudge him with your foot until he looks over, face relaxing into a small smile. you tilt your head. “why do you look so confused?” you ask, voice raspy and thick with sickness.

he glances at the TV, then back at you. “why did howl do that? like, pretend to be sophie’s boyfriend or husband, or whatever?” he gestures vaguely with his hand. “couldn’t he have just been, like, ‘hey, stop messing with that girl,’ or something?”

“what? no, of course not. that scene practically makes the whole movie. haven’t you ever watched this before?” it’s your turn to furrow your brows.

he simply shakes his head and your jaw drops. you sit up properly now, blanket falling off the too half of your torso. “what? what are you talking about?” he awkwardly looks to the side. “you’ve never watched this? howl’s moving castle—never watched it?”

again, he shakes his head. “never,” he confirms. “i’ve heard of it, because of you, but i’ve never had the chance to watch it.” he pauses, then smirks and shrugs. “too much big boy work to do, i guess.”

you narrow your eyes for a moment, then playfully roll them. you settle back into your spot again, adjusting the blanket once more, and sigh. “that was sexist. also, i watched it when i was a kid.”

“hey, that was not sexist, c’mon.” you can tell he’s trying to get your attention again—he always sounds the same when trying to get someones attention. “hello-o-o,” he sings out, leaning closer to you.

you still don’t answer him, opting to stare at the screen of the TV. you’re not really paying attention to it, but you hope you at least look like you are.

the couch dips right beside you and kuroo is suddenly hovering over you, staring at the side of your face. “i want being sexist,” he says. “i love women.”

“oh, please.” you almost snort. “you haven’t been on a date for, like, four months.”

all you get is a hum in response. he plops back down with a sigh and you keep your eyes on the TV. after a beat of silence, you look over at him.

“hey.” again, you nudge him with your foot. “thanks for staying home today. and making food for me. i really appreciate you.”

for a solid second, the look in his eyes is unreadable. usually, you can tell what he’s thinking like he’s speaking into your mind himself—it’s been that way since you first moved in together. something just clicked between you two. but now, you can’t tell.

“yeah, whatever.” he laughs and shoves your legs away playfully, not bothering to fight the smile on his face.

[lokidjarin-7567]

Can you write a fanfic (only if you're comfortable of course) pairing kang dae-ho x f!reader, during the lights out. Basically they've developed a really strong connection since the beggining, and she's sleeping next to him while he's looking out for others (ok he's just basically watching you sleep). But you shift your position while sleeping and he sees sh scars on your wrist, and folds your sleeves and he sees multiple cuts and scars. You wake up from the motions and you see him with teary eyes and then you start to cry a lot, like having a panic attack and he comforts you and it's just a lot of fluff basically. (the reason from your cuts can be because you're deeply depressed and you're coping that way since you're 15 but at 21 you still do it)

But, if you don't feel comfortable writing about sh can you please write one also during the light out when dae-ho is on the look out and the reader is trying to sleep, but she's so scared of what's going to happen that she starts crying, he notices it, she has a panic attack and he pulls her to his lap comforting her (again really fluffy).

I'm almost one year clean so I was craving this kind of comfort, thank you <3

Your wish is my command 🫡 (sorry so cheesy)

Creature Comforts

Kang Dae-ho x reader

CW: mentions of self harm, please please do not read if you’re not comfortable with this!!, fluff and comfort

So happy to get this request - my first one!! Please send any in if you have them, I love writing them <3 And please message me if you’re having thoughts about SH or struggling with it at all, my DMs are always open 🩷

Masterlist | AO3

She looked so peaceful when she slept. She was curled up on the mattress beside where he was keeping guard, her chest rising and falling with each breath. It was mesmerising. Her hair was fanned out across the pillow, some straying into her face, strands lying delicately on her cheek. The lower half of her body was covered with a thin blanket, her top half cuddled into her jumper.

He had never seen her this calm. They had gotten close quickly in these games - the fear and horror acting as a catalyst for friendship - and he found himself getting protective over her fast. They’d first met after the first game, when Thanos and his lackey had approached her to join their little group, and he’d felt the inexplicable urge to tell him she was already spoken for. Surprisingly, she agreed with him quickly, saying she had already made her allies and hurried quickly away from that purple-haired joke. She thanked him wholeheartedly when they were out of earshot, confirming that there was something about him that made her uncomfortable so she appreciated being saved (her words, not his.) They had been inseparable since - sharing meals, sticking together in games, voting together, even bunking next to each other. When Gi-hun said that two people should always be keeping watch tonight, they didn’t even have to say they would take their shift together - it was just assumed.

But when the time came, he couldn’t bring himself to wake her up. She looked ethereal in the dim light of the room, her hair like a halo, the sound of her breathing a symphony to his ears. Soothing. He could watch her for hours, totally enthralled and at peace. His hand moved to brush a piece of hair from her face, feeling the softness of the lock between his fingers, fingertips lingering just a moment too long on the soft skin of her cheek. So he just sat beside her. He wasn’t tired yet; he could take her shift. Anything to protect her really. A few extra hours can be the difference between life and death here.

The rise and fall of her body suddenly changed rhythm, a deep sigh escaping her lips. She rolled over in her sleep to face him, and he held his breath, scared that the smallest shift might wake her. She settled back in quickly though, and he watched with a soft smile as her arms fell beside her body, head snuggling into the pillow.

He wanted to wake up like this every morning, hearing her gentle sighs and soft snores, to see the peace on her face before she woke. He had only known her a few days, but it felt like a lifetime when they spent every minute fearing for their life. He felt so unbelievably protective of her so fast. He didn’t think she was incapable of handling herself - she’d proven the opposite through this ordeal. But he didn’t want her to have to worry about that ever again. As soon as they were out of there, he would do anything to make sure she wasn’t scared ever again.

Her hair had fallen across her face again, and in the dim light, he worked carefully to move it, tucking it gently behind her ear. Then he noticed her blankets falling down a little, pooling around her waist, so he pulled it up to her shoulders. Then the cuff of her jacket was slipping, so he gently grabbed the fabric, moving to fix her sleeve, when he noticed something. There were a few scars there, barely noticeable in the dim light of the room, so he allowed his curiosity and protective nature get the better of him. Ever so cautiously, he slipped her sleeve down just a little, just enough to see the scars that littered her forearms. Some were newer than others, others long since healed, but they were unmistakable.

His heart hurt for her. Life in these games was hard enough, but he could only imagine what awaited her outside to have to…

He wasn’t sure what to do. If he addressed it, he might lose her trust. She might get embarrassed that he knew and withdraw. If he didn’t, and she somehow worked out that he knew, she would think he didn’t care.

It wasn’t something he understood completely - a few of his friends from the military struggled with self-harm, but he didn’t tend to ask them too many questions. They had PTSD, so maybe she had that too? Or something else that was making her hurt badly enough to… all he really knew was that she didn’t have any healthy avenues to alleviate her stress and emotion. He wanted to help, to hold her and tell her everything would always be okay around him, that she shouldn’t ever hurt herself again… but he knew that was condescending and naive. What he really needed to do was let her talk to him if he wanted, listen, and if there was anyway she wanted him to help, he would…

His plans were foiled though, as she woke slowly, eyes blinking open. He was lost in thought, fingers still hooked around her cuff, and he was frozen as her eyes widened, locking on her arms and where his skin was against her. She started to back away, shuffling quickly as she adjusted, fear taking over her features.

“What’re you…” she muttered quietly, pulling her sleeves back to her hands as tears started to form in her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he blurted out quickly, face turning red. “You turned over and I saw something so I was curious, I didn’t mean to wake you I… I’m so sorry.” She had pulled her knees to her chest, shaking slightly. “Hey, listen to me, it’s ok, it’s all ok, I…” he slowed down when he realised she was crying, her whole body heaving with deep, pained breaths, her hands fisting the blankets around her. He muttered her name quietly, but she didn’t respond, her legs falling down as her breathing got more and more erratic.

Oh God, he’d ruined everything.

***

It had happened so quickly. One minute you were asleep, the next, you opened your eyes to see Dae-ho beside you. At first, you were happy just to see him, his face and demeanour and everything about him a comfort to you throughout this game. Then you noticed the way he was looking at you. A mixture of pain and confusion and worry was contorted across his face, and then you saw where he was looking.

Your sleeve must had rolled in your sleep, and he was looking at your now bare wrist, his fingers softly brushing against it. You snatched her arm away quickly, fear clouding your mind as you shuffled back.

He had seen.

Oh God, I’ve ruined everything.

There was no questioning that fact. He knew. One of your deepest secrets, one of the things you were most ashamed of. And now, the person you trusted most in here knew. What would he think? Would he view you differently? As weak? As insane? As someone who didn’t deserve to be here around people who wanted to live more than you?

All you had ever wanted was to be seen as normal. And however awful this place was, you finally had that. You had found someone who viewed you as an equal, an ally even. You weren’t the unstable girl who cut herself, or the friend no one could rely on due to unpredictable bouts of depression or anxiety, or the shitty daughter who kept to herself. You were helpful, normal even. But now?

You hadn’t noticed your breathing start to shallow until it was too late. Your vision started to go fuzzy, mind screaming that you’d let someone too close, that they would never see you the same and it was all your fault. Again.

You heard him call your name, but it felt far away, like you were trapped in a bubble and everything outside was muffled. You were paralysed with an inexplicable terror, tears streaming down your face.

Unsurprisingly, given where you were, it wasn’t the first time you’d had a panic attack in front of him. They’d been pretty consistent, after every game, during some, but now, somehow this was the worst. For some reason, someone truly knowing you was scarier than the prospect of looming death.

It took a while for your vision to come back into focus, and when it did, all you could see was his face.

“Hey, look at me, breathe, ok? Here…” he carefully placed his hand on yours, and when you didn’t pull away, picked it up and held it to his chest. “Follow my breaths, ok? In….” You did your best to follow along, stuttering slightly, but he smiled ever so softly even if you weren’t doing it perfectly. “Good, and out..” He repeated the motion a few times, and you followed until your breathing was steady enough to talk. “There we go.” He muttered gently, a hand straying to your face to wipe away the tears that had fallen.

“I’m so sorry, Dae-ho…” it was all you could choke out, already close to tears again, but he shushed you quickly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s none of my business, but I need you to know that I would never judge you… not for anything. Especially not for something that isn’t your fault.”

“Of course it is, I…”

“It’s not. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault. You’re doing your best and I’m here for you. As long as you know that, that’s all that matters.” You were crying again, his words a comfort you had never heard before. Not a moment after the first tear fell his arms were around you, pulling you tight to him and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t even speak to thank him, so you squeezed his arm instead, feeling him smile into the top of your head. You had never felt so much kindness before, so much understanding… and maybe it said something about the people around you, but you couldn’t think about that. Right now, all you could think about was the way he was holding you close, the way his breaths aligned with yours, and the way he made you feel like everything was actually going to be ok.

[paperyowl]

This is a weird ask. Feel free to ignore it.

But post breakup Buck staring at Rockon thinking Tommy has a date with this hot silver daddy (he ain't blind) and confronted them cos he's jealous to find out he was wrong. They bought him home for either a threesome (cos David never had one) or maybe just cuddles cos looks at the sad puppy and doting on Buck.

(what buck doesn't know is that Donovan is Tommy's cousin with a hilarious sense of humor who texted him the very next day to collect his man cos he ain't sharing his daddy with his cousin's ex no matter how pretty he is)

It's not weird at all. I love the idea! And I have two vastly different thoughts for this - lets go with this one for now. (I might have changed it a little bit - but I definitely need that threesome happening sometime still.)

+++

Pick up, idiot.

Calling me names doesn't make me want to talk to you more.

Tommy dropped his phone somewhere on the couch, not really bothering to check where it fell. He was not in the mood for his cousin's antics. His week had been so busy that Tommy was aching in more places than he knew he could. Maybe was is getting too old for this job.

Or perhaps he'd been slacking. Not eating well, not sleeping enough. These days, Tommy is usually good at taking care of himself. A hard-learnt habit, but he'd put in the work.

Not that it mattered now when his mind kept circling back to the rather sweet sentiment of someone saying, 'You don't have to do everything by yourself' and 'I'll take care of you'.

It was a certain someone with those impossibly warm baby blues that Tommy was trying very hard not to think about. (And failing miserably.) He deserved this. After all, he'd been the one to implode what they had.

His phone kept buzzing. After the third or fourth time - which frankly was ridiculous Don, what the fuck, get a life - Tommy hunted it down in the cushions and unlocked it.

Only to almost drop it when he saw the last message was a photo of -

"Hi, cuz," Donovan drawled, sounding deeply satisfied with himself. But Tommy wasn't focused on that at all.

"How do you have a photo of Evan? Is he there with you? Why is he with you?"

"Okay, first of all, ouch, I think I'm insulted-"

"Donovan."

Tommy heard his own voice rise and wondered since his fuse had become this short. Then he remembered that Donovan had always had this way of riling him up. That's why they hadn't talked in months. They'd been fighting about something; Tommy couldn't really remember what it had been about.

"Figured that pic would get you to call me," Donovan said. "No 'Hello, my favourite cousin, how are you doing?' It's nice to hear you, too, you know."

"Don't be mean, Rocker," another voice said in the background, one that Tommy didn't know. Or actually, he might - he'd heard it once before, and now he could remember what the fight had been about. But his focus was somewhere else completely.

"Hi. How are you. It's been too long. I miss you - is Evan okay?"

Donovan laughed at the way only one of those sentences ended in a note high enough to count as a question. Tommy hissed his name again, and finally got a 'yeah, yeah, alright.' before the phone was handed off to -

"Hi," Evan said softly. He sounded like he'd been crying. His sniffeling was hard on Tommy. "Your cousin and his partner are nice."

Tommy couldn't help but scoff. "Maybe they're doppelgängers."

There is a momentary pause, and Tommy is almost certain that the rustling he hears is a bit of a grapple for the phone. But it's still Evan on the other end when the noise dies down.

"I wouldn't know about that," Evan said. "You never mentioned them."

Fuck.

"Evan-"

"So we're back to Evan?"

"Bu-"

"Don't," Evan pleaded. "Just. Don't."

"Want me to go and rough him up a little? I still remember where he lives."

Donovan's offer sounded weak, and Tommy could imagine the way he had probably put a hand on Evan's shoulder. Or his back.

Evan didn't exactly laugh, but it was similar enough. The sound still unravelled something in Tommy's chest.

"Can we talk in person?"

"I'd like that," Evan breathed. "Just maybe not tonight?"

"Of course. Do you want me to text-"

"I'll take over from here," Donovan said, and Tommy vaguely heard the muffled noise of the receiver being covered. He checked his watch, aware that whatever conversation happened on their end took less than a minute, but to Tommy, it felt like ages more.

"You free tomorrow? Wanna come over for lunch?" Donovan asked without any lead-up, startling Tommy a little. "I somehow think you have a bit more of a reason to say 'yes' this time."

Tommy huffed a laugh.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm free," he said. "Is he alright?"

"Are you going to stop being an idiot?"

"Don."

Donovan sighed. "Listen, I know it's not really my place, but I know you, and I can make an educated guess what happened here."

"I don't like you," Tommy groused.

And like the total bastard that he was, Donovan only laughed and responded, "But you love him."

Like that was a normal thing to say. Tommy spluttered.

"Just be here tomorrow at noon, I'll cook" Donovan completely ignored Tommy's rather childish comment, 'You can cook?' and just went on. "And I'll introduce you to Deacon."

"The ominous partner that you wouldn't tell me more about when I asked?"

That was a rather shortened version of the outright shouting match of a phone call that they'd had all those weeks ago. There had been a lot of implications about very different, and Donovan wouldn't even tell him the name of the man who had him all secretive.

It was easy to read between the lines, and perhaps Tommy had been protective in exactly the wrong way. But he'd never been able to help that when it came to Donovan. The only family member that Tommy cared about.

"He just filed for divorce," Donovan told him. Tommy hissed in sympathy, starting to apologize for the whole fight, but Donovan went on: "And you wouldn't believe the things he can do with his tong-"

"Shut up."

Donovan kept laughing at him, and Tommy felt too exhausted to do something about it. And perhaps a little relieved.  

"Noon, you said?"

He might have only imagined it, but Donovan softened a little after that. But he proved he was still an absolute asshole when he yelled out, 'Hey Evan, say goodnight to your daddy,' and like the absolute cheeky brat he was, Evan did just that. (Tommy almost choked on his own spit, but after hanging up, he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in months.)

[t-chlmt-blog]

ADHD!reader x Spencer Reid

when reader gets overstimulated at the office spencer finds her in an odd spot and helps calm her down.

word cound: 0.7k

warnings: neurodivergent reader and spencer, mentions of breakdowns, i dont think there anything else but lmk!

also pls be kind this is my first fic! and if i continue to write for adhd!reader most of what i write ab is stuff that i personally deal with while having adhd, it can be different for everyone so pls take everything with a grain of salt!

The hum of the AC in the bullpen is boring into your skull. Along with the chatter of other agents, all the sensations are getting to be too much. The stack of paperwork on your desk hasn’t gotten any smaller in the past hour and your legs started aching from sitting too long. It’s all too much. Morgan and Prentiss are chatting no more than 10 feet away and you can’t concentrate , not with everything going on.

Standing up and pushing away from the desk, you quickly slip by the duo whose conversation you couldn’t follow mumbling a quick “excuse me” with your head down.

Ducking behind the door to the stairwell, you sit down on the first few steps trying to calm yourself down. Nobody really ever comes this way unless the elevators were out of service. The stairwell is quiet but each small movement creates an echo that provokes that suffocating feeling of overstimulation. Normally in a situation like this, you’d let Spencer know and he’d sit with you, toning down his rambling as he lists grounding techniques for you to try, however, today was a bad one gone worse and the thought of anyone talking is almost enough to send you into a full blow meltdown. You feel hot and stuffy and realize the water bottle, full of ice cold water from this morning was still at your desk. Great.

You’re focused on the cool tile beneath you, laying your palms down trying to cool down, when you hear footsteps coming up the stairs. You hadn’t payed much attention to the fact Spencer had been missing from the bullpen and didn’t even realize he had been a floor down this whole time. Sometimes when he needs a bit longer to think he takes the stairs to his destination.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked with that slight smile and gentle voice. He knows all too well the struggles of neurodiversity and finds that he two of you can relate to each other more so than the rest of the team.

Your head whips up and to the right, where Spencer has suddenly appeared, why didn’t you hear his footsteps before? “Just needed a second, it got kinda stuffy out there”, a simple explanation he understood to be more than you’re making it out to be. Years of masking and trying to fit in, you could handle a lot before you would totally break down, having learned where your threshold for this sort of thing was so as to not make a fool of yourself in front of other people.

“Are you ok, do you feel well?” Spencer asks, putting down his files next to you, attempting to look for any tell tale signs of illness or injury. When he finds nothing too concerning, just your flushed skin, starting to bead with sweat, he sits next to you. He’s been looking out for you a lot more recently, both in and out of the office and field.

“I just didn’t get enough sleep and the bullpen’s too loud and those lights were starting to bug me.” As soon as you told Spencer the reason for your hiding, he understood. He’s no stranger to feeling overstimulated like this and knows you aren’t either. Conversations on the jet and in the break room detailed the feelings you both shared being neurodivergent. Although Spencers brain worked almost completely opposite of yours, you both understood each other fairly well.

“Here,” he says gently taking your hand in his, feeling the heat, placing them in a new spot on he tile. Since he’d come up the stairs, you hadn’t moved an inch, it felt refreshing against your hot palms once again. “Would leaning against the wall help at all?” You hadn’t tried it but inched backwards and turned so the your back connected with the wall.

Your eyes close in relief. You hadn’t realized it but from ay one, Spencer has started to pick up on all the details and quirks that make you , you. Of course his eidetic memory helps, but somethings he just gets.

Starting to cool down, in the comfortable silence you open your eyes and look to Spencer and his brown eyes and smile. Joining such a tight knit team was intimidating but Spencer always made you feel wanted.

[firelikestars]

Two Amnesiac Archangels

Thoughts on Crowley’s memory of his fall and how it could relate to the finale.

SO.

Many of us have noticed that Crowley seems to have a hard time remembering why he fell:

or anyone he knew during his time as an angel. For example, Furfur:

and Saraquel:

Saraquel: “Hello Crowley. I didn’t expect to ever see you again.”

Crowley: “Do we know each other?”

Saraquel: “When you were an angel. We worked together on the horse head nebula.”

We have on screen evidence from before the beginning of what likely got him into trouble (asking questions) as well as a few lines from the Metatron that likely solidify that evidence as true:

The Metatron, who probably has the most accurate information about Crowley’s fall, regardless of if he’s sharing it truthfully.

I noticed two lines in the companion to owls minisode where Crowley seems to emotionally impacted by someone being punished by god without knowing why and it got me thinking:

Crowley, to Job’s goats: “You should know why you’re about to die. God has abandoned you. The God who claims to love you, who demands your praise, has given you up to die. Bad luck.”

and then later on:

Job: “How sunk in sin must I be not only to deserve all this, but not even to know why.”

Crowley’s reaction:

As we know, Jim’s memory was incredibly spotty. Sometimes the name Gabriel would be familiar to him, sometimes it wouldn’t. He remembered full lines from “Everyday” in one moment and then in the next, couldn’t remember if it was even a song that exists. Other times he remembered long quotes from God.

This scene to me reads as Crowley empathizing with Jim about his frustration with his memory:

Jim: “I feel like an empty house.”

Crowley: “A house?”

Jim: “Yes, a house where someone lived for a very long time but now they’re gone and the house can sort of tell where the things used to be. Like when I remembered how it all began.”

*Crowley tries to get Jim to remember more*

Jim: “I don’t know, I just…”

Crowley: “I know. Looking at where the furniture isn’t.”

The parallels just seem too strong to be coincidental. It seems like whatever heaven did to Gabriel’s memory they did to Crowley’s as well.

My guess is that on a good day, Crowley remembers that he was involved in creating the universe:

that he was punished for asking questions,

that he used to be a high ranking angel:

and nothing else. Some days he might not even remember that much.

Now, back to Gabriel for a second. If heaven did something to Gabriel’s memory that allowed it to manifest in a form physical enough to place inside of container (the fly), is it possible that every angel’s memory that was wiped in that way is still physically in heaven somewhere?

It’s unclear if Aziraphale remembers who Crowley was as an angel.

We have lines from a companion to owls that indicate yes:

Aziraphale: “I know the angel you were.”

Crowley: “The angel you knew is not me.”

and the fact that they don’t recognize each other in Eden that would indicate no.

If Aziraphale truly assumes the supreme archangel role upon returning to heaven, he would have significantly more access to heaven’s files. Probably more access than Crowley had when he infiltrated the hive. Assuming he doesn’t already know, do we think Aziraphale might happen upon information about Crowley’s past in the finale? How much would it change how he feels about heaven? How he feels about Crowley? And how long can I truly wait to find out before I just write a fic about it?