#but drawing her with really intense expressions like this always scratches an itch in my brain

[dadailybocch]

For all those born beneath an Angry Star....

[calaofnoldor]

Drug of Choice

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 3,790

Summary: A night of drunken rambling leads to an unexpected change in your relationship status.

Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, feelings of inadequacy, very slight allusions of alcoholism/talk of drug addiction, reader likes the sound of their voice a bit too much when drunk, fluff, implied smut

A/N: written for @deanwanddamons 1st blogiversary and 2k follower celebration challenge! my prompt was “I wish I knew how to quit you“ which is bolded in the fic. congrats on the incredible milestone, sorry this is late! also for @spnfluffbingo and it fills the mood board square for @girl-next-door-writes‘ Make Me Feel Bingo challenge!

Square Filled: Kissed to Keep Quiet

MASTERLIST

It was four in the morning when Dean finally came home, and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat before you atop the library table was over a quarter of the way through.

The heavy thud of his boots against the bunker floor drew your dark-adjusted eyes toward his shadowy figure, while the alcohol in your bloodstream loosened your lips, "How was she?"

"Jesus- Fuck!" There was a slight commotion before the lights flickered on, forcing your eyes to shut against the onslaught of sudden brightness. "Y/N??” Dean’s gruff, alarmed voice shattered the previously eerie silence, “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark by yourself?"

Your eyelids lifted an experimental sliver but you kept your gaze directed down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. "It wasn't dark when I started."

Dean narrowed his eyes when he noticed the slur behind your words. "Started what? Are you drunk?"

His second question prompted a dismissive snort from you, "Hunters can't get drunk; you should know that by now, Dean."

"Yeah alright, we need to get you to bed." The man of your dreams began to make his way over to you until your gravelly words ceased his steps.

"I can't sleep... you haven't answered my question yet."

"What question?"

"How was she?"

"Who?"

You looked at him like he was crazy, "You know, the girl from the bar, the one with the curly hair… the one that was climbing onto your lap when I left?"

"I don't- there was no girl," Dean stumbled. His lips were parted and his eyebrows pulled together in an ever-gorgeous expression of bewilderment, but you were too busy examining the way the newfound light danced along the lustrous amber liquid between your fingers to notice.

"Oh," you grumbled in response, sounding a bit disappointed, which only served to deepen those adorable lines of confusion between Dean’s brows. "She sure was pretty though.” There was a pause as you pondered his declaration before blurting out in disbelief, “You really didn't fuck her in the back of Baby?"

"What- No! Y/N, there was never a girl and nothing happened, OK?" He sounded genuinely serious, so you conceded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why are you sorry?"

"I know you needed to blow off some steam after today, after I pissed you off by fucking up the hunt." You ventured a glance up at him through your lashes and the unadulterated pain in your eyes almost had Dean reeling back in surprise.

"What are you talking about? You didn't 'fuck up' the hunt," he argued, shaking his head as if to accentuate his point.

"Course I did. I got you hurt and I nearly let that dickbag get away."

A weighted sigh escaped Dean, "Y/N, you have to know that wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing for me. Besides, I wasn’t pissed off, I was... I was scared, OK?”

You were about to take another sip of your drug of the night when you lowered your glass to let the irrepressible giggle leave your system, “Scared? Since when does the big bad Dean Winchester get scared? And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t be talking about it out loud. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

“I mean, I have been drinking but that’s beside the point. Look, Y/N, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, alright? You’ve just gotta sleep this off.”

"Pft. This isn't something I can just sleep off. Trust me, I've tried." There was a tickle in your throat that alerted you of the oncoming word vomit, but your friend Mr. Daniels seemed to be gaining complete control of your tongue; it was all he was ever good for really, “I’ve also tried drinking it away, but clearly that doesn’t work either. There’s just- so much- of it, of you… and now, now you’re in me-“ Dean’s eyes went wide but you were no longer at liberty to stop, “and I can’t get you out. Sometimes I don’t even think I want to. But I don’t think I can keep going like this any longer either… all this waiting, and wondering, and watching.” Some fragment of sobriety within you recognized how ridiculous and melodramatic you sounded and it gave you enough sense to avoid eye contact with the subject of you’re alcohol-induced speech, as if that could help you elude further embarrassment.

“OK, you’ve gotta slow down, Y/N/N. What the hell are you talking about?” At this point, Dean had moved to take the seat across from you, subtly sliding the bottle of Jack out of your reach as he sat down.

A mirthless laugh was your reply, "Of course you don’t know. Why would you?“

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I? Y/N, what’s going on?”

But you ignored his questions and answered with one of your own, “Why am I never enough? You know what, don't answer that; that was a rhetor- rhetor��”

“Rhetorical?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, flailing your index finger in his direction, “Yes, that’s the word. See, even your brain is too good for me.”

“What- why would you say that? Y/N, you know that’s not true. And why do you think you’re never enough? You’re plenty enough.” Concern now painted Dean’s features. He hated seeing you this way, broken and depressed, trying to drown your feelings in whiskey; he’d figured that was his trademark amongst the bunker residents. And he couldn’t understand how someone as incredible as you would think themselves unworthy of anything. Whichever son of a bitch made you feel this way would pay, Dean swore it.

“Then how come you never pick me?” you countered simply, deciding it was finally time to call out his hypocrisy.

The accusation floored Dean. He scooted back in his seat as he stared at you with a slack jaw, utter perplexity swirling within his emerald eyes. Over the years, Dean had garnered an inkling that you felt some kinda way about him, but he never really let himself believe, and not once did he think he could be hurting you. On the contrary, he always figured it was his own hopeful heart playing tricks on him. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing you correctly, or that your drunken state could be trusted, though he remembered you once told him that you were always the most honest version of yourself when you drank, whiskey in particular.

“I watch you go out with waitress after bartender after waitress, but I’ve been here the whole time, and you never consider me. It’s like I don’t even exist, like I’m not even an option, like I could never even help you scratch that itch, at least not as good as any barfly across the Midwest could.” You were aware that this was getting out of hand, but you couldn’t seem to find the brakes. “But that’s not even the real problem – I mean, sure, a roll around the hay with you would probably be mind-blowing as fuck – but it would never solve the root of it, never be enough for me.”

Dean had been studying you meticulously as you spoke, your words starting a fire to the embers of his soul, breathing life into a long-forgotten hope that brought him both joy and fear. “What would? Be enough for you, I mean?” His tone took on a raw sultriness that matched the intense, borderline predatory glaze of his eyes. Needless to say, Dean hadn’t expected your sardonic laughter to fill the air, and your sudden frenzied, carefree state certainly took him off guard.

“Nothing!” you laughed, “I don’t think anything will ever be enough for me! C-cause you’re like this drug that I’m hooked on and it’s just so fucking hard to get off… I mean, it’s also hard to get off without you now, or thoughts of you anyway...” Your tangent was quickly overcome when you remembered the topic of your initial spiel, “But it’s like everything about you draws me in! From the way you reference classic literature even though I’ve never seen you pick up a book that’s not about lore, to the way you rebuild Baby from scratch like it’s no big deal, to the way you’re so good with kids even though you never got to be one yourself, to the dumb way you bottle up all your feelings and never let them see the light of day yet still manage to do so much good in the world, t-to the way you get excited over classic rock and crappy horror movies and pie, and don’t even get me started on the way you love Sam! I mean, it’s just all of it! It’s your strength and perseverance through literal hell, it’s your huge fucking heart despite the mask of swagger and charm, it’s that stupid grin you get when you make a dumb joke and Sam rolls his eyes at you, it’s just those god damn lips in general! And then you walk around looking like that!?” you gestured wildly at all of him, “I mean, who gave you the right?!”

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but you cut him off. There really was no stopping your tirade now, “I’m like an addict who can never get enough, and when you leave, I get feelings of withdrawal, and I don’t know how to fucking deal with those either… You’re so deeply ingrained in me; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to flush you out of my system. And I just-“ you took a rare pause to heave a large breath before admitting quietly, “I wish I knew how to quit you. I really do, because as much as I love you, and trust me, it’s a whole fucking lot – God, does it feel good to finally say that out loud – but for every ounce of love that I have for you, for every bit of you that I’ve inhaled, it hurts just as much. Because you don’t feel the same, and you never will, and I don’t blame you, because you’re Dean fucking Winchester and you could have whoever you want with just a wink and half a smile, and you deserve to have whoever you want-”

“Are you done?” Dean was quick to latch onto the brief respite in your monologue, “Fuck, Y/N, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you are to me?” His head shook in disbelief while his troubled green eyes searched yours.

“What I am to you? I’m your hunting buddy, Dean. The one you call when you need an extra hand with a vamp nest or an extra set of eyes to scour the books, the one who stays up with you when you have nightmares about the souls you tortured in hell, the one you sing rock songs out of tune in the car with, just never the one you go to for a booty call,” you finished with a bitter laugh.

Dean’s head had never ceased it’s shaking, even as he got up and walked around the table towards you. “Only because you’re worth so much more than that. Y/N, you deserve so much more than me.”

It was your turn to shake your head. How typical, you thought as you rolled your eyes and stood up to meet his eye line, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dean. I know you’re trying to let me down easy and that’s nice of you and all, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well, Dean Winchester, and I know there’s no way in hell that- Mmf!“ The rest of your words were intercepted by Dean’s lips on yours.

The feeling was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. There was an urgent force behind the kiss as he pushed his mouth against yours with gentle yet firm ferocity, bracing your head with large hands cupping both sides. It felt as if he was desperately trying to convey a message to you, to disprove your woeful words of self-pity, or perhaps he just wanted you to shut up. You, of course, responded with tremendous enthusiasm regardless of his intent, grasping blindly at his forearms while slotting your tongue and lips around his in an increasingly frantic manner. You didn’t care if the kiss wasn’t good for him; this might be your only chance to take what you need from Dean Winchester, if only a tiny fraction of it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting for air. Dean still held your head in both hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead upon yours. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that; you’re drunk... Do you at least believe me now?”

A slight grimace contorted Dean’s features as his mind was suddenly bombarded by a multitude of conflicted thoughts and feelings, feelings of desire and regret and bliss and unease, but when he caught the dazed look in your eyes, Dean made up his mind, “Ah, what the hell, you’re probably not gonna remember much of this anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re wrong. I do feel the same way about you; I have pretty much ever since I saw that magnificent ass of yours.” Pausing to chuckle at his own words, Dean licked his lips, still able to taste the whiskey from yours.

“The only reason I fucked around with those other people was because I couldn’t stand not being able to have you,” he continued through closed eyes and gritted teeth before filling his chest with a deep breath, “Like today, when I saw that fucking werewolf come at you, I nearly lost it. The thought of anything happening to you scares me shitless, and I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so I let that girl at the bar get close. I was trying to fill the hole you created but it was pointless cause in the end, just like every other time, I couldn’t go through with it. Every time I try to forget about you, your face shows up in my head,” he growled in that low, throaty tone that always seemed to reverberate down to your nether regions.

“But I- I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve more than me. Y/N, you know me. I’m a broken, twisted, shell of a man. I’m-“

“Poison, I know,” you finally lifted your head away from his so that you could look directly into his dazzling eyes. Dean’s hands slid down along your neck and landed on your shoulders while yours remained on his forearms, not willing to lose all contact. “I know what you’re gonna say. You think you’re poison, that being with you puts a target on my back, that loving you is a death sentence… Did I get that right?”

Dean gave you a miniscule nod and a look of resignation as he reluctantly released you from his hold, forcing you to let go as well when he took a large step back. You suddenly felt extremely sober, the effects of the alcohol and that kiss all wearing off instantaneously, “And you hate yourself. No one hates you more than you, Dean.” Your voice was hardly a whisper now, “But that’s OK, cause I hate myself too, for never being able to make you realize that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, that you deserve all the things you think you can’t have, that you can have them all and still be Dean Winchester.”

You watched as Dean’s eyes began to water and when a single tear rolled down his cheek, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Approaching him as slowly as you would a nervous animal out of its natural habitat, you stopped directly before him before cautiously raising your arm to wipe the offending tear away with your thumb. Your eyes seemed to be locked in a silent exchange of colossal magnitude, expressing everything mere words could not, from harrowing regret to agonizing self-inflicted torment to desperate desire. It was the yearning in his shimmering eyes that gave you the courage to speak your next words, a runaway tear of your own joining the whispered plea, “Please, let me show you.”

When your eyes fluttered open the next day, they were greeted with the most beautiful sight you'd ever awoken to. Dean’s face was barely a foot away from yours, and the man himself was already awake, staring directly at you. He was lying on his back with his head turned towards you, while your body was twisted to face his. A bedside lamp was on, allowing you to marvel at the breathtaking perfection in front of you, and despite the booze having long since evacuated from your veins, your mouth still imparted the first thing that came to your mind, “You know, I've always wanted to count your freckles,” you murmured honestly, “Maybe map them out like tiny constellations so I can memorize them better, so that one day I could trace them even with my eyes closed.” Your fingertips moved of their own accord as you spoke, gliding softly over his cheeks and across the ridge of his perfect nose.

Dean caught your hand in his and kissed it repeatedly as his magical olive eyes continued to bore into yours, never once leaving your face. His pouty lips curved into the slightest smile as if he were afraid to rear hope yet couldn't fight the peaceful thrill you were bringing him by simply lying next to him. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Not unless it counts to be drunk on you… Sorry, that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head.” You cringed but Dean’s smile broadened.

“And no hangover?”

“No, I told you, hunters can’t-“

“Get drunk. Yeah, I heard. So does that mean you remember everything?”

“I don’t think I could forget that kiss if I wanted to; my brain wouldn’t let me.” You glanced down at his gorgeous mouth before meeting his gaze again, “I meant it all, you know? Everything I said was the truth. Every word.” You moved your thumb to graze his lower lip and he puckered his lips to kiss it.

“So did I, every word… Especially the part about that sweet ass of yours.” The hand that wasn’t holding yours roamed down to grab at your butt cheek with a hefty yet tender squeeze, causing you to squeal in delight. When you settled down, he moved your hand to place it above his heart, “You know I’m no good at chick flick moments, but you can trust me when I say I’m addicted to you too.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies through your stomach and your smile felt invincible. “I hope you know that when I called you a ‘drug’ I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Some drugs are good for you. Some drugs can save your life,” you whispered as you fisted lightly at the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that what you did yesterday?” Dean was about to retort but you sent him a raised brow and a look that said ‘don’t test me, I’ve got loads more evidence where that came from’ so he simply looked down with a small grin. “Does it still hurt?” You motioned to the white bandage on his shoulder where the werewolf had scratched him up yesterday when he jumped in front of you.

Dean shook his head, “Right now I can hardly feel it. Actually, it hasn’t hurt at all since I kissed you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted some more at his words. “See, that’s what I mean. To me, you’re like coffee on an early morning, morphine when I’m hurting, tranquilizers when I’m freaking out, Zoloft when the world’s got me down, mixed with a shot of ecstasy, and quite possibly the most potent form of Viagra known to mankind.” You might have lingered a moment to chuckle at your own joke, thinking ‘it’s funny cause it’s true’. Dean belted a guffaw himself and you were quite pleased as you continued, “You’re everything I’ve ever needed, all wrapped up in one beautiful, self-loathing man.” You stroked his stubbled jaw and caressed his cheek, letting your words waft softly across the distance between you, hoping he could sense the veracity within them, “And I just want you to let me love you, let me get high on you, so I can show you how good you are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

A wave a sadness flowed through Dean and he lowered his gaze from yours. “This could end bloody.”

“I know,” you nodded, “But it’s so much better than the alternative... It was getting a bit too hard to bear, even if you were only eye fucking all those other suitors. Besides, if it means I get to kiss you whenever I want, it’ll be worth it. And if it means I get a chance to prove to you how worthy you are, then it’ll be more than worth it.”

“I was only staying away because I wanted to protect you from me, but I didn’t realize it was hurting you. I never wanted to cause you pain; Y/N, I need you to know that.” Dean’s warm, calloused palm ran up your arm, it’s gentleness in stark contrast to his fierce tone, while yours continued to cup his cheek.

Astounded by the passion behind his words and the utter beauty of his face, you whispered in awe, “How are you so perfect?” Seeing the cogs begin to turn in his brain, you quickly moved your index finger to press against his plush lips, “Shh, just let me say it. Baby steps, Dean.”

He took your finger and guided your arm to wrap around his wide shoulders, careful of his injury, then reached out to pull you snugly towards him until your bodies were completely flush, your chest heaving against his. “Well do we have to take baby steps with everything? Cause now that I’ve finally got you in my bed, I was kinda hoping you’d let me take you for a spin in it. Maybe find out if it’s really – how did you put it again? – ‘mind blowing as fuck’ I believe were your words?” That signature smirk of his that always brought you to your knees came out to play.

Your laughter fanned across his face, and the smile on your face was effervescent, “You really are one hell of a drug, Dean Winchester.”

thank you for reading! as always, feedback is marvelously appreciated!

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[shreddedparchment]

Man and Wife Pt.03

The Marriage

04/08/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 7,253

*Masterpost in Notes     Warnings: smut, protected sex, language, angst, teasing Sam off-screen

A/N: This is where this fic is going to start to get real folks. If you’ve read the stuff I write, you’ll know that I don’t shy away from tough stuff. This is just another. I promise that the angst will be worth it. I’m enjoying writing this so much because I think it’s helping me grow, to see relationships from different perspectives and to explore the way that relationships evolve. I hope you like this chapter. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You and Bucky don’t get to go on your honeymoon.

He knows you’re disappointed and he tries to make it up to you with several lavish dates.

One night he takes you to a five-star restaurant that Tony owns. The meal is free, obviously, though you'd gotten a look at Bucky's finances—“Y/N, it's our money. If you need to use it, use it.”—and he doesn’t need comped meals.

In fact, Bucky could have bought the restaurant from Tony if he'd wanted it. He pulls out your chair and he feeds you from across the table.

“Bucky, I don’t need all this. It wasn’t the trip I cared about; it was spending time with you.” You chew your food though, licking your lips because it's delicious.

Bucky's shoulders sag lightly. “I know. I’m sorry. As soon as we catch this guy, we can go on that honeymoon, but I doubt we'll see more than the bedroom.”

You chuckle and Bucky's eyes light up at the sound.

That night he takes you on the sofa. His love and apology pouring into every pump of his hips as he brings you to the edge of ecstasy and then falls over it with you.

He collapses on top of you then pulls you up and grabs another condom as he walks by the dresser into your master bath then pins you to the slippery tile wall as he ravishes you again while the two of you shower.

You and Bucky fit very well physically.

Then he leaves on mission again and you focus on work, counting the minutes until he's back. As your marriage rounds into month two, Bucky’s lovemaking only gets more elaborate. He buys you toys, soft feathers and silk scarves.

There's some play in the bedroom, nothing too crazy, but it's new to you and every time he ties your hands behind your back and he takes you from behind, your orgasm almost splits you in two.

Month two, is very much like month one, full of soft kisses and intense sex. There's very little time to sit and talk because Bucky is always leaving for a day or two at a time.

On the morning of month three, you pull open your door and smile at Casey who you’ve seen almost every day since you got married.

“Aren't you supposed to be unreachable for like six months or something? Why is it that you got married and I don’t miss you?”

You know her question is rhetorical, so you don’t answer. You also don’t want to think about the point she's trying to make.

“How's that new roommate?”

“Miserable. She laughs really loud. High pitched. The dog next door howls.”

You chuckle and place her cup of tea down on the soft chestnut brown coffee table then sit down so that you can face her.

“Where is he today?” Casey asks, reaching out for her cup of tea and completely ignoring your very subtle hints about not wanting to talk about Bucky.

You’re trying to wean her off caffeine. She's calmer when she's not full of coffee and as she questions you, she still sounds determined just not as confrontational.

“I don’t know. I asked but he had to go before he could tell me. I didn’t even get to kiss him goodbye.” You pout, leaning your head against the inside of your elbow where you have it extended along the back of your sofa.

Casey frowns. “I told him to take care of you.”

“He is taking care of me.” You assure her. “I just can’t wait for them to catch this guy so he can just be here. I miss him so much.”

Casey shakes her head. “What do you guys even talk about? Can he talk about his work?”

That’s a good question. You’ve never asked. You and Bucky are always planning for when he can be with you for more than a few days at a time that you haven’t asked about his work.

“We talk. Lots. About stuff we like and don’t like. He hates the cold. And um…he likes to draw. He likes math. The weirdo. What else?” You shut your eyes to try and remember the things you two have shared with each other while you lay together but all you can see are his sweaty abs, the curve of his muscular butt, and the thick spread of his thighs.

Jesus, your ears are hot.

“All you two do is fuck, don’t you?” Casey narrows her eyes knowingly.

You laugh because she's not completely wrong.

“No!” She narrows her eyes more. “And yes. We do spend a lot of time in bed together. He goes for hours, Case. And when he doesn't go for hours he goes over and over and over. He's got me doing things that I’ve never done before. We do talk. We do. But-"

“I get it, you’re drowning in dick.” Casey rolls her eyes.

You laugh.

“He's hot. I don’t blame you, Y/N, but you are going to get to know him better, right?”

“I do know him.” You pout. Refusing the idea that you and Bucky don’t know each other.

“You know his history, Y/N. Who is he? What's he like on a day to day basis? Does he scratch his balls when he sits watching TV? Does he clean his ears and leave the cotton swabs on the counter? Does he pick his teeth after he eats? What is your husband like?”

You swallow hard, trying to answer her questions in your head but you can't. You don’t know if he scratches when he watches TV because he hasn’t been home or out of bed long enough for the two of you to even watch a movie.

What if he hates all of your favorite movies?

Days later when Bucky gets home, these worries are rattling around in your head.

So, when you hear him pushing his key into the lock of your front door, you hurry to open it for him and stand with bated breath as you look him over.

A new routine you’ve formed is giving him a head to toe examination to make sure he's not injured. There’s always a bruise or two. Small cuts, but luckily nothing major so far.

He stands there, his hand extended out towards the lock, key in hand, and you can see the exhaustion on his face.

“You’re home!” You exclaim, grateful and excited to see him unharmed this time. Not even a bruise.

“I am.” He says and moves inside, shutting the door behind him as he lowers a large black duffel bag that you know has some of his work clothes and supplies, and places it on the floor by the door.

He looks freshly showered which means he's been back for at least a couple hours. A couple hours!

“You’re not hurt this time.”

“It was just a scouting mission.”

You take that in, grateful for his safety but wondering if maybe someone else couldn’t have gone for him. Did it have to be him?

Suddenly he's got his arms around your waist, pulling your attention back to him and out of your thoughts.

“I missed you.” He whispers deeply. You know that tone.

You place your hands on his wide chest and let him kiss you.

Did he miss you? Or your body? Not that you mind but what happens when he stops wanting your body? That happens right? The passion in marriages fizzles out after a while and when it happens to you and Bucky, you’re going to notice it more because you’ve been married now much longer than you knew each other before. All you have known is this passion.

You’re so lost in your mind that it must be affecting your kiss because Bucky pulls back and licks his own lips as he looks down at your face.

“Hey, everything okay?” He asks, startling you back to reality.

“Yeah.” You smile. “Yes. Of course. I just missed you so much.”

You reach into his hair, grazing your nails lightly against his scalp. He shuts his eyes and you push yourself up onto your toes to kiss him.

He responds to your lips instantly and you try to squash Casey's voice down as you just enjoy his lips.

He pulls you in, making your knees buckle like only his kiss ever has, but you’re not as lost in it as you usually get.

When he pulls back, he begins to trail burning kisses along your jaw then down the side of your neck, his tongue tracing small circles against your skin.

You feel the itch of desire moisten your core, but you pull back. Pushing on his chest gently.

“Bucky?”

He blinks, surprised by your refusal but he's not upset. He waits, watching you before he caresses the right side of your face with his cool metal hand.

“What is it, baby-doll?”

“Can we watch a movie? I picked out a few of my favorites. I don’t know yours but if you wanna watch something you like instead, we can.”

He furrows his brow, not confused but maybe curious? He doesn't seem to understand why you're suddenly going on about movies, but he quickly relaxes and smiles again, soft and kind as he reaches to take your left hand and lead you to the sofa.

The two of you sit and you grab the remote to scroll through the options. You look over at Bucky as he settles himself in low, leaning back so that his head is propped up by the back of the couch.

He's man spreading, relaxed, as he reaches up to wipe at his tired eyes with his right hand. You've got your body angled towards him, your knees bent up onto the cushions, as you steal slightly nervous glances at him and continue to scroll.

“You like Star Wars?”

“Uh…never seen it.”

“What?!” You look at him, but he looks uninterested, so you keep scrolling. “We'll do Star Wars another day. There are like a million of them. How about an adventure movie? Have you ever seen the Goonies? It's eighties old but really good. Fun.”

“Nope.” He rolls his head to the left to look at you, his expression stoic.

“We don’t have to watch a movie, babe.” You assure him, feeling weird about insisting when he doesn’t seem interested.

“No. No, I want to.” He assures you and smiles at you genuinely, then he yawns lightly, quickly covering it with his hand. “Pick whichever one you want. I haven’t seen almost any movies since I…Let's watch it.”

You feel better with the clear reflection of love in his eyes, so you push play.

As you settle in against his side, you take his metal arm and intertwine your fingers with his.

The soft fabric of his gray t-shirt feels good against your skin.

Suddenly, you sit up, the movie having already started.

“Oh, are you hungry? I didn’t even ask. I’m sorry. I can make you something?” You begin to get up, but Bucky places his slow moving metal hand on your knee to stop you.

“I already ate, Y/N. Just relax.” He rubs your knee and then leaves his hand there as he turns tired eyes to the TV.

“What did you eat?” You wonder. It is pretty late. It would be silly of him not to have eaten.

“Steaks and veggies and some pizza and some hot wings and-Do I have to name everything? I ate a lot. I’m stuffed.” He says the end with a laugh in his voice as he rubs his perfect stomach and you feel a soft ache.

“Where?”

“At the compound. Tony likes to throw these dinners after we get back from mission. Everyone was there.” He blinks hard, his eyes probably burning for sleep.

Everyone? No. Not everyone was there.

“Oh.” You look at the TV and shrink into the sofa, clinging to his metal arm as Data crashes through Mikey's front door but you’re not really seeing the kids. As you lay your head on his shoulder, you’re calculating the time that Tony's parties usually last. Not that you’ve seen any of the Avengers since your wedding… “What time did you get back, Bucky?”

When he speaks he sounds sleepy.

“I don’t know, early? The sun wasn’t up yet.”

Something akin to jealousy rages in your stomach. No, not jealousy but you do feel sick. Like you might throw up.

He'd been back all day and he'd just come home? You’ve been out of your mind with worry for three days. Why didn’t he at least call you?

You look up to ask him but find him with his jaw slack and his eyes shut. The dark curtain of his hair falls gently on the sides of his face. He looks so relaxed, so tired and peaceful that you bite your lip and shove your anger down.

You can’t wake him up now. He's been working so hard. You lay your head back onto his shoulder and tighten your hold on his arm, snuggling in closer to him. Trying to find comfort in his closeness because that’s what it has offered you since the beginning. Tonight, it’s not working though.

He responds to your snuggling however, sighing deeply, his lips smacking in his sleep before he leans his head against yours and continues to sleep.

You don’t really watch the movie. While Bucky sleeps, you seethe. Your stomach churns and bubbles with rage.

Three days! He'd been gone for three days with no word to you, which is fine because that’s how it's been since the beginning and you don’t expect him to call you while he's actually in dangerous situations but the fact that he's been home for most of this third day and he hadn’t even called to tell you that he was back…what are you? Are you even his wife?

As the credits roll and you pick up your head, you push his up with yours.

He breathes in quickly, a sudden gasp as he realizes he fell asleep.

“Oh, shit, sorry.” He blinks hard, chasing the sleep from his eyes as he sits up straighter. “I guess I was sleepier than I realized.”

You don’t answer. You’re afraid you'll shout if you do.

Bucky gets up and moves into the kitchen, pouring himself a large glass of water which he gulps down.

You get to your feet, pins and needles explode in your legs because your legs had fallen asleep.

You tug your t-shirt down and turn off the TV, your back to the kitchen because you don’t want to look at Bucky just yet.

You should be happy right now. Bucky is home. He’s safe. So what if he didn't call? So long as he's home!

Two large hands slide down the front side of your hips, two large thighs press against your back, and a pair of hot lips press an open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck then press another just under your jaw.

Your body responds because of course it does! This is Bucky. You can feel him twitch behind you, growing hard from sheer anticipation.

“Y/N…?” He whispers against your skin and you shut your eyes, letting your body tell you what to do because your heart and mind are on the same side and sex is not a priority.

You turn around, wrap your arms around his neck and meet his lips in a kiss.

“Mmmmph.” Bucky moans.

You wrap both hands up into his hair and Bucky reaches down to hook his hands beneath your legs and softly in fluid motion, lifts you up.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he stumbles with you towards the bedroom.

You’re aware of everything happening. You can feel him strip you and then shudder with the cold air as you’re brought bare in front of him. His lips devour you, tasting as much of your body as it can but he doesn’t waste a lot of time on foreplay. Or maybe he does and you're too busy thinking to realize?

He has you on the bed, your legs spread and bent wide as he settles between them and in slow relishment he slides himself into you.

For one moment, you’re pulled from your anger and gasp as he fills you. Even after three months of constant sex, you’re still not used to his size.

He takes this as encouragement and brings the cold of his metal hand to your breasts which hardens your nipples. He takes them in his mouth suckling until he begins to thrust himself into you.

“Does that feel good, baby-doll?” He asks but you don’t hear him.

“Y/N?” He asks mid thrust, a quiet groan in your name.

No response.

He stills over you and places his hand on the soft mattress beside you so that he can hold himself up over you.

“Hey,” He says slightly louder, definitely not a moan, and that more than anything pulls you back to him. When you meet his eyes, you see confusion and worry in his narrowed brow. “Everything okay?”

You shake your head and Bucky quickly pulls out of you and sits to your right.

You get up, sliding along the sheets until you can stand up and pull your robe from the dresser to slip it on over your naked form.

You hold it shut, both hands clutched over your aching chest as fear of a fight—your first fight—turns your stomach into knots. Bucky slides to the edge of the bed too in all of his naked glory to sit with his feet flat on the ground and full of worry.

His beautiful blue eyes are overcome with confusion, you almost feel bad for doing this right now. Almost.

He places his hands on either side of his hips, holding the edge of the mattress firmly with his own nervousness.

You can’t seem to find your voice; you just stare at him. Afraid to start this because what if you’re just overreacting?

“Y/N, you’re scaring me.” Bucky admits, looking down towards your hands over your chest then right back up to meet your eyes.

“Sorry.” You gasp, fear making your voice shake. What if he gets mad because you’re mad? “I…I don’t know how to start.”

“Did I do something?” Bucky asks, his voice quiet and you realize suddenly that he really doesn’t know that what he did today was anything wrong.

However, your anger is justified!

“Bucky…you said you got back this morning?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nods. “Around four A.M. Why?”

You blink, thinking about how you'd been tossing and turning at four in the morning, wondering if he was okay. If he was on his way home. If he was safe and uninjured.

“Why didn't you call me, Bucky?”

“I didn't-wanna-wake-you?” He says the words slowly, his eyes wary as he gauges your reaction and the anger slowly growing in your eyes.

Your expression is less angry and more hurt.

“Bucky…” God, you’re saying his name a lot, and not with pleasure the way you usually do here in your bedroom. “I have been worried out of my mind since you left, and you get back early this morning and spend the entire day at the compound?”

“We had debrief and a few meetings after.” Bucky tries to explain, rushing to say it to try and chase away that hurt tone of yours and the pained expression on your face.

“You could have called! ‘Hey, Y/N, I’m home but I’ve got some meetings, so I won't be home until later.’ Fuck, Bucky, it's a two-minute phone call. I wasn't even asleep at four A.M.! I was here, laying in our bed, thinking about you and where you might be or what dangers you might be in.”

In desperation to hide your anger from him, you turn around to give him your back, clutching your robe tighter.

“I mean, I know you say you had meetings, but they took all day? Obviously not, since you had time to go to Tony’s dinner thing. I mean, it's almost midnight. I would think…” And you have to speak slower because your voice is going to strain as you shift to talking about why your chest feels like it’s caving in, instead of why you’re angry.

He didn’t call and let you worry? Angry.

He had an entire day to be with you and instead he spent it at the compound? Hurt.

“What?” Bucky urges you gently.

“I mean, you’ve been gone for three days. Don’t husbands want to come home to their wives as soon as possible? After your meetings, didn’t you want to be with me?” You shake your head to try and ignore the ache in your chest but it's no use. Tears stain your cheeks and you curse yourself internally for letting yourself cry.

You sniffle. You can’t help it.

“Are you crying?!” Bucky gasps, stunned.

“No!” You deny it, despite the tears still falling, your voice thick.

“Oh my God.” Bucky exclaims in surprise.

Here it comes. His own anger. Then he'll leave you for being a troublesome wife!

Instead of angry yelling, his large hands find your shoulders. He turns you around so that you must look at him.

You try and hide your face as best you can. You don’t want him to see you crying.

“Y/N…” He begins and his voice is so deep and soft, you look up into his stunning blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I should have called as soon as we landed. I'm…I’m just not used to having someone waiting for me.”

He reaches up, cupping your cheeks to slowly wipe away your tears.

“Please don’t cry.” He pleads, hurting because you are it seems. “I’m such a fucking idiot. Really. Of course, I want to be with you. I missed you so much.”

He leans down to press a kiss to your salty cheeks.

“I promise, I’ll call from now on as soon as the jet hits the tarmac. Forgive me. I won’t let it happen again.”

It takes a few more soft kisses to your cheek for his words to really register in your mind. But after they do, your heart is soaring. He's not angry at you for being angry. He's comforting you. Promising to call from now on when he gets back.

It doesn’t change the mistake he already made and your anger isn’t exactly gone, but it did shed light on a problem and now it's been resolved.

“I love you.” You confess and you can see the hitch in Bucky's breathing as your sudden confession startles him—but in a good way. “I worry about you. The idea of you getting hurt…I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me, baby-doll. Not ever.” He assures you then pulls you into a kiss.

Now that you can sort of relax—your anger is still pretty demanding—you can focus on giving Bucky what he needs.

After every mission so far, you've given him a release. Tonight will be no different.

His hands are already pulling your robe open, gripping your re-exposed body by the hips. You sigh against his lips as he pulls back a little, he leans in and licks your lips. It pulls your lips apart. The heat of his breath feels good against them. He kisses you once softly, then again. This time, he leaves his lips hovering over yours, both of your mouths open as the heat of the moment washes over you.

You push him back, walking him towards the bed until he falls back sitting.

You move back to the dresser and pull out a new condom. Gently you remove the one Bucky is already wearing then rip the small metallic packaging with your teeth.

Bucky watches with his mouth gaping in awe as you slip the condom over the tip of his cock then roll it down slowly, pressing warm and wet kisses against the vein on its underbelly.

Once he's ready, you stand back up and straddle his lap. Bucky's hands find your bottom as you line him up at your entrance then slowly impale yourself on him until you're sitting snugly on his lap.

Bucky's hands are claws on your bottom then he starts to move, softly, gently, apologizing to you with his body.

He curls his arms around you, pressing your breasts flush against his chest as he kisses the curve of your neck sweetly.

You know that he's sorry. You can feel it with every thrust, every kiss, when he looks into your eyes and then kisses your cheeks and the tear stains there.

More than anything, you can tell that he's sorry that he made you cry.

Bucky makes love to you tonight. It's not just sex and although you enjoy the way he's physically showing you how much he loves you; you’re still too upset to really enjoy it.

Bucky gets his release. Clinging to you tightly as he buries his face into the side of your neck.

You’re breathing hard and your heart is pounding but you get no big moment of satisfaction tonight.

“Did you-?” He wonders, but he sounds as if he already knows the answer.

You shake your head.

He looks back at your face, staring up into your eyes while you reach up to caress the sides of his face and push the sweaty strands of his hair back behind his ears.

He sighs, defeated, and rests his forehead against your chest.

“I’m sorry.”

Mornings in the Barnes household are usually full of soft disappointment. Why? Because every time you do get a few days with Bucky home, he's gone by the time you wake up.

This morning is no different.

You reach over to his side of the bed but find only sheets.

Opening your eyes, you glance at the empty space and sigh lightly, pouting because you wish he was there.

“You’re awake.” Bucky says from behind you and you sit up and twirl at the same time to look for him.

Clutching your sheets to your bare chest, you smile as Bucky moves over to you and shyly offers you a tray laden with breakfast foods.

There are eggs and bacon. Toast and blueberry muffins. Three pancakes with syrup, orange juice, and a small glass of milk.

“I wasn't sure what you were in the mood for so, I made everything.”

“You made me breakfast in bed?” You ask, delirious with excitement.

“Yeah. I can’t even begin to explain to you how sorry I am, Y/N. I never want you to feel like that again. I love you and I want to be with you.”

“Thank you.” You smile and lean in towards him.

Eagerly he places his hands on the bed and leans in to meet your lips for a quick peck.

“Oops. I forgot the jam." Bucky gets up and heads for the door. “Grape okay?”

“Actually, I don't-" But he's already gone. “-like grape jam.”

When he comes back, he puts the small jar on your tray and sits back down.

“I thought you’d be out already. Don’t you meet Steve to work out?” You chew on your eggs, talking out of the corner of your mouth.

“I called him already. We'll go once you’re at work instead.”

“Oh.” You swallow your food. “Actually, I have the day off. It's Launch day so Henry doesn’t need me to come in.”

You’ve been working at a small indie publishing company for the last four years. Although you're a copy editor, because the company is so small, you do more than your standard editor. However, as Henry is your boss, he handles all launches and you get to take a good break.

“Oh.” Bucky's shoulders slump as he faces this new dilemma. “I made plans with Steve and Sam. If I'd known you didn't have to work today-"

“You should go.” You nod and hope he can’t see your disappointment.

“Really?” Bucky reaches over, taking hold of your forearm.

“Yeah. Go. I’ve got a new manuscript to read anyway. I’ll be no fun.” You force a smile and he must see it.

“No. I’m not gonna go. I’ll call and cancel.” Bucky moves to get up, but you catch hold of his arm and grip it tight. You don’t want to be that wife that doesn’t let her husband go out with his friends.

“Bucky, go. I told you, I’ll be busy anyway.”

He looks uncomfortable. Uncertain.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Go.”

He clicks his tongue and then gets up, this time leaning in to kiss your lips.

“I’ll be back.” He heads to the door without changing out of his jeans and blue Henley. He must have his workout clothes in his duffel bag.

“I washed the dishes.” Bucky says as he reaches the door. “If they sit too long, they start to smell.”

Oops. You'd been so sad with him gone that you’d neglected the apartment.

“Right, sorry.” You force another smile. “I’ll make sure to wash them quickly next time.”

Bucky sighs and struts back towards you, when he reaches you he smashes his lips into yours. He kisses you breathless then leans back, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I can stay.” He whispers.

“Would you just go?” You say with a genuine chuckle.

The sound brightens the blue of his eyes turning them almost ice-like.

“Okay.” And he leaves.

You sit there for a bit, wondering whether not asking him to stay was a mistake. You feel sad about it, but you shrug it away, finish your breakfast, and resign to spend the rest of the day cleaning and working.

 Or so you thought…

 You’re pushing your vacuum down along the long stretch of carpet in front of your sofa then lift your foot to push the table out of the way so that you can get at the unexposed space.

As you finish, you sigh and turn the machine off, and arch your back as you stand up straight. You’ve been going at the cleaning for a good two hours and your lower back is begging you for a break.

“Ow…” You gripe to yourself, reaching back to massage the small of your back.

Your eyes suddenly fall onto the coffee table where a small glass of sweet tea you’d served yourself earlier has toppled over spilling the last dregs onto the shining glass that you just fucking cleaned not thirty minutes ago!

“Shit.” You turn to head back to the kitchen and find yourself colliding with a large mass of muscle.

“AH!” Your scream is ear splitting and your hands shoot out in defense, odd angles as you raise your palms and smack at the large body.

Bucky’s cool metal hand quickly covers your mouth, cutting it off before it can sound like more than a shout of surprise.

“Shhh, Jesus, darling. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He chuckles slowly at your exasperated expression as the fear in your eyes slowly dims and makes way for annoyance.

You smack his chest as he falls into low gentle peals of laughter. Not a chuckle but a real laugh. It shakes his shoulders and his belly juts out with each bubble of amusement. Luckily his beautiful body had been protected by his blue Henley, so your nails caused no damage.

He drops his hand, placing it on your right hip as his right hand rises to rest on your neck, his warm fingers tickling the small hairs on the back of it.

Your annoyance gives way to confusion as you watch his laughter shift into a soft chortle, his eyes squinty and beaming down at you brightly.

“Your first reaction to an intruder is to smack him to death?” Bucky asks. “Remind me to teach you how to punch.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know that I kicked and screamed when surprised in my own home. What are you doing here, Bucky? I thought you were spending the day with Steve and Sam?” Your heart is still pounding as your mind tries to assure your body that you’re safe and it’s only your husband, coming home.

Something about what you said makes Bucky’s eyes dilate and he suddenly pulls you into a ravenous kiss.

You don’t question his desire. You yield to it and push yourself up onto your toes, following his lead and slipping your tongue into his mouth as he opens his and sighs with contentment.

You two haven’t made out in such a long time. Kisses, sure. Desperate, passionate, necking during sex? Yes. But just making out? Just kissing him for kissing’s sake? He left right after you got married and has been leaving since…

Suddenly you break it because your heart aches with the memory of his unbridled passion for you and how he couldn’t help but corner you just to kiss you. The loneliness that you’ve been feeling but are too afraid to tell him about also doesn’t help with the ache of missed time.

“Oh, Bucky.” You gasp and bury your face into his neck.

“How can I spend all day with the guys when my girl’s got the day off?”

You know what this is in response to though.

“And you thoroughly pissed her off last night?” You pull back to look up into his face, setting your feet down flat.

The grimace he’s wearing tells you that you’re right in your guess. If he hadn’t made you angry last night, he might not be here right now.

Whatever. He’s home now. You’re not going to complain. “I’m so glad you came back.”

Bucky’s smile returns, soft and heavenly.

“Me too.”

The two of you stare at each other for a few moments, enjoying the feel of the other’s body so close.

“You hungry?” You finally ask, knowing what his answer will be. He’s freshly showered, his hair still damp. He came straight back after his workout.

“I’m starving.” He admits, reaching down to rub his muscled stomach.

“I’ll make you some lunch!” You exclaim excitedly. You’ve been looking up new recipes to try for him.

“Something fast? I’m really hungry.” He moves to gather up the cord for the vacuum and takes it towards the hall closet to put it away.

“Mmm.” Okay, change of plans. You’ll save the meatloaf for dinner or something.

You pull out a bag of penne pasta and toss it onto the counter then fill a pot with water and set it to boil. As you set to making the alfredo sauce from scratch, Bucky moves around the living room picking up the cleaning where you left off.

When you can, you watch him, enjoying the various angles of his butt that you get to gawk at but also the fact that he knew he’d interrupted your cleaning and is doing it for you.

“How was your work out?”

“Well, Steve and I left Sam in the dust on purpose. Lapped him like three times before we finally slowed down. I mean, I thought he was gonna cry.” Bucky stands up, one of his shoes and one of your hair ties in one hand while he presses the tips of his fingers of his right hand against his chest to indicate himself. “But Sam insisted that there was just some dust in his eye.”

You chuckle.

“Casey stopped by. She was on her way to some party in the city.”

“Yeah, her sister is having a baby shower. She’s due in three months.”

“You weren’t invited?” He asks, stopping his straightening to lean on his butt against the back of the couch as he looks over to you.

“I was.” You say off hand.

“Well, why didn’t you go?” He wonders and you can hear that confusion from last night in his voice again, so you look for his eyes and find them inquisitive. The small pucker between his eyes is so damn cute…how can he not know why you aren’t going?

“Because you’re home, silly.” You say with a light smile, shaking your head. “I wasn’t going to go out when I actually have you here.”

Bucky looks away from you, down at his feet for a long moment and you go back to cooking.

After a few silent minutes, two strong arms wrap you up, and you jump again, but because they’re familiar, you don’t scream.

“Jesus, Bucky…” You huff a laugh, leaning back against his chest but you keep your hand stirring in the pan so that your sauce doesn’t stick or get lumpy. “I’m gonna buy you a bell.”

“I have been gone a lot, haven’t I?” He speaks quietly but it isn’t a whisper. The scruff of his chin grazes against your cheek as he leans down to cuddle you.

“Yeah, but that’s your job. I don’t mind you being gone—I mean I do; I miss you when you’re not here—but you have to go away for work. Just…” You stop, not wanting to bring this up again. Things are so nice right now, in this moment.

“Just what, kitten?”

Kitten? Flutters erupt in your stomach and you lean to your left, so that you can look up at his face over your shoulder.

“Please don’t do what you did yesterday again. That really made me feel like shit, Buck.”

He suddenly buries his head into your neck, shaking it as if he’s trying to shake off the thoughts in his head.

You feel the press of his lips on your skin, but it isn’t sexual. It’s apologetic and loving. Soft and tender. When he pulls back, he rests the side of his head against the side of yours as you continue to cook.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. I hate that I made you cry.”

“I know.” You assure him and turn to kiss his lips briefly. “Now go away, so I can finish cooking. You get to cook dinner though!”

Bucky smiles wide although there’s still a worry in his eyes and moves out of the kitchen to get back to cleaning.

It takes about forty minutes for all the food to be ready. You cut up some veggies and make him a salad first and then give him the pasta. Red wine is served but only you get slightly dizzy.

After lunch, Bucky washes the dishes and once the kitchen is clean, he insists that the two of you watch the Goonies again, this time, so he can be awake for it.

“Yay!” You squeal with delight and start the movie then settle into the couch on one end. To your surprise, Bucky goes to the opposite end.

You’re about to pout and shove over to him but he turns to sit facing you and then takes your left foot in his hands and with his metal fingers he begins to apply firm pressure to all the sore spots you didn’t know you had.

“Oh my God.” You gush, it feels so good.

“Hey, now. Haven’t you said that to me before?” Bucky teases.

Your neck and ears burn. “Shut up, perv!”

Grabbing a throw pillow, you chuck it at him as he chuckles at your flushed face, but easily catches the pillow and sets it under your knee to elevate it slightly.

While the movie plays, Bucky asks countless questions.

“Why is that guy in jail?”

“Why is there a race at the beach?”

“Where did all these kids meet?”

“Damn, what a mess. Who’s going to clean up that milkshake?”

“How can they afford a cleaning lady if they’re leaving because they’re getting bought out?”

“Bucky,” You laugh. “I don’t know.”

“I’m just asking! I mean, if they can afford a cleaning lady, they should be able to buy their house.”

Then it’s your turn to talk.

“Man, I miss when we could do that.”

“Do what?”

“Go out.”

“Uh, kitten, you’re an adult. You can go wherever you want.” He says in his best duh tone.

You chuckle and Bucky looks over at you, staring as your laugh dies off. You’re too busy looking from the movie to his hands caressing your feet to notice the look of utter love on his face.

“I meant as kids. Kids can’t just get on their bikes and ride around town anymore.”

“Why not?” He wonders, curious and he looks back to the movie as the titular Goonies ride their bikes away in escape of Brand, Mikey’s older brother. “Steve and I used to go all over the neighborhood on our own as kids.”

“They’ve got all those laws now. Kids can’t be out without adult supervision. They get kidnapped. It’s neglect. I guess I can see their point but at the same time, when do they get a chance to be kids? Casey and I used to run off to the park every day or each other’s houses. We explored the woods nearby before they developed the area. We made a lot of good memories in those woods.”

You lift up your foot and poke his side with your big toe.

“I had my first kiss in those woods.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, intrigued and teasing. “Who with?”

“Juan Delgado. He was this kid visiting this other friend of ours from Mexico. He was really cute. Short wavy dark hair. Dark, almost jet-black eyes. Pouty lips.”

Bucky pushes himself up and begins to crawl over you. “Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.” You nod, and slither down a little more so that your head is propped up enough to watch the TV but you’re laying down a bit more.

Bucky grabs one of the throw pillows and as he reaches your head, he puts his right hand behind it and pulls you up just a bit so that he can slide the pillow behind your neck, so it doesn’t hurt.

Once you’re settled back onto the sofa, he lays himself on you. “Was he a good kisser?”

You nod.

“Better than me?”

“I don’t know.” You admit, then continue in a whisper. “We were nine.”

Bucky’s eyes are twinkling at you again. He presses his lips against yours, shutting his eyes as he tastes you. “Then, I guess you guys didn’t use tongue?”

Another kiss.

“Definitely not.” You agree.

Another, softer, slower kiss as he runs his tongue along the seam of your lips. As you part them for him, he pulls you into a heady smooch.

You’re out of your mind for a few seconds as he makes you drunk on his lips. When he pulls back, both your lips and his smack softly.

“I win?” He asks.

You huff another laugh, delirious still from his salacious tongue.

“Yeah.” You admit. “You win.”

With triumph curving his lips into a smile, he moves down just a little so that he can rest his head against your left breast, staring at the TV to watch the movie. His arms wrap themselves close around your sides, and he shoves his hands beneath your shoulder blades to both hug you and support your weight.

The two of you are so snuggled into that sofa and neither of you has ever felt so at ease. You’re both right where you should be. Your marriage may not have been conventional, but it was most definitely not a mistake.

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[raging-violets]

~"Stop moving!" for Zack and Riley

Zack slumpedto the side. Then sat up straight, dropping his hands between his knees. He staredforward for a second. Then he relaxed his shoulders, puffing out his chest tostretch his back, and turned to the side, resting his feet on the bottom rungsof the stool next to him. He sat still, stared at the wall in front of him, hismind growing blank…for all of five seconds before the realization that his backwas starting to itch made him start to wiggle back and forth, hoping theroughness of the fabric moving across his back would scratch it—

“Look!”Riley huffed, ripping a half-started sheet of paper out of her sketchbook. Shecrumpled it up and threw it to Zack, watching as it harmlessly bounced off hisforehead. A smirk pulled at her lips as she curled her hands over the top ofthe pad, resting her chin on it. She tapped her fingers in a steady beat beforesaying, “I know it’s hard for you to sit still for more than a micro second, matebut can you please stop wiggling around?”

Zack’sshoulders immediately dropped, lower lip sticking out in a pout. “I’m sorry.”He sounded anything but. “But if I’m going to sit here and stare blankly atsomething, I need motivation.” He watched a wave of trepidation move over herface, through her blue eyes, and waited for her to give in to ask.

As sheusually did.

It didn’ttake long.

“Like?”Riley finally prompted.

“Like…” Zackthought for a second and rolled his eyes. He turned toward Riley, curling hisfingers around the edge of the stool, leaned toward her. “Have you ever listenedto Cody talk before?”

Riley liftedan eyebrow. She tilted her head, training her eyes on him. “I’ve listened.”

“No, I mean really listened to him.” Zack twirledhis finger beside the side of his head. “He doesn’t say anything, he just goes on and on and on and on.” He opened andclosed his hand like a mouth moving. “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”

“I’m suremany people could say the same thing about you.”

“At least I’vegot something to say.”

“Like you’redoing now?” Riley flipped to a clean page on her sketchbook, lying it acrossher lap.

Zack droppedhis hand to his lap, pouting as he always did when he was compared to hisbrother. Lest, his pout wilted to an almost haughty expression. “At least I’mnot boring.”

“Really,mate? ‘Cause this whole convo is lulling me to sleep, yeah?” She picked up thepencil she’d stuck behind her ear when she tore apart her drawing. “It’s onlyfor an hour, I just need you to sit still so I can finish this drawing.” Zacksighed heavily through his nose, tilting his head back. “You didn’t have to dothis.”

“And miss mychance to be openly checked out?” Zack folded his arms. He lowered his chin,shooting her another haughty look once more. “C’mon Sweet Thang, you know I can’tresist.”

“Yeah, Idoubt your ego would be able to handle not being the center of attention formore than a second.” She cast him a withering glance, pointing the sharpenedend of her pencil at him. “And stop calling me that.”  

“Sure thing,Hot Stuff.”

“Zack!”

Zack held uphis hands, ducking when Riley flung her pencil at him. It arced through the airtoward his head, landing harmlessly among the carefully stacked paintings, sculptures,and works from other students—students who had the foresight to come up with atopic for their assignment of ‘feeling’. A peal of laughter escaped Zack’s lips,filling the room, echoing off the corners.

Even Rileycouldn’t help but allow herself to laugh, leaning forward to hide her facebehind her sketch pad. Finally, with a smile in her voice, she said, “Can you pleasejust fucking sit still? I really want to finish this today. And you promised tohelp me.”

“Okay! Okay!”Zack threw his hands into the air, laughter fading. “What do you want me to do?”

“Sitthere. Pose! I don’t care!” She ran her hand along the now clean, empty page infront of her. Lowered her voice to a murmur. “Just stop moving.”

“Fine.”

Zack movedinto a comfortable position, rounding his shoulders forward into a comfortable slumpthat he’d grown into over years of playing video games for hours on end. Herelaxed his jaw, allowing his teeth to part slightly, allowing his tongue toflatten against his teeth. Moved his lips into what was neither a smile nor afrown—an almost playful smirk, his eyelids falling to a fraction abovehalf-lidded. A look that others would’ve brushed off as him being lightyears awaybut was the exact opposite.

He’d neverbeen more focused. Listening as Riley motioned to her face with a wave of herhand saying, “Look at me.”

As if he’dever wanted to look anywhere else.

With everypencil stroke and every line Riley blended together, Zack watched the intenseattention she gave him. How she visibly started with his head, keeping her eyeson his, slightly flickering left and right to take in all of his face. Then workedher way down, making her frown and twist almost sideways, mimicking his postureat one point, to take in his upper body.

Zack felthimself become a bit nervous then, his stomach twisting. Wondering what it was shewas seeing, what it was she was recreating on paper. He was no Joe Schmo, thatwas for sure. His own ego aside, his parents were very attractive and made cutechildren. Even Cody, who Zack was sure would never get a girlfriend, had enoughattention from girls long before Zack figured out how to successful woo them thatalways made him burn with jealousy.

But now…nowin a quiet room where he had nothing but Riley’s undivided attention, Zack feltnaked. The thought of it alone scared him. Everyone said he wasn’t fat but… Zackturned his eyes down, suddenly ashamed.

“Eyes on me,boofhead,” Riley reminded him gently, though the teasing edge to her voice unmistakable. He snapped his gaze back to her.

Wonderedwhat it’d be like if he were drawing her, which part he’d focus on the most. He’dprobably simply just stare at her while sullenly trying to draw anything but astick figure with some hair crudely drawn on. His artistic capabilities weren’tso advanced, but he certainly would want to focus on her eyes.

Eyes that,even when the rest of her face was blank, could betray what they were reallyfeeling. But, Zack learned from experience, one had to be careful trying tofigure out. Anger could cover sadness, happiness could cover pain, and yethappiness could be happiness with nothing in between.But if he were to draw hereyes, he had to draw her nose. The nose that housed all the freckles thatspread to her cheeks, giving her a shockingly youthful look compared to thehardness of her resting face, having seen too much pain over the years.

She drew himseriously. She didn’t want to lower his already fragile self-esteem—though hewas never quick to admit it. Some of him was covered by the shadows cast fromthe lightning in the room, making her job easier, almost making it easier forhim. He could hide in the shadows, giving much less for her to work with. Inthe different poses he kept himself in before, it was only seconds beforediscomfort covered him.

Right then,he wasn’t uncomfortable. The whole time Zack watched her just as intently asshe was watching him. Occasionally his eyes would flicker from her own, allowinghim to take in the big picture of her; of her tongue poking just slightly out betweenher lips. A small smile would spread across Zack’s face when he saw her glanceup to look at him again, seemingly to become even more focused each time shedid so.

Zack wasn’tsure how much time had passed by the time his butt started to grow numb. Itcouldn’t take that long to work couldit? She might have elongated the process by a few minutes or so. Zack didn’twant to speak, in fear of ruining the moment. She just looked so serene as sheworked; so peaceful. The more she drew, the more comfortable he became.

He lovedevery minute of it.

But he wasstill human, and no human could ignore a numb ass on a stool. Zack parted hislips, took a breath, ready to speak. “Are you—”

“—If you say‘draw me like one of your French girls’, I’m going to kick your ass,” Rileysaid so monotone that Zack couldn’t help but laugh.

“I was goingto say you’re taking your time,” Zack said.

Almost as ifa trance were broken, Riley leaned back and asked, “You want to look good, yeah?”

“I alwayslook good.”

He wasrewarded with a light roll of her eyes. “I want a good grade,” she said simply.Yeah, right. She couldn’t get a bad grade even if she tried. It was of the few classeswhere you could turn work in late and still have it be graded fairly. Finally,she leaned back, scrutinized the page, and scribbled her hand in the corner ina flourish—signing it. “Finished.” She set her pencils aside and beckoned himtoward her. “Come see.”

Instead,Zack leaned forward and grabbed the leg of her stool, pulling her across the floorto him. The screeching of the legs across the linoleum floor almost—but notquite—covered Riley’s amused giggle. Finally, she turned it toward him.

Zack stared.

It took afew moments for him to blink. To take in every part of his face; of the darklyshaded areas, to the lighter ones, taking in his own reflection. He may as wellbe looking in the mirror. It almost worried him that the drawing didn’t moveevery direction he did as he shifted back and forth.

Zack smiled.

“Do you likeit?” Riley’s voice turned soft, questioning. She twisted her fingers together infront of her before bringing up her leg hand to rub at her right arm. “What doyou think?”

“I think you’dgive all those old farts in any museum a run for their money,” Zack said. Hiseyes lit up at the thought. “How much do you think you’d make off this? Off drawingother people? If you market this right, you can easily make a pretty penny.” Helaughed when Riley elbowed him in the side, giving him a disapproving look. “Can’tblame a guy for trying.”

“So you’regoing to pimp me out just to get some cash?” Riley scowled at him, eyesflashing. A look he’d seen many times before and easily knew how to appease. Akiss to her cheek did as much.

“No, theonly pimping I’m going to put you through is to myself,” Zack said, earning aroll of the eyes. “I’ve got exclusive rights to the artist and everything shewants to bring to any and all personal meetings.” He paused an added, “The art’sgood too, I guess.”

“You guess?”Riley brushed her cheek with her shoulder and folded her arms. “What do youknow about art?”

“Nothing.”The answer was so simple that Riley chuckled quietly. Then he tossed aflirtatious grin her way. “But I know it when I see it,” his eyes well awayfrom her drawing and instead on her form. She blushed, but continued to smilebroadly. “So.” Zack slid his arm around Riley’s waist, drawing him to her lap.No, she easily sank against him, looping her arm around his neck, leaning backagainst him, seamlessly molding against his body. “You never told me.”

Riley turnedto him, her cheek brushing his, eyelashes fluttering across his cheek. Her eyebrowsquirked up, eyes widening almost imperceptivity but giving an air of curiosity.“Never told you what?” Zack felt his heart soar—trying his hardest not to focuson how it affected his whole body—enjoyingthe way her deeper, accented voice reached his ears so cleanly.

“What the topicwas. Why you wanted me to pose for you.”

Riley liftedher eyebrows. “Mm. Does it matter?”

“No.” Zackslid his hand into her hair, gently running his fingers through the silkystrands. He looked up at her, taking in her dark blue eyes and her longeyelashes. He could see every freckle on her cheeks, rounding over her nose,and every fleck of brown in her eyes.

Zack leanedforward and closed the gap between them. He slowly moved his lips against hers,holding her head gently, almost cradling it in his grasp, the other moving upto cup her chin. He held her close for several seconds, radiating in the warmthof her body against him. Remind him that she chose him over everyone else; ableto see past every insecurity with a snarky comment and a patient—bordering onimpatient at the worst of times–dose of reality and vice versa.

Zack’sbreathing slowed as he pulled back from the kiss. He stopped and stared at hereyes.

Her intenseeyes.

He had a feelinghe knew which one she chose.

“Hey,” Rileygreeted, lips pulling back into a dazzling smile.

Zack’s lipstugged back. “Hey,” he replied.

[amuletrebel]

The Boyfriend Phenomenon

The Boyfriend Phenomenon states when a girl starts dating a boy who emphasizes all the best and attractive qualities about her, other males start to take notice of her attractiveness as well.

When Marinette hurried her way to school, the last thing she expected to see was Luka Couffaine himself. He was leaning against the wall right next to the doors with his eyes closed, seemingly meditating. Marinette couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped her. The second time they met was much like the first. But when she saw those teal eyes open and focus on her, her heart immediately did summersaults.

“Hey Marinette,” the guitarist greeted her with a boyish smile.

The young designer blushed and shifted on one foot. “H-h-hey Luka! How’s day going? I-I mean how hanging? No, I mean! …Hi.”

Luka smiled and chuckled softly. “Funny as always.” Marinette’s blush darkened with the compliment. “So listen, I got these tickets to the next Jagged Stone concert happening at the Eiffel Tower this Saturday.” He dipped his hand into the back pocket of his ripped jeans and pulled out two tickets, each decorated with the Rock Giant Logo on them. “I was wondering if you wanted to go with me? Like a date?”

In that moment all the blood rushed to Marinette’s face that she was worried all the pressure would make her head pop. But she quickly shook herself out of her shock in fear that her silence would be taken as a rejection. The blunette rapidly nodded her head—she tried to play it down some so she wouldn’t look like a bobblehead—and took one of the tickets. “Y-yeah! Amazing that sound! I m-mean, that sounds amazing! I’d love to do you! GO! I’d love to go with you!”

“Awesome, so it’s a date,” Luka romantically said, taking Marinette’s delicate hand and pulling it up to his lips and then placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. “I’ll come by your house around 6. Sound good?”

“Sounds great…” Marinette dreamily replied, the soft pink on her cheeks still present.

“See you then,” the blue-haired boy said and walked away, giving what Marinette could swear was a smoldering gaze before disappearing from sight.

Marinette smiled softly down at the ticket and held it to her chest for a moment. Then she put in it her pocket and sped off to class. Meanwhile, neither of them noticed the young blonde not too far away from the scene. He was scratching at his chest like there was an itch he couldn’t get rid of or a pain he couldn’t soothe.

Marinette nervously played with her pigtails when Luka and his mom came around to get her Saturday evening. She smiled when she saw the van that Anarka Couffaine loved to steer almost as much as her house boat. It was definitely a creative mess, with Victory spray-painted across the left side of the vehicle in a curly font that gave off a very pirate vibe. From Juleka’s stories, she helped paint the scenery of the ocean that was on the van too. And just like the outside, the inside screamed Anarka. There weren’t any food scraps or anything like that, but there were old drawings, random toys from Juleka’s younger days, and even Luka’s skateboard lounging on the front passenger seat.

Marinette shot up, almost hitting her head on the ceiling, when Luka’s fingers brushed against hers not long after she laid her hand between them on the car seat. She slowly relaxed and moved her hand closer. Maybe…this wasn’t so bad. Maybe what she said about her and Adrien being like compass and statue was true. She wasn’t the one who drove Adrien crazy in the way she wanted to. He saw her as a friend. But Luka…Luka obviously showed interest. Otherwise he wouldn’t have asked her out to this concert…right? Perhaps it was time the compass pointed in a new direction…

When they got to the Eiffel Tower, Marinette was confused when Luka passed so many rows of seats, his hand holding her as he guided to the very front. The young designer gawked and double-checked her ticket only for her jaw to fall in shock. How the heck did Luka score front row seats?! And yet, there they were, hand in hand, as Jagged Stone entered the stage with the smoke machine blasting to make the entrance grander. Marinette relaxed with a smile, getting pumped up from listening to Jagged Stone’s music from up close. Yes, she experienced it once with all her friends after dealing with Pixelator but reminding herself that this was a date made the experience feel newer. She peeked at the blue-haired boy from under her eyelashes and gasped when she saw he was looking at her with an intense expression.

“I really like you Marinette!” Luka yelled over the rock music. “Will you go out with me?”

“I-I thought that’s w-what this was!” Marinette yelled back, blushing crimson.

Luka chuckled with a hand to his mouth and shook his head. “I meant on more dates!”

Marinette smiled softly, the resolve she previous made clear. It was time to put her feelings for Adrien on the backburner and be the friend to him that he could lean on. “I’d love to! This was the best date I’ve ever been on!” Well, okay, the Evillustrator was more like a fake date and the movies with Adrien that one time was more hiding out than a date since he didn’t invite her. So there weren’t many date to compare to, thus the bar not being set very high…until now.

When the concert ended, and Mrs. Anarka drove them back to the Dupain-Cheng Bakery, Luka opened the door for Marinette and helped her out of the van. He smiled as she looped her arm around his when he offered it and led her to the door. 

“I had a fun time,” the guitarist suddenly said.

“Y-yeah, me too,” Marinette stuttered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a shy smile.

“I wanted to ask again before I left.” Luka took Marinette’s hands in his and stared into her bluebell eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend, Marinette?”

“M-m-me?!” Marinette’s face turned the reddest shade it has ever been as she heard those five very important words. Honestly, she always thought she’d be hearing them from Adrien’s mouth. She was so in shock that she blurted out the dumbest thing that popped into her head. “Why?”

“You’re an amazing girl, Marinette. You’re unbelievably brave. You alerted Ladybug when we were captured by Captain Hardrock; you basically saved us. You’re also funny. And you’re beautiful, especially when you’re blushing like right now. So…what do you say Marinette?”

The young designer’s eyes pricked with tears. But Luka didn’t think he upset her based on the happy grin that spread across her lips. No one besides Alya and her parents ever told her these things. But this was a situation of romantic interest. She hadn’t known Luka for very long, but he had seen all her best qualities in that small window of time, and he was attracted to them.

“Yes,” Marinette answered, her tears never falling as Luka wiped them away with his thumb.

Adrien thought he was sick at first. His heart was beating faster than normal and his head was starting it hurt. It all started when he saw Marinette talking to Luka, which his hand holding hers. Adrien had only met Luka once, but he was pretty cool. So why did it feel like both his brain and heart were gonna explode because Luka was in so close a proximity to his pigtailed friend? It only got worse when the blue-haired guitarist planted a kiss on the back on Marinette’s hand and she blushed. That was a Chat Noir thing! Only Chat could kiss Marinette’s hand! The blonde scratched at his chest, feeling a burning sensation bubble up. He itched at it, hoping it would disappear, but it didn’t.

The burning only escalated in the time leading up to the weekend. Marinette had a lost in thought expression on her face as she doodled in her notebook. The blush he saw on her face would return whenever Luka came around for Juleka or to say hi to everyone, especially Marinette. Over the weekend, Adrien had a sense of restlessness wash over him unlike anything he ever felt before. For whatever reason, Marinette kept popping to the forefront of his mind. Was he concerned about her? Why? It was just Luka… Just Luka… Adrien suddenly jerked his leg forward in a kicking motion but ended up stubbing his toe against the wall and biting back the yelp of pain. What the heck was going on with him?

Marinette was a smart girl; and sweet, and funny, and a natural born leader. The young model shook his head. The point he was so vehemently tried to make to himself was that Marinette has proven herself to be a good judge of character and would always be nice to anyone who was equally nice back. He shouldn’t let her interacting with Luka get to him like it was. To let out his unknown frustration, Adrien ended up doing anything to relieve aggression; slamming his fingers against the piano keys to create a dark tone that very much contrasted his sunshine personality, wadding up piece of paper and shooting them into the trash can, and furiously playing foosball against himself. The weekend couldn’t be over sooner.

Monday morning was the worst day of them all. He had arrived the school on time, the itch in his chest still present but he had grown a little numb to it. He greeted Nino at the stairs as per usual and the two walked into the main area. Class wasn’t beginning for another 20 minutes, so the two friends decided to hang out on the steps.

Suddenly, Adrien heard a familiar giggle that had his head shooting up and searching around the room. Nino didn’t seem to notice as he was looking down and browsing the music on his phone. The blonde’s lips turned up into a smile as he spotted the familiar pigtails bouncing as the girl attached to them giggled at something. The world seemed a little brighter, that beam of light highlighting Marinette like she was an angel sent from above. But that glorious feeling immediately plummeted to the Earth’s core as she saw who she was giggling with; the infamous Luka Couffaine. What made it even worse was Marinette had her arm looped around Luka’s as the two smiled at each other. The horror-ridden cherry on top of the nightmare sundae was when Luka leaned down and kissed Marinette’s cheek, and she blushed!

Adrien was at a loss for words. Luckily, his friend wasn’t. The blonde tapped Nino’s shoulder and pointed to the entrance. Regaining his voice, he asked, “Um, what’s that?”

Nino was very aware of Marinette’s crush on Adrien. He also heard the detailed news from Alya who heard from Marinette what transpired over the weekend. The DJ also knew of Adrien’s “she’s a good friend” line and his lack of romantic interest (at least on the surface) towards the pigtailed girl. Maybe this ordeal was a good thing.

“Marinette and Luka?” Nino asked, to which Adrien nodded. “Luka asked Marinette out this weekend. Looks like it went well.”

Adrien’s mind drove itself into a crashing realization and plots of murder using a guitar. Oh my god, I’m jealous of Luka…because he’s dating Marinette.

[monsta-sextories]

Poolside - 3

Son Hyunwoo

word count: 2880

🎧 Left Hand Free - Alt-J

Note: i love my followers! thank you all for being wonderful. hope you appreciate the slowest build ever.

The summer sun was violent today as it hung just above your head, erasing any shadow to hide in. That didn’t seem to slow Hyunwoo as he unloaded his hedge trimming supplies off his truck. You watched him take a few trips back and forth, sweat glossing his body, and the slightest bit of a burn starting to color his chest.

You had decided to sit outside and draw today, something you hadn’t done in years. An occasional breeze would roll through, disturbing your paper, but it left just as quickly as it came. You liked drawing Hyunwoo when he was focused in on his work, his movements creating a challenge for you to capture. You admired his physique of course, but his facial expressions were always so intense, his focus apparent. After a few minutes of watching his muscles shift under layers of skin, you started to think about the feeling of those muscles, what they would feel like against your own skin…

“Subtle,” you heard Betsy’s voice from behind you as she stepped onto the back patio. She was peaking over your shoulder at the sketchbook in your lap, identifying the images of Hyunwoo.

You shoot her a glare but don’t bother to close the book. It’s almost too hot to move, much less bicker.

“Miss, are you aware of the temperature?” she asks as she dabs off some sweat on your brow. You swat her away with a groan.

“Hot,” you say in response. The glass of water sitting next to you, had been filled with ice, and is now warm.

“You should come inside,” she says with a hint of concern. You smirk in response.

“I’ve barley lifted a finger, and look at him,” you say nodding to Hyunwoo, “is it even possible?”

Betsy just smiles and then turns to head back inside, “I’ll bring you some water, dear. You seem… thirsty.” You roll your eyes at her idea of a joke, but your eyes wander back to Hyunwoo. You want to force him to take a break, tell him to finish later once the sun has started to set maybe.

You watch him stop his movements and use his shirt, which is soaked in sweat, to wipe off some more sweat. When he does it though you get a glimpse of his bare stomach the small trail of hair that disappears down past his belt buckle.

“Here, you go,” you hear Betsy say as she sneaks up behind you once more. She places a pitcher of water and a second glass down on the table.

“I’ll be heading home soon, so why don’t you make sure the two of you stay hydrated.”

You remembered that today was Betsy’s son’s birthday. You had bought him a gift that should have been placed in the foyer by now.

“Tell Thomas I said happy birthday, and have George help load his gift into your car,” you almost mumble with your eyes closed.

“You really didn’t have to-“ Betsy starts and you waver her off.

“You don’t have to give it to him. I don’t know what kids are into these days. Just take it.”

You’re surprised when you feel skin against your own as Betsy leans down to hug you. Her skin is soft and cool from being inside with the air conditioning. She places a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

“You’re a sweet girl,” she says and you can hear the smile in her voice. “Thank you.”

She releases you almost too soon. Betsy is the only one who’s able to see past your exterior. Her words always soften you up.

“Have fun,” you say as she turns to leave.

“You too, Miss,” she says with a grin as she glances at Hyunwoo, “dinner is in the fridge. There’s more than enough for two.”

On that note she’s gone. Leaving you and Hyunwoo alone for the time being. You glance over towards the pool and it looks so tempting. Then, back at Hyunwoo… also tempting. Then you reach for the pitcher of water and more a cold glass.

“Hyunwoo!” you call out.

…

You both decided it would be much better to eat inside today… or you decided, and he nodded in agreement. You gave him time to head over to the guest house and shower before returning. Just enough time for you to get the food ready that Betsy had prepared.

When he came back he was wearing another set of casual clothes. His work boots had been exchanged for cleaner ones that he didn’t hesitate to walk through the house with.

“You’re probably starving,” you say as you grab silverware and bring it over to the large dining table. The air feels good and the food smells amazing.

He nods enthusiastically as he takes a seat at the table. It’s been a few weeks and it still seems as though you make him uncomforatbale. Something that stings your pride just a little, because that’s not what you’re trying to do. You wish you could show him that you’re a warm person… deep down, and that you can be sweet and fun and someone you can talk to.

You sit down, deciding today you’ll just follow his lead. Today, you’ll let him initiate conversation and sit quietly so you can find out more about him.

The food sits in front of both of you and this time Hyunwoo doesn’t seem as hesitant, which might be because he’s been working up an appetite all day. You watch him without realizing for a few seconds until you do the same, because you too are pretty famished.

You notice him looking up at you a few times, and then looking away when you look back. Typically something like this wouldn’t bother you but after another quick glance you find yourself feeling emotional. Do you really make him this uneasy?

“You don’t have to eat with me,” you start, feeling the sting of his passive rejection. “You can eat wherever you’d like.”

He looks up at you with confused eyes. But despite you speaking directly to him, he still seems unable to make eye contact with you.

“I don’t pay people for their company contrary to what you might think.”

He doesn’t say anything, which hurts more than it should. You think you might be on the verge of storming off when he stutters…

“Uh, I uh… I’m sorry. I just-“

“If I make you so uncomfortable,” you say as your about to pick up your plate, but he cuts you off before you can continue with the second half of your sentence.

He’s smiling, which catches you off guard, but then he’s slowly pointing up to the corner of his mouth.

“You, uh, you have sauce on your face,” he says.

You immediately feel your cheeks burn because not only do you probably sound foolish, but you probably look the part too. You think about hiding your face in your palms or disappearing to the bathroom, but before you can make a move-

“I can get it,” he offers sweetly. His deep voice and soft eyes wait for you to give your permission. You give a short nod and he slowly reaches out towards you. His actions lack finesse but with one rough swipe of his thumb he nods in approval and goes back to eating his food.  

This time he comments, saying he likes the sweet taste to the meat, and you agree trying to shed your embarrassment.

“Ginger,” you say as you take another bite, trying to be more mindful of the sauce so you don’t embarrass yourself a second time.

He smiles at you as he chews.

You try to smile back, but there’s something that sends your heart fluttering. If this is a crush, the movies make it look easy. They make it look sweet and playful… but here, right now, it feels like an itch you can’t scratch, or craving you can’t satisfy. It feels like a toothache or lump caught in your throat. But it also feels like waiting for a rainstorm or breeze on a hot day.

“I think I need some wine,” you say, and excuse yourself.

You wait for him to be out of sight before you feel like you can breathe again. If this is a crush... you hope to god you never fall in love.

…

Once you finished your food, Hyunwoo looked like he was about ready to head off. The sun was setting and the heat was starting to die down. Everything felt nice, and peaceful. It was a beautiful summer evening and you weren’t ready to be left alone yet. So you asked him if he wanted to see the rest of the house. With the quickness of which he nodded, you assumed he’s probably been imagining what was behind the doors that were usually kept shut.

You guided him through most of the first floor. He had seen the east kitchen and dining area where Betsy typically cooked for the house during the summer and especially for parties. It had the most room, but there was also another kitchen located on the opposite side of the house. It was a family kitchen, but it was rarely ever used on account of Betsy and the fact that your parents didn’t like to cook.

You lead him down the hall, stopping to show him your father’s study room where he used to do business. You showed him the movie room, and the bathrooms and passed by the wine cellar, which was accessible by doors in both the east kitchen and family kitchen, and finally the gun room. It was your dad’s favorite room because it was also a game room. It was home to a pool table, a bunch of shotguns, some old antique looking armory and then odds and ends of expensive relics that acted as decor. It was the most elaborate room, for sure. You had always called it the show-off room because whenever he would have guests over they would head in hear and smoke cigars and walk down the line of trinkets and just list the worth of the objects. Your father had a gift for that… remembering the price and value of things. He didn’t care much for the story unless it was accompanied by triple digits.

Hyunwoo seemed intrigued by the objects, but he didn’t say much. He looked like someone admiring the work in a gallery.

“This is probably the most expensive room. It’s my father’s,” you said toying with something, “he always has his eye on something to add to his collection.”

Hyunwoo looked at you, listening to you speak.

“Everything in here has a story I suppose. To make it valuable. But he usually doesn’t remember them. Just the price tags,” you say with a tinge of bitterness.

“Anyways, I don’t like being in here for very long. It makes you sick after a while.”

You lead him back out into the hall and shut the doors behind you. He follows you into the foyer where you stand in front of the large stair case.

“Ready for the second floor?” you ask. He goes shy for a second and then clears his throat.

“I don’t know if I should, I mean, it doesn’t seem appropriate. Your parents…” he trails off.

You smile at his concern and flash him a grin.

“My parents are gone. Half way round the globe most likely,” you say placing your hand on the railing as you take one step.

He half smiles and watches as you take another step, and another. His grin widens with each one until he’s following after you.

The second floor is mostly just bedrooms and bathrooms and the balcony that wraps around the entire house. There’s a library which you had spent almost as much time in as the guest house.

“Come,” you say as you lead him through the library, “it’s not a large room, but it is stocked from floor to ceiling with books. There’s double doors on the one side that open up to the balcony so you lead him that way, taking your time as you watch the sunset along the horizon.

“Wow. This place is even bigger on the inside,” he says with a sigh.

You smile and lead him farther along the balcony until you pass by your own bedroom doors. You open them revealing white and mahogany. A large canopy bed, unmade, and clothes strewn about the room.

“This is mine,” you say, wishing you would have bothered to clean up this morning. You step in, and he follows.

“You like art,” he says probably noticing the framed images on your wall. Van Gogh’s sunflowers, Klimt’s gold detailing, and Cezanne’s still lifes…

“Very much,” you say but then you see him standing over your sketchbook you had been drawing in earlier. He picks it up and you feel your heart sink. You nearly leap to grab it from him. He looks back at you silently with eyebrows raised.

You clear your throat, “I’m- I’m just not very good,” you say meekly.

He ignores it and moves on settling his gaze on a picture of you when you were young instead. There’s one of you and your parents looking happy and sophisticated and then another pushed in front of that one of you and Betsy after she finally came home from the hospital after having her baby.

He smiled softly. “So this is one of the tiny devils she talks about.”

You laugh, “She’s much bigger now. Maybe you’ll get to meet them one day.”

He just smiles and nods

“Betsy really likes you,” he says as a side note. “She talks about you a lot. I didn’t know you two were so close.”

“She’s been with us since I was little. We spent a lot of time together then. My parents were happy to have someone to keep track of me… well, anyways that’s pretty much all that I can show you.”

He makes his way back towards the open balcony doors, and you throw your sketchbook down on your bed thinking that was a close call. You follow after him and lead him back the way you came.

“At least you know where to find me now, even though I know you’ll never set foot in here again unless I make you.”

He laughs as you walk side by side down the stair case.

“I think I’d get lost without someone to guide me around,” he answers.

You walk him to the back patio in silence. The sun has just disappeared, so the night sky hangs above and the lights from the house and the bottom of the pool seem to be the only source of illumination.

“Goodnight,” he says sweetly giving you another smile. You can’t help but feel he’s leaving too soon. He’s leaving too… carelessly. In the movies there’s always some sort of hesitation. There’s a second where you both expect something to happen. But here he’s just going to walk away?

“Goodnight,” you almost whisper.

He starts to walk away and you can feel it tugging at your heart…

“Uh, maybe tomorrow we can hangout again,” you say quickly right before he turns to leave. He looks surprised when he faces you.

“Sure,” he says casually, “I’ll be pruning the trees along the driveway, but afterwards…” he trails of with his hand in his pockets. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable… but he also doesn’t seem excited. Not like what you’re feeling on the inside.

You nod, and he turns to leave again…

“Hyunwoo,” you stop him once more. He turns around, this time curious.

“I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier. I- I really do like having you here. I don’t mean to be such a… a bother. I guess. Sometimes I just get bored and... I don’t know.”

He gives you that tight eyed smiles and laughs briefly.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow,” he says and this time he really does leave. You were hoping for something more climactic. Something like a shy first kiss, or… or a fucking high five for Christ's sake.

You sigh defeated as you close the outside doors and head for the kitchen. There’s a gallon of strawberry ice cream that will help soothe you.

You grab a spoon and as you head for the freezer you can see the light on in the guest house. There’s movement, and you squint your eyes just a little. When you finally make out what’s going on, you realize Hyunwoo’s… dancing?

You laugh to yourself and have to walk away, but not without another glance. From what you gathered there were different sides to people. Hyunwoo seemed to be no exception. The thing was, you didn’t just want to know the different sides of Hyunwoo… you wanted to show him to know the different sides of you. This wasn’t a common feeling you had. In all your years of living you could only say that you had ever trusted Betsy enough to let your walls down. Maybe that was the allure of Hyunwoo. He reminded you of someone you could trust.

<<previous            next>>

[rivertate-blog]

the broken road // development para

tw: abuse (past) , tw: alcohol(?)

The day the press are given access to the foxhole court, almost the entire team is on edge, and River feels much the same way.  They know by now that journalists aren’t anyone’s friends, at least when it comes to their teammates, and the Foxes who don’t actually hate talking to them could probably be counted on one or two fingers.  While they haven’t been assigned to press duty yet, they’ve heard only bad things, and their inexperience in this department is a big part of what’s causing their anxiety.  

Even with years of experience behind them of walking on eggshells and carefully monitoring every word and action, for fear of consequences, the terror of doing something wrong and making not just themself but the entire team look bad is hard to shake.  Still, there’s nothing to be done, no getting out of it when the cameras are already here, and at the very least they have practice to look forward to before they’re alone with the interviewer.  A weird practice, since they’re being observed, but if there’s one thing they can do right, it’s play exy.  

River brings no less than their best effort to morning practice, willing themselves to ignore the cameras and carry on like they always do.  It works, for the most part.  Focusing on what they’re doing on the court lets them forget about everything else and enjoy themselves.  Playing for a Class I team is intense, sure, it always has been, but River wouldn’t be doing this if they didn’t truly enjoy it.  They’ve been putting in as much extra time as they can possibly manage for the past few weeks, ever since the loss against the Ravens, eager to improve their game, and it’s satisfying to see themself get better little by little.  

Ultimately, though, practice only lasts so long, and the reality of what they have to do afterwards rushes up to meet them again.  River finds themself loitering in the shower, entertaining elaborate fantasies of ways to get out of their interview.  Would faking their own death be too extreme?  Dana would definitely be pissed; she’d threatened before that if they ever did die she’d find a way to resurrect them just to kill them again. Not to mention the Foxes would be out a dealer. A freshman, but still. Sighing heavily, they finally turn the water off and start to get ready, steeling themselves for whatever’s going to happen.  Don’t give them anything they can twist, and make the team look good. How hard could that be?

Making their way out of the locker room, River heads over to the room at the back of the court where the journalists have set up, their heartbeat louder in their ears than they’d really like it to be. You don’t have to answer anything invasive if you don’t want to, just breathe, they remind themself, they have to behave or they’re gone. With a deep breath, they open the door, already on the defensive but trying to hope for the best.

Their interviewer is a too-cheerful woman with a smile they don’t trust.  “River Tate, right? It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, offering a hand that River politely shakes, hoping their palms aren’t too sweaty.  “Is it alright if I call you River?” They confirm that yes, that’s fine by them, and settle themselves in the chair set up across from the camera, trying to get comfortable.

“I’ll start off with some questions about you, and then we can move on to talking about the season, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“So, this is your first season with the Foxes.  What lead you choose Palmetto State, rather than a different school?”

Already, the implication that the Foxes weren’t a good option to begin with, combined with something in her tone of voice that implies she’s trying to dig for the personal tragedy every Fox is assumed to have. “Well, Palmetto has a great program,” River says, keeping their expression pleasant.  “They’ve been a force to be reckoned with, as far as Class I teams go.  Back in high school, I was undecided for a while about where I wanted to go, but I’d been following the Foxes for a few years, and when Wymack offered me a spot on the team I decided to take it.”  She didn’t need to know that River had spent 12 hours both ways on a bus just to deliver their tape to Wymack in person.  

“How has the transition to college been for you so far?  Balancing school and playing exy seems like a lot of commitment.”

“It is, but I’d say I’ve adjusted. For me it’s just a matter of managing my time.”

“I see. And what are you studying?”

“Visual art, with a minor in psychology,” River answers honestly, and if the reporter has the usual reaction people have when hearing someone is an art major she hides it well.  

“That’s an interesting pairing. Any reason for those subjects specifically?” “I’ve been drawing my whole life,” River says, shrugging slightly. “My plan right now is to get drafted after I graduate, but I figure if that doesn’t work out I can try and combine my other interests and go for art therapy.”

That answer must be satisfactory enough the next couple questions are mostly innocent ones about their line of study, even if she tries to pry into why River’s interested in therapy specifically.  They think they do a good job of dodging those with vague answers about wanting to help people, but they have a feeling they might have given her something they didn’t intend to give.

“With everything you have on your plate, would you say you have a support system? Any family or friends?”

“All of the Foxes are more or less my friends, in different ways,” River says, and they do honestly feel that way.  Sure, there were some they didn’t know as well as others, but there was a camaraderie that came with coming from similar backgrounds, and they did all spend a ton of time together.  “The whole team has each other’s backs, which has really helped me, personally, get through some of the stress that comes with the championships.  My older sister has always encouraged me, too. She watches every single game.”

“What about your parents? Are they as supportive as she is?”

It’s a perfectly innocent question, really, and maybe someday years from now River will be able to think about their parents without feeling sick, without feeling the ghost of their father’s fists or belt, without feeling broken glass slicing through their skin all over again, will be able to smell cigarette smoke without smelling their own burning flesh too, will be able to stop hearing their mother’s shrill, condemning voice in their dreams. But today isn’t that day, they only escaped from that house two years ago, and that seemingly innocuous question has kickstarted that god-awful psychosomatic itching they’ve been working out with Betsy at every scar.  They don’t realize they’ve been lost in their own head until the reporter calls their name gently and snaps them out of it.

“No comment,” River says flatly, scratching hard enough over the tiny, circular burn scars on their forearms to turn the skin angry red. It isn’t the most graceful evasion, but they hope it gets their point across.  The reporter opens her mouth like she’s going to press the issue, but something about River’s expression must change her mind, and she closes it.

“So, changing gears a bit,” She begins again, and River’s heart sinks even further preemptively.  “From your presence on social media, you’ve been pretty open about the fact that you identify as transgender, specifically that you don’t identify as a man or a woman.”

River can’t stop themself from stiffening, not sure where she’s headed with this. “That’s right,” they answer cautiously, trying to keep their tone level.  

“Has being open about your gender expression impacted your relationships with the rest of the team in any way?”

River frowns.  “I can’t say it has, no.  Every single one of my teammates has been welcoming and accepting towards me from the minute I got here, so there aren’t any problems there.”

“You’ve mentioned wanting to go on and play professionally.  Do you see your status as a transgender athlete impacting your chances at an exy career?”

They’ve about had it with this particular line of questioning after something like that, and they consider how to phrase what they want to say into something that will hopefully segway into talking about the current season.  They scratch absently at their forearms again as they speak.  “The whole LGBT spectrum has been well represented at Court in recent years,” they say carefully. “I know I’m not the only openly trans or nonbinary athlete in college exy right now, and if I do play professionally in the future I won’t be the only one there either. So, no, if anything affects my chances it will be how I play, not anything else.”

“Speaking of, before I let you go, what are your thoughts on how the Foxes are doing this season? The team’s certainly made it farther than they have in recent memory.”

River’s feeling more than a little emotionally wrung out from previous questioning, but tries their hardest to sound confident.  “And we’ve worked hard to make that happen.  I’m proud of everything we’ve accomplished so far, and I’m confident we could even win the championship title this year.”

“Any feelings on facing Ohio State in your next match?”

The conversation they had with Casey after the game in Nevada is still fresh in their mind, enough that even hearing the name Ohio State spurs a fresh surge of anger, but they doubt I want those fuckers to pay is going to go over well in the press.  Instead, they plaster on what they hope is a self-assured smile.  “Ohio State has a great team, for sure, but I’d say we’re equally matched.  It’ll probably be a challenging game, but I’m looking forward to every second.”

“Alright, well, that’s all I have for today,” the reporter nods after they finish speaking, smiling artificially again as River gets up to shake her hand one more time.  “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, River.”

If River practically bolts from the room after a cursory “Not a problem, thank you for your time,” well, that’s no one’s business but their own.