#but she's just looking at him and watching him disappear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vunblr · 16 hours ago

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Crumbs of Connection

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ just in case. Fluff.

Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.

Word Count: About 11.8k.

Bucky dragged his feet along the cracked sidewalk with slumped shoulders, as the chill of the night seeped through his tattered jacket. He was almost at the building he’d moved into a few days ago, but each step felt heavier than the last. The mission that was supposed to be a walk in the park had left him with a pounding headache, a sour mood, and a stomach that wouldn’t stop growling.

That’s when he noticed.

The little bakery on the corner was still open, its warm light spilling onto the dark street. He frowned. What kind of place stayed open this late? Before he could question it further, the smell of fresh bread, herbs and butter hit his senses. His feet carried him inside before his brain caught up.

The bell above the door chimed softly, and he stepped into the warmth. His eyes scanned the counter, landing on a tray of focaccia behind the glass display. Golden, perfectly crisped, dotted with rosemary and sea salt. His stomach twisted with hunger as he stared, almost entranced.

“Um,” a voice broke through his daze, soft but tinged with caution, “if you wait a little, I can fix something for you.”

Bucky blinked and turned toward the counter. The woman standing there wasn’t what he expected at this ungodly hour. She looked alert, not a trace of exhaustion in her bright eyes or the easy way she held herself. Before he could respond, she disappeared through a door behind the counter.

He frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the light above the counter made his headache throb harder. A few moments later, she returned, holding a small paper bag.

“Here,” she said, offering it with a small smile. “It must be hard in this cold.”

Bucky stared at her, the bag, then back at her.

“What?” he rasped, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Don’t be proud now,” she said, firm but not unkind. “Just take it.”

His mouth twitched, halfway to a sarcastic retort, but he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind a basket of bread. Mud-streaked face, greasy and plastered hair. His beard was a week past needing a trim, and his split lip and tattered clothes didn’t help either.

He swallowed hard, suddenly unsure whether to laugh or groan. She thought he was homeless. His mouth opened and closed, and then he muttered, “I’m not a beggar.”

Her expression didn’t change. She just stared at him for a beat, then muttered, “Okay?” like she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Bucky squinted at her, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve had a bad night,” he said finally, the admission tasting bitter in his mouth.

She quirked a brow, with obvious skepticism.

“Can I just get a focaccia?” he asked, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He kept his movements slow, hiding his bruised knuckles from her as much as possible. He grimaced as he came up with a crumpled bill and a few coins. He counted them twice, deepening his frown. He must have lost his wallet somewhere during the mission, or maybe it was back at the apartment. Either way, what he had wasn’t enough.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. He glanced at her, unsure of how to explain, but she was already watching him.

Her expression didn’t falter. If anything, her gaze softened, though he noticed the faintest flicker of wariness still in her eyes. “It’s fine,” she said after a moment, with a gentle voice. “Just take it.”

Bucky stiffened. “No, I-”

“You’ll pay me back when you get some money,” she interrupted firmly, waving a hand like it was no big deal. “It’s late, cold, and you’re hungry. It’s not going to hurt me to let one focaccia go.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the look she gave him shut him up faster than he liked to admit. There was no pity there, just unwavering practicality like she’d already decided and wasn’t about to budge.

“I don’t need charity,” he muttered, the words falling flat even to his own ears.

“Good thing this isn’t charity then,” she shot back, arching a brow. “It’s credit. You can pay it back tomorrow, or the day after, whenever.”

Bucky’s lips pressed into a tight line, his pride warring with the hunger clawing in his stomach. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and reached for the bag.

“Fine,” he said, with a clipped voice. “But I will pay you back.”

“Sure. Okay.” she replied, handing it over with an ease that only frustrated him more.

He didn’t thank her. Not out loud, at least. He just nodded stiffly and made his way to the door, the warm paper bag cradled in his hands like it was the first good thing to happen to him all day.

As the door closed behind him, she sighed softly, shaking her head. The man looked like life had chewed him up and spit him out. Maybe he’d just fallen through the cracks recently, it was always hardest in the beginning, learning to ask for help. She glanced at the counter, absently smoothing her hands over her apron.

If she saw him again, maybe she could mention her friend at the community center. They were always looking to help people find stable footing before things got worse. And for someone like him, someone who clearly still had some pride, maybe it wasn’t too late to get him back on his feet.

The sound of the bell snapped her out of her thoughts.

Two cops strolled in, familiar faces, and she greeted them with a small smile. “The usual?” she asked, already moving to grab a pair of pastries from the display.

As she handled their order with practiced ease, her thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome stranger with the haunted eyes.

------

Bucky shoved open the door to his apartment. The space was dark, empty, and cold, but he barely noticed. He kicked off his boots, shrugging out of his jacket and letting it fall somewhere on the floor. His pants followed, the trail of his discarded clothing leading to the kitchen sink.

He turned on the tap, scrubbing his hands under the warm water and letting out a tired sigh as the grime and blood washed away.

Finally, he opened the bag and pulled out the focaccia, its edges still faintly warm. He bit into it without ceremony, his teeth tearing through the crisp crust and sinking into the soft, herby center.

The groan that escaped him was involuntary.

“Jesus,” he muttered, leaning against the counter. He wasn’t sure if the bread was actually this good or if it was just because he was starving, but it didn’t matter. He tore off another bite, then another, letting the flavors fill the hollow ache in his stomach.

His mind drifted back to the clerk. She had been… unexpected, in a way. Not just because she was there at that hour, but how she’d looked at him, unafraid, and then her gesture, offering him the bread without hesitation, it threw him off. He wasn’t used to kindness without strings attached.

Bucky frowned at the thought, swallowing another bite. He knew he’d acted like an ass, stiff and gruff, but he hadn’t known what else to do. His gaze drifted to the paper bag on the counter, now empty except for a few crumbs. Tomorrow, he’d pay her back. He’d make sure of it.

And maybe while he was there, he could look around properly. He’d been too tired to take it all in, but in the brief glance he’d caught, he’d seen shelves lined with pastries, bread, and other things that looked more tempting than they had any right to be.

It wasn’t just about the food, though. It would be a way to repay her. To even the scales.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Bucky sighed and pushed away from the counter. As he collapsed onto the messy nest of sheets in his living room, his last thought was of the clerk: her calm voice and the smile she’d given him as she handed over the bag.

---

The next morning, Bucky stood under the hot shower spray, letting the water beat against his sore muscles. He scrubbed the grime of the previous day away, trying to clear his head. Afterward, he brewed a cup of coffee, jolting his brain into something resembling alertness.

Setting the empty mug in the sink, he began hunting for his wallet. He turned over the few possessions he had in his apartment, muttering curses under his breath, but it was nowhere to be found.

“Great,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.

Reluctantly, he went to the stash of cash he kept hidden under a loose floorboard. Pulling out a few bills, he tucked them into his pocket and took a quick look in the mirror. His split lip was still healing, but his beard was trimmed now, and the dark circles under his eyes were a little less pronounced. Also, his clothes didn’t look like they were dragged against a concrete road. Good enough.

The walk to the bakery was brisk, the chill of the morning sharp but not unpleasant. He felt more like himself than he had the night before, ready to repay the debt and maybe even buy something else.

But as he approached the corner, his steps faltered.

The bakery was closed.

He frowned, sweeping his gaze over the dark windows and drawn curtains. The sign on the door mocked him with its clear Closed lettering.

What kind of bakery was closed at 10 a.m.?

His mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios. Maybe something had happened. Maybe the clerk stayed too late and ran into trouble on her way home. His jaw tightened as he peeked through the curtains, searching for any sign of movement inside.

But then his eyes landed on the sign taped to the door:

Open: 4 p.m. - 12 a.m.

Bucky blinked.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, straightening.

What kind of bakery worked on a schedule like that? Who baked bread for the night shift? He rubbed his jaw, baffled, and glanced at the darkened windows again.

With a shake of his head, he turned back the way he came, the mystery of the night-shift bakery simmering in his thoughts.

---

The day passed in the kind of monotony Bucky had learned to tolerate. Cleaning his gear, half-watching a soccer game, biting back the urge to snap at Dr. Raynor during their session, and ignoring Sam’s persistent calls. By the time evening rolled around, he was restless enough to head out again.

Around 9 p.m., he set off to the bakery, the mystery of its late hours still nagging at him. Who needed baked goods at this time of night? Well, besides himself. Sleep was always a gamble, if he was lucky, he’d be out by 2 a.m., though that was probably wishful thinking.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted movement by the shop. Three bikers, with leather jackets patched with gang insignias, stepped out of the door, each carrying large paper bags stuffed with… something. Bucky couldn’t make out what was inside, but they seemed satisfied, securing the bags to their saddlebags before waving toward the bakery window. His brow furrowed as he slowed his pace. The clerk waved back before she turned and disappeared behind the counter.

The bikers mounted their bikes and roared off into the night, leaving Bucky to stare after them for a moment. He quirked a brow. Well, it seemed the place had its regulars.

Pushing open the door, the soft chime of the bell announced his arrival. The warmth hit him immediately, carrying with it the now-familiar scent of herbs and fresh bread.

She was at the counter again, arranging some pastries on a tray. The sound of the bell made her look up, and her movements stilled when she saw him. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of hesitation, but he caught it. Then, like flipping a switch, she composed herself, her face smoothing into a polite smile.

“Hi,” she greeted him, he thought he caught a hint of surprise beneath it.

“Hey,” Bucky replied, almost gruffly. He stepped forward, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

For a brief moment, silence hung between them as their eyes met. Neither spoke, just staring at each other, the air charged with an odd sense of recognition. Then she blinked, snapping herself out of the trance, mentally slapping herself.

“Hi,” she said again, her voice a little higher this time, followed by a flustered, “What can I do for you?”

Bucky shifted slightly, pulling one hand from his pocket and holding out a few bills. “I came to pay you for the focaccia,” he said simply. “And… I wanted to buy some other things too.”

Her brows lifted, and she laughed softly, taking the money from him. “That was fast. I wasn’t going to charge you interest, you know,” she chuckled.

“Appreciate it,” he muttered, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“So,” she said, her professional demeanor slipping back into place, “what can I get you?”

As he scanned the shelves and pointed to a few items, she efficiently began sorting them into paper bags. But he noticed her hands slowing now and then, her lips pressed together like she was working through something. Finally, she turned toward him, bag in hand, and blurted, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky frowned, tilting his head slightly. “For what?”

“For assuming…” She gestured vaguely toward him, her expression tinged with embarrassment.

He blinked, then let out a low chuckle. “Well, I looked like shit,” he said bluntly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smirk. “Can’t blame you.”

Her shoulders eased at his reaction, and she gave him a small, relieved smile. “Thank you for… you know,” he added, signaling vaguely toward the counter where the focaccias where exhibited.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied and then extended a hand, “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Bucky,” he said, his vibranium hand staying tucked in his pocket as he shook her hand briefly with the other one.

As she returned to filling the bags, he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned slightly against the counter, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“So,” he said, breaking the quiet, “what’s up with the hours here? Four to twelve?”

Her head popped up, a faint look of surprise crossing her face before she laughed softly. “Oh, that.” She handed him the filled bags, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he replied in a casual tone, though his gaze made clear that he actually wanted to know.

“This bakery… my grandparents opened it in the ’60s,” she began. “When my gramps passed in the early 2000s, my granny made some changes. One of them was the schedule.”

Bucky tilted his head, his curiosity sharpening. “The late hours?”

She nodded, leaning lightly against the counter. “Yeah. There’s a lot of nightlife in this neighborhood and a surprising number of residents work night or late shifts. She figured people needed somewhere to grab a decent meal at odd hours. It was risky, but eventually, it worked out.”

He let the idea sink in, flicking , his gaze briefly to the trays of baked goods. It made sense, in a way.

“When she passed the shop to me,” she continued, with a voice tinged with fondness, “I decided to keep things just the way they were. It feels right, you know? Like I’m keeping her legacy alive.”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Besides, I don’t get sleepy at night, anyway. I’ve always been more of a night owl. I end up sleeping all morning, so the schedule works for me.”

Bucky studied her for a moment, taking in the mix of pride and nostalgia in her expression. She seemed connected to the place in a way that made the odd schedule seem less strange and more… fitting.

“That’s… different,” he said finally, his voice softer than usual.

“Different good or different bad?” she asked, quirking a brow as she crossed her arms.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Just different.”

But he couldn’t leave it there. The question burned in his mind, and he found himself asking, “Don’t you think it’s dangerous being open this late? Alone?”

She tilted her head, not missing a beat. “I’m not alone. Liam, the main baker, is in the kitchen.”

Bucky gave her a pointed look, one brow lifting in a way that clearly said, Seriously?

“And if someone armed gets in here, he’d chase them off with a spatula?”

She laughed softly, but there was a flicker of something thoughtful in her eyes. “We’ve had our share of… episodes,” she admitted, “but it’s been a long time since the last one.” She gestured toward a small table near the counter with a nod of her head. “The cops come by all the time to grab something or even sit and eat.”

“That’s not exactly foolproof,” Bucky muttered, unconvinced.

Her lips curved into a wry smile, and she leaned in a little, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “Let’s just say having the local bikers as regulars doesn’t hurt either.”

He blinked, frowning. “The guys I saw earlier? So they… behave?”

“They’re good guys,” she retorted, then paused and corrected herself with a grin. “They’re nice guys. Most of the time.”

Bucky raised a skeptical brow, and she continued, “Sometimes they even help out. Like last week, when the mixer broke. They swung by after their ride and got it working again. One of them’s pretty handy with tools.”

Bucky’s frown deepened, though this time it wasn’t out of suspicion. He wasn’t sure whether to find the whole setup amusing or… concerning.

“Guess that’s one way to stay safe,” he muttered, glancing around the shop like it might reveal more secrets.

“It works,” she said shrugging. “Besides, most people aren’t looking for trouble when they’re hungry.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head. Then he picked up the bags and nodded at her, and she offered him a small smile, “Come again.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at her. “I will.”

With that, he was gone, the door chime softly announcing his exit. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, leaning against the counter for a moment. Her gaze lingered on the door, her mind replaying the way his broad frame looked in those casual clothes. Effortless, like he didn’t have to try at all to look that good.

The thought was interrupted by the sound of the door chime again. She straightened quickly, spotting two guys in uniforms marked with the local electricity company’s logo.

“Hey,” one of them called, grinning. “Got any donuts left?”

---

Time passed, and Bucky started showing up regularly, his visits becoming a constant in her evenings. Three days a week, like clockwork, the bell would chime, and there he’d be, gloved hands tucked into his jacket pockets and that quiet, brooding air about him.

What surprised her most wasn’t the frequency of his visits but how much he bought each time. He’d point out loaves, pastries, and cookies, practically cleaning out half the display case on some nights. At first, she thought it was just politeness, a way to make up for that first night. But as the weeks went on, it became clear that this was just his thing.

One evening, as she packed his usual haul into bags, curiosity finally got the better of her and she glanced up at him with a smile. “Wow, your family must really enjoy our goods,” she said playfully.

The comment made him pause. His smile faltered, just for a second, and his eyes flicked away like he was retreating inward.

She noticed the shift immediately and quickly tried to smooth things over. “Oh,” she said with a laugh, waving a hand, “great appetite then. I won’t complain about that.”

His gaze returned to her, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. “Something like that,” he murmured.

She handed him the bags, softening her smile. Whatever that moment had been, she wasn’t going to push. “Well, you’re keeping me in business, so thank you.”

He nodded, a quiet “thanks” leaving his lips before he turned to leave.

---

As Bucky walked the short distance back to his apartment, the bags swinging lightly in his grip, his mind churned with thoughts he couldn’t quite shake. Her comment replayed in his head: Your family must really enjoy our goods.

Family.

His jaw clenched slightly. He didn’t have one, not anymore. The people he cared about… well, they were scattered or gone, and the thought of sitting at a table surrounded by warmth and laughter felt more like a faded memory than a reality.

He adjusted his grip on the bags, slowing his steps as he reached his building. It wasn’t her fault, of course. She hadn’t meant anything by it, just an innocent assumption. And she’d recovered quickly, giving him an out he appreciated more than he could express.

Still, the weight of the moment stuck with him. The way her words had scratched at something raw and unhealed, something he thought he’d buried deep enough that it couldn’t sting anymore.

In the quiet of his apartment, he set the bags on the counter and shrugged off his jacket. He pulled out one of the pastries she’d packed for him, a warm smell of cinnamon and sugar wafting up as he took a bite. The sweetness melted on his tongue, giving him a fleeting comfort.

She was kind. That much was clear. Her warmth wasn’t forced or rehearsed; it was just… there. Bucky leaned against the counter, staring at the pastry in his hand like it might hold some answers. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable, but his reaction had been automatic, a wall thrown up before he could even think about it.

He couldn’t deny that he liked going to the bakery, liked seeing her. He finished the pastry and sighed, glancing at the bags of baked goods. He’d go back, of course. It was becoming part of his routine, and he found himself looking forward to the short conversations, the moments of normalcy she unknowingly offered him.

He just needed to keep things simple. Keep the walls up.

----

Keep things simple, Bucky had told himself more times than he could count, the mantra almost automatic by now. But as he stood at the counter that Wednesday night, watching her nervously wring her hands, he felt a crack in his resolve.

“Can I ask you a question?” she began, a little hesitant. “It’s alright if you don’t want to answer, but…”

He tensed. His gloved hand rested on the counter, fingers curling slightly. “Go ahead.”

“This weekend, I went to the Smithsonian with a friend…”

And there it was. This is it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he interrupted, with a sharper tone than he intended. He wanted to rip the band-aid off, and get it over with. He braced himself for the shift, the awkward laugh, the strained smile, the clipped words. The gradual squirming in his presence like he carried a weight they couldn’t bear to be near.

But instead, she grinned.

“Well, that explains your appearance the day I met you,” she said lightly, a teasing lilt in her voice. “And your appetite.” She winked.

Bucky blinked. That wasn’t the reaction he’d prepared for.

Before he could respond, she continued. “It’s not my place to say, but… you’ve had it hard, Bucky. I saw the look on your face when I brought this up, so let me be clear: this changes nothing.” She leaned forward slightly, meeting his eyes. “I know it could be hard sometimes, with the people… but not in here.”

Bucky stared at her, the usual quick retorts or excuses dying on his tongue. He didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in her voice and the calmness in the way she addressed the subject without making him feel exposed, caught him off guard.

“Thanks,” he finally said, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

She nodded, curving her lips into a small smile, but instead of leaving it at that, she hesitated. “That being said…” Her voice softened. “According to the commemorative plate, your birthday was last week.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t even remembered.

“So,” she said, bending down behind the counter, “here.” When she straightened up, she held a small plum tart, dusted with powdered sugar. “I couldn’t put all the candles on it for obvious reasons.” She chuckled softly as she gave him the little tray.

Bucky froze. The gesture hit him square in the chest, a pang so sharp and unexpected it made his breath hitch. He stared at the tart, feeling an ache rise in his throat. His lips trembled traitorously as he fought back the overwhelming surge of emotion.

She noticed his hesitation and tilted her head slightly. “It’s just a tart,” she said gently as if trying to assure him it was no big deal.

But to him, it was.

He reached out, taking the tart from her as if it were made of glass. His gloved fingers brushed the edge of the plate and he swallowed hard. His voice, barely above a whisper, cracked as he said, “Thank you.”

Bucky didn’t trust himself to look at her. He stared down at the pastry, his grip tightening around the edges of the plate as he worked to steady his breathing. It had been so long since anyone had done something this thoughtful for him, that he didn’t know how to react.

Watching his reaction, she faltered. Her earlier confidence dimmed as doubt crept into her expression. She fidgeted with her apron, glancing away briefly before blurting out, “I, um… sorry for bothering you. If I overstepped-”

“No.” The word came out sharper than he meant, and she froze. He took a breath, forcing his voice to steady. “You didn’t,” he said again, gentler this time. “You just surprised me here, doll, that’s all.”

Her gaze softened, searching his face, and he didn’t look away this time. His walls weren’t fully down -when were they ever?- but the rawness in his eyes couldn’t be hidden, the unshed tears glimmering with the lights.

Her lips parted, then closed again, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if it was her place. She shifted her weight, her fingers lightly tapping the counter. “It’s not much,” she said after a beat, her tone quiet but sincere. “Just a little thing I thought might make you smile.”

“It’s more than you know,” Bucky murmured then he cleared his throat and adjusted the bags in his hand, needing something to focus on besides the growing ache in his chest. “I, uh… I appreciate it,” he said, a little awkwardly.

Her smile grew, and she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Good,” she said simply. “You deserve something nice.”

That threw him off even more. He stared at her, stunned by the ease with which she said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His throat tightened, and he looked away, unable to meet her gaze any longer. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he turned toward the door.

“Bucky?”

He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I just remembered that I didn’t tell you, Happy birthday,”

He nodded once, gripping the bags a little tighter as he pushed the door open and stepped into the cool night air, which did little to clear the fog in his head.

You deserve something nice. He almost scoffed aloud. Nice? Someone like him? Someone who couldn’t go a single day without being haunted by the weight of his past?

The world had a funny way of reminding him where he stood. Steve was gone. The man who believed in him more than anyone else had handed over the shield, and with it, Bucky felt like the last tether to the person he used to be had been severed. Now, it was just him. And no matter how hard he tried to fix things, make amends, or find a shred of normalcy, the past always had its claws in him.

But tonight, she had looked at him and seen something other than the broken pieces. She hadn’t flinched when she figured out who he was. She hadn’t spat accusations or looked at him with the fear or pity he was used to. Instead, she smiled and handed him a damn tart for his birthday, a day he hadn’t even remembered until she brought it up.

Maybe… He shook his head as he walked, his boots crunching hard against the pavement. Don’t get attached.

Still, he glanced down at the tart again, its delicate powdered sugar glinting under the streetlights and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, almost involuntarily.

----

One rainy night, Bucky was already imagining the taste of a prune cupcake when he reached the bakery and found the door closed.

His brows furrowed as he noted the light spilling from the kitchen and the neatly arranged merchandise still on display. That was odd. He stepped closer, intending to knock on the glass, but hesitated. If she had closed up, there must’ve been a reason. Why would she open just for him?

He turned to leave, but the sound of a long, creative string of curses froze him mid-step. His frown deepened. Maybe she was arguing with Liam or a boyfriend, or... why was he still standing there?

Then came a sharp scream of pain.

Before his mind could process, his body moved on its own. He pushed the wooden door open with a single fluid motion of his vibranium hand and rushed toward the kitchen, ready to confront whoever was causing her harm.

He wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him.

She was alone. Entirely alone.

Barefoot, her jeans rolled at the cuffs, and wearing nothing but a lacy black bra on top. She was gripping one foot and hopping in place, her other hand clutching the edge of the counter for balance. Her face was scrunched in pain, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple.

She froze as he appeared in the doorway, locking her wide eyes onto his.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

“Bucky?!” she finally exclaimed, her voice was a mix of mortification and disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I heard you scream,” he said, still on high alert. “I thought- I mean, I thought someone was-”

Well, someone isn’t!” she snapped, waving her arms for emphasis before wincing and clutching her foot again. “What are you… how did you even…”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he said simply, lifting his vibranium hand as if that explained everything.

She stared at him. “You broke my door, didn’t you?”

“Technically, I opened it.”

Her shoulders slumped as she let out a groan.

“What happened?” he asked, softening his tone as he noted the red welt forming on her foot.

She gestured toward a hulking machine in the corner, a sour expression on her face. “The kneading machine broke,” she grumbled. “It’s Liam’s day off, so I have to knead all the dough by hand. I got frustrated and kicked the stupid thing.” She pointed to the offending piece of equipment as though it were an enemy in battle.

Bucky’s lips twitched, but he quickly schooled his expression. “And it fought back?”

Her glare could’ve melted steel, but then her expression shifted, and she seemed to remember her current state of undress. Quickly, she crossed her arms over her chest, though the movement only served to push her curves together.

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he fought to keep his gaze locked firmly on her face. He swallowed hard, feeling the distinct burn of self-restraint in every muscle.

“Can you throw me that shirt?” she asked, jerking her chin toward a crumpled white button-up draped over a stool.

“Sure,” he muttered, grabbing it and tossing it her way.

“Turn around?” she added pointedly, feeling her cheeks going warm.

He obeyed instantly, facing the wall and rubbing the back of his neck. “Why, uh… why were you like that anyway?” he asked, his voice low and awkward.

“It’s hot,” she replied, a little grumpy. “The kitchen’s like an oven with all the equipment running, and kneading all that dough by hand isn’t exactly cooling me off. Plus, I was alone. Or so I thought.”

“Right,” Bucky murmured, feeling a little ridiculous for barging in like that. He’d been ready to throw down with some imaginary attacker, and instead, he’d walked in on… well, on a very memorable scene.

The mental image of her, half naked and glistening, burned behind his eyelids, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He didn’t need his mind going there, not now, not ever.

The sound of her shifting behind him broke his thoughts. “Okay, decent,” she said.

He turned back around, carefully keeping his expression neutral. She was now buttoning up the shirt, but her hair was still mussed. He cleared his throat.

“Want me to help kneading?” he blurted out, the words escaping before he could think them through.

She froze mid-button, blinking at him. “You want to… knead dough?”

“Let’s just say I can put that piece of junk to shame,” he said, nodding toward the broken machine. “Only… you have to teach me how. Then I’ll do it. It’s not a big deal.”

Her lips parted as if to protest, but she hesitated, seemingly caught off guard. After a moment, she shook her head. “That’s sweet, but I can’t ask you to do that. It’ll take a lot of time.”

“I have time,” Bucky replied evenly. He didn’t add that the alternative was staring at the ceiling of his living room, trying to fend off the ghosts in his head and praying for a few nightmare-free hours.

She looked at him, clearly debating, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that momentarily distracted him.

“Plus,” he added with a faint shrug, “I won’t raise your electric bill, and I won’t get tired.”

A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Finally, she exhaled and nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, this is serious manual labor.”

“I’ve handled worse,” he said with a small smirk, rolling up his sleeves.

“Okay, tough guy,” she replied, her tone half-teasing as she gestured toward the counter. “Let’s see if you can handle my kitchen.”

He stepped up beside her, and as she began to explain the technique, Bucky couldn’t help but notice how the frustration in her features softened, replaced by something almost playful. It wasn’t often he felt useful outside of a mission or a fight, but in this warm, flour-dusted bakery, it felt like he could do something… normal.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice her watching him. When he did, he realized she was waiting for a response.

“Uh…” he mumbled. It seemed she had been talking and he didn’t listen to a word.

“It’s okay if you don’t get it at first, here, give me your hand.” Before he could protest, she grabbed his hand, shoved a dough ball into his palm, and flipped it downward. Then her smaller hand slid over his, her heel pressing into the back of his hand to guide the motion.

“Like this,” she murmured, leaning just a little closer to ensure he could see. Her hand pressed forward in firm, rhythmic motions and the dough yielded under the combined force of their hands. Then she rotated the dough and repeated the motion, with deliberate pushes.

Bucky froze as the rhythmic pressure of her hand over his sent his mind somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t go. The heat in the kitchen suddenly felt suffocating, and he swallowed hard, trying to focus on the dough and not on the fact that her motions were… suggestive.

She was entirely unaware of his inner turmoil, focused on the task at hand. “See? You push like this and turn it. Then repeat.”

Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, but Bucky’s traitorous mind kept replaying the way her body had looked earlier in that lacy bra, barefooted and glistening with sweat, and now her hand was on his, guiding movements that mirrored-

“Got it,” he blurted, pulling his hand away like the dough had burned him.

She blinked at him, surprised. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it,” he said quickly, flexing his fingers. “Why don’t you, uh… go open the store or something? You can sell the ready stuff, and I’ll finish here.”

Her brow furrowed, then she smirked. “Show me you can handle it first. Then I’ll go.”

Bucky nodded stiffly and got to work, kneading the dough with an intensity that had less to do with the task and more with willing his body and thoughts to calm down. He focused on each push, each turn, determined not to let his mind wander again.

After a moment, she hummed in approval. “Not bad. Alright, you’ve got this.” Tossing him an apron, she added with a grin, “Kitchen’s all yours.”

As she walked out, Bucky let out a long breath and grabbed a ridiculous amount of mid-mixed dough from the machine, barely registering its weight in his hands. He tied the apron around his waist, muttering something about how he’d never live this down if Sam found out, then plunged his hands into the dough with more force than necessary. The soft, yielding texture offered little resistance, and the repetitive motion gave him something to focus on, something to redirect the tension simmering under his skin.

Meanwhile, out front, she was practically buzzing. Well, besides the door incident -she’d have to figure out how to fix that later- and the fact he’d seen her in little more than her bra, the night hadn’t gone completely off the rails. She paused, glancing toward the kitchen and biting her lip.

The idea that Bucky Barnes was in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he worked dough like it was his mortal enemy, was surreal. Even in her wildest fantasies -and she’d had plenty- she’d never imagined this scenario.

She distracted herself by greeting a couple of late-night customers, all while sneaking glances toward the kitchen door. But the thought of having him there with flour dusting his strong hands, focused and serious, made her heart flip every time she let her mind wander free.

Back in the kitchen, Bucky gritted his teeth, determined to keep his focus on the task. He flattened the dough with swift, decisive movements, his vibranium arm doing the flips as his flesh one did the work. But even as he forced himself to concentrate, he couldn’t shake the memory of her soft hand on his, guiding him with firm pressure.

Fuck.

---

When he finally finished kneading the massive ball of dough, he stood there, staring at the smooth mound, realizing he had no idea what to do next. With a resigned sigh, he called out for her. “It’s ready,” he said, motioning to the dough. “Now what?”

“That’s for common bread. We let it rise for about half an hour, then shape it, let it rise again, and bake it.”

“Oh,” he said flatly. “So... you just wait?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

“Great,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Guess I’ll hang around. Liam’s not here, so you’d be stuck doing all this yourself. That can’t be easy, it’s a lot of dough.”

She tilted her head, clearly debating. “I’m used to it when it’s necessary.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you kicking me out?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “N-no!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

She rolled her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Want a coffee while we wait?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

They moved to the front of the shop, mugs in hand, settling into a more relaxed atmosphere. The conversation was light, drifting from coffee preferences to the quirks of late-night customers. The rain drummed against the windows, adding a cozy backdrop to the talk.

Then the bell above the door chimed, and two bikers strolled in.

Bucky’s eyes immediately snapped to them, stiffening his posture as he took them in. They were soaked, leather jackets gleaming under the fluorescent light. What caught him off guard wasn’t their appearance, it was their manners. The pair paused at the entrance, brushing their wet boots on the doormat before entering the shop.

“Evening, Y/n,” one of them said casually, nodding in her direction as they made their way to the counter.

Bucky stared, measuring them with a sharp gaze, his body language was calm but alert. He didn’t miss how their eyes briefly flicked to him, assessing, before focusing on her.

“Hey, Daniel, Jack,” she greeted them with an easy familiarity. “Usual?”

“Yeah, and maybe throw in one of those custard tarts,” one of them added, grinning.

As she moved behind the counter to prepare their order, Bucky leaned back slightly, still watching them. He wasn’t sure what he expected from the so-called “local bikers,” but brushing their boots off before entering wasn’t on the list.

One of them glanced his way again, tipping his chin in acknowledgment. “Friend of yours?”

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Helper for the night.”

Bucky just gave a faint nod. He wasn’t entirely sure why their casual familiarity rubbed him the wrong way, but something about how they interacted with her -relaxed, like they belonged- made him tense.

“So, Cookie,” the taller of the two bikers said, his deep voice carrying an easy familiarity. He had a Viking-style haircut, the sides of his head shaved while the top was long and braided, matching the beard he wore. “We swung by earlier, but you were closed. Anything amiss?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly at the nickname. Cookie?

“Oh, just old Edna broke, again,” she replied with a sigh, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I was trying to figure out what to do.”

The biker’s face broke into a knowing grin. “Y’should’ve called me. You know I’d have ‘er running again in a snap.”

She gave him a sheepish look. “It’s awful outside Jack, and Bucky here helped me out a lot. I was going to call you tomorrow, maybe take the day off.”

The biker’s gaze shifted to Bucky with a curious expression, if not slightly probing. “Did he, now?”

Bucky didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, just stared back at him.

She stepped in quickly, a cheerful note in her voice. “Well, here you go, guys,” she said, setting their bags of pastries and the requested custard tart on the counter.

But before she could finish ringing them up, Daniel added something to the order, sending her back to grab another treat.

With her out of earshot, the viking-wannabe fixed his gaze on Bucky again. “There somethin’ on ma face?” he asked, casual but a little edgy.

Bucky shrugged, relaxed, but his steel-blue eyes locked onto the man without wavering. “Nope.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, “You know, Cookie, I was thinking of stopping by tomorrow to fix the kneader myself.” His gaze never left the biker’s. “Don’t think your customers must stray from their duties.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, the biker let out a low chuckle, his smile more challenging than amused.

“Well, it won’t be a bother,” he drawled, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Since I always take care of Edna.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up in a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you do.”

Somehow, she felt left out of the conversation. The way they stared each other down, the sharpness in their tones, it didn’t seem like they were talking about Edna anymore. It was like…

“C’mon, Jack,” the second biker interjected, breaking the thick silence, though his tone carried a subtle edge of warning. “The guys are waitin’. Cookie here will tell ya if she needs anythin’, won’t ya?”

She nodded quickly, eager to shift the mood, and handed over their order. “Yeah, of course. Thanks for always helping out.” Her smile was warm but a little strained as she accepted their payment.

Jack lingered for a bit, gaze still locked on Bucky’s. The other biker sighed and patted him on the arm. “At least help with somethin’, huh?” he added, shoving a large paper bag into his chest.

The man finally broke eye contact, muttering something under his breath as he grabbed the bag and turned toward the door. But before he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Don’t forget, Cookie, you know who to call if you need real help.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, the faintest sign of irritation flashing in his eyes. He leaned back against the counter, one hand casually resting on the edge, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. “Sure thing,” he drawled, “If it comes to that, I’ll make sure she doesn’t have to wait.”

The implication in his words wasn’t lost on Jack, whose smirk faltered for just a second before he turned and strode out, the other biker following with an exasperated shake of his head.

As the door swung shut, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Well,” she said, attempting to sound lighthearted, “that was… something.”

Bucky’s gaze softened as he turned back to her, though the tension in his posture remained. “They always this ‘friendly’?”

She laughed awkwardly, brushing her hands on her apron. “Oh, they are, actually. They just get a little protective sometimes, you know? Like I’m their sister or something. Maybe they were just surprised to see you back here.”

He tilted his head, twitching his lips in what might’ve been a smile, but his eyes didn’t match the expression. “A sister, huh?”

She nodded, oblivious to the undercurrent in his tone, and started busying herself by tidying up the counter. To her, it was just Jack and his usual overbearing charm. But to Bucky, it was something else entirely.

Even as he tried to relax, his mind kept replaying the interaction. The way that guy had stood too close, his words heavy with meaning, the subtle posturing was anything but brotherly. Bucky had seen it all before, in darker and rougher places than this warm, flour-dusted bakery.

Except this time, it wasn’t just about dominance or some unspoken challenge. It was about her. And for reasons he wasn’t ready to name, that thought didn’t sit well with him at all.

“So," she started, cutting through the silence and his spiraling thoughts, "you were serious when you said you could fix the machine?"

"Yeah," he replied, keeping his face carefully neutral. "It’ll be a piece of cake."

Piece of cake, he repeated in his mind, trying to suppress the small pang of regret creeping up his spine. Sure, he had a working knowledge of mechanics, he’d helped Sam fix his boat, after all. But that had been different. Boats were his element, like motorcycles or cars. A fifty-year-old kneading machine? Well, he’ll find out tomorrow.

His impulsive desire to impress her -and maybe stake some kind of invisible claim- had won out. Now, all he could do was hope the thing wasn’t an unreadable mess.

She glanced at the clock and brushed her hands together. “Alright, time to give shape to the bread. It’s risen enough.”

Without missing a beat, she led the way back into the kitchen. The warm, yeasty air mingled with her faint perfume, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket.

She grabbed a portion of the dough and began to demonstrate. “Okay, so these are the basics,” she said, her fingers moving deftly. “For buns, you just roll the dough into smooth balls. Like this.” She cupped her hands around the dough, rolling it against the counter in a quick, practiced motion until it was perfectly round. “Braids and baguettes are a little trickier. The braids are just three strands, like hair. And baguettes, well, you stretch and roll them into shape. But you can stick with the buns for now, they’re easier.”

Bucky nodded, reaching for a piece of dough. He hesitated for a moment, as the memory of her hand guiding his earlier flashed in his mind. His throat tightened, and he focused on the dough, rolling it between his hands.

“Like this?” he asked, holding up a slightly lopsided bun.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Almost. Use the heel of your hand a little more to smooth it out. Here.” She stepped closer, brushing her fingers lightly over his. This time, she didn’t guide him directly, but the proximity was enough to make his heart thud against his ribs.

He adjusted his grip and tried again, and she gave an approving nod. “There you go. See? You’re a natural.”

As they worked side by side, she kept talking. “Most of this will have to go on sale tomorrow, probably at half price. But having you here is a real help. If I’d had to do all this alone, I might’ve had to throw some of the dough out.”

Her words struck a chord, and a pang of happiness settled in his chest. It wasn’t much, just a small acknowledgment of his effort, but it filled a hollow part of him he didn’t even realize was there.

He stole a glance at her as she focused on a braid, her hands working the dough with practiced ease. A strand of hair had fallen loose, brushing against her cheek. She pushed it back with her wrist, leaving a faint streak of flour across her temple. It made her look effortlessly endearing, and he quickly averted his eyes, focusing back on the dough in his hands.

Unbeknownst to him, she was doing the same. She caught glimpses of him as he worked, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his calloused flesh hand and the vibranium one surprisingly gentle as he shaped the dough. Something was captivating about how he moved, so deliberate yet careful, like he was afraid of breaking something.

“Looks like you’re getting the hang of it,” she said, glancing over at his growing pile of buns.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, rolling another piece of dough under his palms. “Not exactly rocket science.”

She chuckled, “I don’t know. You’ve got a good touch. It took me a week to get my buns to look that smooth while doing it swiftly.”

Every time their gazes met -accidentally, fleetingly- it was like a spark flared in the air between them. Then, one of them would quickly look away, snapping their attention back to the dough. It was a quiet rhythm of stolen glances and fleeting touches, building a connection that felt as tangible as the dough in their hands.

-----

The bread was neatly shaped and lined up on trays, ready to rise once more before its final trip to the oven. She covered the trays with damp cloths, brushing her hands on her apron as she glanced at the clock. “Alright, now we wait again. Should be ready for the oven in about half an hour.”

Bucky nodded, stepping back to let her take the lead. “You need me to do anything else?”

“Not right now,” she replied with a small smile. “I’ll take care of the customers while we wait. You can… I don’t know, hang out if you want?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Sure.”

She disappeared into the front of the shop, the bell over the door jingling faintly as a pair of officers entered. Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching her from the kitchen as she greeted them warmly.

“Evening, boys. The usual?”

“Yup. Two coffees and a box of donuts,” one of the cops said, glancing over at Bucky briefly. His partner followed the look, squinting slightly before his eyes widened.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the officer said, his voice respectful but tinged with curiosity.

Bucky stiffened slightly at being at being recognized, but he nodded. “Good evening.”

The officer hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Uh, sorry if this is out of line, but… would it be okay if I got a picture with you?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, glancing at her for a brief second. She offered him an encouraging smile, and he finally nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

The officer grinned and handed his phone to his partner. They stood together for the picture, Bucky keeping his usual neutral expression, though the officer looked thrilled.

As the partner handed the phone back, he chuckled, glancing between Bucky and her. “Didn’t know you were friends with Cookie here. Lucky you, she’s got the best donuts in the neighborhood.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but she laughed and rolled her eyes before he could say anything. “Alright, enough buttering me up. Your coffee’s getting cold.”

The cops thanked her again, waved at Bucky, and headed out, leaving the shop quiet once more.

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he looked at her. “So… they call you Cookie too, huh?”

She chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’s just a nickname my grandma gave me when I was little. She used to call me her little cookie because I’d sneak cookie dough every time she baked. I guess it stuck, and eventually, the regulars picked it up, too.”

“Little cookie,” he repeated, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Does it bother you?”

“Not really,” she said, shrugging. “It’s kind of sweet, actually”

Bucky hummed in response, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Fits you.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the compliment, but before she could respond, he straightened up. “Guess I’ll head out now. I’ll be back tomorrow to take a look at that machine. Ah… actually... I owe you one more thing.”

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The door,” he admitted, glancing toward it sheepishly. “Remember I kind of... broke it thinking you were in trouble?”

Her mouth opened slightly in realization, and for a fleeting moment, the two of them were transported back to that chaotic instant, him storming into the kitchen, with his eyes wild with concern, only to find her jumping in her bra, startled but unharmed.

A faint heat rose to her cheeks, and she quickly looked down, busying her hands with the edge of her apron. “Right. The door,” she said, a touch higher than usual.

“I’ll run up to my place and grab a chain and a lock,” he offered, clearly trying to sound casual, though the tips of his ears were suspiciously red. “It’s not much, but it’ll hold until you can get it fixed.”

“That’s... really thoughtful of you,” she said softly, sneaking a glance at him. “Thanks.”

He nodded once, tightening his jaw slightly as if bracing himself, before turning toward the door. “Wait here. I’ll be quick.”

-------

When he returned, he carried a chain and lock in hand, the metal clinking softly as he stepped through the door. Without a word, he moved to the broken door and began securing the temporary fix, his movements sure and steady. She stayed nearby, her arms crossed lightly over her apron, watching him work.

“Will you manage to close up on your own?” he asked, testing the chain one last time to ensure it held.

She nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I’ll be fine.”

He lingered momentarily at the doorway, meeting her gaze as though debating whether to press further. Instead, he simply stepped back, giving her a small, almost shy smirk. “Alright, then.”

He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. “Goodnight, Cookie.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue with ease, leaving her a little stunned as the bell over the door jingled behind him.

-----

That night, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling as the evening replayed itself in vivid detail. Every stolen glance, every fleeting touch, every word exchanged lingered in her mind, refusing to let her settle into sleep. She rolled over, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tightly, only to let out a muffled squeal, burying her face in the fabric.

It all felt like something out of a novel, the kind her grandmother used to read, with their slow-burn tension and moments of unexpected closeness. Him standing there in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, kneading dough with those ridiculously strong hands. The warmth of his smirk when he called her "Cookie" before leaving.

She sighed, turning onto her back again, staring at the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through her curtains. Don’t get carried away, she reminded herself. He was… Bucky Barnes, for crying out loud. The man probably had a private life he kept well-guarded. Dating, maybe even a girlfriend waiting for him somewhere. Someone who could offer him more than just late-night baking disasters and a small-town charm bubble in the big city.

“Oh, whatever,” she mumbled, throwing an arm over her face. It was free to fantasize, right? Just a harmless indulgence in the possibilities, no matter how far-fetched.

----

Bucky lay on the couch in his apartment, replaying the events of the night on a loop in his mind. Her hand, firm yet soft, guiding his against the dough in that rhythmic motion. He could still feel her touch and her warmth seeping into his skin. He groaned softly, shifting as he became acutely aware of the pang of need stirring under his sweatpants.

“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. Was he really that touch-starved? The answer was obvious.

But then another thought struck him, one that pulled his focus away from his frustration. Her touch hadn’t made him uncomfortable. Not in the way he’d grown used to: tensing, the inevitable flinch, or the tightening of his chest. No, being near her, having her hands on his, had done the opposite in a way he hadn’t felt in years -decades-.

His mind shifted to the kneading machine. He had all but volunteered to fix the thing, despite only a vague knowledge of how it worked. He cursed under his breath, drowning in anxiety as he realized he could very well embarrass himself tomorrow. She’d been so grateful, trusted him so easily. The last thing he wanted was to let her down.

Then there was the other thing, the background he could never escape. Even though she’d been cool about it. He was damaged goods, and he knew that, but still... a part of him wanted her to notice him.

To see him, Bucky, the guy who helped her in the kitchen, who wanted to make her smile, who was ready to spend hours fixing her stupid kneading machine just for the excuse to see her again.

Fuck. This was going to be one of those nights.

----

By the time morning gave way to the agreed-upon hour, Bucky found himself standing outside the bakery, a hand tucked into his jacket pocket as he knocked on the glass of the front door. He might -or might not- have put some effort into dressing for the occasion, trading his usual hoodie for a henley that clung just enough to hint at his physique under his jacket. Still, the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his sleepless night.

She appeared from the back, wiping her hands on a flour-dusted towel, and her face lit up as she spotted him.

“Cookie,” he greeted with a faint smirk as she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Sergeant,” she replied, the corner of her mouth quirking up in amusement.

The exchange felt oddly natural, like a line out of an old movie. She opened the door with a soft laugh, stepping aside to let him in. He strolled toward the back, the scent of freshly baked bread of the previous night lingering in the air as she followed.

“Let’s see the beast,” he said, nodding toward the old kneader, circling once like a predator sizing up its prey.

“All yours” she answered, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “Think you can handle it?”

He shot her a mock-serious glance. “We’ll see.”

As he studied the machine, his eyes flicked to the sturdy work table beside it.

“You got a cloth or something to cover this?”

She frowned slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. “A cloth?”

“Something that can get dirty,” he clarified.

“Uh… sure.” She rummaged through a drawer and pulled out an old, slightly worn tablecloth, tossing it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, unfolding it and laying it across the table.

Her confusion deepened as he positioned himself beside the kneader. “What are you-”

She didn’t get to finish the question before Bucky gripped the sides of the heavy machine, lifting it like it weighed no more than a loaf of bread. He turned and placed it carefully on the table, adjusting it until it sat at an angle he deemed perfect for inspection.

She blinked, stunned for a moment before her lips parted in an incredulous laugh.

It wasn’t necessary, he could’ve worked on it just fine where it sat. But something in him wanted to do it anyway, to leave her watching, even if just for a moment.

She raised a brow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. There was a teasing glint in her eyes when she said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”

Bucky froze for a second, then, slowly, he turned his head to look at her with an unreadable expression at first. But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, softening his otherwise stoic features. “Did it work?” he asked, carrying just a hint of challenge.

She felt a flutter in her chest she wasn’t ready to name. Biting her lip to suppress a smile, she fought to keep her voice steady. “Fix Edna,” she quipped, tilting her chin toward the kneader as if to deflect the heat in the air, “and maybe I’ll tell you.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes, an almost boyish mischief that made her pulse quicken. “Challenge accepted,” he said, turning back to the machine.

As he bent over the kneader, his metal hand steadying it while his flesh one worked the bolts loose, she let herself watch him for a moment. Something was mesmerizing about the way he moved: deliberate, confident, his sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that looked sculpted to dismantle things like this.

Luckily for Bucky, Edna really was a piece of cake. As he worked through the simple mechanics of the old machine, a wave of relief settled over him. He didn’t know why he’d been so preoccupied with the possibility of failure. Maybe it was because the stakes weren’t just about fixing a kneader, it was about proving himself in some quiet, unspoken way.

“Do you have a cable extension to test it?” he asked after reassembling the final part, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah, hang on,” she said, disappearing for a moment before returning with a long orange cord. She plugged it in, watching as he connected it to the machine.

When the kneader whirred to life, steady and smooth, she clapped her hands together once, the sound bright and cheerful in the warm kitchen. Her smile, wide and genuine, was aimed directly at him. “You did it!” she exclaimed, with a contagious enthusiasm.

Bucky felt a jolt in his chest, like a sudden surge of energy. That smile, so pure and full of warmth, made him feel capable of almost anything. For a brief moment, it silenced the nagging voices in his head that constantly questioned his worth.

He turned off the machine and lifted it again, carefully placing it back in its original spot. He adjusted it slightly, turning it until it sat exactly as it had before, deliberately and unhurriedly.

“Show-off,” she teased lightly, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Still riding the wave of her praise, he smirked, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands. “So?” he asked, with a tone just bordering on playful. “You have to tell me now if it worked.”

She blinked, momentarily knitting her brows in confusion. “What…oh,” she murmured. He wasn’t talking about the machine. Her mind flicked back to their earlier exchange, and warmth crept up her neck as she bit her lip, suddenly feeling all too shy under his gaze.

“How could I not be impressed?” she said softly, meeting his eyes with a hint of nervousness.

Bucky’s smirk lingered since her words boosted his confidence. “Good to know,” he replied in a low, almost intimate tone.

Her laughter came nervously, breaking the silence. “Alright, Mr. Fix-It, let’s not-”

She didn’t finish her sentence since Bucky, still high on boldness, took a step closer. “You know,” he started in a steady voice, despite the rapid thrum of his heart, “I’m starting to think impressing you might be my new favorite hobby.”

Her lips parted in surprise, “Bucky…”

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he murmured, his flesh hand lifting just slightly, hovering near her arm as if waiting for permission.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, her nervous laugh melted into a smile, and her eyes locked onto his. “You’re not.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. Closing the gap between them, he leaned in, in a mix of deliberate but hesitant movements, like he feared the moment might shatter.

When their lips met, it was soft at first, a gentle, tentative connection that quickly deepened. Her hands instinctively rested against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

For Bucky, the world seemed to narrow to just this: the warmth of her lips, the faint scent of flour and sugar on her skin, and the way she melted into him as if she belonged there.

When they let go, her eyes fluttered open, wide and searching, and her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“Wow,” she breathed finally, the word barely audible but carrying all the wonder she couldn’t express.

Bucky’s gaze flicked between her eyes and her slightly swollen lips. His own breath was uneven, and his voice rough as he muttered, “Yeah. Wow.”

She let out a nervous laugh, her cheeks warm as she glanced down, only for him to tilt her chin up with a gentle finger. His expression had softened, the earlier mischief replaced by something more vulnerable.

Without waiting for her to pull away -or maybe daring her to- he leaned in again. This time, there was no hesitation, no careful testing. The second kiss was deeper, and more purposeful, stealing her breath away.

She responded instinctively, slipping her arms around his shoulders as she pressed closer. His metal hand found her waist, firm and steady, while his flesh one cradled her jaw, brushing his thumb along her cheek in a tender contrast to the intensity of the kiss.

The world outside the bakery seemed to fade, and when they finally broke apart, breathing heavily, her voice was soft, almost shy, as she finally managed to say, “If that’s how you fix things, maybe Edna should break more often.”

Bucky chuckled lowly, trailing his fingers down her arm as he leaned back just enough to see her face. “Careful, there,” he replied with boyish grin. “I might start breaking things on purpose.”

She laughed, shaking her head as her hands lingered against his chest. “Just… don’t let it be my heart, okay?”

The teasing glint in his eyes softened at her words, replaced by something deeper that made her heart race again.

“Never,” he promised leaning in slightly, nearly touching her forehead with his. Slowly, deliberately, his body shifted closer, bracketing his hands on her sides, palms resting lightly on the edge of the workbench, gently caging her in.

“If you have me, doll…” His voice softened, laced with a husky tremor, as though each word was pulled from the deepest parts of him. He paused, pressing his lips together briefly, while his gaze flickered uncertainly. She could see the struggle in his eyes, the weight of unspoken fears and hopes battling within him. “I’ll treasure you the way you deserve.”

There he was, exposed and raw, offering her the most vulnerable parts of himself. And she saw it all, the battered pieces, the scars both seen and unseen, and the wonder in his expression that someone like her could even consider him worth it.

All the previous cockiness evaporated as he waited for her response, his breath caught in his chest. He didn’t move, didn’t dare.

She blinked up at him, parting her lips slightly as her hands lifted from where they rested against the workbench. For a heartbeat, she hesitated, before reaching out, tracing the curve of his jaw.

“You already do,” she whispered. Her thumb brushed the faint stubble on his cheek, and she smiled softly, a mixture of disbelief and certainty shining in her eyes. She rose onto her toes and brought her lips to his. The kiss was more deliberate this time, an answer in every sense, with a confidence that left no room for doubt. When she pulled back slightly, she looked into his hooded eyes. “I’ll take care of you too, Bucky. I promise, " she said tenderly.

His lips curved into a rare, radiant smile, one that softened every hard edge of his tired face. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at her with such unguarded joy it made her heart flutter all over again. Then, without warning, his strong hands found her waist, and he lifted her effortlessly off the ground.

She gasped, a delighted laugh spilling from her lips as he spun her around, the room blurring for a moment as the motion carried them both. His own low chuckle mingled with hers, a sound so rich and full like a victory, a triumph for once, over the weight he’d been carrying for so long.

When he set her down gently, he kept his hands on her waist, and she leaned into him, their laughter fading into a warm, contented silence as she rested her hands against his chest. His heart raced beneath her palms, matching her erratic pulse.

They didn’t need to say anything more. At this moment, their shared warmth in the dusty floured kitchen was enough. The world and the rhythm of the weekday could wait a little longer.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader

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youleftmenochoicebut · 3 days ago

Text

WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW — james potter x reader.

SUMMARY. — the highlights of your relationship with james fleamont potter

PAIRING. — james potter x fem!reader

WARNINGS. — fuck around and find out; use of Y/N; english isn't my first language;

A/N. — so this is inspired by the masterpiece margaret by ldr!! also, first post, yay!!!

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ first meeting; 6th year (1976)

"if you're gonna jump, i'd love to see you do a double flip." James' voice sounds out through the cold night air, and you can hear him chuckle as you turn around, eyebrow raised.

okay, you're totally surprised to see him here, way past the curfew, on the top floor of the astronomy tower while the wind whooshes rather lightly for the winter season. of course you know who he is, everyone at hogwarts knows him and his group of friends, the marauders. but, being a ravenclaw who doesn't stuck their nose in other people's business, you never had the pleasure of being a victim to one of their pranks.

"i'm not jumping." you reply after a moment, stepping away from the edge as you throw the muggle cigarette you'd been smoking to the floor, stomping it out. you reach your hand up, brushing your hair behind your ears, and for a while you two just stare at each other.

"everyone's already packing for the christmas break." he murmurs, adjusting the glasses sitting on his nose, a smirk playing on his lips and he strolls closer to you, leaning back against the railing. "you're going home, or not?"

your brows furrow, nose crinkling, as you eye him up and down suspiciously. you're pretty sure it's a bad omen that James Potter approached you just like that, out of the blue, but you decide to humor him anyway.

"no, i... i'm staying here." you answer his question, biting down on your lower lip, and you look away with a shrug. "don't you have a game tomorrow, Potter?"

"i do, Y/N. what, you gonna come?" James pushes his hands inside the pockets of his pajama pants, smiling at you, raising his eyebrow. you don't even try to ask how he knows your name, you probably don't want to know either way.

you shake your head and chuckle, the air escaping your mouth looking like smoke in the freezing weather. "quidditch isn't really my thing." you respond, and you chew on your words for a beat before adding. "catch the snitch for me, huh?"

he seems taken aback for a quick second, but lightens up soon enough, and nods eagerly. like a golden retriever, you think. with that thought, you take off, waving him goodbye as you swiftly disappear down the staircase.

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ first date; 6th year (1977)

you stand in front of the only mirror in your dorm, most of your dormmates already out and about except for Sage, who's sitting on her bed and watching you closely as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

"i look ridiculous." you groan, tugging down the tiny skirt of your outfit, glancing back at Sage. the dress is from a muggle friend of yours, apparently very in fashion now as she stated in her letter, but you can't feel more out of your element. it's not that you don't like clothes like that, it's just that you almost never wear them.

however, you're getting ready for a date with the James Potter, and you want to look your best. oh, and it's Valentine's Day, so you want to somehow prove to everyone who'll see you that you're worthy of James.

"you look great, stop whining." Sage rolls her eyes, munching on her chocolate frog, and she scratches her cat behind his ear.

you sigh, nodding at your friend's aggressive approval, then grab your bag, quickly putting your wand into it, and you saunter over to Sage's bed. you kiss her forehead, chuckling when you hear her let out an ew.

you leave your dormitory, run down the stairs, then sigh again as you get out of the common room, bracing yourself at the challenge of getting to the end of the staircase. and so it takes you some time, time that you spend overthinking almost every interaction you had with James in the two months you have known each other.

when you finally arrive at your meeting spot, your hair's all messed up and tousled, your eyes bloodshot from the wind and lips dry from constantly licking them. instead of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop or the Three Broomsticks, James insisted on you two meeting here. in the Hogwarts grounds, near the Great Lake. usually, even during that time of the year, the grounds were full of students. but now, they're clear, except for a big red blanket on the snowy grass, with James sitting down there. there must be some spell casted around that area that keeps it warm, because James doesn't have his coat on. you approach him with a smile, dropping down next to him, and the heat hits you, making you loose your jacket soon.

for a moment, James just stares at you, mouth agape, his eyes shimmering with pure happiness. "you're beautiful." he breathes out as you nervously tug down your skirt, and a chuckle escapes your lips.

"thank you." your smile widens, and you look at the picnic basket he prepared, smelling the freshly baked cookies and the two bottles of juice. he notices your eyes wandering, his hand reaching out and grabbing a strand of your hair, untangling it gently.

"uh... i made the cookies myself." he murmurs, and when he meets your amused gaze, he shakes his head. "yeah, no i didn't. i asked the kitchen elves to make them. but they were more than happy to do it!"

you laugh heartily, feeling the blush creep up your cheeks at his touch, his hand dropping down and resting over your wrist.

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ first fight; 6th year (1977)

exam season is really fucking with you this year. after last year's OWLs you really thought i'd be easier this year, but clearly not. you're running low on sleep, nourishment, and your patience. almost every waking moment you're spending in classes, doing your assignments or studying in the library with Lily and the other gryffindor girls with whom you've become quite close ever since you started dating James.

well, when it comes to James himself, you haven't seen him much lately. and when you do, it mostly goes one way with you doing both of your homework while James watches you with hearts in the place of pupils, and leaves kisses and touches all over your body.

it's 9.30pm on friday when you're making your way back to your common room after yet another study session in the library, being one of few students out in the hallways at this time. you turn round the corner, your body collapsing against someone else's, and you end up on the floor on your ass. a yelp escapes your mouth, and when you look up ready to shout at the idiot in your way, you realize it's your idiot.

"you look like hell, sweetheart." James smirks, glancing down at you as he leans in with outstretched hand, helping you up smoothly. you let out a huff, rolling your eyes, annoyed out of your goddamn mind, and you step away.

"wow, James, thank you. that's just what a girl wants to hear from her boyfriend after a shitty day." you murmur, wanting to just go past him, because you can feel your temper run short already. but of course, James being James, doesn't allow you to do so. he grasps your wrist as you try to pass him by, and you yank away the moment you feel his hand on yours. "sod off!" you hold your books closer to your chest, frowning momentarily.

"you've been ignoring me, Y/N." he says quietly, and it's probably the first time you hear him so serious and toned down. "i'm trying, i'm making effort, and you're acting like studying is the only thing that matters."

"because, right now, it is! it is to me!" you raise your voice, your hand clasping at the material of your shirt, and you shake your head. "i've been slacking off the whole spring because of you, and now i have all this shit to catch up. i don't have time for nonsense."

you don't even realize the blow that your words are to James, too sleep-deprived to notice the way his lips purse or how he almost seems to physically hurt at your statement.

"is that all you think we are? nonsense?" he whispers, ruffling his curls in an anxious gesture. "cause if that's the case, then i'll stop bothering you."

"no, James, you know that's not what i meant." you groan, shaking your head, and you step closer to him. "i'm sorry. i'm just so constantly tired and... sorry."

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ first 'i love you'; summer of 1977

the sun is hitting your body in all the right angles, a cigarette dangling between your lips, as you lay on your back, on the jetty while the boys play in the water. you, Remus, and Peter have spend the past week at the Potter manor with James and Sirius, and James' parents. it's mid july, summer in all its glory, and you try to live it to the fullest.

you squeal and open your eyes the moment you feel drops of water fall all over you, and you're met with James' athletic figure right in front of you. he kneels down, face to face with you, quickly taking the cigarette from you and taking a drag. rolling your eyes, you sit up, pushing his shoulder playfully. you watch the rest of the marauders with a small smile on your face, Peter standing in the most shallow point of the lake and sipping on some fire whiskey, Sirius and Remus making out with only their heads visible out of the water. James rests his chin on your shoulder, one arm wrapping around your waist and tugging you closer against his chest, and you glance up at him through half-lidded eyes, observing the way he blows out the smoke.

"i love you." you whisper suddenly, as if the thought just struck you, your hand raising to push his glasses up his nose, and you lean in to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

"yeah?" he replies, his voice having that cocky edge to it, but you can see his heart truly explode, eyes full of love. "i love you, sweetheart."

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ engagement; fall of 1978

after a whole day of unpacking boxes and moving (using magic) furniture around, both you and James are truly exhausted. you’ve just moved into your first house together, having lived with James’ parents for the summer, and despite needing some renovations you are able to live in it without a problem.

as James takes a break on the couch, probably reading this month’s Quidditch Times, you’re trying to cook something for dinner. you’ve decided you don’t want to have a house elf, neither yours or James’ family ever had one, and you two aren’t changing that. but, that means you have to learn how to cook. which actually turns out to be quite the challenge.

two burnt lasagna-lookalikes in, you give up, your face red and eyes filled with frustrated tears. casting a quick cleaning spell, you leave the kitchen and head to the living room, expecting to see James there. but the space is empty.

„Jamie?” you shout out, looking around with a frown gracing your soft features, and after a moment of listening in, you hear him cursing somewhere outside.

and so, with your hands on your hips, already sure he’d just fucked something up, you make your way outside to your garden, through the living room backdoor. you’re immediately taken aback when you see daisy petals just laying around on the grass and it takes you a second to realize it’s a path. growing more and more suspicious you follow it, and it leads you to the small pond in the further corner of the backyard. the rocks around the pond are covered with lit up candles, and James is on one knee next to the wooden bench.

„hi, sweetheart.” he murmurs with a smile, holding a small velvet box in his hand, and as you come closer, you can see the tears already prickling in the corners of his eyes. he opens the box swiftly and the ring nestled inside must be the most beautiful rock you have ever seen. „i… i had a whole speech prepared, you know. about- well, you. us. but right now, looking at you, i cannot remember shit of what i wanted to say. the only thing i do know, and i always will, is that i want to look at you for the rest of my life. i want to see you smile, i want to make you laugh, i want to wipe your tears away. every single day. so, Y/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

you drop to your knees almost instantly, a sob escaping you as you’re at eye lever with him, and you just nod. you nod, over and over, letting your tears run down your cheeks, knowing that if you speak you’ll break down completely. James knows that too, and he silently slips the ring onto your waiting finger, bringing your hand to his lips and planting a soft kiss on each finger.

„oh, and before you say anything, i call dibs on the wedding date.” he whispers and you chuckle, pushing your lips against his before responding.

„yeah? so what’s the date?” you tilt your head, just staring at him with the stupidest smile on your face, with tear stained cheeks. you two look like idiots, kneeling in the dewed grass, but honestly you don’t care.

„december 18th.” James replies, clearly proud of himself for the mere idea, and his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing the tears away. „the day we met.”

๋࣭ ⭑────୨ৎ────⭑๋࣭ pregnancy; winter of 1980

you’re laying on your shared bed, fingers tapping against the huge curvature of your stomach, feeling your baby kick furiously inside you. you’re waiting for James to come home from work, as you’re already on bed rest, only two weeks away from your due date (which is january 31st)

you’ve been bored out of your fucking mind for the last few days, James putting in more hours at work before he has to take paternity leave when the baby comes, and everything in the house being all done and finished. everything babyproofed, nursery set up and ready, every single thing you could own for a newborn, you have. the only thing that’s left for you is resting and looking pretty, as James had said one evening.

your neck practically snaps from how fast you turn your head the moment you hear James apparate outside your house. you groan, quickly moving your hand to massage the back of your neck, and in just a few minutes James is standing in the doorway to your bedroom, a tired but oh so happy smile on his face.

„hi there, mama.” he mutters softly, dropping his suitcase and his wand onto the desk, getting onto the bed right away. he reaches out, tugging your shirt up to expose your big baby bump that’s covered with stretch marks, and leans in, placing kisses all over your belly. „and hi there, lad or gal. i hope you’ve been good to your mom today. daddy had a long day, you know.”

you smile, running your fingers through James’ curls as he rests his chin on your stomach, hands rubbing at your skin there, eyes set on your protruding belly button. you love when he tells you about his day in that way, talking to the baby about it, a habit you both created somewhere in your fifth month of the pregnancy, when you started showing more and more clearly.

„yeah? anything interesting happen today?” you ask quietly, gently playing with his hair, your tired gaze set on his face at all times.

„i won a bet with Sirius, which one of us would catch the most death eaters in an outing.” he hums after a beat, tapping his finger against your stomach, and both of you chuckle when the baby kicks so hard you can see its tiny foot stretch your skin. „yeah, your uncle Padfoot lost a bet. loser. daddy’s the best at what he’s doing, baby Potter.”

„merlin, you’re teaching our baby unhealthy rivalization and it’s not even born yet.” you roll your eyes, tugging at the ends of his hair teasingly, while he bats his eyelashes up at you.

„after all, they’re a Potter.” he murmurs lovingly, looking at your round and puffy from all the baby weight face as if he’s seen an angel, and he swears to himself that he’s falling in love with you over and over again every time he looks at you. „it’s in their genes, sweetheart.”

#james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter #marauders #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #the marauders #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james fleamont potter

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kisshae · 20 hours ago

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ARE YOU BORED YET? ★ YU JIMIN

PREC𝒾s ｡｡ months have passed, but the memory of karina still lingers—her glance like a thorn you can't pull out. you kissed her, and now she's further away than ever, leaving you to watch from the sidelines.

parings ? ex-best friend!karina x lovesick!fem reader ft mark (nct), intak (p1h) , manon & daniela (katseye) ★ genre , wlw friends to lovers uni au fluff tiny bit of angst!!! wc 2.6k

warning(s) , kissing reader is still badly down BAD for karina.. miscommunication jealousy

read this !! I hate fruits , part 1 , sry if this is confusing I was like rushing to finish this up for my next work...

now playing ? nomad , clario

it's been months since you last saw karina—really saw her, not just passing glances in lecture halls or stolen moments across the quad. each month has left an ache in your chest, sharp and unyielding, like a wound that refuses to heal.

you'd think the ache would dull with time, that her absence might ease the weight pressing against your ribs. but it hasn't.

instead, it's only grown worse, carving out hollow spaces inside you that fill with resentment and longing in equal measure.

and then there's mark. the way you've caught them together—his easy laugh, her blond hair catching the sunlight as she leans into him like it's the most natural thing in the world.

that was supposed to be you.

you were supposed to be the one at her side, sharing inside jokes, brushing her hand with yours when no one was looking.

but you ruined it.

you kissed her.

and now, all you can do is watch from the sidelines, choking on the bitterness of your own making. the snow crunches beneath your boots as you make your way across campus, the cold seeping into your bones.

you shove your hands deeper into your coat pockets, wishing the chill in the air could match the frost biting at your heart. she's everywhere and nowhere all at once—haunting your thoughts, lingering in the periphery of your vision, but never close enough to reach.

and you can't decide what hurts more: the memory of that kiss, or the way she looks at you now, like you're a stranger.

the market is busy for a winter afternoon, the crisp air biting at your cheeks as you push through the crowd with daniela by your side. you're bundled in layers, the thick scarf around your neck almost enough to hide your face.

it's a bit of a cozy escape from the cold, all the hustle and bustle, but still, something feels off, like you're waiting for something to happen.

you and daniela split up to grab some things, and she disappears into the restroom, leaving you to wander the aisles alone. you don't think much of it until you round a corner into the fruit alley, only to stop dead in your tracks.

there she is.

karina.

but somethings different.

her blonde hair is gone—replaced by jet black strands that peek out from under her beanie. it's such a stark contrast to the karina you're used to for a second, you almost convince yourself it's someone else.

but it's her. you'd recognize the way she stands anywhere.

she's standing at the end of the aisle, inspecting a basket of oranges, her hands gloved and delicate as she picked them up one by one. for a second, you almost forget where you are, as if the world has faded away except for her.

but you snap back to reality quickly enough, your heart beating in your throat. you could just turn around, pretend you didn't see her.

you could keep walking. you could avoid this.

but your feet won't move.

karina hasn't noticed you yet. she's lost in the small world of fruit, her brow furrowed slightly as she selects the ripest orange. you could watch her for hours if you wanted, but something inside you twists at the sight. there's that familiar ache again, a tinge of jealousy in the pit of your stomach.

it's stupid, really. she doesn't even know you're here, doesn't even know much you've been struggling to get over her.

but you can't help it.

she's too perfect.

before you can think any more about it, she looks up and catches your gaze. her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting in soft surprise. then she stands up straighter, as if she's suddenly unsure of something, and she blinks—quickly, like she's trying to reset herself.

you both freeze.

the air between you feels thick, and for a moment, it's like nothing has changed.

no time. no distance, no awkward silence between you two since the kiss. it's just her and you, standing there in the midst of winter, in a fruit aisle that feels too small for all the words neither of you have said.

karina doesn't move, her hand still hovering near the oranges.

your throat tightens, and you finally manage to speak.

"hey." it sounds so casual, too flat for how you're feeling. your stomach churns as you wonder if she'll say anything at all.

"hi," karina replies, her voice almost too soft, too polite.

and just like that, you're stuck again—two people who never really knew how to talk to each other anymore.

the silence stretches, hanging between you like the cold outside. karina's eyes flicker down to the fruit in her hand, her fingers turning the orange over slowly—carefully, like it’s something delicate she might accidentally crush.

you're the same. Frozen, watching her, unable to move.

it's just an orange, but for some reason, it feels like she’s holding a part of you, inspecting it with the same quiet intensity that makes your chest tighten.

she used to do this with you. with everything. look at you like you were something worth savoring.

but now?

now she can’t even meet your eyes for more than a few seconds without looking away.

you swallow hard, fingers curling at your sides. the fruit around you—rows of apples, pomegranates, those stupid oranges—feels too sweet, too vibrant for how bitter the pit in your stomach has become.

funny. you used to love this aisle.

now, you hate it.

the memory of her lip gloss—cherry, sugary, intoxicating—lingers like a bruise. you wonder if she still wears it, if the taste of her would still remind you of something you shouldn’t want.

“didn't think I’d see you here,” she adds, fingers still turning the orange like it’s the only thing keeping her hands busy. her eyes flick up, meeting yours briefly. “you don’t usually come to this market.”

your throat feels dry. “I could say the same about you.”

karina's lips twitch, almost like she’s about to smile, but it never fully forms. “guess we’re both full of surprises.”

you shift on your feet, pretending to glance over the fruit as if this conversation isn’t the only thing grounding you right now. “yeah. I guess so.”

another stretch of silence. the kind that says everything neither of you are willing to. karina looks down at the orange again, voice softer this time. “how've you been?”

the question sinks in, slow and heavy. it feels like a trap—like she’s opening a door just enough to see if you’ll step through. “fine,” you lie. “busy, you know. classes and all that.”

she nods, but something in her expression shifts—like she doesn’t quite believe you. “right.” her eyes flicker over you, lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “you look good,” she murmurs, almost like an afterthought.

your breath catches, and for a second, you forget how to respond. “thanks,” you manage, voice tighter than you’d like. “you too.”

karina hums, her gaze softening—but before you can say anything else, daniela's voice cuts through the stillness.

“you ready to go?”

suddenly, daniela's at your side, brushing water off her coat sleeve. she glances between you and Karina with an arched brow, clearly sensing the tension but not addressing it.

karina's expression hardens just enough for you to notice.

that softness—the small, unspoken part of her that seemed like it might reach out to you again—disappears.

her eyes drop to daniela, lips pressing into a thin line as if she’s biting back words she won’t let slip.

it's subtle. barely noticeable if you weren’t so tuned into her. But you are.

and it’s enough.

karina looks back at you, and for the first time since the party, you see it—the same thing that flashed across her face when she saw you with manon.

jealousy.

she doesn’t say anything else, just holds your gaze for a lingering second too long before turning back to the fruit display, her grip on the orange tightening slightly.

you could say something.

you should. but you don’t.

daniela's arm loops through yours, tugging lightly, but you hesitate—just for a second. your eyes drift back to karina, still standing there with that orange cradled in her palm. she's not looking at the fruit anymore.

she's watching you.

for a fleeting moment, her lips part, like she's about to say something. but the words don't come. and maybe they never will.

you force a small smile, even though it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "see you later," you murmur, the words slipping out quieter than intended.

karina's gaze flickers, something unreadable crossing her face. it looks almost like regret—or maybe it's just the lighting playing tricks on you.

"yeah," she replies softly. but the way she's still watching you makes it feel like she wanted to say more. like maybe if daniela wasn't there, she would've.

but it's too late.

the carnival is alive with lights and laughter, even in the biting cold. you adjust your camera strap, exhaling a puff of frosty air as the ferris wheel looms ahead. intak and daniela are somewhere back near the food stalls, probably bickering over churros, and manon is likely laughing at both of them. you needed the space, the quiet, to lose yourself in the view from above.

but as you shuffle forward in the line, you catch sight of a familiar figure.

karina.

your heart stutters. she's standing a few spots ahead, bundled in a black coat, her hair now dark as midnight and curling slightly at the ends. there's no sign of Mark, or anyone else for that matter. she's alone.

your thoughts spiral—did they break up? you shouldn’t care. you don’t care. but the thought nags at you, unwanted and unshakable.

the line moves, and suddenly, it’s your turn. the attendant waves you forward, and as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, karina is ushered into the same car.

she hesitates for a moment before sliding in, leaving just enough room for you to follow. the bar clicks into place, trapping you both in an awkward silence as the ride jolts to life.

the city begins to unfold below, the twinkling lights reflecting in her eyes, but you can’t focus on the view. all you can think about is her. how perfect she looks, even now. how her presence makes it impossible to breathe, impossible to think.

“i'm sorry.”

the words come out of nowhere, breaking the silence like the snap of a branch. You blink, startled, meeting her gaze.

“what?”

she exhales, her breath visible in the chilly air. “i'm sorry for what happened at the party. for... pushing you away like that.” her hands fidget in her lap. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

your chest tightens. the memory of that night feels like a fresh wound, sharp and unhealed.

“scared of what?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

karina hesitates, her eyes darting away to the lights below. “of what people would think. of what it would mean... if they saw me kissing a girl.”

the admission hits you like a punch to the gut. “so you were embarrassed?” the words tumble out before you can stop them, harsher than you meant.

her head snaps up, eyes wide. “No, I—” she bites her lip, searching for the right words. “I wasn’t embarrassed of you. I was embarrassed of myself. I wasn’t ready for people to know.”

you stare at her, the cold seeping through your gloves, but it doesn’t compare to the ache spreading through your chest. “it felt like you were.”

the ferris wheel creaks, the car swaying gently as it reaches the top. karina looks at you, her expression a mix of regret and something else you can’t quite place. “i'm sorry,” she whispers again.

and for a moment, you let yourself wonder if she means it—if she truly understands what she did to you.

the ferris wheel finally comes to a halt at the bottom, and you feel a sudden rush to get off, like if you stay in that small, enclosed space with karina any longer, you might lose control. the ride jerks to a stop, and you’re practically out of the seat before it’s even fully halted, your legs unsteady as you rush toward the exit.

the cold air hits you like a slap in the face, and you don’t stop walking—can’t stop walking. your heart is thundering, pounding against your ribs, and you need distance.

you need space. But then, you feel it. a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back, spinning you around. karina stands there, her expression wide, filled with sorrow, her eyes soft like she’s about to break.

you swallow, your throat dry, trying to force out words. “karina…”

she doesn’t let go, pulling you closer as if she can’t bear the distance between you any longer. her other hand comes up to cup your face, her fingers trembling slightly, but it doesn’t stop her.

you blink up at her, breath catching. “please… let go,” you whisper, a warning. “if you don’t, I might do something stupid.”

something stupid. like kiss her again.

karina's gaze flickers, and for a moment, you think she’ll pull away, but instead, she steps closer, her chest brushing yours, closing the distance. she lowers her voice, her words soft but sure.

“nothing you do could ever be stupid,” she says, her breath warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

her eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your heart race, as if she’s trying to find the right words, the right moment. she takes a breath, steadying herself before she says, "I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that night… about how you kissed me, how you made me feel. and I hate it, because it doesn’t fit into my world, but I can’t help it. I can’t stop wanting you.”

your breath catches in your throat, your pulse thundering in your ears. the confession hangs in the air between you, raw and vulnerable, and for a moment, you think you might explode from the weight of it all.

“I—I didn’t want to hurt you,” karina continues, her voice cracking. “but I was terrified. terrified of what everyone would think, of what it meant. I thought I could just ignore it, just bury it, but I can’t. Not anymore.”

you feel your hands tremble as you reach up, cupping her face, drawing her gaze back to yours. “so you’re not embarrassed of me?” you whisper, almost afraid to hear the answer.

her eyes soften, and she shakes her head. “no, never. I was just scared of myself. scared of what I was feeling for you.”

before you can say anything else, her lips find yours again, urgent and unrestrained, as if she’s trying to prove something to both of you. she kisses you like it’s the only thing that matters, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

when she pulls back, her voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s there, raw and open. “i'm sorry it took me so long to get here... but I don’t want to waste any more time pretending.”

the world around you seems to fade, and for the first time in months, you feel a rush of clarity. the ache, the longing, the confusion—it’s all gone, replaced by something even more overwhelming, something real.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” you say, your voice steady for the first time tonight. but even as the words leave your mouth, a thought lingers at the back of your mind—a quiet question that refuses to be ignored.

is this really it? is this the start of something new, or is it just another chapter of chaos in the story you’ve both been trapped in?

you don’t know. but for now, you choose to stay here, in this moment, with karina—hoping that it might be enough.

#aespa x fem reader #aespa #yu jimin #aespa imagines #aespa karina #kisshae #wlw #karina x reader #yoo jimin #aespa x reader #kpop imagines

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misshunterskye · 2 days ago

Text

you get jealous of a female doctor flirting with zayne ... this was supposed to be just fluff until it got dirty, so enjoy!

content: jealousy, fluff, smut

You're a nice person. You're a kind person. At least, you remind yourself of that as you stare down the intern that is all over Zayne. And you know that he's being polite. You know that he's just trying to make sure she has everything she needs.

But the way she's leaning in, touching his shoulder, and giving an absolutely god awful laugh -- it's making your skin crawl. you're so disgusted that you don't even realize that you're walking over until you're there.

"Oh, you must be the new intern," you say a little too cheerfully, piling on the niceness. You're still reminding yourself to be nice. You were taught to kill them with kindness.

But to your actual shock, the woman turns bright red. "Doctor, actually. I'm new to the ER."

You wouldn't have guessed it by the way she looked so confused. But you keep your mouth shut, already knowing that you fully embarrassed this woman.

But she doesn't seem to know who you are just yet. "But I do know enough that patients wait in the waiting room." Her eyes are narrowed into thin lines at this point.

Zayne finally interjects. "Dr. Madden, this is my partner."

You give another saccharine sweet smile to the woman, who looks like she wants to disappear. "I have paperwork to fill out," she finally says abruptly before walking away.

You watch her scurry away for a moment, but it's not long before Zayne hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you into his office. In rare fashion, he locks his door as soon as you both enter.

And in even rarer fashion, he pushes you against the door, his mouth descending on yours. "You're really pretty when you're jealous," he says when he finally pulls away. His mouth ghosts down your neck, inhaling your scent. It's the perfume you picked out just for him. It's new actually. One of the things you came over to show him.

"You smell amazing," he groans, his nose trailing up and down your neck. Your hands find purchase on the back of his head, and you giggle.

"I bought a new perfume. It's made with jasmine. I thought you'd like it," you tell him. He gives another groan.

"I need you," he breathes against your neck. "Please."

As if you would deny him. You nod, biting your lip as he pulls back to look down at you. As soon as he has your consent, it's like a dam breaks in him.

He lifts you up. His desk is meticulously neat, all of his papers filed for the most part. A few rogue papers crinkle under your ass, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"I'll print another copy," he grunts.

You giggle, widening your legs for him tauntingly. "You said you wanted something?"

"I believe I said I needed something."

He starts to kiss you again, his hands reaching down to fumble with your pants. Just like the doctor he is, he's precise with his movements, and it's not long before he has them on the floor.

Your own hands fumble with his belt, then his zipper. As you do, his mouth leaves slippery, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. When you push his boxers down, his cock springs free.

"You're pretty when you're jealous," he says, stepping closer to you. His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them to the side. His looks to you one last time to see if you want to stop. When you nod for him to continue, he slowly sinks into you.

He groans, his forehead falling against yours as he buries himself to the hilt. The both of you are still semi-clothed. His hands find purchase on your hips as he slowly starts to thrust. The fabric of his clothing starts to rub against your clit as he fucks you.

"But you should know," he says, grunting as he picks up the pace. "I'm not interested in any other women. I only want you, for as long as you'll have me."

His romantic words drive you closer to the edge. Sensing how close you are, his finger comes down to rub your clit in rhythm with his thrusts.

"Oh my God," you pant. "Zayne, please. Please, right there, I'm so close."

Just as you say that, he gives your clit a little slap and the unexpected harshness from your normally gentle lover is enough to make you fall apart instantly.

He's groaning your name all through your orgasm, the both of you chanting your names at each other. Just as your orgasm starts to subside, he thrusts once, twice, and then stills. Warmness fills you as he releases. His head drops against your shoulder.

"No need to be jealous, ever. I'm yours," he murmurs.

#zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne smut #lads zayne smut #love and deepspace smut #i don't think i was tagging these right so hopefully people can see them now!#smut #zayne

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 2 days ago

Text

Welcome to the neighborhood

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 22

Prompt: Santa

Rated: T

Tags: No UD AU; Single Dad Steve; Single Dad Eddie; Steve is Dustin’s dad; Eddie is Max's dad; Neighbors; Christmas

Steve presses the doorbell for the third time, secretly wishing he'd put on his coat - or his outdoor shoes at least. Nobody has bothered removing the snow from the walkway leading up to the door, and it's seeping into his slippers and socks.

“Maybe they aren't home,” Dustin says, voice slightly muffled from under his scarf.

Steve scoffs, mentally cursing Carol for talking him into this. “I saw the car pull into the garage, they're here.”

He's just trying to decide if he should rap his freezing knuckles against the milk glass pane or tell Carol to go fuck herself when the door swings open, revealing a girl around Dustin’s age. She's sporting a vicious scowl and a shock of violently orange hair.

“Oh hi,” Steve says. “Are your parents home?”

She gives them a long, pointed once over. Steve in his slippers and too-thin shirt and Dustin in his knitted Minecraft hat.

Then, without turning, she hollers, “Dad! It's the hottie from across the street.”

Somewhere in the house, somebody drops something. There's a barrage of swear words that makes Steve wanna cover Dustin’s ears, and then a whirlwind of black clothes and frizzy curls descends down the stairs and almost barrels into the stack of half unpacked boxes in the hallway.

“Jesus Christ, Maxine! Sorry about that, I dunno what she's on about.”

The girl rolls her eyes.

“You said it. Own it.”

The man glares at her. She grins.

“Hi,” Steve says again, bravely ignoring the heat rising under his collar. “Nice to meet you. I live-”

“Across the street. She just said it,” Dustin provides helpfully. “Hi, I'm Dustin, this is my dad.”

The girl gives him a lazy wave. “So, what do you do for fun around here, Dustin?”

He shrugs. “I was about meet some friends, throw snowballs at cars. You wanna come?”

“Ew, lame,” she says, grabbing her coat off another box. “Let's go.”

Steve watches them disappear down the street, already deep in conversation about something or other.

“Well, then.” The other man extends his hand. It's adorned in clunky rings and covered in paint stains. “Do I get a proper introduction, or are we doing that thing where we refer to each other as Max's and Dustin’s Dad until it gets awkward, but by then we're too embarrassed to ask so we just skirt around it and say ‘hey, you’ for several years?”

Steve is snorting a laugh before he remembers he's supposed to be mad.

“Steve,” he says, taking the offered hand. It's pleasantly warm after the frosty air. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Steve,” the man repeats, and something about the way it rolls off his tongue makes a different kind of warmth settle in Steve’s chest. “Hi, I'm Eddie. What brings you here on this fine- oh shit, should I ask you to come inside? My kitchen is still very much a work in progress, but I got the coffee maker running yesterday, so I could fix us-”

“It's fine,” Steve lies. He's starting to lose the feeling in his toes. “I just wanted to- … I'm here on behalf of the Home Owners’ Community.”��

Eddie tilts his head at him. “There's a Home Owners’ Community?”

“Um, yes,” Steve says, raking a hand through snow-soaked hair. “Didn't you get our welcome pamphlet? It has this chees- … um, cheery picture on it. Happy family in their yard with their dog?”

“Oh, that!” Eddie’s mouth goes round. “Yes, I got that. Threw it out. Looked culty to me.”

Steve gawks at him. He smiles.

“Culty,” Steve repeats. He fucking told Carol the fucking photo was too much, but did she fucking listen to him?

“Yup,” Eddie confirms cheerfully. “Why?”

Steve laughs weakly. “Nothing, just- … I think that's pretty damn bold, coming from someone whose idea of a Christmas decoration is this!”

Eddie follows his sweeping hand gesture to take in his own front lawn, like he's seeing it for the first time. The giant, inflatable Santa swaying cheerily in the snowy breeze. The grinning crowd of plastic skeletons dancing by its feet. Some have pitchforks.

The whole spectacle is rounded off by a wooden sign, hand-painted in bright red letters.

It reads HAIL SANTA.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie laughs. “You see, we didn’t get around to doing anything for Halloween this year, what with the move, and it's Max's favorite holiday, so-”

“Yeah, great,” Steve says. “But the Homeowners’ Community has rules, and they clearly state that Christmas decorations must be-”

Eddie pats his cheek. His hand is even warmer on Steve’s face than it was against his fingers.

“But I'm not part of your little club, unfortunately.” His tone is all honest regret, but the quirk of his mouth and the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes tell a different story. “And I'm not gonna join, so there's nothing you can do to stop me. And if she has an issue with that, I suggest chairwoman Carol Hagan come over and say it to my face, instead of hiding behind your back. Not that I blame her. It's a nice back.”

“But you said-” Steve sputters. “So you did read it!”

“You should go home now,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “Don't wanna be seen getting friendly with the likes of me. Plus, you might lose a toe if you stay like that.”

He nods down at Steve's soaked slippers - they may be unsalvageable by now - then starts to close the door in his face.

“Wait,” Steve says. Eddie does, peering out from behind the door with large, hopeful eyes. “Does that offer for coffee still stand?”

Eddie’s eyes light up. So do the led flames surrounding Santa's ghastly entourage.

Carol can mind her own business, Steve decides. He'll get friendly with whoever the hell he pleases.

More holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie brainrot #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles 2024

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kitkatkitzune · 2 days ago

Text

PRINCESS

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Vampire!Reader

Summary: Elena, Bonnie, and Caroline find out the real reason Kol calls his lover princess.

Warnings: Violence I guess, Blood mentioned, Death, A bit of angst, Forced suicide, A lousy king, Age gap between reader and unnamed man she is meant to marry, A scene very obviously inspired by Star Wars (let me know if you catch it), Borderline excessive use of the word ‘princess’ (I fear that was implied by the title), Inaccurate historical depictions, The Mikaelson family being menaces (kinda), Kol being Kol, Caroline being Caroline, Implied Klaroline, Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (my bad), A few uses of Y/N

Notes: Let's pretend everyone gets along… for the most part. Kol got turned at nineteen because I said so. Those stars were formatted to be centered originally but they keep going back to the side and I don’t know why, sorry.

Word Count: 4.4k

———————

Present Day

Mystic Falls

For once in Mystic Falls, it’s peaceful. The Mikaelson’s decided that they’d all had enough running around, ripping the town apart, they wanted to relax and have normal lives for a bit. Klaus was the most reluctant of this idea, wanting to run off to create more hybrids but Caroline had asked him to stay, just for a bit before he’d continue his travels. He backed down a bit after that, behaving himself for the first time ever. All his siblings were shocked by this but chose not to taunt him about it. Well, all except for one, Kol. Kol would tease him relentlessly about it, using all the new terms he had learned, his favorite being ‘whipped’.

Oh Kol, your sweet, not so sweet, innocent, not so innocent, Kol. You had met Kol during the 16th century while you were still human. You had fallen hard for the Mikaelson boy but your feelings would mean nothing as you had already been betrothed to another man. The man was much older than you but that did not matter. It didn’t matter that you didn’t love him either, your fate was sealed. You were the only daughter to your parents, only child in fact. Your mother had tried to produce another heir, a boy, but fate would not allow it. Just as Kol would not allow you to marry that man.

You currently sat in the Mystic Grill, snacking on some french fries while you hummed quietly to yourself. Suddenly Caroline, Elena, and Bonnie all crammed into one side of the booth, sitting across from you. They were looking at you with wide eyes. You were in the process of putting a french fry in your mouth and sigh, setting it back onto your plate.

“What—“

Caroline shoves your plate of fries out of the way and slams a book in front of you, frantically pointing at a picture, “This is you? Right?!”

You look at the picture, it was a painting of you. In fact, this particular one was painted by Klaus.

“Yes, that—“

Caroline cuts in, “Is this before you were turned?! All it says is that you mysteriously disappeared at a ball! You’ve gotta tell us about this!”

Your eye twitches a bit, “I’m trying to!”

“Oh… right.”

You look at the picture of the painting again, it’s nothing compared to the original, “Nik actually painted this when he and his family—“

Caroline interrupts. Again. “Nik like, as in Klaus? He painted this? Wait so this was after you were turned? Or was it before?”

“Caroline!” Bonnie and Elena shush her.

“Sorry!” Caroline squeaks out, “I’m just excited…”

You laugh a bit, amused by the blonde's antics, “I’ll start with when I met the Mikaelsons…”

-★-

16th Century

England

“We thank you for welcoming our family into your home.”

Your father nods, holding his head high, still not too sure on the new family who would be staying around for a while. Your mother, on the other hand, had begun to gush over them.

The man continues, “I apologize, I have not properly introduced myself. I am Elijah Mikaelson.”

You watch as Elijah takes your mothers hand and brings it to his lips, she looks as though she is going to faint. You glance at your father who looks like steam is going to come from his ears. You try to suppress a giggle but fail. Your eyes widen when another boy immediately looks at you, you were caught. The heat rises to your face as you shrink back in on yourself. The boy was very attractive, they all were. He had brown hair and eyes to match, which glimmered with mischief. You knew immediately that he’d be one to cause trouble. He smirked at you and tilted his head to the side as he stared at you. You began to chew your lip and look to the ground, unable to meet his gaze any longer.

Your father clears his throat, bringing your mother back from her daydreams of Elijah. Your mother looks at you and grabs your hand, pulling you to stand in front of her.

“This is our daughter, Y/N, she is to be queen.”

The boy with the mischievous eyes raises a brow, “No sons?”

“Mind your tongue, Kol.” Elijah warns his younger brother.

The blonde girl next to who you now know as Kol begins to snicker. Elijah quickly turns his attention to her, “Rebekah.” he warns.

Another man steps up from behind Rebekah and Kol, “I do apologize for my siblings behavior. Kol and Rebekah can be rather… brash. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Klaus.”

He takes your mothers hand and kisses it, she looks as though she is going to faint again.

Your father clears his throat once more and Kol raises a brow, “Are you ill?”

“Kol!” Elijah hisses. Kol simply shrugs.

Your father glares at Kol before choosing to ignore him, addressing the others while simultaneously answering Kol’s question from earlier, “She is to be wed soon.”

You tense up at the mention of your wedding. Something that Kol immediately takes note of.

“We are having a ball in three month‘s time to celebrate, it will be held the night before the wedding! You are all welcome to attend!” your mother quickly offers.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, my dear. They will certainly have moved on with their travels by then.” your father looks at the Mikaelsons before narrowing his eyes, “Right?”

Kol and Rebekah glance at each other, clearly not impressed by your fathers attempt at intimidation.

Klaus smirks, “Nonsense! We wouldn’t dare miss a ball, would we Elijah?”

Elijah chuckles, “No brother, we would not. You have my word, we will be there, Miss Y/N.”

“Princess Y/N.” your father quickly corrects.

Elijah’s eyes narrow, “My mistake.” he then turns to you, “We will be at your ball, Princess.”

-★-

A week had passed since the Mikaelson family had arrived in your kingdom. You had grown to enjoy Rebekah’s company, laughing along with her as she complained about her brothers. Elijah would offer polite conversation if he saw you and you were scheduled to have Klaus paint your portrait (something your mother was ecstatic about). The only one you hadn’t had much interaction with was Kol. You could see him watching you from afar but he never approached you, though you couldn’t blame him because you never approached him either.

“For a girl that is soon to be wed, you don’t appear to be all that thrilled.“

You jump at the sudden voice and turn to see Kol. He’s smirking at you, “Hello princess.”

What was that saying? Speak of the devil…

You scoff and turn back to look at the trees, watching a squirrel run by. You often came to this spot in the forest to clear your head. It was isolated, just you with nature, and no one knew of it other than you and your mother. Until now that is.

“How did you find me?” you ask quietly.

“Oh! So she does speak!” Kol’s smirk widens.

Sitting up straighter, you clear your throat but before you can speak, Kol interrupts, “Does that run in your family?”

You narrow your eyes, “Does being an overly presumptuous arse run in yours?”

Kol lets out a whistle, “Sharp tongue.”

“Is there something you need, Mister Mikaelson?”

Kol raises a brow, “What I ‘need’ is for you to call me Kol, Mister Mikaelson makes me sound far too much like Elijah… so proper.”

“Then stop calling me princess.”

“Oh I’m sorry I can’t do that, princess. It is your title after all.”

“Very well…” you pause, “Mister Mikaelson.”

Kol chuckles, shaking his head and gestures towards the rock you’re currently sitting on, “Mind if I sit?”

“For some reason, I think you’d sit regardless of my answer.”

He smirks, “Pretty and clever.”

You turn to look away from him, heat rushing to your face. He chuckles a bit at your reaction. The two of you sit in silence for a moment, observing the nature around you. A bunny stops at a tree in front of you two, staring at you both. A smile appears on your face as the creature stares you down. You tilt your head to the side, letting out a small laugh as the bunny copies your actions.

Kol’s attention is not on the bunny though. He is focused solely on you. The way you smile, the way your hair is framing your face, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the twinkle in your eye as you watch the animal… just… you. An unfamiliar warmth spreads in his chest, unfamiliar, but nice.

Kol is so distracted by you that he doesn’t even realize that the bunny has run off until you’re waving your hand in front of his face. Kol blinks a few times as you lower your hand, your attention entirely on him as you begin to giggle again. Kol’s face flushes a bit and that warmth begins to spread in his chest again.

You raise a brow at him, “Has something distracted you?”

Kol laughs, shaking his head, “I just… you’re full of such life, you have wit… you’re fierce yet nurturing. And yet, I’ve seen you around with that man who must be at least twice your age and you seem dead. It’s as though you lose everything that makes you, you when you’re with him.”

You chew your lip, tilting your head as though you’re thinking, “Perhaps you are different.”

“A good different?”

“I hope so.”

-★-

Three days later you were sitting at that spot once again when Kol found you. This time, he brought a basket full of treats.

“You cook? Bake?” you ask.

He smiles a bit, raising his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, you’ve got me. I had some help from Rebekah… and I may have stopped at the market on the way here.”

You try to hold your composure but begin to laugh, Kol smiles at this and begins to laugh as well. He sits on the ground in front of you even though you had told him he could sit next to you. He simply wanted to look at you without having to turn his body.

You pick up one of the pastries and take a bite, a few crumbs fall onto your skirt and you don’t notice the few that stick to your lip. Kol does though, he finds it adorable and can’t help it when he sits up straight, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb against your lip. Your eyes widen in shock as you look down at him. Without breaking eye contact, he pulls his hand back and places his thumb in his mouth, sucking the remaining crumbs of pastry away.

Amused by your wide eyes and flushed face he tilts his head to the side, a sly smirk appearing on his face, “What?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Please stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he sits up once more, your faces directly in front of each other, only inches between the two of you. Your noses are practically touching…

You will yourself to not break away from his intense gaze, “You’re teasing me.”

“Oh,” he chuckles, amused, “I’d be much too frightened to tease a princess.”

-★-

Kol and you had continued to meet at that spot at least twice a week. No one had known other than maybe his siblings. It was taboo enough for two people of the opposite gender to be left alone if they weren’t married or soon to be. It was even more taboo considering the fact that you were to be married soon, to another man. Not to mention Kol’s obvious flirting and the way you would become flustered just by his gaze alone. Something that your soon to be husband could never do, never make you feel.

Normally, when Kol would find you, you’d be humming a song or spinning in a circle or even just sitting there, watching. Today, though, when Kol arrived, your entire body was shaking. He could hear your sobs as he approached you.

“Princess?” Kol asks softly, sitting next to you.

You looked up at him and Kol’s heart broke at the sight of your tear stained face.

“He’s going to kill me Kol.”

“What?”

“My fiancé… I overheard him speaking with his brother, after we are wed he is going to have me executed. I am simply a means to an end for him, I tried to tell my father but he brushed me off as paranoid and trying to get out of the wedding!”

Kol rests his hand on your cheek, wiping away a tear and for a moment, just a split second you could have sworn you saw the veins beneath his eyes ripple, it must have been your tear filled eyes playing tricks on you. You were certain though, that his eyes became dark. You should have been scared at that look in his eyes but you weren’t. You felt safe.

“Will you trust me?”

When you don’t answer he asks again, differently, “Y/N. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” you answer without hesitation this time.

“At the ball tomorrow, I’ll take care of everything, okay? I promise that I won’t let him hurt you. I will find you, okay? If I do not then one of my siblings will. If none of us can reach you, I’ll be here, at this spot, waiting for you.”

You nod, bringing your hand up to cup his that currently holds your face.

“I must confess something.”

You tilt your head, urging him to continue.

“I’ve never had any intention of allowing you to marry that man.”

-★-

You were preparing for the ball when there was a knock at your door.

“Come in.” You called out.

Your mother entered the room and dramatically placed her hands over her heart at the sight of you. She rushed over to you, placing her hands on your shoulders, looking at you both in the mirror.

“My little girl, you’re all grown up.”

You smile softly, “Well I think that I still need my mother to help me with my necklace…”

You reach for the necklace that you had planned to wear but you were stopped by your mother. You look at her in the mirror, confused.

“No no, you’ll be wearing this.” she held up a gorgeous necklace, it was bejeweled, specifically with your birthstone.

“Mama…” you say, turning around to face her, touching the necklace as gently as you could, “This is gorgeous, where did you get this?”

She smiles, cupping your cheek, “It was a gift, here, allow me.”

You turn back around and your mother lifts your hair as she clasps the necklace. You reach up to touch the jewels, a small smile on your face. You have a guess as to who the mysterious gifter was and you could only hope you were correct.

She kisses your cheek, “To think, tomorrow you will be married…”

Your mood is dampened at the mention of your marriage. One day closer to your death. You had to trust Kol, that he would help.

The door opened and Rebekah entered, she looked absolutely stunning in her blue gown. Her hair was in an updo that complemented the square neckline of the dress. She freezes at the sight of your mother.

“My apologies, I did not mean to intrude.”

“Nonsense!” your mother exclaims, “I was just telling my lovely daughter how beautiful she looks, I’ll leave you two to talk.” she makes a swift exit out of the room and you chuckle.

Rebekah turns and looks at you, “You do look truly gorgeous.”

“As do you, Rebekah.” you smile softly at her.

The blonde takes your hands in hers, glancing at the door to make sure it’s closed before she turns back to you, “How much has Kol told you about tonight?”

Your brows furrow, “Only that I need to trust him…”

Rebekah sighs, “That fool.”

“Rebekah? What is going on?”

She plasters on a smile, “You needn’t worry darling, we won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

“Where is Kol…?”

Rebekah’s smile falls, “He’s having a chat with your fiancé.”

-★-

You stand with Rebekah, chatting while sipping your drinks. You glance around the room and frown when you realize you still haven’t seen Kol around. You hadn’t seen your fiancé either.

When Kol finally enters the ballroom, he makes his way to Elijah. Elijah takes in Kol’s appearance, checking him for blood stains and when he finds none, he raises a brow.

“I do hope you did not leave a bloody mess behind.”

Kol smiles sweetly, but his words are anything but, “I’d rather choke than have a single sip of that pig's blood.”

Elijah raises a brow and hums, intrigued, “What have you done?”

There’s suddenly a loud crash and a scream, causing everyone to look to the stairs. A maid comes rushing from the room where your fiancé was getting dressed, she goes straight up to your father. Listening in, Kol and Elijah hear the maid tell him that she found your fiancé’s body in the room. Your father’s eyes fall onto you and he beckons you to come to him. Your mother chews her lip, looking absolutely horrified. You excuse yourself from Rebekah and make your way to the stairs. Kol shifts the way he’s standing as though he’s about to make an escape.

“Kol…” Elijah narrows his eyes at his brother, “What did you do to the man?”

“Relax brother… he’s just hanging out.”

-★-

That night you sat on your bed, staring out the window. Your father had forbidden you from leaving the room for any reason. He blamed you for what had happened. Your mother remained downstairs trying to keep the party alive even though the guests of honor were nowhere to be found. You had discarded your gorgeous ball gown to slip into your nightgown. The necklace still rested on your chest, you couldn’t reach the clasp to remove it, you began to fidget with one of the jewels.

The more you stared out the window, the more your room seemed to suffocate you. You brought your hand up to catch the cold, metal latch and unlock the window, allowing the cool air of the night to blow into your room. Then you make a decision you’re sure you’ll regret, you climb out of the window and begin to climb to the ground. Your bare feet freezing when they make contact with the cold rock.

When you hit the ground you immediately start running to the forest, to your spot. You wish you could say that you weren’t surprised to see Kol there, already waiting for you like he had said he would be.

“Princess, I was waiting for you to show up.”

You let out a shaky breath, suddenly aware of the cold air around you. Kol stands and walks over to you, his eyes fall to your chest and you begin to feel self conscious of the fact that you’re in nothing more than a nightgown. He carefully reaches for your necklace, fidgeting with a gem, just as you had done earlier.

“I see you got my gift.”

A small smile finds its way onto your lips, “I knew it was you…” he can’t help but think that your words are referring to more than just the necklace.

He smiles down at you, “I am disappointed that I could not dance with you tonight.”

“You still can.”

He smirks, taking a step back from you before offering you his hand, “Could I have this dance, princess?”

You laugh, doing a small curtsy as you take his hand, “Why of course, Mister Mikaelson.”

Kol pulls you into his arms and you wrap your arms around his neck, taking in his body heat. His hands rest on your waist and you jump a bit at the feeling.

He chuckles, “You must be freezing…”

“Only a bit.” you admit, quietly, “You’re quite warm though, enough for us both.”

You rest your head onto his shoulder and close your eyes, humming. All nice things must come to an end as you hear your fathers booming voice echo throughout the forest. The sound of footsteps stopping right near you. You wait for the shouting but it does not come. Reluctantly you lift your head and find your mother’s wide eyes staring at you.

“Mama…” you begin to pull yourself away from Kol.

She brings a finger to her lips, shushing you as she rushes to pull you into a hug. She pulls away and holds your face in her hands, “You must go. Run.”

“Mama, I—“

She shakes her head, “There is no time to argue,” she looks at Kol, “Your family, you have money?” he nods and she continues, “You will take care of her?” he nods once more.

Your mother swallows hard, “Then go, run far from here and be happy. This life… it is never what you wanted, you want adventure, you want to travel. You do not want to sit and deal with politics… I know how it bores you. It’s killing your soul. I want you to be happy…”

Tears fill your eyes as you pull her into a tight hug, “I love you, mother.”

“I love you too, my daughter.”

She pulls away, tears are in her eyes, “Now go.”

Your father’s voice gets closer and before you know it, Kol has picked you up into his arms and has begun to run, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You watch over his shoulder as your mother stands still, getting smaller and smaller the farther you get away.

Kol seems to be running at an inhuman speed and you close your eyes not being able to handle the way things speed past you anymore, you feel as though you’ll be sick. Not even a minute later, Kol stops running.

“Kol.” Klaus’ voice warns, “What happened to getting rid of the fiancé and leaving the girl to find a better suitor?”

“She’s coming with us.”

“Kol…” Klaus begins.

“This is not negotiable brother!” Kol fires back.

Rebekah looks at you, curled up in Kol’s arms, practically shaking, “Did you steal her?”

“What?! Do you take me for an uncivilized fool?! She came with me!”

“I’m not judging! I’ve grown to like the girl as well!”

“My mother asked me to go with him…” you finally speak up.

“If she goes back, her father will be even more enraged than he already is. She’s coming with us.”

“Does she know?” Elijah asks, when Kol shakes his head, he sighs.

“She’ll have to kn—“

“I know, Elijah!” Kol snaps, “But now, we must go! The people are looking for her, we need to leave!”

Elijah swallows, “Very well. But we will be discussing this further Kol.”

Klaus throws his hands up, “You’re not serious, are you?”

He gets no verbal response as his siblings begin to run ahead of him. Klaus groans, “You are serious,” rolling his eyes as he reluctantly moves to catch up with the others.

-★-

“Would you turn me?” you ask suddenly, snuggling further into Kol’s chest.

He tenses up, he stops brushing your hair, “Where is this coming from?”

You sit up from his chest, “We’ve been traveling for almost two years now. I’ll be nineteen soon and you’re forever nineteen.”

You bring a hand up to brush the side of his face, forcing him to look at you, “I want to spend forever with you.“

Kol holds his hand over yours, staring into your eyes, “Do you understand what you’re asking of me? You’d have to die… and then you’d wake up like me, a monster. You’ll be thirsty for blood and no matter what you do that thirst will never go away.”

“You’re not a monster, Kol. I know the things you’ve done, and yet you can still be gentle. If I have to die and drink blood to spend the rest of eternity by your side then so be it. I want to stay with you forever.”

“Forever is a long time, princess.”

You laugh, “Perhaps it will be long enough to teach you to quit calling me that!”

It’s Kol’s turn to laugh, he pulls you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Neverrrr.”

You both lay in silence for a moment, until you look up at him again. He narrows his eyes at you before finally sighing.

“If that is really what you want once you turn nineteen… then I will turn you myself. Just don’t go running to Rebekah or God forbid, Nik.”

-★-

Present Day

Mystic Falls

“Soooo…” Bonnie pauses, “Kol killed your fiancé and you ran off with him?” she then points at your neck, “And you’re still wearing the necklace he got you.”

“Well that’s one way to shorten my story.” You mutter.

Elena laughs a bit at that before raising a brow, “So wait, you knew Kol killed him?”

“It was kind of obvious that Kol had something to do with it, he did tell me he was going to take care of it. I just assumed he had threatened him and it scared the man so bad he took his own life…”

“In reality I simply compelled him to, I never laid a finger on the man.” Kol announces as he slides in the booth to sit next to you.

“Speak of the Devil.” you tease.

Kol looks around for a moment before turning to you, “I don’t see Nik anywhere.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Hello princess.”

“Hi Mister Mikaelson.”

You then look to the three girls across from you, “How did you even find that picture?”

“School project on the time period. It’s in a few history books.” Elena answers.

You hum in response then look at Kol who slides out of the booth, offering you his hand, “I hope you ladies don’t mind, the princess and I have places to be.”

You roll your eyes at his antics and take his hand, getting about a foot away before you turn back around to look at the three girls, “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t do your school project on me.”

They all nod and you smile, leaving The Grill, holding Kol’s hand. The three girls sit in silence for a moment, still soaking in all the information they just learned when Caroline suddenly gasps.

“What is it?!” Bonnie asks, looking around, trying to find a threat.

“That’s why he calls her princess!”

“We know, Caroline.” Elena answers, a bit amused.

“Oh…”

#kit kat writes <3 #kol mikaelson #kol mikealson x reader #the originals #the vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #x reader #tvd #tvdu #bonnie bennett #caroline forbes #elena gilbert #the cw #fluff #kol mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson x you #kol mikaelson x y/n

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gumims · 21 hours ago

Text

mysterious kisses at midnight | prologue: the 12:00 kiss

masterlist

the sound of music thumped through the air, each beat vibrating in the walls of the crowded house. laughter and conversation filled every corner, competing with the pop of champagne bottles and the occasional yell of someone shouting the time left until midnight. fairy lights hung low from the ceiling, glowing golden against the dim backdrop, while groups of friends swayed together under their soft shimmer.

you didn’t want to be here. sure, it wasn’t awful—shoko had done her best to make sure you weren’t stuck alone, dragging you into conversations and introducing you to her circle of friends before disappearing back into the chaos. but there was only so much small talk and awkward standing around you could handle before it all felt suffocating.

standing by the window, you watched frost creep along the edges of the glass, your drink untouched in your hand. couples clung to each other, leaning close and sharing laughter as the countdown loomed closer.

“so, who’s your new year’s kiss?”

the voice came from beside you, smooth and laced with amusement. you turned to find a tall man with snowy white hair, his eyes glinting under the warm lights. his smile was easy, confident, like he already knew the answer to his question.

“no one,” you replied, caught off guard by his boldness.

“perfect.”

he didn’t ask for permission. he simply stayed by your side, hands tucked casually into his pockets, as the countdown began.

“ten!” someone shouted, the crowd quickly joining in.

you looked up at him, confused but intrigued by his sudden appearance. “who are you?”

“does it matter?” he shot back, his smirk widening as he glanced at the clock.

“three! two! one!”

before you could reply, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. the kiss was fleeting but warm, sending a shock of electricity through you. you froze, unsure whether to pull back or lean in closer, but the moment was over before you could decide.

“happy new year,” he murmured, his breath fanning across your cheek. and just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, melting into the crowd before you could even ask his name.

you stood there, lips tingling and heart racing, staring after the stranger who had turned your midnight into something unforgettable.

notes:

haiii :33

if you read gojos tweets in the introduction you will understand why he did this😭

i’m scared this will flop hopefully not tho

gojo is mutual friends with shoko but y/n doesn’t know that

shoko didn’t introduce y/n to gojo that’s how she didn’t recognize him with he came up to her

shoko is more closer friends with geto but that’s also how she knows gojo

i think that’s all i have to say

“the 12:00 kiss” was actually supposed to be the story’s name

taglist: @sahrii @fushiguruuzzzz @miiyas @anotherwriternamedclara @satoryaa @harryzcherry @lizbix @diearama @www-lilpeepismylifesupport-com @q2uq2u @rreveurdoll @xoxoblueyy @tibibibi123 @liliesofdawnnn @beaniesayshi

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rafemotherfuckingcameron · 2 days ago

Note

Rafe finding out your boyfriend hits you

HURT

Word Count: 1.0K

Pairing(s): Reader x Rafe x Wheezie

Warnings: Domestic abuse, injury

Summary: Rafe finds out your boyfriend hit you

The house was still as you slipped through the front door, the soft click echoing faintly in the darkness. Your hands trembled slightly as you locked it behind you, pausing to take a breath. It had been a long, grueling evening—one you didn’t want anyone in the Cameron household to know about. With your hood pulled over your head, you made your way quietly down the hall, your only goal to disappear upstairs before anyone noticed you’d come home.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you climbed the stairs, the dull sting from the cut on your cheek serving as a constant reminder of the night’s events. You pressed the cuff of your sleeve against it in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but the fabric was already damp, and you weren’t sure if it was helping.

You’d thought everyone would be asleep by now—it was late enough—but as you turned the corner at the top of the stairs, you nearly collided with Wheezie.

“Whoa, hey!” she said, startled, clutching her phone to her chest. The light from the screen illuminated her face—and, unfortunately, yours. Her gaze dropped to the visible cut below your eye, and her expression immediately shifted from surprise to alarm. “Oh my God, what happened to you?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, pulling your hood tighter around your head as you tried to brush past her. “It’s fine.”

“Stop,” she said, stepping in front of you and squinting in the dim light. “That’s not fine. Is that blood?”

You hesitated, feeling the lump in your throat grow. “Wheezie, just—just forget it, okay? Please.”

But she wasn’t backing down. “No way. You’re hurt. Come on.” Her tone was softer now, but there was no room for argument. Gently, she took your arm and guided you toward your room.

“Sit here,” she instructed, pointing to the edge of your bed. “I’ll grab some bandages.”

You nodded silently, not trusting your voice to stay steady. As soon as she left, you buried your face in your hands, willing the tears threatening to spill over to stay back. You didn’t want to cry anymore. You didn’t want to feel this way anymore.

In the bathroom, Wheezie was rummaging through cabinets, pulling out antiseptic wipes, gauze, and bandages. She moved quickly, muttering under her breath about how the medical supplies were never where they were supposed to be. She was so focused that she didn’t notice Rafe appear in the doorway until he spoke.

“Wheezie, what are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and slightly rough from sleep. He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, his expression curious but tinged with suspicion.

Wheezie jumped, nearly dropping the wipes. “God, Rafe, you scared me!”

“Why are you tearing the bathroom apart at—” he glanced at his watch—“midnight?”

She hesitated, clutching the supplies closer to her chest. “I’m helping someone.”

“Who?” he pressed, his brows furrowing.

“They don’t want anyone to know,” she said quickly, stepping toward the door.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to the supplies in her hands, and his jaw tightened. “What’s going on, Wheezie?” His tone was sharper now, more insistent. “Who’s hurt?”

She bit her lip, her wide eyes darting between him and the bandages. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she muttered, “It’s her. She came home hurt.”

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant. Without another word, he turned and walked briskly toward your room.

You were sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor when the door opened. You looked up, startled, to see Rafe standing there. His eyes immediately went to the cut on your cheek, then back to your tear-streaked face.

“Rafe,” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, his eyes scanning you like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. The tension in his jaw was unmistakable, and his fists clenched at his sides. Finally, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with barely controlled anger.

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “It’s—it’s nothing.”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone firmer now but not unkind. “Don’t say it’s nothing.” He moved closer, crouching in front of you so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Who did this to you?”

Your lip quivered as you tried to form the words, but they stuck in your throat. Finally, in a shaky whisper, you said, “It was him.”

Rafe didn’t need you to elaborate. The rage that flickered across his face was immediate and undeniable, but he didn’t lash out or yell. Instead, he took a deep breath, his hands resting on his knees as he forced himself to stay calm.

“I’m so sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice soft. “That shouldn’t have happened to you. Ever.”

Wheezie returned then, her arms full of supplies. She handed the antiseptic wipes to Rafe, her expression a mix of concern and guilt.

“I’ll help,” she said quietly, kneeling beside him.

Together, the two of them worked in silence, Rafe gently cleaning the cut on your cheek while Wheezie prepared the bandages. You winced as the antiseptic stung, and Rafe murmured an apology, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“It’s not too deep,” he said after a moment, his eyes meeting yours. “But you’re going to have a bruise.”

You nodded, your voice failing you again.

Once the cut was cleaned and bandaged, Wheezie gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You’re gonna be okay,” she said, squeezing your shoulder. “If you need anything, just wake me up, okay?”

“Thank you,” you whispered, managing a faint smile.

With that, she left the room, leaving you alone with Rafe.

He didn’t say anything right away, just pulled the chair from your desk over and sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes were fixed on you, a mix of concern and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“You should get some rest,” he said finally.

You nodded, but you didn’t move. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a wave of exhaustion and sadness that felt impossible to shake.

Rafe seemed to sense this. He stood, walking over to your bed and sitting on the edge. “Come on,” he said softly, patting the mattress. “Lie down.”

You hesitated, but the weight of the night was too much to resist. Slowly, you lay down, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

Rafe stayed where he was, his hand coming up to stroke your hair in slow, soothing motions.

“You’re safe here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

For the first time that night, you felt yourself relax. The tears stopped, and your breathing steadied as his presence grounded you.

And as your eyes finally closed, you knew you weren’t alone anymore.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron concepts #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #obx #outer banks #obx fanfiction #OBX4

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rowie264 · 1 day ago

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If someone criticizes something, it doesn't mean that they hate it. It also works the other way around. If you like something, it doesn't mean that it's done well from an objective point of view.

I love Jinx. Her design, her story, her personality, her character arc... I was just fascinated by her. Jinx has become one of my favorite characters in media in general. It was the continuation of her story that I was waiting for the most.

Jinx is still my favorite character in season 2. I love almost every scene with her. How she did Sevika's arm and the subsequent fight with the Smeech, the fight with Vi in Act 1, the prison break, search for Vander in the mines, epic appearance during the battle against Noxus.

I got a lot of positive emotions while watching s2 and especially during Jinx's appearance on the screen. But… an emotional response and objective assessment are two different things. And objectively, Jinx's character in season 2 is OOC and poorly written.

Removing very importand part of her story and personality. Her mental issues almost completely disappear. This is a very important aspect of her character. And no, Isha's presence and a "more favorable environment" would not heal her, the whole 2nd act is completely unrealistic and looks stupid, since all her problems with her mental health were magically solved off-screen;

Irrelevant piece of plot. Her arc of "Zaun symbol" passes by her - she becomes a symbol by accident, ignores the consequences and directly encounters all this revolutionary mood only during Isha's saving from Stillwater (at the same time saving her followers - an indirect action, not a purposeful one). So this arc is kinda about her, but she doesn't seem to participate in it herself, and it ends with literally nothing (like the whole Zaun revolution);

Making her more appealing to wider audience. Her hatred of Piltover and Caitlyn just disappeared. Yes, while she was with Vi in the mines she said "piltie goons who murdered mom and dad," but… that's all? Jinx doesn't kill a single enforcer in the entire 2nd season (although, for example, she could have in Stillwater) and tells Caitlyn "I didn't know your mother was there." Let me remind you that Jinx literally giggled in s1 when she killed a dozen enforcers during gemstone kidnapping, killed enforcers on the bridge without any care, she hated Caitlyn fiercely because she "stole" her sister from her, and she couldn't not know that Cassandra was a councilor. It isn't showed how and why she changed her opinion and this is important thing to her character, you can't explain such change with microexpressions or parallels;

Unrealistic happy family reunion. The reunion of Jinx, Vi, and Vander is a spectacular moment from Disney. Do you remember how Jinx reacted when Vi returned? Yes, she was happy but as soon as she spotted Cait she freaked out and immidiately thought that Vi betrayed her. Imagine what would happen if her supposedly dead - bc of her btw - father had returned and now looks like some animal;

Silco mattered much more to Jinx. A very "subtle" replacement of Silco for Vander in the role of father (Jinx calls him father, sniffs Vander's jacket and not Silco's), although Silco played probably a bigger role in this? And Jinx remembers about him like 2 times? Although it's been about 7-10 years since Vi's "death" in season 1, Jinx was still triggered by just a similar appearance. Apparently, Silco wasn't that important to Jinx (which is not true); I could still keep talking about Jinx, but let's leave it at that.

I love Jinx even in season 2. I like watching scenes with her. But my emotional attachment doesn't stop me from seeing that Jinx's character in s2 is not a continuation of Jinx's character of the end of s1. Her image is broken, the arcs are not completed, the relationships with other characters are poorly written.

#arcane #arcane s2 #arcane critical #jinx #jinx arcane

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hellfireloserclub · 1 day ago

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For @kaspurrcat . Happy seasonal whatever it is you celebrate at this time of year ! Hope you enjoy your @steddieexchange fic !

Read it on ao3 here

Eddie didn't have a soulmate. He was almost certain of it.

He was almost twenty-two, most soulmates met or crossed paths way before they turned twenty-one.

If he had a soulmate, wouldn't they have shown up by now?

He was pretty sure your soulmate was supposed to show themselves in a near death situation? At this point he was pretty well versed in that department.

He had seen the light. The pearly gates had been calling. He had sacrificed himself for the greater good and all that bullshit, and if you were to believe Wayne, that was a one-way ticket to nirvana.

But the big guy upstairs had kicked him back to the mortal realm with little to no ceremony. He had followed the voices, like a good boy. You know the way they had preached each Sunday at church when he was knee high to a grasshopper. But instead of fluffy clouds and dudes playing harps, the voices had led him back to the blood red skies of the Upside Down.

Maybe he hadn't gotten a free pass after all.

Waking up in Steve Harrington's arms once was an anomaly, his stupidly honest big brown eyes pleading for Eddie to be alright. It wasn’t the worst experience in the world, at least someone other than Dustin had been there to put his insides back in the right place.

The second time Eddie came back from the dead under Steve Harrington's capable hands, it was just getting weird.

Harrington was like a cockroach; you couldn't kill him, but did he have to always be there when Eddie was on the brink of death?

The pair of them really needed to stop jumping head first into lovers lake, it never ended well for either of them. It was getting to where he was pretty sure his near-death experiences were more near Steve experiences these days.

Now if you were to believe the textbooks and the mushy romance novels… the love of Eddie's life should have been the one to bring him back from the brink.

Not Steve ‘king of the hair’ Harrington.

So in Eddie's defense, he was pretty sure that his soulmate just didn't exist.

She would have turned up by now right? Some universal bond tying him to the earthly realm.

He would have some sort of mark, something that tied them together, but he didn't.

All he had was scars.

Scars, nightmares, and a Knight in denim armor in the form of Steve Harrington. Someone he now got to count as one of his closest friends.

So when anyone asked him about it -why he still hasn't found his other half- he told them it didn't matter. Because it really didn't. The world was a big place, there was every chance your soulmate didn't even live in the same town, city, state… hell they might not even live on the same continent.

So it didn't matter. Eddie didn't have a soulmate. Eddie didn't care.

Only he did.

Ever since he came back from the dead the second time, (He really hoped he wouldn't have to make it a third time and that this time Vecna really stayed dead) Eddie had become obsessed with the concept of soulmates. Fascinated by the way the universe decided who was the other half of your soul and how that bond manifested. He had notebook after notebook on the subject. Read every book he could get his hands on copying paragraph after paragraph into his swooping scrawl.

He observed the people in his life like they were a nature documentary, then when his brain had processed the information he recorded it in his notes.

If he had been this thorough in high school, he might have graduated first time around.

He watched as Hopper and Joyce re-connected a soul bond that had formed back when they were teens.

Joyce would regale them whenever she got a drink in her hand, that something had pulled her to keep looking for Hopper when he disappeared. Not that same drive that had made everyone think she was crazy when Will disappeared, it was something else. It was the feeling of being tugged in a direction but not knowing where to go. A buzz in her mind that told her that Hop wasn't dead. It was the same feeling she had back when they Upside Down had come knocking the first time, but this time it was tenfold.

(Eddie wished he had someone who would always keep looking for him, it would be nice not to feel lost )

Lucas had instinctively known what Max had needed all the way through her time in the hospital, even when she was three floors above them and deep in a coma.

In her time of healing, he formed the echoes of her wounds and ever since any minor cut or blemish showed on the others skin when they hurt themselves.

Max learning to skate again had ended up with Lucas looking like he had fallen out of a tree. But he wore his bruises and scrapes with pride and they faded a lot faster than the ones that the car park had created outside of Maldives.

(The only wounds that showed on his skin these days were paper cuts from all his notebooks and the occasional burn to the tip of his finger. His mind wandered when he smoked and he must burn them down to the filter more often than he noticed. )

Nancy and Jonathan had manufactured soul marks, twin cuts on their palms that had been their own doing, a bond made rather than given, born through trauma and blood. Since they had reunited that bond had grown stronger.

It must have sucked to be Harrington, Eddie had been routing for him. As far as Eddie could see Steve was head over heels for Nancy, at least he had been back then.

But Jon and Nancy’s bond is forged in blood. The strongest of the soul bonds, made from sacrifice. Sure Steve had thrown himself in front of the jaws of death a million times, but not in the same way as Nancy and Jon had that first time.

(Eddie thought about it every time he looked at the scar on his arm from when he and Steve had cut themselves to lure the Demodogs away from the hospital and towards lovers lake. He still can’t believe his stupid plan worked. He had been in no fit state to be trying to run for his life again, but had been back on his feet enough to lure the drooling monsters away from Max’s door. But it had worked, and it had worked well. Right until something pulled him and Steve to the bottom of the lake again, but Eddie's plans rarely had an exit strategy, getting out was an afterthought.)

Eddie had wondered why the trauma that Robin and Steve went through hadn’t marked them. Normally five drinks deep and high as a kite he would ask them, the weird little third wheel that he was.

But whenever Eddie brought it up Steve would go quiet, and Robin would tell Eddie that when you only had one brain between you both, sharing a soul wouldn’t be the best idea.

Steve would get fidgety and rub absentmindedly at his neck, then mutter about soulmates being ridiculous, anyway. He rubbed that scar a lot, whenever he was nervous, whenever he was deep in thought.

Eddie wondered if it tingled and itched the way his own did, late at night when he was lying alone and pining for something he didn't seem to have.

Maybe notorious ladies’ man Harrington had the same problem as Eddie?

It wasn't unheard of to lose a soulmate, and Hawkins had a high body count.

Wayne had never met the other half of his soul, that little tug of fate had never come calling and Wayne was fine, Wayne was happy. At least that's what Eddie thought, it was sometimes hard to read his old man's expression and because he was a man of few words; it wasn't like they were ever going to go all deep and meaningful over it.

But just this once Eddie felt like he would like to be normal. He was getting kind of sick and tired of being the anomaly. He could deal with being the freak, but on his terms. When it came to this, to the matter of his very soul, it would be nice to be a little sheepee instead of the big bad wolf.

*************

Eddie flexed his arm in the breakroom mirror, his new ink had healed nicely.

Gareth had suggested a trip into the big city when he was back from college for Thanksgiving, and who was Eddie to deny one of his oldest friends anything?

It was an act of split second decision to swing into the tattoo parlor. Garath wanted, and Eddie was weak willed and easily led.

The guy had done a good job; he left with his bats touched up and looking a lot less like they had been chewed up by the demonic version of their best selves. The stick and poke version was long gone, replaced by the forking tails of the beasts that had given him the gnarly flesh wounds he was now trying to make a distant memory.

It was nice to look in the mirror and not instantly be reminded of skin grafts and trauma, to see bits of himself rising to the surface.

Yeah maybe the bats had been a bit on the nose, but he had read enough Batman comics to learn to embrace the thing that scared him.

It was helping to hold on to at least one bit of his own identity. He was not enjoying being part of the corporate grind, even if that corporate grind was lugging boxes around and stacking shelves in Family Video alongside Steve. Battle vest traded in for the forest green monstrosity that did nothing for his complexion.

The only thing it had going for it was the fact that he could wear whatever the hell he liked under the thing as long as he toned it down when head office showed up.

After all, he was friends with the boss.

Life was serene when Steve was the boss, especially when he was willing to rotate the staff around Hellfire, important Party business and Eddie’s inability to function on anything that looked or acted like a schedule.

Right now the man in question was watching him from the door, arms crossed in irritation as he tapped his foot in agitation.

“You look hot Munson, Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in a work vest, now can we please, get a move on.” Steve bitched as he checked the time on his watch again.

“Buckley isn’t back for at least another hour and a half, what's the rush sweetheart?” Eddie said over his shoulder as he pulled his sweater back down over his hands and threw his vest in the staff's corner room where it would have to rot till his next shift.

“We have to pick up the tree from Hoppers before we go get her and I wanted to catch my parents before they fly out to my Gran’s for the holidays-”

“They leaving you here again?” Eddie asked sceptically, as he pulled on his jacket, not that he didn’t like the Harrington's; they had been nothing but nice to him. He just wished that once in a while they would put Steve before whatever flight of fancy his mother took, or the business trips his dad couldn’t be trusted to take alone.

“I told them I didn’t want to go, I haven’t seen Robin in over a month, and I have work. Pair that with the fact that I really can’t be bothered with my Gran lecturing me on how disappointed she is in me I took the get out of jail free card . This way I get to see your cheerful face throughout this festive season.” Steve said, patting Eddie on both cheeks.

Steve had a way of getting under Eddie's skin like nobody else, if anyone else tried to baby him like this he would bite them. Verbally or physically depending on who it was, although he did try to rein in his strangeness these days, at least in public, but not around Steve, he snapped after Steve's fingers as he pulled them away.

“Yeah, but now… I get to feel guilty about the fact you're rocking around that great big house of yours on your own on the big day, baby… pretty thing like you shouldn’t be alone on Christmas.” Eddie said as he followed Steve towards the door. Getting as close as he dares to really irritate the man. It was too early to close the store, they both knew that, but who was going to tell them off? Steve?

Trying to irritate him didn’t work, as soon as they were at the door Steve halted and Eddie plowed right into his back, causing the other man to laugh and reach out and steady him.

“Careful.” Steve said as he reached around him to flip the sign, pulled his packet of Malbrough out of his pocket and gently pushed Eddie out the door.

It was a well-practiced thing now, the first smoke at the end of the shift. If they were picking up Robin soon, it might be the last one Steve had for a while. Robin’s wrath at them smoking around her wasn’t worth the nicotine fix.

Eddie watched as the other man went through his routine, lighting two cigarettes in his own mouth then passing one to Eddie, he let Steve place it between his lips no questions asked.

Steve seemed to mill something over in his mind as he took his first deep huff of smoke.

“I’m not going to be alone, I’ll be at Henderson’s, just like you no doubt, because I’m sure as hell that Uncle Wayne refused to take the day off.”

“Stubborn as a mule, and just as predictable.” Eddie grumbled.

“Uncle Wayne or you?” Steve asked, blowing small smoke circles in the air. The sight momentarily hypnotized Eddie, unable to take his eyes away from the way Steve twisted his tongue to get the shapes right.

“You don’t have to call him Uncle, we've been through this.” Eddie groused as he ashed his own cigarette, before opening his side of the truck and climbing behind the driver's seat.

“Yeah I know, but he won’t let me call him Sir and he keeps telling me if I call him Mr. Munson, I’m not allowed in the apartment.” Steve lamented as they drove out of the car park and turned towards the forest. “I know for a fact that Mama Claudia would never leave you and Wayne out when she invited all the strays around for lunch, because she’s incapable of not looking after a lost cause.”

“Does this mean I have to get you a gift?” Eddie asked as they idled at a red light, the snow falling slowly outside adding an element of whimsy to the traitorous conditions. He took his last draw of his smoke and stubbed it out in his ashtray, eyes half on the road, half on his closest friend in the passenger seat. He looked good today, all ruddy cheeked and wind swept, even if his signature hair hid underneath a black wool hat that he had stolen from Eddie last time he was at the apartment.

“You mean you haven’t already?” Steve pouted from the passenger seat, angel and bastard all rolled into one being. “I thought I was a kept man?”

“Whores will have their trinkets.” Eddie lamented and Steve punched him in the arm.

“Strong words when you're the only one who’s had a date in months.” Steve grumbled waving his cigarette around in Eddie’s direction. It was almost burned to the filter, and Eddie wondered if Steve was determined to enjoy every bit before Robin got here, or if he had just forgotten he was smoking it like usual.

“Failed date’s Harrington. Failed dates. I’m an accused murderer, at least I have an excuse for striking out. What’s your excuse?” God the light was taking forever to change, Eddie rubbed his hand along the raised bumps of his steering wheel, the action burning friction to the tips of his fingers, the warmth welcomed against the bitterness of the snow.

“I’m just not interested? I dunno, I just…” Steve trailed off, rubbing absentmindedly at his right arm. “Maybe I’m just caught up on something I can’t have, keep sabotaging myself before I’ve even gotten them out the front door.”

“You got your eye on someone?” Eddie asked. Steve had mentioned no one recently, he hadn’t even really tried to hit on any of the women that clearly were flirting with him when they came into the store.

“Is it someone I know?”

“He is yeah.” Steve said quietly, so quiet Eddie was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

Steve made a fuss of stubbing out his cigarette, raising his hand to his mouth where he had ignited the filter and it had caught his skin. It was quick and Eddie almost missed it but Steve looked over to him as Eddie inhaled quickly, a warmth spreading through him he couldn’t quite put a finger on, even if that was where it had started.

“He?” he asked carefully, aware that how he handled this was going to make or break this strange friendship that both he and Steve had cultivated. He didn’t want Steve to think he was about to punch him in the face.

“He.” Steve said again, rubbing at his arm with a little more persistence. “But you know, small town Indiana. So the chance of him liking me back? It’s like the chances of something coming from Mars…so what? A million to one? So like…” He waved his hand about weakly. This wasn’t the time to point out that Steve had definitely been spending too much time with him and Dustin.

“So is he like… You know.. Your soulmate?” Eddie asked, wishing the light would hurry and change color so he could make himself concentrate on the road.

“I had a feeling he was. But it was sort of confirmed the other week. But who knows, maybe I’m just clutching at straws. I don’t think he knows, or if he does, he's said nothing.” Steve said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Maybe he knows and just doesn't care, that’s always an option.”

That made something twist in Eddie’s stomach, he had been so sure that Steve, like himself, was destined not to find his soulmate. But knowing that he had found him, and they didn't want him back?

It was making Eddie’s insides knot with jealousy and rage and he didn’t like the taste of it on his tongue.

“Maybe he’s scared? Or maybe he’s just an idiot, or he just hasn’t released? I mean Maybe he’s not looking for a dude? Although I dunno, how anyone could spend five minutes with you and not love you Stevie. You just need to turn on that Harrington charm right?” Eddie asked as the lights finally changed color and he could drag his eyes away from the worried expression that was plastered on Steve’s face now.

“I've tried, he's oblivious.” Steve said weakly, he sounded so defeated it was making Eddie’s heart ache.

This was why Eddie had given up, he never wanted to sound that sad over something that was outside of his own control.

He chanced a glance in Steve’s direction; he was chewing on his finger now, red from the burn and now the irritation of Steve’s tongue and lips.

“It doesn’t bother you… that I’m…that I like…”

“That, you like dicks?” Eddie asked, almost unable to keep the nervous laughter out of his voice. He didn’t have a problem with it, it had just thrown him, he hadn’t expected it from ladies’ man Steve.

“Dunno never tried it. I was gonna say dudes, but you just gotta make it weird right?” Steve said with a depreciated laugh. Eddie couldn’t let that slide. Steve was a saint, he didn’t get to belittle himself, not on Eddie’s watch.

“King of the freaks, remember? It’s my job to be weird, it happens by default. Anyway, who am I to ever stop anyone from being the best version of themself? Plus, if you’re gay that means more women for me right?” Eddie said, focusing on trying to find the turnoff to Hoppers through the now dense falling snow.

“Not gay.” Steve said as he tapped him on the arm and pointed to the turn in the road that Eddie had almost missed.

“You just told me your soulmate is a dude and that you like dicks…. Sounds pretty gay to me Stevie.” Eddie reasoned as carefully turned onto the wood-lined drive to the Hoppers- Byers cabin.

“You know you can like both women and men right?” Steve asked quietly as he zipped his coat tighter at the sight of Hopper and Jane waiting for them with a pre-cut tree. “There’s a word for it, but we all know how bad I am with words. Robin will be able to tell you later, but yeah.. Whatever that is? That's me, so, I just…” Steve seemed to sink into himself more lost in the many folds of his oversized jacket.

Eddie said nothing as he parked up. Processing what Steve had just told him? Both? That creature that lived in him paced, trying to process this new knowledge. Eddie tried to soothe it, this wasn’t the time, he could look at that new information later when Steve wasn’t spilling his heart out to him in a snowstorm.

They were both about to get out when he reached over and grabbed Steve’s arm, warmth running through him when Steve didn’t pull away.

“Thankyou for telling me, you didn’t have to-”

“-But I wanted to.” Steve said with a weak smile as he stepped out into the building storm.

*********

Robin and Steve had fallen straight into that silent communication that Eddie still didn't get but reluctantly admitted was kind of cute in a twisted way.

He preferred no words better than the hushed conversations the two of them were having in the back seat, keeping voices low so the sound of the truck kept their secrets.

After their earlier conversation, he and Steve hadn’t really circled back around to the earth shattering revelation that Steve’s soulmate was a guy.

It felt like with this new knowledge about Steve, Eddie’s world view was changing.

To be fair, his world view had changed a lot since 86, that ladies’ man Steve also liked guys was really pretty far down on the list of life shattering revelations.

Yet Eddie was confused why the thought of it was giving him palpitations. The idea was sitting heavily in his chest and in his head and it was just as well he had to keep his eyes on the road because he knew if he didn’t he was likely to dwell on his new factoid and spiral down a rabbit hole he wasn’t sure he would get out of soon.

Every so often Eddie would glance at the two people in the back seat, covertly of course, the wonder of the rear-view mirror.

Steve was showing Robin something, his body twisted so that Eddie couldn’t make out what it was. He couldn't make out what they were saying with a quirk of the eyebrow and a knowing glance, no matter how good he had gotten at reading the expressions of the two weirdos behind him.

Was Steve telling Robin the thing that had confirmed to Steve that the person he thought was his soulmate was actually his soulmate?

Eddie turned the music up to give the two of them more privacy.

Steve would share his revelation with him when he was ready. If he was ever ready to.

As he turned towards Loch Nora, Eddie felt the mood change in the car.

That ache was back, it sat heavy in his chest, a longing for something he couldn’t have.

He couldn't work out why it snuck up on him like this, more and more when he least expected it.

When he glanced in the mirror again Steve was watching him. Robin curled into his side as she talked animatedly.

It was easy to see why people thought the two of them were a couple, joined at the hip, mirrors of each other in almost every way, now that Steve liked guys, that just added to the reflection.

“I heard dingus told you his good news?” Robin asked, leaning forward and resting herself between the two front chairs. It would annoy Eddie that one of them hadn’t just rode up front with him. But he knew the two of them had to fuze together as soon as possible when reunited, and it really wouldn’t have been safe for both of them to squash themselves into the front seat, at least not with the snow coming down like it was now.

“The whole, doubling his chances of absolutely foul balling his relationships?” Eddie asked as they passed the now entering Hawkins sign. “Yeah, he mentioned it.”

“And?”

“And what? I don’t have an issue with it if that’s what you're asking?”

“So you are cool with him being Bisexual-”

“That’s it Bisexual! How the hell did I not remember that?” Steve complained from the back seat.

“Doesn’t bother me what or who he sticks his dick in, or you know… the other way around.” Eddie had to really concentrate not to swerve the car as Robin smacked him in the arm. HARD.

In the back seat Steve yelped, Eddie figured Robin must have kicked him or something, but he couldn’t see past Robin in his rear-view mirror.

“Why are you both so revolting? Like seriously, what did I do to be stuck with the pair of you?”

“You love us both Bucks, don’t be giving us that.” Eddie reprimanded.

“God, you are like a bonded pair now. How am I supposed to prosper in this kind of environment?” Robin grumbled, throwing herself back into the back seat with a huff. “Why has the universe cursed me with two absolute numbskulls as best friends?”

“Hey! Less of the numbskulls.” Steve complained. “My dumbness is all the concussions. I’m sure you have plenty of opportunities to prosper at all the wild parties you go to. Not my fault you left me to spread your wild oats or whatever it is you get up to in that fancy school of yours.”

“You would know what I get up to if you ever ventured further than Indianapolis.” Robin sniped back. “But you two seem to have made roots here. When was the last time the two of you went over three days without seeing each other?”

“We work together Robs, I don't think that's fair…” Steve started arguing, but Eddie had turned his attention back to the road, the snow was coming down harder now, it gave him time to think about Robin's question.

When was the last time the two of them had spent more than three days apart?

Maybe when Wayne and Eddie had gone on that fishing trip?

Sometimes Eddie spent more time with Steve than he did with Wayne, and they still lived together.

Often when Steve's parents were away, Eddie would crash at Steve’s house, wherever they landed was where they slept. He had shared a bed with Steve Harrington more times than any other living being.

Hu? Now he thought about it, maybe he really was permanently in Steve’s space. He really had fallen into the gap that Robin had left behind that easily. Her old job, her place at Steve's side, her place in Steve's bed.

Eddie had never been like that with any of his other friends as far as he could remember. Maybe when he was little and Wayne had let him sleep over at Jeff's, but they had slept top to tail.

But the first time Steve had grunted at him to ‘just stay put man,’ when he had moved to get up and move himself to the guest room, Eddie hadn’t fought it, he had just settled back in and let Steve get comfortable against his side again.

Steve needed it. Eddie knew he wasn't sleeping well again. And after that first time it had just been a thing that happened. He hadn't questioned it .

Maybe Robin had a point.

Steve had become such an integral part of Eddie’s routine and he hadn’t even noticed it happening.

That led to the question: who was the mysterious man who had imprinted on Steve and left his mark? Because Eddie would have to be aware of them right? If they were always together it wasn’t like a stranger had walked in and whisked him off his feet.

The mysterious man of Steve's dreams itched like an irritation that Eddie couldn't quite reach, and when he looked in the rearview again, it didn’t surprise him to see Steve staring back at him.

**************

“Season’s greetings and salutations.” Eddie said as he darted into the kitchen to get the dustpan and brush to pick up the pine leaves trailing from the front door to the corner next to the fire.

Mr. Harrington looked every bit his son when he shook his head and the small smile creeped upon his face, it was a testament to how often Eddie was in the house that the older man hadn’t even questioned his presence in his humble abode.

Not that you could call the Harrington home humble, it was every bit the show home that Steve’s mom had intended it to be. Mrs. Harrington would have a conniption if she ever visited Wayne’s place, the only interior design magazine that had ever entered the place was being used to prop up the corner of the wonky coffee table.

Ironically, it was the one that featured Mrs. Harrington on page three with her newest grand design.

Perks of being married to an editor, Eddie supposed. But hey, if it stopped him losing his cereal to the floor in the morning it had its uses.

“I thought you were both on the close tonight?” Mr. Harrington asked as Eddie grabbed the cleaning things.

“We were.” He started, and the rest came out in a rush as he rummaged through the cupboard for cleaning stuff, but Richard Harrington seemed to keep up. “But you're leaving tonight and Steve wanted to see you before you left and we had to pick up Robin from the bus station, ‘cause her parents aren't back until ten. There was no way I was letting Steve try to drive the Beemer in this. And then I was roped into getting the tree from Hoppers with him, because that couldn’t have waited till tomorrow, and him and Robin have left a trail of destruction in their wake,” Eddie waved the brush around to show his intentions and the reason for his rush of words, “So you know, I’m left to tidy up that mess… and that’s why, if anyone from head office calls, the snow took the power out.”

Richard Harrington had a pleasant laugh, sweet like honey, another thing he shared with his son. That Eddie had noticed that made the twisting in his chest churn again.

He really needed to look at that a bit more. It couldn't be good.

“I take it that if I walk into my lounge I'm going to be bombarded with Christmas cheer?” He asked, the grin getting bigger.

“Alas, just a naked tree, apparently your grandchildren need to be present to festoon its mighty branches with glitter and gold.” Eddie said sagely. “And that I believe is my punishment tomorrow as I think I’ve displeased his lordship.”

“Ah, just as well Lenore stocked the candy and soda up for the festivities.” Richard said sagely as he sipped his coffee. Eddie knew what was coming next, it was Richard Harrington’s current new obsession. “Have you thought about writing that book yet?”

“Ah, Mr. H, you know I can't spell for shit…”

“And I keep telling you that's what one of my editors is for. Tell me you will at least think about it again over Christmas?” Richard asked, and oh great. There was that pleading look Steve used to get Eddie to do a lot of the heavy lifting. It wasn't as effective when it was blue eyes doing the requesting, it was easier to say no to Richard.

“I'll think about it.” Eddie said as the sound of Mrs. Harrington descending the stairs caused Richard to jump to his feet.

“Good, I just want Steve's-” he cut himself off looking sheepish. It was another one of Steve's traits that he shared with his dad, no brain to mouth filter, Steve was always putting his foot in his mouth, especially around the kids.

Still, Eddie really wanted to know what was at the end of that sentence.

“Steve's what?” Eddie asked just as Lenore Harrington joined them in the kitchen trailing a suitcase behind her that her husband was quick to take off her hands so he could ignore Eddie's question.

“Oh hello Eddie dear, did I hear Steve and Robin?” Lenore asked with a quick hug as she passed en route to the lounge, she didn’t wait for an answer as she sashayed past with an elegance that Steve had not inherited.

“Lenore’s mother is a bit of a drama queen,” Richard said as he followed Eddie and his brush to the hallway. “She’s been on the phone several times already tonight asking us to try to convince Steve and his lovely young lady to come with us.” he explained as Eddie swept up the fallen pine leaves.

“By young lady, I take it she means Robin?” Eddie asked as Richard added the case to the pile by the door.

“Yes. She’s rather old-fashioned Steven’s grandmother, I don’t think she really understands the dynamic between the two of them. She nearly had a heart attack when I moved her precious socialite daughter to Hawkins of all places.” Richard said with a little chuckle to himself. “I keep trying to convince her to come visit, she never does, I would love to see her face when she meets you.”

Eddie didn’t know how to take that, unsure if it was meant as an insult or a complement. Mr. Harrington didn’t seem to notice though as he followed Eddie as he swept the entire trail of pine needles away.

“Dad, are you trying to get Eddie to sign to your label again?” Steve asked as he broke free of his mother’s hug. Evidently the conversation had carried from the kitchen, either that or Steve’s mother was whispering in his ear again.

“Just looking after my future interests Steven. Eddie has talent and he would be an excellent addition to the Harrington family, or do the two of you really intend on spending the prime of your life negotiating late fees for someone else's business?”

“I’m happy if you are Eds?” Steve said as he gave his dad a quick hug, “Some of us aren’t built for jet setting around the world. Well, I’m sure, given half the chance Eddie would be off like a shot as long as it involved his guitar-,”

“I’d always have room for you as my glamorous assistant Stevie, you know this.” Eddie said as he brushed around the base of the tree where the worst of the needles had fallen.

“See what I mean? You can’t separate them, you know, a bit like freezer burned burgers or that weird black mold in the back of the fridge.” Robin piped up from her perch on the end of the sofa. “The longer I’m away, the more tragic their bond becomes.” She lamented, popping a marshmallow in her mouth and chewing it, never once dropping her menacing smile.

Lenore laughed as she pulled on her big winter coat. “Last chance to change your mind, you and Eddie are welcome to join us?”

“See, even you are treating them like a unit. I feel like I’ve been replaced. Have I been replaced, Steve?” Robin huffed as Steve dropped on the sofa next to her, he shot her with a loaded look, and Eddie suddenly felt like whatever conversation the two of them had been having in the car needed to be continued, possibly louder and possibly involving a fair bit of bitching.

Eddie was not stupid enough to get caught in the crossfire of that.

“As much as I appreciate the offer of getting out of dodge for the festive season, Wayne likes to have me about, and I feel like Mr. Harrington needs a few days off trying to wrangle his next big book deal.” Eddie said, handing the dustpan and brush to Steve to finish what Eddie had started.

“Speaking of Wayne, I should get home, I want to see him before he goes on to shift, so I better hit the road.”

Eddie couldn’t read the expression on Steve’s face, but he could tell that Robin was biting her lip to hold back whatever was on her mind. No doubt he was going to get sounded out as soon as he turned up at Steve’s tomorrow. There was no point in fighting the inevitable.

Eddie grabbed his coat and followed Mr. and Mrs. Harrington out to the cars, helping with the bags like the good little boy scout he was.

“Eddie?” Mr. Harrington asked just as he turned to jump back in his truck. Eddie spun on the spot, no matter how much he got on with the Harrington’s he was still deep down aware of the class divide. Permanently torn between needing to fight the hierarchy and knowing that there wasn’t a threat.

“Yeah, Mr. H?” Eddie asked as he pulled his coat tighter around himself.

Richard stepped closer, making sure that his wife couldn’t see him from the car.

“Can you keep an eye on Steve over the next few days? Something’s been up with him these last few weeks and he won’t tell me or his mother what it is.” He asked, and it made Eddie feel a little worried that Steve’s dad was coming to him out of all of his friends to watch him.

“I mean, Robin is back, she will get whatever it is out of him-” Eddie started, not wanting to share the secret that Steve had shared with him, not if Steve hadn’t shared it with his parents yet.

“But you know him best. Just, I don’t know, maybe he will tell you what’s wrong?” Richard said, gripping him on the shoulder and giving it a tight fatherly squeeze.

For the second time that night, Eddie felt like the rug was being pulled out from under him. First Steve telling him about his soulmate and now Richard Harrington saying that Eddie knew Steve best? Robin was right there, and when Steve’s soulmate finally made himself known the two of them would probably descend in the ranks. Although Eddie very much doubted that he would ever outrank Robin in that department.

“Yeah, alright, I will talk to him.” Eddie agreed, the feeling of being watched itched at him. His scar on his neck aching slightly with the cold. “You best get going if this snow gets worse they might ground the flight.”

“True, very true.” Richard said, moving his hand away, waving towards the house as he stepped back to the car. “Merry Christmas Eddie. Think about that book again please.” He said as he got in the car.

When the engine started Eddie moved away to get in his own truck, but not before looking back to the house to see who had been on the receiving end of the wave.

Steve stood in the window, backlit by the harsh overhead light, but it was clear to see he was watching Eddie, his hand resting against his neck.

They held eye contact for a moment before Steve waved and pulled the curtains shut.

Whatever that was about, Eddie would not look at it too hard right now.

Right now he needed to get home to Wayne, then later he could unpack the cluster fuck that had been the last twelve hours.

*************

Ever since Eddie had been old enough to fend for himself over Christmas, Wayne had taken the crap shifts over the holidays. The money was better, often double or triple time, and the two of them weren’t exactly in a place to say no to that back in the day. Now Wayne did the shifts so that the people with little kids could have it off, because that was just the sort of self sacrificing fool that the guy was. After all, Eddie had to get it from someone.

So Wayne had left him in the early hours of Christmas Eve, and Eddie had all the intentions in the world of getting himself to bed and maybe getting some much needed sleep.

Unfortunately, Eddie’s mind had other ideas.

He had finally nodded off just after 6am, his books and notebooks scattered around him as he went through all his notes on soulmates trying to itch that scratch in his brain that was triggered earlier by Steve in the car.

He couldn’t work out how Steve could have met his soulmate, not if he was close enough to them to have confirmed his suspicions in the last few weeks. He was pretty sure that was the strangeness that Mr. Harrington had noticed, and now Eddie was trying to work out if he had seen Steve acting weird around anyone they knew.

Eddie had run through every interaction that they'd had with people since thanksgiving. Maybe it was the new delivery driver? He was cute, if you were into the blond hair and blue eye’s thing. He had muscular arm’s and with all the lifting he did day in day out, and he looked like he was probably a jock in high school. Maybe that was Steve’s type?

What was Steve’s type, anyway? Now that Eddie was looking at it, he wasn’t even sure Steve had a type he jumped around between the Molly Ringwalds and the Sigourney Weaver of this world, but did that apply to guys too?

Was it Jeff? It was a possibility he supposed; they had hung out a bit recently, but Eddie was pretty sure that Jeff was head over ass for the girl that worked at the drive in.

Maybe it was the guy that worked the ticket booth at the drive in? The punk guy that got Eddie's heckles up every time he lent his slutty little waist up against the Beemer.

That would just be a crying shame, Steve lowering himself to the crushing on a punk.

He might have to rethink the whole friendship if Steve ended up being soulmates with someone whose musical taste revolved around only three chords.

The kicker though came when Eddie realized how much the whole thing was upsetting him. And the more he looked at it, the more he was realizing that he wasn't sure where the jealousy was coming from.

His knee jerk reaction had been that he was jealous that Steve had found his soulmate. But now?

Now he was questioning if it wasn't something more, if he wasn't jealous of the fact that Steve had feelings for another man and that man wasn't Eddie himself.

It was making Eddie question everything he knew about himself.

Because he couldn’t say he hadn't looked at other guys. He couldn't stand up and honestly say he hadn't seen photos of Ozzy and felt something more than an admiration for the man.

Did he have a crush on Ozzy Osborne? That would explain a few of the more questionable dreams.

So that opened up another question.

Did he have a crush on Steve?

It was certainly a possibility.

The two of them were constantly in each other's orbit, and they flirted like it was a second language that they were more than fluent in. Only now Eddie wasn’t sure that he hadn’t meant all the things he had been dishing out to Steve on the daily for the last few years.

If would explain the gut churning and the ache he was currently feeling at the thought of Steve having found his soulmate.

What had Robin called it? Bisexual.

Steve liked women and men, apparently that was a thing.

Was that a thing that could apply to Eddie?

He definitely liked women, that was a given, if he was to believe Steve he was getting the most action out of the two of them.

Although Eddie had hit a dry spell that was embarrassing even for a self confessed nerd like himself.

It had been at least nine months since he had to find excuses to sneak out of anyone's bed rather than face the awkward next day conversations.

He had been striking out lately, turning down dates when Steve asked him to hang out, Eddie was running over his last few dates in his head, had he been sabotaging them because they weren't Steve?

The more he looked at it the more likely it seemed.

Eddie knew he was spiraling. Knew if he could just sound out the busy thoughts in his head to someone, he might make them make sense. But the person he would normally run to was the source of his confusion and that left him nowhere to turn.

This definitely wasn't the thing that he and Wayne were finally having that big heart to heart over.

“Yeah Wayne, I think I'm in love with Steve.” even in his head it made him want to cringe and hide away.

Love ?

Oh fuck right off, it wasn't love.

It couldn't be love if he only just realized it was a viable option right ?

Only it wasn't, was it?

Steve had a soulmate. Eddie didn't.

It would be a match made to fail even if there was the smallest chance that Steve liked him back.

Maybe he should just keep his distance?

The idea of not seeing Steve made him ache in a way that he recognized now, it made him feel sick but now he understood what it meant.

And that made it a million times worse.

He had a joint and tried to make his brain stop for just a moment, and it must have worked.

The next thing he knew someone's car was grumbling to life outside in the street and sunlight was streaming through the window.

***********

His new resolution to stay away from Steve hadn't lasted long.

The snow had fallen again during his existential crisis last night and the world seemed merry and bright. Or as bright as it could be when all Eddie wanted for Christmas was an interdimensional rift to open under his feet and the demobats to go three for three on his earthly demise.

Steve had given them both the day off, perks of being the boss, and Eddie had expected to be one of the first to show up at the Harrington home to set about operation Christmas. Yet when he crunched up the driveway his own footprints got lost in the imprints left by the hoard that had evidently already descended. The kids having their own wheels these days was making him feel old .

He let himself in, Steve had left it unlocked to save him the hassle of having to keep getting up every person who pounded on the door.

Not that it would have mattered if the door was still locked. Eddie had a key.

That was another thing to add to his list of confusing things that had happened between him and Steve.

Steve had given him a key in the middle of the night when the nightmares got too bad. He could get in without waking the whole Harrington clan. If Steve rang him in a broken down state Eddie would drive over and let himself in, climb the stairs and hold Steve until he calmed.

Eddie didn't mind, more often than not he was in the same messed up state.

Trembling in the quiet of his and Wayne's new apartment, that would never feel like a home in the way the trailer had.

Steve's parents knew, they didn't seem phased by it.

Not in the way Eddie was sure they should when a guy who was once a wanted murderer wanders down from their son's bedroom first thing in the morning, sleep rumpled and looking for coffee.

It was all a little overfamiliar, and Eddie wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with someone else taking that place in Steve's life. Was this how Robin felt when she left for college? Because if it was Eddie understood the tears and the mini breakdown now. It was completely justified.

The absolute chaos he had expected greeted him as he crossed the threshold.

The kids had commandeered the job of dressing the tree. Max was yelling, bossing the boys about as was her God given right, and Will was trying and failing to get the others to decorate the back of the tree as well as the front.

It hung limply towards them threatening a topple under the weight of the many brightly colored baubles and static fairy lights, a pale comparison to the fluffy tree that Eddie and the four armed Steve-Robin beast had blundered through the door the night before.

Max looked just about ready to smack Lucas and Mike with her cane, just to get Will and her point across.

Jane sat on the sofa, a bastion of calm as her and Erica slid popcorn onto string making garlands, eating just as much as they threaded on the needle.

Apart from the ruckus, it made quite the sweet Christmas scene, even with the chaos unfolding.

The kids all had matching sweaters on, no doubt courtesy of Dustin’s mom. Eddie's hunch was confirmed when Robin walked up to him and dumped a neatly wrapped package in his arms.

“Claudia is trying to make this into a thing, and she scares me sooooooo….” Robin said, looking at the two bags of presents that Eddie had brought with him. He wished he had hung fire and left Steve and Robin's gifts in the car. Because Steve was right, he had bought him something pretty and now he was sure it was a stupid idea .

“You gotta be kidding me”

Steve's voice piped up from behind them, and now Eddie had the inkling, he knew exactly what that skip in his heart meant.

“Dustin, stop. You're going to pull the damn thing down, you already stripped the bottom two branches, and Eddie spent ages picking the needles up last night.”

Steve rushed past them both, carefully depositing the tray of hot chocolates on the coffee table as he passed. Erica and Jane wasted no time in grabbing the ones with the most marshmallows whilst the rest of the party were occupied.

Steve Reached out and secured the tree while the others removed some of the heavy ornaments that were causing it to buckle and bow.

“The children never listen.” Robin said sagely as she relieved Eddie of his bag and nudged the present in his hand, indicating he should probably open it.

Eddie was too distracted though, he couldn't stop looking at Steve. It was the first time he had seen him since he had come to terms with the recent development in his life and he was mentally kicking himself for not realizing what any of the obvious feelings he had for Steve had been before.

Eddie caught Steve’s eye, and something in Eddie's stomach swooped like he was about to plummet over the edge of a presapiss. Oh, he was done for.

He was definitely going to die old and alone, watching Steve happily live his life with another man.

If he had worked this out sooner would it have made any difference?

Probably not, Steve was his friend, he had zero romantic interest in Eddie.

Eddie just had to go making everything weird.

Evidently he had been staring too long, Robin dug him in the side again, glancing between Eddie and Steve and the strange staring contest that had started across the lounge.

‘Pathetic’ Robin muttered to herself, then aloud she said “Come on Munson, you're the only one not dressed in a Christmas monstrosity. Strip dude.”

“It's a good job I know you.” Eddie said, ripping the paper from the present and pulling out his own matching festive cheer. “I don't know if I like these bad habits you're learning at that fancy School of yours.”

“They teach me how to get oversized man-boys to do what I tell them.” She said, poking him in the side again with extra vigor.

She was vicious, for someone who's only recreational Sport was soccer, her upper body strength shouldn't be so good.

He quickly pulled his jacket off and yanked the black sweater he had been wearing over his head leaving him in just his faded and worn undershirt he hadn't intended for anyone else to bear witness too. From the sofa Max let off a loud wolf whistle, Eddie flipped her the bird, but he couldn't help glancing to see what Steve's reaction was. From beneath his flop of hair Steve's eyes were fixed on Eddie, and under his gaze Eddie felt himself starting to heat up.

“You've been defiling yourself with the devil's sacrament again?” Robin asked, grabbing his wrist. It shook him from whatever fleeting vision of possible interest he thought he had seen in Steve's eyes as Robin twisted his arm. She held on as she looked closer at his new tattoo. “Either Jeff is getting better with his little pricks, or you put on your big boy pants and went to a professional.”

“Ha ha hilarious.” Eddie said, trying to shake his arm free. “Me and Gareth went to Indi when he was back for Thanksgiving.”

“It's a bit morbid isn't it? Doubling down on the bats?”

“Robin, leave him alone. Come here and help me with this will you?” Steve shouted from across the room. But Robin was more interested in making fun of Eddie, after all she hadn’t seen him since she went away at the beginning of fall, she must be champing at the bit to bring him down a peg or two.

“You can just tell me it looks metal as hell if you like Bucks, you won’t lose any brownie points over it.” Eddie said, tugging his arm back.

“Never said it wasn’t cool, Munson. I just said it was morbid, I mean didn’t they technically kill you?”

“And technically Stevie boy brought me back to life, should I have tattooed a picture of the boy wonder on my arm? I could have gotten him in that nice little sailor outfit the two of you used to wear-” Robin punched him, hard in the shoulder. Her penchant for physical violence making itself known.

“Rob’s for fuck’ sake!” Steve piped up from behind them, as the tree crashed to the ground. The baubles scattering far and wide.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Robin said, rushing to help Steve get the Christmas tree back on its stand straight.

“What was all that about?” Dustin asked as he started scooping the ornaments from the rug, throwing them into the box they had come from.

“Nothing, tree was just too awkward to hold on my own and Robin abandoned me to beat up Eddie, instead of helping.” Steve grumbled, shooting Robin death glares.

Robin wasn’t showing any sort of remorse, holding the tree and watching as Eddie finally pulled on his Christmas sweater.

“None of you are fit to decorate this fine specimen, everyone knows you put the enormous balls near the bottom and you always decorate the ample behind.” Eddie said walking over and hooking a fat red bauble out of the fallen mess, he got close to Steve as he deliberately pressed close to get to the back of the tree, nudging Steve’s ass as he passed. God how had he not noticed just how loaded his flirting really had been getting.

“So, are you talking about personal experience then?” Steve asked, as Eddie hooked his ornament in place.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, big boy.” Eddie teased, surprised to see the tips of Steve’s ears flushing red. Was that a recent occurrence? Has that happened before? Eddie really hadn’t been looking, but now he was and it was something he was determined to investigate further.

Around them the kids had peeled off and were now diving into the hot chocolate that Steve had left on the table. He knew that their interest in actual manual labor would only last as long as it took for candy and chocolate to get involved.

Robin grabbed the discarded box of ornaments and divided her haul as the three of them worked quietly, Eddie acutely aware of every time his and Steve’s hands brushed his as they dressed the branches or maneuvered around the other.

Now Eddie was looking for it, it was surprising how often he and Steve casually touched. A hand to the bottom of his back, Steve leaning up tight against him the long line of his chest curving into Eddie’s back as he stretched to put the smaller ornaments towards the top of the tree.

Eddie was almost certain that Steve was lingering in his space more than normal, he could feel Robin watching them. It felt like he was under a microscope far worse than any time the kids had tried to trip him up and get the juicy details of his next campaign.

Every time he caught her looking he would be met with the smug ‘ I know something you don’t know’ look that she had learned from Erica and honed under Steve’s careful guidance.

“Have I got something on my face?” He asked as he hooked a small robin on the branch in front of her. “It’s rude to gawk you know, I might start getting the wrong sort of ideas about you Bucks,”

“I would rather gut myself and use the entrails to summon a demogorgon than look at you in any way that wasn’t just platonic you weirdo.” She straightened up the ornament, glancing over to where Steve had just stuck his head in one of the old Family Video shipping boxes to hunt out the remnants of last year's tinsel. “Which is more than I can say for you and Mr. Bubble butt.” She stage whispered as she lent into his space.

Eddie shot a glance over at the table where the kids had gathered, too busy fighting over the toppings for the Christmas cookies that Will had just gotten out of the oven, to pay much attention to what was happening over by the tree.

“Just because Steve… is … you know… doesn’t mean that he’s going to fawn about like a damsel in distress around any guy with a pulse.” Eddie chided under his breath.

“Never said he was. He might be a dingus, but he’s a dingus with standards. I wasn’t talking about him. I was on about you, what’s gotten into you tonight, you're normally a lot more covert when you’re scoping out the Harrington goods.” Robin goaded, “You can’t seriously think you're being subtle about it.”

Eddie tried to defend himself but he couldn’t exactly deny that he had just seconds before been staring at Steve’s ass in his stupid skin tight Levi, he opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out. He couldn't lie to Robin, she was too clever for subterfuge.

“It is a bubble butt, “ he settled on in lieu of finding a way to address her observations.

“That you can’t stay away from apparently. You don't have to say anything, but you know, if you need to talk about it, I don’t really share a brain with him you know?” Robin said quietly with a shrug.

“Thanks Robin,” he said earnestly.

“You looking for Narnia at the bottom of that box Steve?” Robin yelled suddenly, breaking whatever heartfelt moment the two of them were having.

“I can think of better ways to come out of the closet Robs’, ones that don't involve candy that tastes like perfume.” Steve said as he emerged from his quest, hands full of tinsel and fairy wire .He beckoned Dustin and Erica over to add it to the tree. No matter how much Steve liked to pretend he didn’t have favourites, Eddie knew better. They ignored him completely of course, too involved in debating who deserved the cookie that had come out of the oven looking comedically phallic shaped.

“Come on, let's deck this baby and then see if they have left us any cock cookies to decorate.” Eddie said, reaching out to grab a handful of shredded silver.

“Right after we dick the halls?” Steve asked as he tried to hide a bald patch with some of the silver and red tinsel.

“Well, you have to, right before you jingle balls, especially if you want a white christmas…” Eddie reasoned, taking extra joy in the way that Robin gagged before throwing a plastic baby Jesus at him.

Eddie watched as Steve and Robin started lobbying clumps of glitter at each other laughing and giggling like little kids, although they managed to avoid hitting the tree in their play fight thankfully, Eddie wasn't convinced he had it in him to decorate the thing again.

It made his heart happy to see Robin and Steve like this, screwing about and looking the fool with his best friend.

Could Eddie deal with it if this was all he got to have?

Maybe he was confusing friendship for love, after all Steve had made the same mistake when it came to Robin. Finding answers on a bathroom floor was all well and good but Eddie didn't think that would work the same between him and Steve.

Maybe he would be lucky. Maybe he would get to hold on to this. To feel like he was part of something good, even when Steve’s other half joined them. Eddie was sure more than ever that nobody could be On the receiving end of one of Steve's longing looks and not cave in at the first flutters eyelid , still he dreaded the day a forth wheel joined them.

He didn't have much time to wallow in his own self pitty, soon he had a face full of tinsel and he was drawn into the fray.

*******

It was getting dark when they finally got all the decorations in place, the kids had decided that now the complicated bit of untangling the mess off lights and cleaning up the deluge of pine needles was tackled by the ‘older kids’ (Eddie refused to let anyone call him an adult) they would all join in, fighting over who got to put the star on the top of the tree.

“Technically, it should be Steve, I mean it is his house.” Max reasoned, glaring at Dustin who was currently in possession of the shiny metal adornment. The man in question glared at her before handing it over to Steve.

“How generous.” Steve snarked, as he turned to the tree and reached up to tuck the star in its rightful place.

“Hey Steve?” Dustin asked.

“Okay, okay …I’ll let you turn the lights on,” Steve said exasperated.

“No, I mean yes I want to turn the lights on. But this isn’t about that. When did you get a tattoo?” Dustin asked, reaching out and grabbing Steve’s right arm, pushing the sleeve of his sweater up to look at the skin underneath.

You could hear a pin drop, Eddie didn’t think he had ever known the kids be this quiet ever, all eyes drawn to where Dustin was holding Steve’s arm out for inspection.

Silently someone turned on the fairy lights, giving everyone a clear view of the six highly stylized bats on the inside of his right arm.

That was when all hell broke loose.

“Right. Everyone just be quiet.” Robin yelled over the commotion. “Everyone out … not you Eddie.” she added, pushing him towards Steve.

“But presents…” someone complained, probably Dustin, Eddie didn't have it in him to look away from the damning evidence illuminated in reds and greens.

“The purple bag is all the kids’ presents from me,” Eddie said, not looking up. He knew all eyes were on him and Steve and for the first time ever he really didn't want to be the center of attention.

“Yeah, that one with a snowman on has mine in, dish them out between you.” Steve waved his hand in the general direction of the pile of gift bags on the sideboard.

Eddie traced the movement, yup that was definitely his tattoo etched on Steve's skin.

Fuck.

Eddie didn’t know what was happening around him other than Robin was ushering the kids out of the door as fast as humanly possible. He could hear Dustin huffing at being made to leave, but he also heard Robin threatening to expose his deepest darkest secrets if he didn't get a move on.

Any other time that would have piqued Eddie's curiosity, but right now he couldn't make sense of anything enough to form any coherent thought.

“Call me if you need me.” Robin yelled as she slammed the door behind her.

“Alright-” “Okay” Both of them shouted after her. To be fair, she could have been speaking to either of them, but Eddie had a feeling she meant both.

The house was calm now. The crackling sound of the old and lightly scratched Christmas record accompanying the popping of the logs on the fire.

It had been a long time since a silence between him and Steve had felt awkward, but Eddie wasn’t sure how to fill this one. It stretched, and he ached to fill it but his mind was racing, trying to patch together everything that had happened to him since spring break of ‘86. It was as if the tiny bit of string that had been holding the box of his realisation closed had just frayed and the box had split at the seams. Leaving him to wade through the deluge of information in a new light.

“So,” Eddie started eventually, when the quiet became too much.

“So,” Steve echoed back.

“Robin’s kind of right. It is a little morbid.” Eddie nodded at Steve’s arm, chancing a step forward to get a better look. It wasn’t ink under his skin, it was dark red, almost black, but fading at the edges.

It was fading at least, Eddie felt guilt building up, Steve had enough scars, he didn’t need more, no matter how temporary this blip on his skin was.

“Yeah, well, I was expecting it to have disappeared by now, but apparently you have a habit of sticking around.” Steve huffed.

It had been almost four weeks, and the bats on Steve’s arms looked like they were fresh. He looked like he wanted to say more, but bit his lip trying to hold back the words. He stepped back, pulling his sweater back down over his hands.

“Trust Dustin to be observant for the first time in his life.” He said, but his voice sounded distant, like he was on the verge of tears.

“If you want to leave, I wouldn’t blame you.” Steve said as he turned his attention to the tree, fiddling with one of the paper stars that hung on the nearest branch.

“Like I said yesterday, The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one.”

Eddie really wished that Steve would look at him. He might have hidden away the newest scar under the sleeves of his sweater, but Eddie could see the silver markings tracing round his neck as they flecked red and green in the shimmer of the Christmas lights.

He instinctively brought his hand up to his own neck, tracing his own scar, the way it twisted up into the the back of his hairline and up behind his ear. Steve’s was similar but just how similar?

They had both grown their hair out to hide the worst of it so it was well hidden but…

Curiosity got the better of him, reaching out he gently brushed the hair from behind Steve’s left ear, tracing the end of the scar his fingers swooped up behind and into Steve's hairline. An almost perfect copy of Eddie's second most dangerous wound.

Under his touch Steve froze, but his fingertips betrayed Steve’s heart. The pulse thrummed through his skin at a rapid rate, making Eddie’s heart want to chase and match the rhythm.

“You do know that quoting nerd shit at me is going to have the opposite of a negative effect on me right?” He asked, hoping that for once Steve would just see through his words.

“Stevie? Yesterday you said…” Eddie trailed off, yesterday Steve had said a lot of things.

Eddie had become overly very familiar with them all in the last twenty four hours.

But the shining factoids that were barreling around his mind at a billion miles a second, causing galaxy’s to implode and die as fast as they were born, were this:

Steve liked men.

Steve had found his soulmate.

Steve had feelings for his soulmate that he thought were not returned.

Eddie liked men.

Eddie may well have found his soulmate, right under his nose and in plain sight.

Eddie definitely had feelings for Steve, it was very much returned.

“I hadn’t… I didn’t…” Eddie was lost for words, a rare occurrence, normally he had way too many words and nothing to do with them. But finding the right ones here, so as not to screw this up, felt like he was pushing a boulder uphill and the landslide of destruction was fighting him every step of the way.

“Steve… in the car… you said he was oblivious. I… I… was oblivious.”

“Yeah well, surprise.” Steve said weakly, almost on the edge of tears. “I’m your soulmate, sorry it's not some metal chick with huge tits that loves all your nerd shit.” He tried to pull away from where Eddie held him, but a simple tug at the base of Steve’s hair stopped him in his tracks.

“You are perfectly nerdy, and you have fantastic boobies Harrington, You also happen to be several chapters ahead in this book we call life. You gotta let me catch up, I only found out I was allowed to like guys and girls yesterday. The old grey matter isn’t what it used to be. I’m processing a lot.”

Steve turned to look at him, pressing his cheek into Eddie’s open hand, Eddie’s fingers still tracing the twisting scar tissue. The move felt familiar, even if Eddie was sure they had never done this before, a calm settling through him like thick toffee in his veins.

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Like guys as well?” Steve sounded so hopeful that Eddie was sure he wasn’t going to get shot down from a great height. Steve had Eddie’s marks all over him and Eddie had just been to stupid to see what was staring him in the face all this time.

Eddie wanted to see Steve smile again, catch that starlight from the tree sparkling in his eyes rather than in his tears.

“I like you Steve. And I like you a lot. But you're not just any guy are you? You’re you, and apparently the universe thinks I’m good enough to make you happy.”

“And you do Eds, nobody else has ever made me laugh so hard I want to puke. Or at least nobody ever made me laugh so much I split my stitches. Nobody else has stupidly dived head first into danger with a hero complexion just to put me first.” He shot Eddie a loaded look as if to say ‘ am I wrong?’ and Eddie couldn’t argue the facts. “Someone's gotta keep saving your life. If fate says it’s me, who am I to argue?” Steve said with a wet sniffle, yet the smile was starting to creep back on his face. Eddie carefully wiped away the tears that had dropped to Steve’s cheeks with the sleeve of his Christmas sweater.

“Fate could have clued me in a little bit sooner,” Eddie said, chancing a step closer to Steve, pushing Steve’s sleeve up and run his fingers over the bats, curling behind them he traced his fingers over the raised scar they both shared from luring away the demodog from Max’s hospital room. A shared sacrifice, a decision made together. Was that the point this had taken hold?

Just how long had the two of them been entwined like this?

As if reading Eddie’s mind Steve took his free hand and lifted it to Eddie’s neck pressing gently at the left of his adams apple.

“It was such a tiny nic, I don’t think you even noticed it, but the bottle was pretty sharp when you pressed it to my neck. I felt it then, the first spark of something, an adrenaline rush pulsing under my skin like electricity. Dad had tried to explain it to me before, but I wrote it off as a load of bullshit. But there you were, living proof that the shit dad pedals for a living was actually true. But you were so scared and so stressed that I don’t think you even registered the scar showing on your skin, let alone the elevated heart rate and the scar had faded by the time we jumped in the lake.”

“The boat house? That’s where the bond happened?”

“Yeah, and I thought you were such an asshole, it had to be some cosmic joke. A twisted mistake, that Eddie Munson was my soulmate. But then you dived into the lake after me, and you kept just knowing what I was thinking when we were in the Upside Down. It was like you knew exactly what I was going to say and do even when I wasn't sure myself. Then I couldn’t believe you would run into danger to keep Dustin safe. To keep me and the others safe, when you hardly knew us.” Steve said, inching his way more into Eddie’s space. “Only my stupid ass soulmate would go being a hero when he had been told in no uncertain terms not to do that. ‘Cause that’s exactly what I would have done too”

Realization dawned on Eddie like the sun coming out from behind the darkest of rain clouds. It had been Steve’s voice he had followed back from the brink of death.

“It was you, you called me back.”

“Yeah, well Dustin worships you dude. I couldn’t just let you go and die on me.”

“Oh, so you only saved me so you didn’t have to be a single father, I understand.”

“No you dipshit, I saved you cause you slipping away was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. And I’ve had several concussions and had part of my stomach sewn back together in a field hospital.”

“You say the most romantic things baby.” Eddie said with a grin, “Intestines are sexy.”

“You are so weird.” Steve said with a smile, his thumb stroking the length of Eddie’s matching scar.

“You’re the weird one that keeps saving me with your creepy soulmate powers, don’t go blaming-” Steve cut him off, shoving his hand over Eddie’s mouth and rolling his eyes with a sniff, the last of the tears now gone. It took everything in Eddie’s power not to lick his palm.

“And I would save you a million times more, because for some insane reason I’m extremely glad the fates decided you’re my other half, even if you are a feral racoon of a man.”

“Mmnsnatmuccun”

“What?” Steve asked, removing his hand.

“I said, I’m not a raccoon.” Eddie answered, letting himself be brave and pulling Steve towards him by his waist.

“I’ve seen you eat from the trash dude, definitely raccoon behaviour.” Steve said with a smirk. Letting himself be pulled in.

“It was one peanut butter cup, and the bin was brand new.” Eddie said in his defence, “Anyway I think that says more about you than it does me, I mean you’re the one who wants to kiss someone who ate something out of the trash.”

“Well you did say I was weird,” Steve reasoned as he lent in closer, “But you're right. I really want to kiss you Eddie, I have done for a long time.”

“Then we better make sure we aren't about to be invaded by little green men from Mars, ‘cause I really want to kiss you-” This time Steve cut him off with his lips. Eddie definitely liked it a lot better than the palm of his hand.

It was a sweet thing, tentative in a way Eddie hadn’t been expecting, but it felt different to every other kiss he’d had to date, the gentle thrum of belonging radiating from the soft press of Steve’s lips to his own.

Steve’s hands twist up into his hair, grounding him and deepening the kiss, pulling and pushing against each other until Eddie could taste the chocolate on Steve’s tongue and feel his body pressed hard against him.

It was all too much and not even a tiny bit enough.

All too soon Steve broke the kiss, his soft breath ghosting Eddie’s lips as he started to pull away.

“Nope, get back here.” Eddie muttered pitifully, pulling Steve back towards him. “Just so we're on the same page.If you look up the words oblivious, scared and idiot they all have my name next to them in the dictionary. Right under the entry that Robin has edited to deem me pathetic.”

“How would you know? You don’t know how to use a dictionary, that's why dad keeps telling you he will get you an editor.” Steve said with a chuckle, moving to pull Eddie closer.

“Don’t you start sweetheart.” Eddie softly scalded. “I can say no to your dad. But you start batting eyelashes at me and I’m done for.”

“He’s just looking out for you… for us.” Steve said bashfully. “He’s practically married us off already if you hadn’t guessed.”

Suddenly Mr. Harrington’s fumbling words made more sense, the insistence that he wanted to help Eddie in his writing career, the way he hadn’t battered an eyelid that first time Eddie had sauntered downstairs scars out in search of caffeine.

“How long has your dad known?” Eddie asked wearily, aware that he may well be the last person to have picked up on the glaringly obvious.

Steve itched at the scar on his neck, and now that Eddie knew they were connected, he could feel the ghost of it on his skin. Just how many nights had Steve been lying awake thinking of him, because the tingling was like a hug as it washed through him.

“Since you were in a coma the first time? ” Steve said sheepishly, “I swear other than Robin I didn’t mention it to anyone else… If you didn’t want me I didn’t want to become a pity case. Have you seen Dustin aim for sympathy? It’s like watching a muppet show real emotion, it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Of course you told Robin, I wouldn’t expect anything else, at least that explains why you got all weird whenever I brought up your soulmate” Eddie wasn’t sure how to process the fact that Mr. Harrington had known about this since 86 and had managed to keep his mouth shut about the whole thing since then.

“But Still. How did your dad know?”

Steve looked at Eddie dumbfounded, “Eddie, did you ever look to see who wrote the books you have been hoarding in your dragon cave? The ones about soulmates that you think nobody but you knows about?”

Eddie had not in fact looked, not even once, but now he was questioning if that was a major oversight on his behalf.

“Dad has been doing research and writing about Soulmates for the best part of twenty years now,” Steve said, pulling him in from the waist this time, taking the lead. “I was confused, because up until that point, I hadn’t really thought that my soulmate could be a man, let alone someone I thought was the very definition of straight. Turns out fate, just like my parents, doesn't really give a shit if I love another dude, just as long as it makes me happy.” Steve laughed. “And just so you know, him and Uncle Wayne have been plotting behind your back, I think I get you for like … two pigs and a packet of magic beans.”

“Wayne knows?”

“He has his suspicions.” Steve admitted. And yeah maybe Wayne did suspect something, his old man knew him better than he knew himself.

But now Eddie knew what he wanted, understood all the strange feelings in the pit of his stomach and the way his heart raced now was all down to the man who was holding him like he was something precious.

“Wayne knows to barter better than that, I’m worth at least three chickens, a pig and a cow, the only beanstalk I’ll be climbing at any point is you,” Eddie said with a flirty wink.

“Speedrunning the whole bisexual thing are we?” Steve gulped.

“I'm Stevesexual, If that isn’t a thing?” He asked, "I'm making it a thing.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, baby.” Steve said , and that baby tugged at the part of his brain marked horny and flicked a few switches for good measure.

“Is it not in one of your dad’s books?”

“If it was, you would have found it by now.” Steve said as he lent in and stole another kiss. Eddie’s heart sped up, this was what he had been missing, this was the thing he had been searching for not knowing that he had already found it.

“Another disclaimer,” Eddie said when they broke apart. “I was in love with you before I found out you were my soulmate, so don't think this is all just because it's something I think the universe wants from me.”

“When have you ever done anything someone expected Eds,” Steve said with a dopey grin, “I can't even get you to follow a rota, let alone someone invisible forces master plan. Why did you think I was so scared you weren't going to like me back?”

“Well that's just crazy thinking, this time the universe didn't have to help, I think I'd have fallen for you no matter what Stevie,”

Steve’s hands started to wander, and somewhere in Eddie’s peripheral, he heard the record skip to the end of the last song, its gentle hiss accompanied by the soft but hungry sounds Steve was making in the back of his throat as he kissed him deeply.

“You got anywhere you need to be?” Steve asked as he came up for breath, “Or…”

Eddie smirked and tugged them towards the stairs.

“What about the presents?” Steve questioned as they passed the hallway table.

“It's not christmas day until tomorrow. You’re trinkets will wait until morning sweet prince,” Eddie said, ushering for Steve to ascend the steps after him.

“I thought whores would have their trinkets?” Steve asked.

“You can be both.” Eddie said, matching Steve's teasing tone. “Now if you wouldn't mind, I would like to assess just how many of our scars actually match.” He said with a loaded wink, acting a lot more confident than he actually felt. He was a showman after all.

“Merry Christmas to me?” Steve asked and he was honest to god blushing now, how had Eddie missed this for so long it was adorable.

“Merry Christmas to us both, baby, and here's to many more.” He said with a kiss as he pulled Steve into his room.

#steddiewinterexchange #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie/steve #steddie fic #steddie fics

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4vanaa · 3 days ago

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WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 09

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: fluff, mature themes | masterlist | 08 | 10 |

❀ ❀ ❀ - indication that the chapter takes place in the past!!

a/n: this chapter takes place before chapters 7,8, and 10.

❀ ❀ ❀

Rafe was never subtle when it came to you. His hands, his lips, the way his eyes lingered on you even in a crowded room—it was like he didn’t care who noticed, as long as you felt what he couldn’t always say.

It started with a lazy summer afternoon on his boat, anchored far from shore where no one could find you. The sun was dipping low, casting the world in hues of orange and pink, and the only sound was the soft lapping of waves and the occasional squawk of a distant seagull.

You sat across from him, legs tucked beneath you, the hem of your sundress swaying in the breeze. He was leaning back against the railing, a beer in his hand, watching you with a look that made your skin flush under his gaze.

“You keep staring at me like that, Cameron, and I’m gonna start charging you,” you teased, taking a sip from your water bottle.

He smirked, setting his beer down. “Oh, I’m more than willing to pay up.”

Before you could respond, he was moving, crossing the small space between you in just a few steps. His hands were on your waist, tugging you up and into him, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was anything but soft. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that made your head spin, his hands gripping your hips like he couldn’t get close enough. You gasped against his lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you breathless.

“Rafe,” you managed to whisper when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours.

“Hmm?” His voice was low, rough, as his hands slid up your sides, bunching your dress slightly.

“We’re supposed to be relaxing,” you teased, though your voice came out shakier than you intended.

“I am relaxed,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “This is me relaxed.”

“Liar,” you said, laughing softly, but the sound turned into a soft gasp as his lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there.

“You’re the one who’s distracting me,” he muttered against your skin, his hands now sliding down to grip your thighs, pulling you even closer. “How am I supposed to think about anything else when you’re sitting there looking like that?”

Then there were the stolen moments—like when he cornered you in the Cameron kitchen one evening, the sound of the TV drifting from the living room where Ward and Rose were watching a movie.

“Rafe,” you hissed as he pressed you against the counter, his body crowding yours. “Your dad is right there.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“Rafe—”

Whatever protest you were about to make disappeared as his mouth found yours, his hands sliding beneath your shirt to rest against your bare skin. His kiss was searing, making your knees go weak as you gripped his shoulders for balance.

“You’re insane,” you managed to gasp when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours.

“Insane about you,” he said, grinning.

These were the moments that defined your time with Rafe—the heat, the passion, the way he made you feel like you were the center of his universe. In his arms, the rest of the world faded away, and for a little while, everything was perfect.

You were stretched out on the beach blanket, the sun warming your skin, when Rafe flopped down beside you, scattering sand everywhere.

“Do you mind?” you said, glaring at him through your sunglasses.

“Not at all,” he replied smugly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. His hair was a mess, salty and windswept, and he was grinning in that way that always made your heart skip a beat.

He reached over, plucking the sunglasses off your face. “You’re hiding those pretty eyes from me again, sunshine.”

“Maybe because I don’t want you staring at me all day,” you teased, trying to grab them back, but he held them out of reach.

“Too bad,” he said, leaning in closer. “Because I could look at you forever.”

“Rafe Cameron, you’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “But I’m your ridiculous.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. He leaned in and kissed you—soft, slow, and sweet, the kind of kiss that made you forget the rest of the world existed.

The mornings were your favorite, though you’d never admit it to him. Especially the ones where he was already awake, sprawled out in bed beside you, his hair a mess and his face soft with sleep.

“Stop staring,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you buried your face in the pillow.

“Can’t help it,” he said, his voice still raspy. “You’re too cute when you’re drooling on the pillow.”

“I do not drool,” you shot back, glaring at him.

“Sure you don’t,” he teased, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple.

You swatted at him, but he just laughed, catching your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. “C’mon,” he said, his voice soft. “Let’s stay here all day.”

“And what, starve to death?”

“I’d die happy,” he said with a smirk, pulling you closer.

Even the quiet moments felt like magic with him. Like the time you were sprawled out on the couch together, your head resting on his chest as he absentmindedly played with your hair.

“You know you’re my favorite person, right?” he said suddenly, his voice soft.

“Obviously,” you teased, though your cheeks warmed at his words.

“I mean it,” he said, tilting your chin up so you were looking at him. “You’re everything to me.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you kissed him instead.

a/n: this takes place before any of the other angst bc i just wanted some fluff. also to @harrys-housewife i didn’t know how to reply directly to the tags on your reblogs. but thank you x1000 for always supporting my work, and leaving comments and feedback. i can’t even begin to explain how much it means to me 🥹

tags: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11 @marleymarleymarleymarley @acidfeens

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fluff #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe outer banks #outer banks fluff #obx x reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey fanfiction #while you were sleeping #outer banks fanfiction #rafe obx

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frannyzooey · 3 days ago

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On The Green: 5

Ezra Prospect x f!reader

Rating: M — some prospecting violence

A/N: I cannot even tell you how much this chapter kicked my rear end — it would have never been finished without the love and care and hand holding of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch ❤️ Both extremely insightful in their own ways, I am eternally grateful to each of them ❤️ Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

—

All morning he’s been watching you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

The weight of his gaze on your back every time you turn around, logic argues it’s because he’s guiding you into something he knows you’re nervous about. But in the end, shame wins out. It tells you that he knows what you were doing last night while he was in the shower. You contemplate just asking him directly, if only to relieve the feeling, to get it out in the open.

Instead, you keep your mouth closed and decide to put your focus where it should be in the first place.

“Go over it again,” you ask him.

He nods underneath the dome of his helmet, carefully picking his way along a nearly invisible path.

“It’s a wreck. Been one for a while. I came across it a few cycles back, but once I saw that she was no longer functional, I cut my losses. Went through her innards, took what I could – which,” he looks back at you, “mind you, wasn’t much.”

He faces forward again, holding a branch to the side for you to pass. You step carefully over a thick root, accepting the hand that he holds out for help.

“She had been long abandoned even then, so I don’t think we’ll encounter any unsavory protectors today.”

You can tell from the state of the path that he must be telling the truth. The indentation made by long ago steps is covered by overgrowth, a trench you can only feel rather than see. The ground slopes underneath the creeping vines, the crooked line of it hidden by lush leaves. You follow his yellow suit like a beacon, the color a distinct contrast against all the green.

With each step, nerves unfurl in your stomach at the idea that he might be wrong. That there might be another person there, just as eager to keep what’s theirs as you are to take it. The feeling creeps through your veins like the thick vines that crawl over the soil, and keeping your eyes on the familiar yellow in front of you, you squash down the nervousness with every break of one under your boot.

“Slow now. She’s close.”

He holds a gloved hand out to the side, and you peek around the curve of his shoulder. Just beyond the trees, there’s a pod covered in overgrowth, a relic left behind. The windows are yellowed with age, mildew growing over their oval openings.

The hatch is closed, and the area is silent and still.

He takes careful, scouting steps and you follow close behind him.

“Weapon out, Birdie.”

Your thrower already in your grasp, you tighten your hold on it.

You focus on his breathing for a moment, slow and steady through the speaker in your helmet.

“You good?” His voice crackles over the comm link.

When you look up, he meets your gaze with a level one of his own. Patient, checking in.

At the hesitation you can feel in your expression, he reassures. “I promise you, any occupants are long gone.” Reaching out, he lifts the barrel of your thrower. “Still though, can’t be too careful.”

You nod, and he takes the lead, shielding you.

The hatch takes some strength to pry open, and though you should be more nervous about what – or who — you might find inside, you’re temporarily distracted by the sound coming through your commlink. Heavy exhales, low grunts. A low groan of exertion as he pulls, followed by a breathless sound of relief.

The crux of your thighs throbs, and as he disappears into the hatch, you scramble up behind him, right on his heels. There is a tense moment as he rounds the corner, but when he gives you the all clear, your shoulders drop their pressured weight. Relaxed, you both study the disarray in front of you.

Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust: the shards of broken monitor glass scattered on the floor, the torn seats with stuffing spilling out, the stripped panels from the wall. It’s easy to find the compartment you’re looking for: a gaping hole in the middle of the floor, wires spilling from its depths.

You curse silently. “Someone’s been in there.”

“They take everything?” he asks. Using the tip of his pistol, he nudges the lid off the top of a storage compartment and peers inside.

“I’m not sure.”

Setting your thrower and gloves to the side, you get down on all fours and reach into the open compartment. A tangle of wires obstructs your view and your fingers sift through them all, searching by touch alone.

Your arm disappears all the way up to the shoulder before you locate the sharp edge of the circuit board. Grasping it, you lift it free with a sharp tug. It takes forever to ease it out, but when you do, a grin breaks over your face.

Two converters. Worse for wear, but it’s something. Not near what you need, but it still feels like a victory nonetheless. Carefully detaching them from the board, you hold them out for his inspection, cradled in your palm.

“Look at you, my little channel rat.”

His levity sucks all of the remaining tension from the room.

You grimace. “What did you call me?”

“A channel rat. Your little scavenging fingers, digging through the depths of a ship for a treat.”

Dismissing his teasing smile, you shake your head. “Didn’t you tell me once that those things reeked of piss?”

He chuckles. “I did indeed.”

Going back to the hole in the floor, you study the wires left behind for possible scavenging. “If you call me that even one more time, I’ll shoot you in the back.”

His grin widens at your deadpan delivery.

“Deal.”

–

Back in the safety of your own pod, you pull in deep inhales of fresh air as soon as you lift your helmet off. There is a certain sort of pleasure to it, feeling the recycled air hit your cheeks. Inside the helmet, it’s humid and sticky, the blower pack in your suit not enough to combat the heat from your body. It’s built to keep you cool, but under the helmet, your hair sticks to your nape and your forehead with sweat. Under the helmet, your stale breath blows back into your face. Under the helmet, you feel like you can’t breathe sometimes - which is ironic, given the reason for it in the first place.

Ezra stands close, tossing his helmet down to fumble with the zipper of his suit.

That sound. You can hear it in your sleep. No different than the sound of your own zipper being tugged down, and yet, somehow, it is. You envision the entire scene with startling clarity every night: his bare fingers working the clasp, his suit falling away from his body, the sound underneath it all.

“You good?” He checks on you, and when you nod your head but don’t say anything, he bends his gaze to your level. The stark lighting of the pod makes his eyes look even darker, and his hand comes to rest on your shoulder. Right at the edge of your neckline, the heat of his palm brushes against your skin. “You sure?”

“Yea,” you reassure him, trying to ignore the weight behind your navel his touch brings. “It went good. Really good.”

“I think so,” he replies. “I’m impressed. Our first job as a duo, gone off without a hitch.”

He winks, squeezing your shoulder for a brief moment. When his hand slides away, you stop your body from chasing it.

“Here.” His voice pulls you from your reverie, a cleaning kit held outwards towards you. “You do this, and I’ll do dinner?”

Nodding, you take it from him.

Cross-legged on your cot, you enjoy the sounds of domesticity filling the pod: the gentle scrub of your steel cleaning brush, the clink of a metal pan on the stove, a spoon swirling along the bottom of the pan as Ezra stirs. His humming joins the din, and you glance up at him.

If there was something that you’d never have expected from your first confrontation with the man, a scene like this would be at the top of the list. When your attraction initially began, it used to eat you up inside thinking about how you didn’t know him. You felt immature and foolish thinking about how the feelings were rooted in loneliness, sprouting from a life lacking attention and flourishing in close proximity. However, as scenes like the one in front of you became more common, it was easier to accept it.

The want that you feel coats the space like the dust that lingers in the air outside; ever present, in every breath you take. You try to ignore it, a small pocket of embarrassment bubbling up every time you think about approaching him, though he seems like the type who would be into whatever arrangement you’d propose. Especially given how long he’s been alone. Not only that, but the way in which he carries himself suggests he’s ever fluid, open for whatever comes his way. Adaptable, a side effect of his lifestyle you’re sure.

You know better though.

His carefree conversation is practiced, a facade. One meant to disarm and distract. You’re fairly certain he’s past that stage with you, given not only the amount of time you’ve spent together, but also the way he looks at you. Unguarded, in the morning after he wakes or in the evening, right before he goes to bed. Distracted, letting himself slip into thought, his eyes hooded as his tongue slides slowly across his bottom lip.

Sometimes though, sometimes you see him looking at you in the same way he looks at others: like they are something to study, his eyes keenly assessing.

That look always gives you pause. No matter how much you know he’d probably say yes, his motives are the question you’d really want answered.

Picturing the bare skin along his ribs that rippled in his stretch the other day when he emerged from the shower, you silently flex your hand, mentally fitting your fingers along the velvet skin. Safe in the secrecy of your own mind, you let your daydreams flourish – a bubble that pops when he approaches your cot.

“Not a feast, by any means,” he says, sitting down next to you. “But it’ll do.”

You accept the bowl gratefully, steam rising from its contents. He blows on his spoon, taking a bite. The motion makes his jaw work, and when he swallows, you watch through the fringe of your eyelashes.

“You did good today.”

His easy praise just slips off his tongue, and for someone who has spent so much time in the darkness, you keen under its light.

You smile over at him, and he returns it - but only for a fraction before it drops.

He looks away, down at his food. “The next one might be a touch harder.”

“How come?” you ask, your mouth full.

“Because it’s occupied.”

You stop chewing.

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “Unattended pods are a thing of rarity. Most are occupied, and their inhabitants can be…”

You raise your eyebrows when he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Can be…?”

“Protective of what’s theirs.”

His statement hangs in the air, his expression sober.

Swallowing hard, you sit with it for a minute. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Look,” he sighs, studying you. “I feel I should go alone, little bird.”

Frowning, you let your bowl rest in your lap. “What? Why? It’s too dangerous.”

He huffs in amusement. “You wound me with your lack of faith in my skills. I assure you, I’ve been navigating such situations alone for far longer than you’ve even been alive.”

The reminder of his age compared to yours should make you feel more at ease about his capabilities, but instead the statement temporarily distracts you. You take in his calloused hands, the lines that edge around the corners of his eyes, the grey flecks in his beard.

“I’ve taught you a lot,” he continues, “But letting the idea marinate, I believe it’s safer to keep you here.”

His suggestion catches you off guard. Everything about your arrangement has been with the word “partnership” in mind: he’s taught you how to dig, how to shoot, how to be aware of your surroundings. For him to want you to stay behind versus alongside him must mean there is something more dangerous about the situation than he’s letting on.

Not liking the idea of being separated from him, you press. “Trust me, I don’t doubt your skills. I’ve seen you in action.”

He sits up straighter, a proud smile stretching his cheeks, and you roll your eyes, undeterred.

“You’re the mechanic, I’m the muscle,” you mimic in his voice. “Weren’t those your words? If there is anyone there, you’ll deal with them so I can get the converters.”

“I’m afraid they won’t part with them as easily as your statement suggests.”

“I never thought they would.” You hold his gaze, searching. “Why don’t you want me there?”

He hesitates, and you can see a war within the depths of his eyes. Eventually, he answers, his voice softer. “I don’t want to subject you to…an avoidable confrontation. Not if I don’t have to.”

A beat of significant silence fills the space between you. Your dinners forgotten, the space around you shrinks to the size of the cot that you share. The urge to toss your bowl onto the ground and pull him to you builds the longer you sit with his statement, but there is something else about his words that tugs at the back of your mind.

You picture him walking into the Green alone, disappearing from your sight. Weeks with him at your side has you rejecting the mental image. Your stomach churns, your hand reaching out to cover his.

“If you go, I go.”

A grimace flashes over his features, the scar along his cheek highlighted for a moment. “I thought you’d say that.”

Rationally, you know he’s just trying to protect you, but you let your hand fall back, hurt. Busying yourself with your bowl again, you can feel him looking at you.

“Hey now,” he says, soft, but stern. “It’s not a lack of faith in your skills, trust me. It’s just that mercs out here are ruthless, raw. Their sensibilities have been swallowed whole by this place, and I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

His voice lowers even more, his tone gentle. “You remember what I said? About girls being rare in this place?”

You look up, and his gaze is fixed on yours, earnest and serious.

“I meant it.”

Apprehension flickers in your chest, but you remain firm in holding your ground. He can’t go alone.

“You really want to come with?” he asks.

You nod instantly. “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up, a hint of pride flashing through his eyes.

“Okay then, partner. Let’s talk about a plan.”

–

Ezra shifts on his cot, forcing his pillow into submission under his head.

“If you go, I go.”

Your words echo in his mind, your face appearing alongside. Your presence pulls at him from across the short distance between your cots, and he shifts again, rolling to face the wall.

He doesn’t want you to come with tomorrow.

He knows what this place is capable of, the way it carves out the morals of men to leave them shells of desperation. He himself has fallen victim to it, and though he hasn’t often found regret in his actions, he already regrets agreeing to let you come. He’s been here long enough to know that a partner is crucial to survival, but you…you’re unprecedented. You’re a girl. You’re something no one has seen in a long time, and he worries (an emotion he’s not used to) about how they’ll react when they see you.

If it’s anything like the way he reacts to you, you’re both in trouble.

You stir behind him, and he listens. You shift again, and he stills his breath.

The idea that you might be restless with the want you sated last night blossoms in his mind, heat pooling behind his navel. His fingers lightly scratch the wiry hair underneath it, just over where he aches. His cock twitches in interest, and distracting himself from the thought of everything that could go wrong tomorrow, he immerses himself in the thought of you.

You, right behind him, feet away.

You, trying to be quiet, slick need gathering between your thighs.

You, slipping your hand underneath the band of your leggings.

A phantom stickiness smears across the tips of his fingers, and they twitch against his skin. He teases at the band of his thermals, pretending his hand is yours. He moves it slowly, imagining your hesitation - eager, yet shy.

He thickens fully at the thought.

Unpracticed at hiding his attraction towards someone, he’s testing the limits of his self restraint with every minute spent in your presence. Constantly reminding himself of how vulnerable you are, the idea that you’d go along with any sort of proposition out of intimidation makes him sick. But you wanting it? You making the first move?

His hand (your hand) creeps a little lower, brushing against the base of his cock. It’s stiff to the touch, and he closes his eyes – only to be assaulted with the idea of someone else grabbing your hand to force it underneath their pants. His erection wanes, a series of images flashing through his mind: you screaming for help, you being forcibly dragged out of his sight, someone else taking from you what you never offered.

He softens.

His attachment to you is something like he’s never experienced before. This urge to keep you hidden from the world to protect you, while also helping you flourish. The need that coats him from the inside out, yet is forced to stay on a leash. It feels like a fever dream sometimes, the time he spends in the pod with you. A liminal place, a trapped sort of existence akin to hell itself in the way he wants you, but also something akin to heaven.

A companionship he’s missed, a presence he ached for and now has. Like you dropped from the sky, meant just for him.

He hears you shift again, and he frowns.

He should roll over and ask you if everything’s okay, but he knows it’s not. You’re probably worried about tomorrow and you should be. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be — as ready as this place will allow you to become before you’re thrown into the heat of the fire.

He also shouldn’t because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself. If he rolls over, he’ll see you — see your shadowed form in the darkness, the dips and curves of your body. He pictures himself being drawn to it, crawling the distance between your cots. Settling close to you, feeling the heat of your skin. Murmured, dulcet tones of soothing. His hands smoothing away your nerves.

His mouth being drawn to yours in the dark intimacy of the night.

He wants to tuck your face into the crook of his neck and tell you it will be fine.

But he doesn’t know if it will be, and so he stays still, guilt eating at his restless bones.

—

The pod stands alone in the clearing, silent and imposing.

Boot prints have tamped down the soil surrounding it, the greenery eaten away. The tracks are fresh, and they lead in every direction.

“How many do you think there are?”

Hidden in the green together, you speak lowly even though no one is tuned into your frequency but Ezra.

“Hard to say. I’d judge two, maybe three.” He shifts, trying to get a better view. “The size of their vessel doesn’t say much for numbers. Can’t be more than that.”

“Do you think they’re in there?”

Noting no sign of life surrounding the pod, you try to peer in the windows from afar to spot any movement.

He sighs, a heavy and resigned thing through your connection. He turns his head, and you do the same, facing each other.

“Unfortunately, Birdie, we won’t know until we open the door.”

He checks the charge on his pistol, flicking his eyes to your weapon in a motion for you to do the same. “You ready?”

Nodding, you grip your thrower. “Ready.”

Standing from your hidden spot, he takes an automatic lead in front of you. His slinking steps are careful, his breathing steady and measured. The dust motes surrounding you make the whole thing seem like a suspended dream, like you’re moving in slow motion along with them. For every step he takes, you do the same until you’re moving as mirror images, creeping closer and closer.

Anticipation and adrenaline have your entire body on high alert, yet the green around you remains eerily calm. There is no movement and no sound other than the gentle rustle of the trees, and while that would normally be muted underneath the dome of your helmet, your straining ears pick it up. A bead of sweat glides down the back of your neck, your eyes focused on Ezra’s back as he reaches the pod.

His gloved hand strokes down the smooth metal of the hatch, searching for an opening. When he finds it, you can hear a terse smile in his exhale of relief.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “You gonna open up for me?”

He works the latch open with force, and you spot check the edges of the clearing. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your chest, and in contrast, Ezra seems as calm as ever. You think about your own pod in the middle of a similar clearing, and how your role has reversed in your weeks here. Once the trapped person inside, now the intruder seeking what belongs to someone else.

The hatch opens, and you crawl in behind him.

It’s empty inside, though clearly in use. Two cots are pushed against the wall, blankets and pillows crumpled on top of them. Thermals litter the floor, metal dishes are stacked next to the small sink, and there is a station of cleaning tools left out, as if someone stopped mid-task.

“Speed is of the essence, little bird.”

His voice grounds you, your eyes immediately scanning the floor. It takes a minute to find the sealed compartment, but you catch the edge of it underneath one of the cots.

“Help me move this,” you ask him, picking your way over to the panel. While you’re careful with your steps, he stomps without care on anything in his way: discarded papers on the floor, a dirty shirt. He lifts the cot with a grunt, and you drop to your knees.

The panel springs open and sifting through the wires, you wish you stopped to take your helmet off. It’s hard to get close enough to the floor with the dome limiting how close you can get, and a small huff of frustration slips from your mouth as you stick your arm down, down, down, stretching it as much as you can.

Just when you’ve reached your limit, you feel the edge of the panel.

“Anything there?” He delivers the question calmly, though you can hear the slight tone of urgency that slips through.

“Got it,” you grit through your teeth, tugging it free.

The edges of it catch on the neat wiring that surrounds it, and impatiently, you tear through it all. Lifting it from the floor, your eyes widen.

“Ten. There are ten, Ez.”

You look up at him in awestruck wonder, and he returns a tight smile.

“Speedy now. Show me how you use those nimble fingers of yours.”

You click them off with practiced precision, trying to tamp down the elation that you feel at the added weight of each one in the pouch attached to your hip. When you have all ten, you toss the panel back into the nest of wires and slip the lid back into place. Standing to get out of his way, you watch as Ezra unceremoniously drops the cot back onto the floor.

He smiles at you, a genuine one this time. “You did so good, Birdie. So good.”

Relief floods your chest at his praise. Your stomach has been in knots all morning, worsening as you sat in the bush and waited, and though you know you’re not out of danger yet, you take a moment to let your victory wash over you. A sudden, fierce wish to be back in your own pod with him takes you by surprise, a burning need to throw your helmet off and have him do the same so you can kiss him. Your body subconsciously leans forward, drawn to the idea and to him and to the need to have his praise breathed directly into your mouth for you to swallow.

A similar look flashes across his own dark features, and there is a beat of weighted tension. It swirls in the space between you, filling it — and breaking, when he grabs your hand.

He gives it a squeeze, leading you back towards the hatch. “Come on. Before they get back.”

Following the back of his suit out of the pod, you notice the surroundings of the clearing seem brighter, less ominous. The dust that floats through the air no longer seems threatening and nightmarish, but more like a pleasant dream. You take in the details for the first time today, your eyes fixed where the tops of the trees brush the sky – disappearing when you’re ripped from behind with a sudden, forceful jerk backwards.

“Ezra!”

Your thrower gets tossed from your hand, and the air is pushed from your lungs as your back hits the ground with a thud. You kick wildly and try to scramble up, and a sharp kick from behind keeps you trapped in place, forcing you onto your front.

Coughing, you lift your head under the helmet, but the edges of the dome obstruct your view. Straining, you squirm underneath the heavy pressure of a boot on your back, fighting to see where Ezra is. You can see only his boots, toe to toe with a stranger’s.

The voice above you is grizzled and deep. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Looking for something we need,” Ezra drawls, and though you can’t see his face, you can picture it. The truthful admission comes out slow and confident. “We found it, so we’ll be on our way.”

You hear the charge of a thrower above you, and Ezra’s boots shift slightly. It’s a special sort of hell to hear him through the comm link without being able to see him.

“Go in there and see what the fuck they took,” orders the man pinning you to the ground.

You see his partner's boots walk out of your sight, and hear him climb the ramp to the pod.

“You stay right there,” he warns Ezra. “One move and I’ll shoot your partner here.”

Lifting your torso with a grunt, you shift just enough to get Ezra in your sights before the boot on your back forces you back down. Even though you’re prone and he’s being held at gunpoint—both at the mercy of a stranger—reassurance floods through you at just being able to see his face.

“That would be…regrettable.”

The shift in Ezra’s expression is cold and menacing, his fingers flexing slightly on the grip of his pistol.

“That so?” the man teases. His boot wiggles, shoving you deeper into the soil. “Feels kinda scrawny. Can’t imagine what use he is to you for someone so small.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ezra counters.

“Let’s see him.”

The words take you by surprise, just like the swift jerk of your shoulders. He flips you faster than you can react, his boots coming down to step on your arms and the tip of his thrower aims directly at your face – his eyes wide with surprise right above it.

“Is this – is this a girl?”

Your boot flies up to kick him in the back, and he grunts but doesn’t budge. You do it again, and he presses the muzzle of his thrower into your chest.

“Do it again and see what happens.” Antsy, he glances up in the direction of the pod and yells to his partner. “What the fuck is taking you so long?”

Taking advantage of his split second of distraction, you use every ounce of strength you have to bow your back off the ground just enough to catch him by surprise. His boots falter, taking the pressure off your arms and you quickly sit up, driving your elbows into his thighs. He growls in frustration, trying to keep his thrower on you while also bending to swipe for your leg, and you scramble backwards in the soil. Your boots slide on the damp earth, your gloved fingers digging into the ground for purchase and there is a sharp crack in the air as Ezra aims his pistol at the man and misses. You flinch, crawling backwards to get out of the man’s reach, and panic cuts through you when you hear the stomp of boots coming down the ramp.

“What the hell –”

Those are the only words the man gets out before you hear more cracking shots, and then he’s falling backwards, dead, onto the ground.

“You son of a bitch!” The man who had you pinned lunges for Ezra, his thrower tossed to the side, a knife in his hand instead.

Ezra abandons his own weapon, throwing himself at the stranger. You watch helplessly as two of them hit the ground, fighting for control of the knife. Crawling towards Ezra’s gun, you stretch your hand towards the weapon when you hear it.

“Just wait till I kill you,” the man warns between his teeth. “I’m gonna fuck that girl raw. Right here. Right next to your dead fucking –”

A grizzled choking sound cuts off the man’s words, and you whirl to face them just in time to see Ezra jerking the knife out of the man’s neck. Blood spurts across Ezra’s gloves, and he shoves the knife down again, and again. The force behind it is immense, Ezra’s face contorted in a look you’ve never seen before. His jabs are ruthless and quick, cutting and deep, and his arm speeds up, his face in a rage-filled trance, his eyes wild and cold all at the same time.

“Mine,” you hear him between heavy breaths, between each plunge. “She’s mine.”

Frozen, you watch in a morbid sort of fascination, but also in relief.

He doesn’t stop stabbing until the man is long dead.

—

The walk back to the pod is as quick as it can be, with Ezra’s weight leaning heavily on your side. All traces of joy and victory have long vanished, and the two of you say nothing to each other as you trudge along the hidden path.

His expression as he killed that man plays on repeat in your mind the whole way, along with his words.

“She’s mine.”

Though he’s trying to mask his pain, his grip on your hip tells you the truth, as does his labored breathing. You didn’t see it happen, but the man must have hit his mark at least once, judging from a telltale stain of dark red smeared across the front of Ezra’s suit. It seems to take forever to get back, and with every step, his wound gets worse and worse in your mind.

Finally back inside your pod, you strip and toss everything carelessly onto the ground.

“I need the med kit,” he groans, collapsing against the wall. His movements are jerky as he rips his helmet off, and then his gloves, using his teeth. “Fuck,” he sighs, his eyes pinched closed.

He’s pale, his sweat matted hair stuck to his forehead and you kneel in front of him with the kit, rifling through the contents.

“What do you need?”

His hand splays protectively over his lower stomach. “He got me through my suit, just here.” He shifts, a loud groan breaking free when he peels down the top of his suit. He rolls it to the waist, and gingerly pushing the fabric down, you see his thermals underneath, stained dark and saturated with blood.

He lifts it, and you wince.

“Looks worse than it is,” he breathes heavily, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“It looks pretty bad, Ez. Really bad.”

His stomach is matted and smeared with blood, and at the center of it all, a gash.

He holds his hand out for gauze, dabbing at the wound with a hiss. “See?” His stomach flinches, and he wipes it again before looking at you. “A stitch or two should do it.”

“You sure?” you ask, and he nods, letting his head fall to the side as he looks away.

“In you? Always.”

Your fingers tremble slightly when you flick open the med kit, and then rote memory takes over. You’ve done this – your father used to stumble home all the time with various gashes. Bar fights, brawls in alley ways. Prospectors are a rough crowd, and you’d stitched him up more than once. This is just like that, only better because you don’t have someone yelling at you to do it faster – but also worse, because you care about this person more. The thought leaps into your mind, and knowing you don’t have time to dwell on it, you shove it away.

Ezra flinches at the touch of your hand against his bare stomach, his muscles tensing under your fingers.

You pause, and he lets out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry. Cold hands.”

You give him an apologetic smile.

“Keep going.”

You take your time disinfecting the wound, making sure all traces of dirt are gone. Your hand sweeps across this skin more than once, trying not to think about all the ways you imagined touching his stomach for the first time. It’s soft under your fingertips, a slight round to his lean belly and though his neck is taut with tension, he remains still under your exploration. You want him to look at you: for reassurance, for acknowledgement of your hands on his skin – but he is resolute, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall.

Setting your rag down, you pick up the stapler.

“You ready?”

He nods.

Using one hand to pinch his flesh together, you brace the stapler against his skin, blood smearing on the metal. You punch the first one through, and he hisses, his hand gripping your wrist.

“Shit. Shit. Keep going.”

His breathing has turned into panting, his eyes clenched tight. You slide it along his skin an inch, and then punch another one.

The groan he lets out would be filthy, if not for the situation you’re in. It’s a strained, long thing — his head tipped back, veins highlighted along his neck and you toss the stapler to the side, pressing fresh gauze against the wound.

“All done. It’s done.”

He nods, a tired smile gracing his face. Leaning forward, he keeps one hand on his stomach and you watch nervously as he crawls onto his cot. He falls back onto his pillow, calmer now, but still pale.

“My thanks, Birdie.”

He slips into a stress-induced sleep, and you look at him for a moment before cleaning up.

At the sink, you notice his red hand print around your wrist. The blood had pooled between his fingers, the digits a slick slide over your small wrist and you brush your thumb over the marks he left behind. It looks violent, yet there is a part of you that likes it. Being branded with him, a part of him smeared into your skin.

You hesitate to wash it off.

—

He sleeps, and you keep watch.

You had worried for your father sometimes, but it was nothing like this. In the small amount of time that you’d come to know him, Ezra already meant more to you than your own father ever did.

In the dark, you finally let yourself dwell on the realization.

Your father had never truly been a father. He was more of a stranger, or a roommate at best. He dragged you down with him, keeping you close enough to use you when he needed. He was never invested in you, never cared what you thought or wanted. You never needed him for anything, but Ezra…Ezra you need. You need him to survive and get off this planet, but you also need him more than that. Deeper than that.

The respect and courtesy he treats you with is something that surprised you, given the way you met. In a short while though, you’ve come to realize it’s exactly what’s been missing from your life this whole time. His curiosity and interest is genuine, and his care for you — especially after the events of today — is obvious.

She’s mine.

Did he say that because it’s true? Or because he needs everyone else to believe it’s true?

His lashes flutter, a dream seemingly racing through his slumber and you watch the movement of his eyes under his lids. His fingers flex, and without thinking, you place your hand on top of his.

He stills, and so do you.

The minutes and hours slip by, the moon slowly making its way from one pod window to another and you keep your vigil all the while. He murmurs in his sleep, and you cradle the curve of his jaw. Even after he stops, you keep your hand in place.

Your thumb traces the line of the scar on his cheek - a hooked thing, violent. He never told you how he got it, and you long for him to wake up and regale you with the story. He’d make a meal out of it, you know he would.

When he doesn’t stir, you continue your exploration.

Delicate touches: a swipe over his silken eyelid, a trace down the line of his nose. The bristle of his moustache tickles the pad of your thumb, a direct contrast against the smooth patch of skin on his jawline where there is no hair.

He’s a killer, and you wonder how many have gotten as close as this.

She’s mine.

He’s right — you are. In a short while you have become his. The juxtaposition of the man you saw today versus the man in front of you now is jarring, as if he couldn’t be the same man at all. And maybe he’s not, for anyone else. But for you, he is.

You get both, and while you should have been scared by the way he savagely killed today, you instead find yourself proud. You find yourself drawn to it, admiration and assurance and a sense of protection swirling around in your mind.

He did that for you, something no one has ever done.

Emboldened by this knowledge and drawn to his profile in the dark, you rest on his firm chest, and your fingers splay outwards over his heart.

Leaning down, you press your lips lightly against his.

–

He’s been awake for a while.

He has wished for you like this so many times. Just like this, only he never imagined himself like this. Just his luck that his wish comes true, but at a cost.

You’re so close, your face hovering just above his. He can smell the sweetness of your breath, of your skin. The way you’re looking at him has been one he’s only ever seen in his dreams, and though his body aches with a hidden want that threatens to consume, he stays perfectly still, not wanting it to end.

He’s never been touched like this by anyone, and it takes everything he has to keep his eyes closed — until he feels you press your lips against his.

He responds instantly, his hand coming up to cup the crown of your head.

Your kiss is so soft — soft and delicate and vulnerable, just like you. Your mouth fits neatly against his own, and before he can truly savor it, it’s gone.

He opens his eyes and your shadowed form comes into focus, your proximity intoxicating. His dream come to life.

His hand slides down the back of your hair, settling on your neck. Holding you place, he can see the vulnerability that seeps out of your every pore, and he longs to soothe you. If he knew what he should soothe, he would.

He knows what he wants to soothe, but he waits.

“What are you doing, Birdie?” he whispers.

Your eyes flit between his, and you bite your lip, thinking. He watches as you war with yourself inside your head, and his touch drifts to cup your cheek. His thumb slides across the soft curve of it, and when his eyes dip to your mouth, he watches your expression change to something more assured.

Confident, resolute.

“This,” you whisper back, bending down for another kiss.

#ezra prospect #ezra prospect/you #ezra prospect/reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x reader #ezra/you #ezra/reader

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