#but then it shifted to stirring up fires with the second years as a whole klfjsej

[cerealmonster15]

my twst ocs and some other guys are there too

[waspenned]

scenes from an italian restaurant • part ten • peter parker

in which you and peter clear the air • 5k

warnings: language as per usual, angsty

now playing: bleecker street by simon & garfunkel

part one / the ao3 version

a/n: long time no see!!!!!! full update in the notes of the ao3 post but what a crazy year

You’ve been stood in front of Peter’s door for five minutes now.

That’s on top of the five minutes you spent working up the courage to go inside the building, and then the other ten minutes you spent pacing the block - just to try and shake some of your nerves out onto the pavement. It’s just knocking, just seeing the same face you’ve been seeing nearly every day for months now, but it feels bigger. 

You hadn’t been to a coworker’s place since the fire; not gone for coffee after a morning shift, or drinks after close, or a Red Bull run before the open. It made things easier to deal with. Sometimes it stung a little more than usual, especially when most of them were particularly inclined to come in all hungover and messy on a Saturday, with a whole new roster of inside jokes - but it felt safer, somehow. You’d been friendly with a few of them at some point, close almost, and even though they kept inviting you out with them, they all eventually stopped asking. Some understood, some didn’t - and once you'd overheard Sal hushedly call you ‘troubled’ to somebody through the gantry hatch, you were basically the point of no return. 

But Peter, as always, is different.

You glance at your phone. Seven minutes. Some awful part of you twists at the idea that maybe he’s wondering where you are, if he’s waiting for you; or if he’s being normal about it, like a normal person. Peter’s more normal than you, he wouldn’t take seven- no, EIGHT minutes to knock on someone’s door, even if his hands were clammy and his heart was thumping so loudly in his ears he thought his eardrums might burst. You’ve still got your earphones on even though you paused whatever you were listening to long ago, the sound of your breath thrumming through your head. When you move to finally take them off, you fumble and swear as they clatter loudly to the floor. 

Immediately, you cringe, wanting the floor to swallow you up as muffled movement stirs behind the door in front of you. You’ve probably got about ten seconds to pull yourself together and appear fine enough for him not to be immediately concerned - a difficult task, considering that you have dark circles the size of plates, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got some sort of stress-related rash breaking out on your hands, but the door is already opening, and life (as it turns out) isn’t merciful.

All of a sudden, Peter is there, and you’re on the floor, frantically chasing your earphones as they scatter across the lino. When you look up at him, you’re suddenly relieved to find that he’s mostly just confused. Lamely, you flap your mouth for a second, and then blurt out the first thing that pops into your head. 

“I was just about to knock.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Peter’s apartment smells like Peter - which is obvious when you think about it, but it didn’t cross your mind until this moment how painful this might be. There’s his soap, his deodorant, the faint oil fryer smell of any Joe’s uniform, which is currently half hanging out of a laundry basket near the door. It was like you were seeing him properly for the first time; this new, unknown Peter who exists beyond the confines of a kitchen. This isn’t the Peter you know or Spider-Man - this is Peter outside of Joe’s. Peter who does laundry. Peter who has a coffee mug on the drying rack that says ‘World’s Greatest Pop-Pop’, and some complicated calculations splayed out in sheets on the rickety little dining table. 

“It’s a bit of a mess right now, I haven’t had time to clean up, because of the-“ He’s babbling and flitting about, picking up different bits of odd clutter only to put them down again. His hair is damp against the collar of his sweatshirt; shiny and dark and curling up in little spirals around his ears that you had the sudden urge to wrap around your fingers. You step inside, and Peter’s pottering about the kitchen, preparing mugs and rooting through his cupboards. When you make your way into the main space of the apartment, barely a separate room, Peter looks up at you through his hatch and brightly chimes, “Would you like anything to drink?”

You quirk your brow. Suddenly, whatever haze had fallen over his face dissipates, and he blinks, dazed.

“I’m still in Diner Mode.” Peter rubs his eyes, then rakes a hand through his hair, disturbing the wet clumps of curls. No wonder it's always so frizzy, with the amount of times you've seen him tug and ruffle at it. The movement exposes the tips of his ears, shiny from the moisture, and their usual shade of flustered pink. He’s back into the cupboard in an instant, searching through boxes and jars before he finds what he’s looking for. “Okay, so I have coffee and…”

“I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“…Actually, that’s it.”

“Then I guess it’s my lucky day.”

You can’t help it, but your voice comes out dry and flat, and his eyebrows knit, something shifting in his expression. Your fingers go numb, and you remember what you came here to do - you just didn’t think you would get into it so quickly. Peter sets his shitty instant coffee on the side (and you would know it’s shitty, because you buy the same stuff) and just looks at you. You’re not sure what sort of look it is, something between his usual awkwardness, and some entirely new face you’ve never seen before. He’s planting his hands on the counter now, squaring his shoulders, and your breath hitches.

Maybe, you think, this is the face behind the mask. 

“I don’t know what to say.” It sounds awful and croaky, and it’s nowhere near covering the sheer amount of thoughts currently rushing through your head, but it’s all that comes to mind. 

What is there to say? Nothing much had really happened; coworkers hook up with each other all the time (granted, usually not on shift), but even then, you never even had sex. You can’t call him a ‘hook up’, he was somehow both more and less than that - just some guy you’ve kissed a couple times. Whatever the hell the two of you have been doing for months has never been labelled anything past ‘friends’, which you’re now quickly realising is nothing like what you actually are. You’ve been tormenting yourself, tormenting him, all because you couldn’t suck it up enough to admit to yourself that you care about him more than you want to, and because it’s easier to live with the possibility that something could, might happen. 

And now a new, worse feeling is looming over you; the possibility that Peter might not feel the same way about you.

Deep breath. Push it down. Bury it. 

“Then let me say it.” Peter is clearing his throat now, your heart rate spiking like a hummingbird, your teeth clenched shut. It takes one, two, five, seventy drips of the faucet before he speaks again - or maybe he doesn’t hesitate at all. 

“I’ve been thinking about something you said a while ago, before…” He trails off. Before everything. You grimace a little, suddenly feeling nauseous when you remember how rude you were to him, all the times you’d snapped at him when he was just trying to help. He’s the kind of person who helps people, and you’re the kind of person who pushes them away, apparently. All of the hate and grudges you’d held against him, all of the resentment, instantly falls onto your shoulders. You punished him for the crime of being happy and content, when his other job is being beaten to a pulp and worked to the bone, and you were stupid enough to not realise it was only because you hated yourself. 

“You said something about how shit happens, and Spider-Man won’t always be there. How I’m ‘just some guy’.”

“Peter, I-“ Your lungs are burning so hot you think you smell smoke again, and you try to hold your breath, even though you currently feel like you’re suffocating, “I didn’t… I don’t think that anymore. I’m-“

Deep breath. Push it down.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m fucked up.” You’re laughing, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, or Peter’s. 'Fucked up’ is an umbrella term, apparently, for having nightmares about a fire that happened over a year ago, shutting everyone out of your life, smelling smoke in every dark corner or pantry. ‘Fucked up’ covers being so desperately lonely that you have to compulsively hurt the first friend you make after isolating yourself for so long; stringing him along in some ‘will-they-won’t-they’ bullshit and letting him down every step of the way. He probably wants to cut you off. It’s probably better if he does.

“You’re not fucked up,” His face is soft, like ricotta against your tongue. Like the skin across his collarbones. “I just… About the fire-“

He’s not broken eye contact with you until now, but his gaze flicks to the dish rack, the walls - he fiddles with the faucet for a fleeting moment. You wait.

“I want to apologise for everything,” It’s slow to start, but once the dam is broken, it all comes out in a rush and drowns you. “I know we didn’t know each other then, but I want- I need you to know that I’m sorry. It’s my duty to protect people, and I didn’t protect you, and I’m sorry.”

“Peter-“

“Hold on. Last night, when you were talking about how it was your responsibility to-“ His voice wavers. You realise you’re still holding your breath. “How you had, like, a sense of duty towards Joe’s, and you were so brave, and all I could think about was how I let you down. Even before I knew you, it killed me just knowing that there was someone who needed me, and I didn’t come through for them. It- It messed me up.”

There’s a pang where your heart used to be, when you realise he’s not talking about you specifically, but just someone in general. Some poor citizen needing to be saved. There’s nothing else there, just hollowness and cold, stretching back and back into you like an abyss. This must be what heartbreak feels like, you realise; you’re not special to him, you’re just something else on his plate. Maybe, something in the back of your head leers, maybe you’re nothing to him after all.

Spider-Man, your coworker, is staring into you so intently that you can feel the weight of the city on his shoulders. 

“I nearly quit.” His voice hangs like a loose thread - like the ones on the diner tablecloths that if you pull, make the whole thing unravel. You twist your finger around it and tug, even though you know you’ll come apart too.

“Joe’s?”

“Being Spider-Man.”

“Oh.” 

Peter huffs a breath, twirls the faucet knob between his fingers with the same dexterity and fluidity he demonstrated between your legs last night, and your gut churns. The pipes groan to life, and he shuts it off again before any water has the chance to flow through. Then, he’s coming around the corner, out of the kitchen, and all of a sudden you’re in Peter’s living room, with Peter, and that's what he looks like at home. There’s no pretence, no uniform, no employee code of conduct between you. 

“I want to be just some guy. More than anything.” He’s so close to you now that you can smell lime body wash and shampoo, see a drip forming at the tip of that one curl at his left temple that’s more like a ringlet than the rest of them. And you only know it's there because you haven’t stopped thinking about him, looking at him only when his back is turned and no one could catch you staring. You can barely hear him over the shame spinning in your ribs like a catherine wheel.

“But after the fire, I sort of took it as a sign that I was meant to be Spider-Man. You were there, you lived it. It’s my responsibility to stop that from happening.”

You can’t help it, but your eye twitches. It’s the same thing that’s been bothering you about Spider-Man since before; the promise of selflessness and responsibility and duty that Peter is now forever bound to. Before last night, you would have told yourself that you hated Spider-Man because you felt like he abandoned you, because he broke some kind of stupid, city-wide promise - but now that you know it’s Peter behind the mask, blaming him feels too harsh when the world gives him enough shit to begin with.

He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve the beatings, or the sleepless nights, or the working minimum wage just to go home to an apartment that will only get more expensive to rent. And all it does is make you angry. It’s unfair - everything’s unfair - and now it feels like your life, your near-death, was the event that made him keep giving himself and getting nothing in return. At the end of the day, you’re both just two twenty-somethings, trying to keep their heads above water.

It’s your fault that he’s still here, still hurting.

He’s still staring at you when you realise you’ve been silent for some time now, your mind blank and stuttering as Peter just looks on, almost concerned. The vice that’s been slowly tightening around your chest for months gives one final clench, and some long-buried string in your heart finally, finally snaps. 

You’re so tired. 

You knew it would happen eventually; that you’d run out of steam, or your knees would give out, and you wouldn’t be able to keep this up anymore. You’d always expected it to be while you were alone, or in Sal’s office, when you wouldn’t be able to keep up with all the silly little lies you’d been telling yourself - but not here, not in front of Peter, and not like this. 

And you’re not sure you’ve ever said any of this out loud - but the same tug in the back of your head that wanted to protect him last night is now thrumming away like a rubber band pulled taut. That pull, that itch, that simmers in your lungs and makes you feel like you’re responsible for him, or that he’s responsible for you. 

When you think about it, it’s guilt. Guilt that burns hot and acrid at the back of your tongue - guilt that puts you in debt to him, to everyone at Joe’s. You don’t just owe him an apology for lashing out, and running around the diner like a shithead; you owe him the truth. 

Deep breath. 

“Peter, I have to tell you something.”

Your voice sounds miles away - echoing in his box apartment, or maybe just in your head. You try not to notice the way his face twitches, or the way he stiffens slightly, or his eyes darting over you. His voice is tense, but not quite strained when he speaks. 

“What is it?”

Something scratches at the back of your throat, squeezing, constricting, scratching. This is it, this has to be it. 

Say it. 

Say it.  

“The fire was my fault.”

You weren’t sure what was going to happen. Sure, you’d imagined this scenario multiple times, all of them ending in various, and increasingly wild forms of punishment - losing your job, being arrested, getting cut off from the people who had been your whole life for years - but you’d at least imagined some form of relief. Perhaps the relief was the driving force of this whole confession, laying yourself bare and raw and bleeding in front of Peter in the hopes that he’d do something about it, take it all away, and still like you enough to speak to you afterwards. 

Only now, in practice, the relief never comes, and Peter just keeps staring at you. Instantly, you want to vomit. 

"What?”

You can’t read his voice. You can’t read his face. To compensate for this, your brain cedes all control, and your mouth keeps moving. 

“I was smoking out the back door and Sal called me in for some stupid reason - something about the pans or the sauce, or whatever - and I forgot to stub it out, and-“

That’s done something. Peter holds his hands up, eyes drawn wide, as if you were some sort of wild animal. Maybe you are. Maybe this is all some sort of twisted defence mechanism - spilling out the one thing you swore you would never tell anybody, in one last-ditch attempt at pushing him away. 

“Hey, hey-“

“I didn’t get to see the full report, but I’m not stupid. I know it started near the back door, and that some- some spark, or something, caused it. If I'd just-“ Your voice sticks like glue in your dry throat, like you’re trying to swallow cotton. “I nearly killed people. So much of it was destroyed - stuff that had been there for decades, family pictures, wedding presents.”

You think he says your name. You don’t hear it. 

“That burn on Sal’s arm is only there because of me. Because- Because he tried to get me out of there.”

It’s all too much now - even here, even in Peter’s apartment, you can smell the smoke, feel the heat. Through the hatch into the kitchen, you swear you can see a flame, licking up the walls, swimming in your vision like molten glass. It’s burning in your eyes, curling in your throat and nostrils, burning and burning and 

“Please, look at me.” 

When you finally make eye contact, a breath forces its way past your lips. His hands are steady and warm on your forearms, slipping down to clutch at your palms, as if weighing you down to reality. It’s as if everything else had slipped away, and he’s in the middle of it all, grounding you like a tether. You cling to him. 

“I’m sorry.” It tumbles out like an impulse. Peter shakes his head, soft and smudged in the lamplight. 

“Don’t be.” He says, firmly. Every wet curl shines and shimmers as he shakes his head, and the smell of soap pushes the soot that little bit further away. Maybe if you were to look out of the window, you’d see plumes of dark smoke rising from a building a few blocks away, but your gaze is stuck to Peter’s like a magnet. “You didn’t do anything wrong."

“I did,” The awful creature that’s been churning in your chest rears its ugly head again, “I caused so much hurt. And I’ve been hurting you, too - holding a grudge for something that was my own fault. You- You don’t deserve-”

“No.” Peter hasn’t let up, watching every twitch and flicker on your face. Is this how he speaks to the maniacs he fights in the street? Is this how he handles every catastrophic responsibility that falls into his lap? “You didn’t.”

“Peter, I did-“

“You didn't.” He says again, only this time, something sticks. The look on his face, the sadness in his eyes - it snaps your mouth shut. It’s the way he hovers around it, the unsureness in his face, that almost confuses you. “I… After the fire, I did some investigating.”

Your feet have gone numb. So have your hands, and arms, and legs, and just about everywhere else. When you don’t protest or interrupt, Peter continues tentatively. 

“I got access to the NYPD files, I watched the clean-up like a hawk, I-“ He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. His fingertips worry over your knuckles, back and forth, like a pendulum. “I did some stuff I wasn’t necessarily allowed to, but I needed closure. Joe’s was- It was one of the last things I had left of Ben’s, and…”

“What do you mean?” Your voice comes from another room, another planet. How could he know something you don’t? How could he have answers that you don’t have? Sal never told you anything about the report, about the cause, about any kind of investigation. Something is clawing inside your stomach. How? How? “Peter, what are you saying?”

His voice is softer than anything you’ve ever heard when he finally answers. 

“It was a fault with a fryer. Some electrical issue.” You can barely hear him, but he keeps talking anyway, even though it sounds like he’s on the other side of Manhattan. “Suppose it’s why Sal is so insistent on fryer training now, and- hey-?”

It takes a moment to register what you're doing, but you realise that you’re laughing. You can’t help it, but you’re laughing. Peter's utterly lost, his eyebrows tangled into that familiar furrow, the one you only see when you've completely perplexed him.

All this time, all this energy, spent tying yourself in knots and swallowing bile - and it was all the fault of a fucking fryer. Even now, the relief doesn't come, doesn't take all of the pains and aches of it away. Instead, it melts and morphs into something new - awful, burning, searing shame. And there's Peter in the middle of it all, just waiting for you, wanting the best for you. There's something hot on your cheeks, and it turns out that your laughter has quickly merged into crying.

You're actually crying. In front of him. You'd probably prefer being vaporised into a million pieces by whatever supervillain is calling themselves Spider-Man's arch nemesis these days.

"Oh my God," You blurt out, every cell trembling. It sounded like the beginning of a sentence, but any other words dissolve on your tongue.

Something warm wraps around you, and of course, it's him. He's holding you, and while you've had the odd bit of skin contact with him here and there - hands clapping on your shoulders, fingertips as he passes you ketchup bottles, lips pressed to yours in the snow - you'd never expected it to be like this. This close, you can hear his heart pounding away, the scent of his deodorant drowning out any scrap of smoke or burning oil, and your hands - against your will - fist into the back of his t-shirt.

You stay like that until it subsides, whatever it is, Peter murmuring things you can't quite hear with your ears muffled by his arms. Eventually, though, he pulls back, and fixes you with a look you can't really identify. It's the same one from last night, where he'd stood in the middle of your apartment in his spandex and his mask, wanting something from you that you aren't sure you can give him.

"I know that doesn't... fix it," He says, his voice rumbling through you like a wave - like you were one of his webs, and you can feel his feet tugging at the threads, knowing exactly where he was, and how far away, with one tiny movement. Even if you weren't a web, if you weren't coworkers, if you weren't people (though you suppose, he technically isn't, at least not all the way) you'd probably still be able to find him. "But it's the truth."

Even if you could dredge up something meaningful and coherent to say, you don't think you'd be able to actually say it - not with your tongue feeling so heavy and sluggish in your mouth. You settle on the first thing that comes to mind - the onlything your mouth can remember the shape of.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

Your diaphragm is still convulsing with the aftershocks of tears, and your breath trembles in your lungs. It's all coming out now, and you don't think you'd be able to stop it if you wanted to - not now that dam is broken, and Peter hasn't gone running for the hills. Apparently, that's given your brain the go-ahead to spew out pure, babbling nonsense.

“I was awful to you.”

"You really weren't."

"I, I just-" Your breathing hitches again, your face burning hot and bleary, “God, this is pathetic. I’m supposed to be apologising to you.”

You're bowing your head, avoiding eye contact, but you can hear the way his face looks, just from the gentleness in his voice, the concern that soaks the room like gasoline, threatening to be set alight.

“You really think about yourself like this?” 

“I’m- I really am sorry Peter. I was so mean. You don’t deserve that.” 

It’s instant. It's genuine, and it's absolute. “I forgive you.”

There goes that familiar feeling again, the one that claws at you from the inside, and hates how nice he is, how soft he is when the world is so hard to him. You swallow thickly, forcing it down, and choke out a dry laugh, your face scrubbed raw from the heels of your hands. You probably look awful, but he's still looking at you like he always does - whatever that is.

“You know you’re allowed to hate me. You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m snotting all over your couch.” 

“I could never hate you.”

There's a pang in your chest, and you're bent double, winded, by the gentleness of his tone. It hurts like a knife. 

“Don’t-“ Another shaking breath as you shake your head, “You can’t say things like that.”

“Look, I don't-" He begins, before he reshapes the words in his mouth, shuffling them like a pack of cards. That's how he's better than you, you think, he thinks before he speaks - he approaches things with kindness and care, instead of months of anger and resentment towards nothing in particular. "With the fire, even if we didn’t know each other then, when I think about what could have happened, if, if you-“

There it is, the unspoken part. The part that keeps you up at night with nightmares and the smell of ash in your hair that you can’t scrub out. Peter looks almost pained, his face screwed up as he debates between speaking his mind and holding his tongue - he seems to go on a whole journey in his head that’s plain as day across his face. He’s tense and strung tight, hands wringing themselves over and over and over, like he’s cleaning the countertops at the diner, and all of a sudden he’s your coworker again, and you think you taste bile. Eventually, he makes a decision, and speaks. 

“I guess I'm trying to say that I would miss you."

You’re almost winded by it. He says it so plainly, but it stabs you through the chest like a knife. Whatever emotion you’re experiencing right now is entirely new to you, and hurts like a bitch. 

Peter would miss you. He saves your life, he kisses you at work - and he would miss you. He just says it like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t knock the air out of you. 

It’s stupid - whether it was because he frustrated you, or confused you, or made you get that funny, swooping feeling in your stomach, you haven’t stopped thinking about him since you met him, and you’ve never even stepped foot in his house. And he looks like an angel by lamplight. And he would miss you. 

You don't remember much of the rest of the evening, between mumbles and awkward sips of shitty coffee, and the city growing louder outside as the sun sinks below the horizon.

Perhaps this is why people go to church, or believe in something bigger than themselves - in pure, desperate hopes that despite whatever they've done, there will be someone at the end who will forgive you, and treat you kindly. But Peter isn't one for spite, and his kindness is all the more special to you because of that. His forgiveness, however, is something closer to sacred - washing you over in its totality, its absolution. For the first time in a while, Manhattan's clatter and din isn't overwhelming, or undercutting all the shit going on inside your head, it simply exists; cutting through the wind and rustling the trees, like the pigeons that scavenge the back end of Joe's for pizza crusts and stray fries.

It's been a while, but when you leave Peter's, and take in another deep breath on the steps of his building - it feels clean and new. It's only on the walk home, when his voice is pinging around inside your head, that you realise - and it hits you like a train. 

He’s been more than a co-worker this whole time. 

How could you not have realised that? You used to have your head screwed on, the sensible one, and here you were; only just realising how absolutely, positively stupid you’ve been. Of course everything has felt so frustrating and complicated - you’ve been so blind to your own feelings that the realisation of it practically knocks the air out of you.

You’re not even sure when the world started looking brighter and the city started smelling sweeter, and you’re not even sure when that feeling became so all-encompassing and vast and deep and hot and cold all at the same time - but you know it’s all Peter’s fault. You want to hate him for it, at first, but you’re not sure that hating Peter would even be possible. Not when there’s no one in the world that looks at you like he does, no one who goes out of their way to make you smile. He makes you feel special, special enough for you to wonder why no one else has been looking at you like this all along. It’s not that the job has gotten easier, or the fancy coffee you can afford with your pay rise; it’s just that you’ve been stupid enough to develop stupid fucking feelings for the stupid guy you work with. 

Realising this feels like falling off of the Empire State Building. A familiar feeling, yes, when you tally up all of the emotional turmoil you’ve experienced - except now, there’s a small part of your brain that really, truly believes that Spider-Man would catch you.

Somehow, that was scarier.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Still With You | A Jeon Jungkook Series Chapter 1

Summary: A stranger turns up at the store that catches your eye Pairing: Luna (reader) x Jungkook and Jimin, f2l love triangle Word Count: 4.7k~ Warnings: Explicit language but that's about it lol Start from the beginning

Two years prior

I stir awake to the sound of the birds chirping outside my window as they always do. "Fuck" I say under my breath, stretching and wiping the sleep out of my eyes. I roll over and check the notifications on my phone and widen my eyes in panic realizing I didn't set an alarm and was bombarded by texts from my boss and coworker two hours ago. 

"Shit!" I say jumping out of bed and rushing around my apartment trying to get ready. I throw on my shoes and jacket and run out the door making my way to the subway station as quickly as I possibly can. My job is only three stops away from my place but those stops seem to take twice if not three times as long as they usually do in my mind.

Bolting out of the station I make my way over to the convenience store I work at. "Fuck me, what took you so long? Your shift started 3 hours ago" my coworker says stating the obvious. "I know shut up I forgot to set an alarm last night" I say rushing past them and into the break room to throw my stuff into a locker. 

I tiptoe past my bosses office but he can't help but hear my lame attempt at being undetected. "y/n" I hear being said from inside, (he only ever calls me that when he's mad at me). I'm in trouble. 

"Yes?" I say rolling my eyes before taking another step. "Get in here. Now!" he says in a tone I can no longer ignore. 

"Hi" I say dragging out the last letter as I make my way in until I see his face become even more furious. "Sit" he barks. "Yes sir" I say under my breath just loud enough to be heard but not enough to merit a second glance.

"Three times, three times this month have you been late and we're barely past the second week" he spits at me "And let's not forget the amount of times you've been late since you started working here" he says taking a deep breath at the end and leaning back in his chair pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. 

"What am I gonna do with you?" he says rhetorically. "I-" I start. "I've had enough of your excuses y/n, I can't keep letting you break the rules like this. I've got a business to run and you working here hasn't made my job any easier" he breathes out. 

"I know I really do but I-" "Can you please just listen and stop trying to wiggle your way out of being held accountable. I would've fired your ass a long time ago if your father and I weren't brothers. I'm doing this not only for you but for the sake of your parents. Try to understand how your irresponsibility affects not only me but everyone around you. I'm not sure how much longer I can put up with your antics". "Please no! Uncle you know how much I need this job! If you were to cut me off then I know for a fact that I'm not gonna be able to make it in this city" I implore. 

"Maybe you weren't cut out to live in this city. There are a lot of hard workers out there, people who would kill to live here and you're just spitting in their face by wasting the days away sleeping in and daydreaming. You're not taking advantage of the opportunities that you could have if you worked a bit harder and just grew up" he says raising his voice and getting out of his chair to tower over me. 

I cower back inside myself taking my much deserved verbal beating and just be thankful that he isn't a violent person. 

He takes a deep breath and goes back to his seat and calms himself down. "Just please" he says in a softer tone "Start to get your shit together kid. You've got your whole life ahead of you and I would hate to see you end up like me, running a convenience store in the wrong part of town.

"But I thought you loved your job?" I question. "Ha! Yeah right, that's just what I tell people so I don't have to deal with their pity. Are there good days? Sure, but there sure as hell are more days that go to absolute shit that outweighs those good days". I nod my head in silent agreement, having a few stories of my own in my back pocket. 

"Listen up! You've got one more chance girl you hear me? One. More. I really shouldn't be doing this but I want to see if you can turn things around with this last push" he finishes. "Really? Thank you so much uncle I won't let you down!" I say going up to shake his hand furiously. 

"I'm pretty sure you will but hey, I've always been a gambling man" he says with a smile on his face. I go to tell him how bad that habit has become, but under the circumstances, I decide to let it go this time. After bowing to him a few times I quickly rush out of his office before he can change his mind and get to work.

I pass by my friend and coworker Grey at the counter on my way out and prepare myself for yet another lecture. "Old man gave you another chance huh?" she says blowing a bubble in her Polar Ice gum. It's one of her habits that annoys me the most but hey, she's a pretty good friend besides that so I can't really complain. 

Good friends are hard to come by these days so when I find one I tend to let them stick around. "Yeah thankfully, it pays to have connections sometimes" I say shrugging my shoulders as I put on the hideous green vest with the store's logo adorned on the top left side along with my name tag placed right below. 

I grab a box full of candy and head over to their designated spot in the store to get started. Straightening up the area before restocking the shelves I start from the bottom and make my way towards the top. I shake my head at the amount of open wrappers and half eaten candy bars I come across left by the many delinquents who occupy the store on a daily basis. 

"I'm surprised there are any left at this rate" I say under my breath. "I know right? Kids these days just aren't taught right from wrong anymore" I hear someone say in agreement. "The adults aren't any better" I retort hearing the voice laugh at my off the cuff comment.

I widen my eyes realizing I have no idea who I've spoken to and quickly stand up while keeping my face to the ground as I apologize to the unknown voice. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to- What I meant to say was- I'm sorry" I say tripping over my words in apology. I hear him let out a short scoff laughing at my attempt to repent for my honest criticism. 

"Hey it's okay. I appreciate your honesty. It's refreshing to say the least" he says, easing my nerves a bit. Feeling a little bit more comfortable I slowly stand up straight but as I do I realize I've been speaking to the most attractive man I have ever laid my eyes on. Pouty lips curved into a crooked smile, skin the color of sunlight, sharp catlike eyes that seem to see through my entire existence, and hair the darkest shade of midnight black I've ever seen. 

I freeze, mesmerized by his beauty balancing an air of androgyny with an adorable boyish charm. "Hey" he says while extending his hand towards me in greeting. "I'm Jimin" he finishes with a slight smile, giving me butterflies. 

"H-hey" I say taking his hand "I'm Luna" I say nervously in response."Luna? Huh, but your name tag says y/n though" he replies. "Oh well my real name is y/n but I go by Luna most of the time" I admit."Luna is a really pretty name. Did you grow up in Seoul?" he asks tilting his head a bit."Well I was born here but I grew up in America and came back when I was about 8 so yeah pretty much" I say, answering his question as calmly as I can.

"Oh wow that really cool! Was it hard for you to learn Korean at that age?"he inquires in pure curiosity."Well we always spoke Korean in the house so it was pretty easy for me to transition here. Although it did take a while to get rid of my American accent" I laugh. He smiles a bit at my openness which makes my heart flutter "I'm sure it was adorable". "I-" I start but am soon cut off by Grey. 

"Hey Luna can I get your help with something?" she questions. "Um yeah just a second. Sorry but I've really got to get back to work" I say picking up the box full of candy I have yet to put away and turn towards the front of the store. "Yeah sure no worries. Hey Luna" he says making me look back at him after turning to walk away. 

He comes towards me and reaches into the box to grab a chocolate bar. "Sorry I just wanted to grab one of these before you go" he says teasingly when there's clearly a whole shelf of that exact one right next to him. "Oh okay, um bye" I say and quickly scurry down the aisle towards Grey.

"You okay?" she says raising a brow at me. "I thought he might be bothering you since you guys had been talking for a while so I wanted to give you an escape just in case" she says, concern clearly her motive, none of which is written on her face or in her voice. She almost sounds uninterested if you didn't know better. "

Yeah no I'm fine don't worry. He was nice" I say clearly blushing. "He's cute huh?" she says looking me up and down, reading my body language. "What do you mean?" I ask, trying to play coy but I can't help but smile at the thought of our interaction. "Obviously he is if you're acting like that. What's his name?" she asks, intentionally getting louder and louder. Meanwhile looking around the store to gauge his distance, doing it loud enough to embarrass me but soft enough not to gain his attention.

"Is he single?" she asks, finally bringing her wandering gaze back to me but can't help but give me a slight smirk. "Shhhh" I say covering her mouth in an effort to keep our conversation away from him. 

"Okay yes, he's cute but can you save the teasing for later, or never? He's still in the store and I'm pretty sure I've already made a big enough fool of myself for the day as is" I say in a hushed tone keeping the conversation hopefully between the two of us this time.

"Alright I'll be quiet. Did you finish up over there?" she questions trying to mark off the various tasks on the nightly checklist. "No, not yet. I started to clean it up but then he started talking to me until you called me over" I admit. "Okay well once he leaves get back on it okay? Why don't you take a turn minding the counter while I start sweeping?" she suggests. 

"Yeah I can do that" I say getting nervous for the next interaction I have with him. "You'll be fine" she says dryly observing the way I start to fidget with hands. "You set me up didn't you?" I say coming to the realization of the predicament she's put me in. "Yup" she's says with a devious smile as she scurries off to the cleaning closet taking away my last hope of escaping. Well I guess in the meantime I'll take a second to calm down before he-

"Luna?" I hear Jimin say. "Yes" I reply whipping my head around towards the direction I heard him speaking from realizing he's just a few feet behind me. "Oh I just wanted to let you know that I'm ready to check out" he says smiling down at me. "Oh right yeah let me ring you up" I say while rushing over to the counter. He follows close behind me and meets me on the other side. 

"Okay that'll be $4.03" he nods and hands me a 10 dollar bill. I take it and can't help but feel a spark between us when his hand bushes against mine. I jerk back slightly and busy myself with finishing the transaction. "$5.97 is your change" I say going to give it back to him again making our hands touch yet again. 

"Thanks Luna" he says sliding his hand away from mine slower than necessary prolonging our touch. "See you later?" he says with a slight questioning tone behind it while turning to leave. "Yeah sure, see you later" I say while nervously reciprocating his goodbye. I hear the bells on the door jingling solidifying his departure and I can't help but let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay that was adorable" Grey says sneaking up on me, another smirk accompanying her teasing tone. There are very few things that Grey takes pleasure in and one of those, unfortunately is teasing me mercilessly when it comes to guys. 

"Don't do that!" I say, clutching my chest in surprise, slapping her shoulder right after. "What? Come on dude don't act like you wouldn't do the same if the roles were reversed" she says laughing at my surprise. 

"Whatever" I pout. "That guy is pretty hot though not gonna lie, no wonder you're blushing" she says continuing to tease me. "Yeah he was" I say starting to daydream. "Oh girl you got it bad!" she says scoffing and shaking her head. "I do not! He was just really cute okay. Leave me alone" I whine starting to get fed up with her teasing. 

"Whatever you say dude. So what was his name again? Jaemin? Minji?" she questions, listing off names that she obviously knows are incorrect. "Jimin" I say glancing out the window. 

"Wait why?" I ask, whipping my face back to her in a panic. "I'm just gonna try to see if I can find him on sns or something. I wanna see if he's single before you start falling for him" she says switching between apps doing her best to find him. "I'm trying to protect you okay?" she explains while patting my head. "Are you sure you aren't just doing it because you're nosy?" I question, crossing my arms. "Same thing" she says waving me off as she continues to scourer the internet for our resident hottie of the week.

"Okay found him! Park Jimin, 21. Oooo he's younger than you" she teases. "Yeah yeah what else does it say?" I question leaning in closer to see what she's found. It's really true what they say about girls being FBI agents when it comes to social media. "Mmmm not much, he's into dancing and fashion, huh, that's interesting" she says looking puzzled. "What? What is it?" I ask, getting even closer feeling a bit anxious. 

"Oh nothing, there's a picture of a girl on here though but you can't see her face. He didn't tag her either" she says still preoccupied with finding more information. "So he has a girlfriend?" I conclude, feeling a bit dejected. "Well that's the interesting part. That picture was from a year ago but that's the only picture of her. In fact that's the only picture he has of any girl on his entire profile." she says. 

"So ex girlfriend? But why keep the picture up if she's his ex?" I question. "I don't know dude I think unfortunately the results come up as inconclusive" she lets out feeling deflated. "Oh well, I guess if he comes back we'll find out eventually" I say.

"If who comes back?" a voice says behind us. I turn around and immediately smile at the owner of the voice "Kook!" I say getting up and rushing over to give him a hug. "Oh just this hottie that was here earlier" Grey says. "Ooo scandalous! But aren't you guys supposed to be working and not stalking cute boys on the internet?" he says with a knowing smirk. 

"It's called multitasking" I say while he gives me a kiss on the crown of my head. "Ew gross please stop I don't want to have to bleach my eyes again" Grey whines, shielding her eyes with her hands, hiding us from her vision. "Don't hate just because you're not a fan of friendly affection" Jungkook says teasing. 

"More like any affection at all. Especially PDA. Come on guys get a room" she says in disgust. "How many times do I have to tell you Grey, we're just friends" I say, shaking my head at her and pulling away from Jungkook's embrace. Grey glances up at him with a knowing look and sees him shaking his head prompting her to change the subject.

"Anyways, Jungkook what are you doing here this time?" she asks sounding uninterested as always. "Damn Grey can't I stop in to see my favorite girls every once in a while?" he says, draping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't call me that" she says with a deadpan expression. 

"Okay fine. My favorite girl and her tagalong?" he corrects with a cheeky smile. "You know what? Why don't you just call me by my name okay?" she argues. "Not a fan of the pet names? Okay okay I get it" he chuckles. 

"Luna" he says in an effort to gain my attention. "Yeah?" I acknowledge, turning to face him. "What are you doing this weekend?" he asks with anticipation written all over his face. 

"Um nothing to my knowledge" I reply and quickly hear someone start to talk over us before anyone can speak again. "Good, because you're working two ten hour shifts this weekend" my uncle says while bringing out another box of assorted products to stock. 

"Uncle please" I say with painful annoyance. "No I don't wanna hear anything. You need to make up for the hours that you missed and Sunghoon has the weekend off so I need you to pick up the slack" "But sir I was just-" Jungkook starts trying to come to my aid but is cut off yet again. 

"Jungkook I don't need any lip from you either" he says authoritatively while walking away to busy himself with a task in another part of the store. "Yes sir" he mumbles, bringing his head down and slightly pouting. I swear if he was a bunny I would see his floppy little ears start to droop.

"Sorry Kook, but what was it you wanted to ask me? Maybe we can still do it after I get off?" I offer, giving him a soft smile. He looks at me, still a little sad but I can see a little glimmer of hope coming back. "Well I wanted to see if you wanted to have a picnic or something since our friendship anniversary is coming up" he says returning the soft smile I'm giving him. 

"Has it really been another year? How many does that make now?" I say in surprise. "Fifteen!" he answers, satisfied with the answer and feeling proud of how long we've known each other. "I can't believe it's been that long!" I say starting to reminisce about all the memories of our many adventures together. 

"Yeah but I guess having a picnic late at night isn't as fun as it would be during the day" he mumbles, drooping again. "I've got an idea!" I say with a mischievous smile. "Really? What is it?" he questions, interest peaked. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about any of it. I'll take care of everything! The only thing you need to make sure of is to bring a car. You think your brother would let you borrow his?" I question. "I think I could make that happen" he says with an inquisitive smile clearly suspicious of what I'm planning. 

"Don't give me that look!" I say, hitting him on the shoulder. "It'll be fun!" I say excitedly. "I'm sure it will be but usually when you get this excited about things they tend to be illegal" I widen my eyes at his sudden call out. "Shhhh pipe down. I don't need my uncle to catch onto the things I do in my free time" I say slightly panicked.

"I heard that!" my uncle says from the other side of the store. "Plus you're not slick Luna. I've known about your delinquent activities for a while now but it's never gotten serious enough to bring up. Just don't get caught, I'm not about to bail your ass out of jail. Got it?" he warns while coming over to talk to us again. 

"Yep got it" I say nodding my head in agreement. "And that goes for you as well" He says pointing at Grey. "Hey what did I do" she asks, slightly offended. "Don't play innocent with me. I know you're the mastermind behind these schemes half the time" he says nodding towards her. "How do you know that?" she says, crossing her arms over her chest trying to act cool but still visibly surprised at his knowledge of our delinquency. 

"You do realize that most of the time you're hatching your plans in my store? I know everything that goes on in here" he says mirroring her posture, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fair enough" she mumbles, admitting to her part in it.

"Why aren't you giving Jungkook a lecture about all of this too?" she pouts motioning towards him. "Because I know he's smart enough not to get caught and he's also the reason you guys don't get caught 95% of the time" he says clapping him on the shoulder. 

"He's got a point there" Jungkook admits. "Okay okay whatever. The point of this lecture is don't get caught and don't do anything too crazy. We got it. Anything else?" I say clearly ready for this conversation to be over. 

"Yeah, you get back to work! He says pointing a finger at me. "And Grey start paying for the gum you chew or I'm gonna start taking it out of your paycheck." he threatens pointing towards her as well. 

"Don't you already take it out of my paycheck?" she questions clearly done as well, grabbing another box of products to start restocking. "Ya! Don't get smart with me young lady!" he says following after her. "Yeah yeah" is the last thing we hear as they head further into the store.

"Sorry Kook I guess it's time for you to head out" I say giving him a shrug. "That's alright I should probably get going anyways. I've gotta get to class" he says while giving me another kiss on my head. "That's right, Mr. College Man can't be late to art class" I say smirking at him. He rolls his eyes "Love you loser" he yells as he towards the exit. "Love you too weirdo" I respond waving him off. I watch him leave but I can't help but feel disappointed by his departure.

Jungkook is going to the best Visual Arts school in Seoul and I'm so proud of him! He could've left us behind after high school and made friends with the rich kids in his classes but instead he still comes in and hangs out with us as often as he can. We all grew up together and I honestly don't know what I would do without these two. 

Grey on the other hand is trying her hand at producing music. It hasn't been taking off but she's gotten a few jobs here and there working for smaller artists that are just getting started as well. She's been building a portfolio and honestly she's really good! She just lacks the confidence to take the next step. I've been pushing her to try to apply at different schools to get proper training but she doesn't think she's good enough yet and needs to make sure she stands out so she can land a scholarship. Otherwise even if she did get accepted she wouldn't be able to afford it.

Me on the other hand? Well honestly I have no clue what I want to do. I've worked just about every part time job you could imagine just trying to stay afloat. I don't have time for dreams. At this point I feel like I'm just existing, which is a sucky way to live out your 20s but unfortunately that's the life I'm living. 

Growing up I had many different dream jobs that I had thought about. Fashion designer, Makeup artist, Dancer, but at the end of the day like Grey, I've gotta build up my portfolio to really stand out and I just haven't had the time to do any of that. 

Just like I've been encouraging her to take that next step, Jungkook has been the one in my corner. The one who's always had so much hope and confidence in me and my dreams. Whenever I needed someone he was always there for me. He even spent the night in the hallway outside of my apartment just because he still wanted to be there for me even though I didn't want him to. 

Jungkook is one of the only people in this world I know I can trust. Without him I don't think I'd be here today. 

I've gone through so much and when it got to the point where I felt like I didn't want to exist anymore he was the one that brought me back, nursed me back to health and made sure that I was never left alone. He is my safe place and he always will be. 

I don't know what I ever did to deserve someone as pure and loving as him. He's my best friend and my rock. Life wouldn't be as bright and colorful without him.

"Hey lady are you gonna ring me up or what?" I hear an old man say breaking me out of my daydream. "Sorry sir I didn't mean to make you wait, my apologies" I say while giving him a shallow bow. "Yeah whatever just get on with it" he grumbles, clearly not phased by my apology. I ring up his various items which include a couple bottles of soju, a few bags of snacks, a cup of ramen- "Oh and a pack of cigarets" he slurs. 

"Of course sir" I respond while turning my back to grab the ones he selected. "That'll be $20.35" he tosses the money onto the counter while I place all of his items into a bag. "Thank you sir have a good day" I say while he stumbles his way out of the store. 

"Are people always that rude?" the next woman in line says while placing her items on the counter, glaring daggers into the man's back. "Yeah but I'm used to it at this point. As long as they don't get nasty or angry it doesn't really bother me. It's to be expected working in this part of town" I finish off while scanning all of her items. 

"That doesn't make it right" she say counters, clearly upset for me. "It's alright, for the most part I kind of ignore it" I say before telling her her the total. She swipe her card and I hand her the bag with her items once the transaction goes through. "Well for your sake I hope they cut you some slack" she say before walking away from the counter and saying goodbye. "Thank you, have a nice day" I say to her, genuinely meaning it this time around.

"You too kiddo" she says before walking into the outside world. 'Why can't all customers be like that?' I think, having a warm feeling after the interaction. "Yah! Quit Ignoring me. I'm ready to leave" the next customer says sneaking up on me. This is gonna be a long day.

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[cinnamonfm]

ic task 006 – interrogation, part iii.

parti i & part ii

📧 from: henrietta.astor@ogden.edu to: astor@da.nyc.gov, marcusastor@acwllp.com subject: Interrogations

Just thought I'd let you both know I'm being called in for another interview on super short notice. I'll let you know once I have any updates.

Henrietta.

📲 Dad - missed call (4) 📲 Mom - missed call (2)

Heni wonders, for a fleeting moment, if this was something that could get easier with time. The whole interrogation thing - the pointed questions, the deliberately uneven chairs, the repeating of questions ad nauseam. It had been unsettling the first time, unsettling the second, and as she takes a seat in the interrogation room for the third time in three years, a stirring in the pit of her stomach makes her think the third time might just be unsettling as well.

"Miss Astor," Agent Choi begins, shuffling the loose sheets of papers in his hands before placing them back on the formica table. A non-verbal full stop. An indicator that something had ended, and that something else was about to begin. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with us." Heni doesn't say anything. There might not be any lawyers present for this interrogation, but if there's one thing she knows, it's not to talk unless absolutely necessary.

"I'm sure you've heard the news," he says then, in what she imagines is largely an effort to fill the silence. She says nothing. Just looks from him, to Murray, to Brown. What higher-ups had they fallen out of step with to be assigned the thankless task of trying to get coherent information out of college students? When no affirmation is immediately forthcoming, he continues: "Did you have any reason to believe that Greer Morrison was dead before any of this came to light?"

The obvious answer, the one that sits at the tip of her tongue, threatening to make an unwelcome appearance, is this: she's been missing for over a year. Is that not reason enough? It's the rational explanation, the simplest explanation. Occam's razor. It's the only thing it could be, right? Everything else is too absurd. There's another moment of prolonged silence as Heni weighs her words carefully. "If I'm being honest," she begins, opting for the liars gambit. "I've tried not to think about that possibility."

She's well aware she's not answering. She's not delusional enough to think they haven't cottoned on, either. But the point isn't to outsmart them. It's to say nothing. To paint yourself as collaborative and cooperative, and most importantly keeping as quiet as you could while your mouth was moving. "So, you and Greer," Choi presses on, pausing to take a sip of his drink. For theatric effect, almost. The cup is placed back on the table, and with it she is offered the rest of his question. "We know you were close. Could you please elaborate on your relationship?"

"No, I don't believe that's necessary. You've put it perfectly. We were close."

There's a faint hint of something in Choi's eyes, then, the sort of disguised frustration you would have to look for to notice. It's there, and then it's not. It couldn't have been visible for more than a second. A fraction of a second, maybe.

So caught up in this is she, that she misses his next question. She hears it, vaguely, enough to make out the words "Penelope" and "Ida", but not enough to piece it together. Not that it matters - they've clearly chalked her momentary lapse of attention up to defiance, and so they've already moved on.

"We understand you were injured of the night on the fire," Choi says, with continued emphasis on the word we, as if to remind Heni that there are two other agents in the room. Or to create this image of the three of them as a cohesive little unit. Three bodies, one mind. There's something about the overstated sense of sympathy in his tone that makes her insides curdle. That makes her want to reach for the fading mark on her leg. He must have felt it, the most minuscule of shifts in the air, because his eyes are directly trained on hers as he speaks: "Do you know why students even were there when they should’ve been at the Commencement Gala?"

The less you say, the less can be used against you later. The less you say, the less can be used against you later. Over and over again the phrase churns in her mind, a reminder to keep her guard up. The informal air of it all is a ruse. No one is taking any notes, sure, but there is a recording device placed between them. There's no such thing as a throwaway comment. "No comment."

It's counter-intuitive, in a way, that to say nothing is the safest bet. Some primal instinct in her wants to speak, to tell them all she knows, but she cannot be certain her name can be kept in the clear if she does. As long as she doesn't speak, she's fine. They've got nothing. It didn't really matter if she had nothing to do with any of it. There was too much to risk.

" Over the past year, have you gotten any anonymous messages? Any threatening ones?" There's another theatrical pause here, one that makes Heni itch to reach across the table and give the coffee cup a push in their general direction. "... Any with misleading information?"

Of course they knew. Of course they fucking knew. She'd been a moron to think going in here solo would be a good idea. "No comment."

"Is there anything you're not sharing with us today?" He asks then, in a tone of voice that indicates that he knows she's hiding something.

When she keeps silent, he slides a business card across the table. "Well, when you change your mind.. get in touch, will you?"

[up-to-some-good]

Traditions (2/9)

A little later than intended, but here it is: second year, second tradition

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December 1972

Second year was tough for Sirius. Regulus was finally with him at Hogwarts, but across the castle in a different house and refusing to be seen talking to his brother. They still spoke, but Regulus insisted on hiding in broom closets and leaving separately, lest someone report back to their parents that he had been seen with the traitor.

His parents were getting progressively more insufferable. At first, they had sent him a weekly Howler, bemoaning that he couldn't be more like Regulus and that he kept getting into trouble. Thankfully, that didn't last very long. By his thirteenth birthday, they were completely ignoring him, not even sending a note for the rest of term, even though he knew they'd been told about the Marauders' latest antics.

The next he heard from them was a short note, just one sentence sent by owl the day before winter break began.

"Your presence is neither required nor welcome home this holiday."

He showed the note to McGonagall immediately, added his name to the list of students staying over the break, and watched with resignation as his brother left with everyone else to go home for Christmas.

His only saving grace was that he wouldn't be alone in Gryffindor tower, as Remus was staying over the holiday too. The full moon fell too close to Christmas for his comfort, and his parents were visiting his great-grandparents who he had never met for the holiday, so he had opted to stay at school too.

There weren't any other Gryffindor students staying behind, although there were a few scattered between the other houses, but Remus and Sirius had the tower to themselves. They spent their days playing in the snow and warming up by the fire in the common room, playing endless games of chess. They once again made a gingerbread house and ate the whole thing just the two of them.

The problem came at night, when Remus was already asleep and Sirius found himself wide awake, staring out the window and wondering what was going on at home. Was Regulus having fun? Did he know that their parents had asked Sirius not to come? Or did he think it was his brother's idea? Had anyone asked about him at all?

On Christmas Eve, Sirius found himself in the same place as midnight drew closer. He knew he wouldn't be receiving any gifts from his family, not even Reg, and for the first time wondered if he should just suck it up and try to be a better son.

"Sirus?"

He jumped and turned to see Remus staring at him groggily from his bed.

"Why're you 'wake?"

"Couldn't sleep," Sirius whispered back. "Go back to sleep, Rem. I'll be okay."

Remus shook his head and sat up. He rubbed his eyes before reaching for a book at his bedside and gesturing for Sirius to come over.

He obeyed easily, going to sit next to Remus, leaning against the headboard. Remus pulled the covers over their legs and opened his book to a dog-eared page.

"My mom used to read this to me before bed every Christmas Eve," he explained. "It would help me sleep even though I was overexcited about the next day."

He shifted until he was lying down properly and pulled Sirius, indicating that he should do the same.

"Close your eyes, Sirius," he whispered.

Sirius stared at his friend across their shared pillow for a moment, grey eyes meeting brown in the dark dorm. Finally, he closed his eyes and Remus began to read.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

[wildstar25]

for the xiv questions, #2 and #3!

question list

2. How did they acquire their Echo? 

It was about five years prior to the seventh umbral calamity. Arsay was 17 and working on a ship in the south seas. She was keeping the night shift, a common occurrence since she had the best night vision on the crew. Arsay was happy to be of use but she never quite liked how lonely it was being the only person awake. It had been a particularly long day for her as well: lots of cargo to be moved at port that afternoon, she had to swim back to the ship because the merchant she worked for (once again) overloaded the dingy with new stock and they didnt have time for two trips, and then she of course had to also help move all the various sacks and crates into the store chambers around the hulls. Needless to say she was exhausted and with no one to talk to or anything to do (other than stare silently at the sea and sky) it was pretty easy for Arsay to nod off.

She had drifted to sleep for but a moment when her ears picked up a whisper on the wind. "Hear... Feel... Think..." Arsay's eyes snap open. The dark blue of the night sky was now a bright, burning crimson. Flame rained down from above as far as her eyes could see, like the stars themselves were shot right out of the sky, extinguishing on contact with the sea. Arsay wasn't sure if this was the work of some kind of monster, or if they were under siege by pirates, but the fear she felt was undeniable. She got to her feet as fast as she could and made her way to the crew cabin. Every step just as uneasy as the last. Had to be the waves from everything crashing into the water's surface causing the boat to sway. Nothing to do with how weak Arsay's legs felt, how heavy her feet were, or how much her head hurt. Finally, the cabin door was in reach. She pulled it open and yelled inside, "Oi, wake up! All of you! There's some kinda monster? Pirates? Somethin' strange! Just get up and get outside!"

She waited for the stirs of acknowledgement before rushing back out to the main deck on her own. The sky was had begun to change, red and oranges turned to back to blues and black. The stars as well returned. A few lingering trails of flame landed across the horizon just as the disgruntled merchant spoke up from behind Arsay. "Right then, catgirl, you figure yourself some kind of jester do you?" "No, I- You have to believe me! Just now, I opened my eyes and the whole sky, red! Huge chunks of fire falling into the-" "Opened your eyes? Ah, so you were asleep on the job." "I mean... I closed my eyes for a quick second but..." "Ever consider it was all a dream, kid?" "I was awake, I swear!" "No need to be embarrassed, everyone's dozed on watch at least once. Though most of us can tell the difference between our nightmares and reality." A few snickers come out from the crew. Arsay felt the fur on her tail bristle out and her face turned flush, "I'm tellin' you, what I saw was not a dream!"

"Yeah, and I'm next in line to the throne in Ul'dah." The merchant paid not Arsay's insistence any mind. He let out a loud yawn and turned back towards the cabin. "By my estimate you've another couple of hours before dawn. Stay awake t'ill then or I'll be dockin' your pay for this little jape of yours." The crew followed suit and headed into the cabin, mocking Arsay along the way. Their laughter remained audible until the door fully closed. Arsay is alone on the deck once more, left to question whether what she saw was reality or a dream.

-- Arsay would never have that vision again. Not until she embarks for Limsa Lominsa. However, that memory was locked away with the rest of the 1.0 adventure Arsay experienced. Upon hearing descriptions of the Seventh umbral Calamity which occurred five years prior to ARR, Arsay rationalized her vision as her witnessing the fall of Dalamud. It only feeling like five years ago to her as well, when in reality it was 10. Though, she could have sworn she continued to see that red moon in the sky afterwards... whenever she tries to recall it now it's kinda hazy. It's not something Arsay gets hung up on though.

3. Does their Echo function like it does in the MSQ? Or is there a twist to it?  Largely yes, with a few points I like to elaborate on and one addition:

Visions of the past that Arsay experiences while awake are fairly uncommon. Aside from one extra instance I have added to her story, she has only had the visions that are shown in the msq.

As well, She has to have some kind of per-existing connection with an individual in a vision in order to connect with their emotional state at the time. Otherwise she can only gleam information from what she sees.

When Arsay has echo dreams, it's always snippets of her Azem's, Lethe, life (sometimes Ardbert's after shb); but, she never remembers them upon waking up. The dreams might leave her in a particular mood but she will often shake it off.

The future vision aspect of the echo like seeing party wipes is canon and a skill she keeps to herself. Mostly because she'd rather not dwell on all the times she's felt herself or seen her friends die.

Arsay's echo can also predict the impact of non telegraphed attacks. She does not see them as aoe markers on the ground, or a vision of her getting hit there, or a build up of aether, it's more like a tingle in her tail telling her shes in the blast zone. (Like a spidey sense) Once Y'shtola gained her aethersight, she clued into the fact that Arsay could sense where danger spots were; however, it was evident that Y'shtola could recognize them before Arsay could.

I always like to say that Arsay's ability to transfigure elemental aether the way that she does while using her Ninja and Summoner skills are largely due to her echo. Basically Arsay is more strongly tuned to some elements than others and when she does pull in aether from her environment its more likely than not going to be those elements over the one she is aiming for. But, by combining the right ratios of elements, she can produce the one she needs!

When she's setting up mudras with ten,chi,jin or drawing shapes in the air, That's her channelling and balancing out the elements she needs.

Wind+Water = Ice, Wind+Lightning=Fire, Water+Fire+Fire=Earth

stuff like that! I know its not /exactly/ in line with how elemental magic works in universe but its one of those ideas i came up with while going through the game and can't let go of. I suppose just think of it similar to how a few butterflies in elpis can become robes to wear. Only it's a gust of wind and a spark of lightning turning into a huge fireball that is or isnt concentrated into the form of a carbuncle depending on the occasion.

[brooklynislandgirl]

what’s your OTP when it comes to your muse?

A Little Turtle Talk || Accepting

Bri. Briiiiiiiiiii. I know you did this on purpose. You saw a pot and you just haaaaaaaad to stir it, didn't you? Well, what if I counter with...define the verse/fandom for your request. Because I too am the devil. <grin> Okay, just kidding. But what isn't kidding is that I don't have the same view as some people when it comes to the whole OTP thing. I think they exist. I know muns have their favourites, in and out of verse/fandoms. I am equal opportunity here, whether the pairing is romantic or platonic. In that spirit... Onto the OTPs: @multi-mused with Zarek Morrians, the Greek Demigod husband and Father of Beth's child, Styxx. This is Beth's first love. The most tragic and triumphant of them, the most complicated one I've written for ~checks with Kitmun~ six years, and two generations of muses. Currently Kit's super busy with real life, but she knows I am always here. @ronmanmob with Ron Kray, the younger gangster twin. This was a surprise to me because I've never before played with a fictional character that was also a real person. And the core of this pairing is the comfort of knowing, when you are a person with disabilities, that you have someone who understands you so completely, so doesn't make you feel othered, and is accepting. It's beautiful. @mynameisanakin with Anakin Skywalker. I love they're take so much. I have never once disagreed with a story, interpretation, plot, HC, or verse. I never intended to do SW on here, and yet, I will move the stars for Shady, for Anakin, and I love every verse we write together in. Also Shady may actually be the only person I know that can out salt me on the regular without even trying. @lokitheliesmith with...you guessed it... Loki. Now I am fully aware of rules as written. I honour and respect them. Beth on the other hand did what she eventually wanted to. I love the writing, I love the story. I love Hela. I love Bucky. I really just love writing with Z and am glad to be a partner in whatever way the story goes. Regardless of what happens here, I am absolutely with them until the end of the line, and I mean that in the most visceral way possible. But I would say... Loki could do much worse than having a friend like Beth. @whosxafraid with Luka. And Lorcan. We have spent years building up an alternate celtic mythology with one another, adapting the story as it goes. They don't always end up happy together, and sometimes those relationships shift in the verse but that makes things interesting. And as for Lorcan? I do not even know what to say. Crow and I will swear they cannot be left unattended for a single second with each other before there's fire, blood, screaming...and biting. And neither of us can say those are bad things. @rugini with Baz. Crow stares at me. I stare at them. All of our various muses stare anywhere but at each other. Everyone is extremely uncomfortable about the heavy silence between us. This has been going on six years. In one verse, they may actually go out on their first date. In another, they might not kill each other. In a third...it will never be, no matter how hard everyone tried, but then again, isn't that the poignancy of a real life? @goodlawman With all of the Marshals. This might have to do with the fact that I absolutely adore Kmun with all my heart. They are also my Danny Williams. They are also my Martin Riggs. Every muse they've written feels like home, so comfortable, charming, troubled, and perfect. I love our verses. I love how we've managed to interconnect them in ways that are beautiful, and in other ways the stand-alone nature of the writing is equally fun, equally perfect. @tangleweave with...one could say all of the gentlemen on this blog, as we write stories with all of them, some interconnected, some separate. As I've said before a million times, the very first thing I noticed is that Matt is the only other person in all of this place that I've seen mention Beta Ray Bill, one of my longest held comic book loves, muchless play him as a muse. Taking a glance down the list, there isn't a single muse here that I, as a mun, don't love with every fibre of my being. That said, everyone probably expects me to say Stephen Strange. Especially those that suffered through casting changes melt-downs I had, the insistence of seeing it opening night some 45 miles away from where I live, and the years of subsequent velociraptor screeching. What can I say, I love my wizards. But my OTP here that took me by utter surprise was actually Eddie Brock. Maybe I should call it an OT3, because Beth doesn't love the alien symbiote any less than his human host.  Matt writes a beautiful, compelling antihero, and I live for this. We are also both convinced the muses started shipping themselves before we even noticed.

@thebiggestlies Oh you minx. I know you did it on purpose with Mischa. You gave me a beautiful, broody, and demented Malkavian. We write in verse, both our own and in other poetry. I would actually consider allowing you to carry out his plot to drive Andy to the brink and maybe nudge him off if there was a way that Beth would never know. And you took this tragedy of a story and you iced it with Larry, quite possibly my favouritest, funnest NOtp to ever exist. Damn you.

@therealgamble. With Brian. And part of this may be a mun otp, too. I think you're awesome, and you just GET it, although to be honest, there have been several times in our history as friends where I've actually had to consult other people as to whether or not you were being funny/snarky/ic or ooc. Tabs has always had your back on this, lol. And like Loki, I don't know if it's fair to call this an OTP, because 99% of the time I don't know that it is romantic, as opposed to what feels more natural, and that's a deep and all encompassing friendship that just has some questionable edges that blur over the line. Does Beth love Brian? Absolutely. Is Brian in love with her? The world will likely never know. But they would murder for each other, and do very questionable things for one another, so there's that. And between you and me? Thank you. {regarding Andy, and I don't have to explain}.

~*~ This is not exhaustive. I love all my partners, all our stories. Some of us are just starting out. Some of us have drifted apart. But Beth and I are alway here, and we are open to discussion, at the very least.

[writer-updates]

Sebastian Knight

Chapter 2 - Sebastian

Sitting at my desk, I sighed heavily before a knock came at the door. I had a meeting tonight with Manuel, he has been in the mafia for a long time, even when my father was in charge. My second in command and bodyguard Deigo opened the door, stepping aside to allow Manuel to step inside.

"Please sit down, we need to chat," I explained as I pointed to the empty chair across from me.

Manuel nodded, walking over towards the chair while Deigo closed it and stood by it.

"I've been looking over the charts for the bar and I can see that Liliana is doing well, because of her singing. She has attracted over a thousand customers. How is everything going?" I asked.

Manuel fixed his posture in the seat, "Everything is going well, although I wish Liliana was doing more for the bar, of course she does a lot but there is more to do."

Frowning at Manuel, what did he mean? Were his other children not helping run the place? Manuel promised me that his family were going to run it for me, as it was easy access to hide a lot of things in packages there.

"Are your children and wife not there?" I asked.

Manuel paled for a moment, "Well.. you see some of my children have got study so they can't work as much. I mean Savannah would have been a much better singer in my opinion, she used to bring in, more customers than Liliana. Have you thought about meeting up with Savannah?"

"For starters, I chose who does what in my bar, secondly your daughter Liliana is really talented, I'm surprised you don't see it and thirdly, how many times do I have to say it. I am not interested in Savannah," every day it was the same question.

I have never been interested in Savannah, but Liliana has always caught my attention. Ever since I noticed her, I began to see more things in her that I adored.

Manuel shut his mouth as he noticed my temper was rising, "Sorry boss. Of course."

I looked at the books one more time, "We have a delivery coming tomorrow afternoon, I will be there to see it be delivered."

Manuel nodded, I knew he didn't like that fact I was coming in. He normally didn't, if he wasn't close to my father, I would have fired him a long time ago but him and my father go way back. Of course my father can most times get sick of him, he is a good worker.

I was about to speak when another knock came at the door, frowning, "Come in."

Deigo stepped aside and allowed the door to open, once it was. Liliana popped her head in, tears were streaming down her face.

"Liliana! What are you doing here!" Manuel seethed as he stood up and made his way towards her. "You are soaking up Sebastian's floor and making me look back. Fix yourself up."

He grabbed her by the hair which sent fire down my whole body hearing her whimper.

"Let her go Manuel, Deigo will see you out," I stepped towards them, allowing Deigo to pull off Manuel from Liliana.

The two men left the room while I held Liliana in my arms, "What's wrong? Why did you come here?" I asked.

Taking her over to the seat, I helped her sit down. She contuined to cry in her hands, rubbing her back. I wasn't much for comforting people as it wasn't my job but something was stirring inside me hearing those sobs leave her plump pink lips.

"You're shivering, what happened Liliana?" I asked.

She hiccuped for a few seconds before wiping her eyes, "I got home from my shift and saw my sister fucking my boyfriend."

That's right, Liliana was dating a guy for about a year his name was Thomas. I knew he wouldn't be good for her but who was I to tell her no. I want her to be mine but she found him while I was in a dark place.

"Don't cry Liliana, he isn't worth your tears... let's get you cleaned up. You can stay here tonight."

Liliana looked up at me, "Are you sure?" A hiccup left her mouth again.

"Of course, I don't want you going home. Not with him. I'll send Felicity to fix you a bed and a bath. You can wear my clothes."

I escorted Liliana out of my office where Deigo was waiting with Manuel behind him.

"Manuel, it's time you go home. I will see you tomorrow. Make sure someone covers for Liliana, as she will not be in. She will be staying here for a few days."

"She can't, she's my daughter!" Manuel growled causing Liliana to flinch and stand behind me.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that! I am still your boss. She may be your daughter but right now she is shaking from being cold, she deserves a break. Diego escort him out!" I seethed pointing my finger at Manuel.

Diego nodded and did what I asked while I attended to Liliana. I called Felicity up the the spare room while I went through my closet to see what I could give Liliana.

"You were the first person I thought of when I left the house. My mother told me it was my fault I got cheated on because I didn't give myself to him," Liliana spoke breaking the silence between us.

Staring at her, I was shocked. I knew her parents were cold-hearted towards her, I had always seen it but I didn't realise it was this bad.

"It's not your fault you were cheated on, Thomas didn't know how to keep it in his pants. If he truly loved you like he said, he would have fought those urges with your sister. I don't mind you came here, in fact I'm glad."

"You are?" She gasped.

If only she knew, smiling at het, I finally found a perfect track pant and shirt for Liliana to borrow, although I would love to see her just in my shirt and nothing else.

[dr-neurotic]

St. Elmo's Fire

Arcs of lightning flashed like a divine lantern across the Orion’s spiraling tusk, shocking first seat pilot Price up and out of his chair. The belts on his shoulders pulled him back into his chair. He heaved, and looked to the other two in the aircraft head.

“St. Elmo’s fire,” said Captain Eman chuckling softly. She blinked the lights from her eyes and kept the hurricane hunter plane on course.

Price pouted, “I knew that. Just on edge... Against all my years of piloting sense we’re going into the storm rather than against it. You know what I mean?”

“Been too long since I turned from turbulence. This on-the-job training is about to be a real paradigm-shift for you, Price.”

Flight engineer Bluford pulled the dinosaur head helmet off and put on a headset. “Wow, we’re already here? Should have woken me up.”

“Hands on deck, Blue. Our feet have been wet for hours.” said Eman. She felt the first real strain on the yoke. The plane bucked, but Eman’s grip and steering sense held steady. She rolled with the motion. Her eyes laser focused on the oncoming thicket of clouds.

“Dropsonde 1 going out,” said the loadmaster. A data collection buoy shot from Orion’s belly and disappeared into the cloud cover.

“Copy,” said Price. “Two hundred knots at forty thousand feet and climbing. Feels faster,” said Price. His thousands of hours flying for Continental felt like nothing in the face of this mission.

The navigator relayed the angle and current coordinates. Eighteen souls in their metal cage, diving into the now category five beast in the Atlantic. The feeling Price noted could never be shaken from a pilot’s mind. Eman did the best she could to transform that anxiety into excitement.

Bluford slapped the kermit sticker on his window. “Go time.” He stretched his fingers and pushed the lever further. Orion’s engines roared a little louder in response.

Eman and Price’s eyes flew across the dashboards, monitoring conditions and data while maintaining conditions. Though he was green, Eman trusted Price. Likewise, Eman was the closest thing to autopilot that Price had.

She bobbed with the plane’s increasing oscillation and grinned with her teeth. It was the greatest challenge as a pilot against the most destructive force of nature.

 “Breaching the eye wall in approximately ten minutes,” said the navigator.

“It’s about to get a whole lot worse in here,” said Eman. “Sit tight, team.”

Precipitation and lightning streaked across the windows, worsening by the second. Bluford lowered the speed incrementally. The plane floundered in all angles of pitch and yaw and roll. The two pilots and engineer worked together as if they’d flown for years, communicating in short bursts and adjusting on the fly. Eman made a hundred decisions a second. Time crawled as if the hurricane’s strength dilated time.

 

Then a particularly bad surge of wind slammed against the plane. Eman jerked to the side. She slipped past her seatbelt, slamming her head into the metal beside her seat. Price shouted something. Lightning flashed before her glazed eyes. Her lapse in consciousness lasted less than a fraction of a second when a thought crossed her mind.

How did I get here again? Ah… that’s right.

 

When she was a child, she entered the school science fair with a triptych about hurricane formation. A tupperware bowl etched with lines from all the lunches her father took to work and a box of food coloring. She would stir, and the the judges watched with swirling eyes. A drop of food coloring. Two. The blue bands spiraled in the pink bowl. Bands deepened until the mass of the hurricanes body clouded the center of the bowl.

The judges moved to the next table when a sound like an angel screaming pierced through the walls of the gymnasium. Eman covered her ears. Her mother muttered a prayer and dragged her by the elbow out the crowded doors. The wind shot up her jacket. Her mother took the bowl and the box.

The tornado siren continued to blare. Eman clutched the tri-board with both hands. Through a brief respite in the sound she heard the wind howling through the trees. Her board picked up enough drag to take the weight off her heels, lifting her an inch above the pavement.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t make a sound. Her mind swirled with a cocktail of emotions. Curiosity, anxiety, and awe. Awe that struck the fear of god in her heart.

Her mom yelped and brought her back to earth before her tiny body could take flight. The damage was done, though. And there she was, so many years later in a hurricane’s raging fist.

 

Bluford’s hand hovered above her shoulder when she snapped back into her mind.

Blood trickled down and onto her left eye. She wrestled against the rocking force to strap herself back down in her seat. Once she nested in the seat, she breathed deeply and gripped the yoke with both hands. The Orion’s frame groaned. Eman growled back.

A clambering of thunder, shouting crewmates, and enough hail to build a church from then the Orion burst through the eye wall.

All was still. All went quiet. The whimper of a memory of wind rushing past the plane. Lightning shattered the darkness again and again, lighting the mile high cloud cliffs of white like rogue waves on white waters. A rather immense smattering of ink in the bowl.

Eman shivered. This wasn’t home. They were eighteen fleshy bodies forging through a hostile planet’s best attempts to kill them. Ants in a storm drain. She looked at the other two in the cockpit, and they must have felt it too. The fear of god.

She stared at the blood on her sleeve and turned off her mic. As her mother did, she prayed. For safety and because there was no other way she could think of to categorize the feeling in her chest. The remergence of her sense of scale. The volume of lightning could have been fooled you into thinking it was somehow daytime in the storm’s eye.

She could only hear her words through the physical radiation of sound across her cheeks.

Eman breathed again for the first time in what felt like eternity. She turned her radio back on. “Alright team. Turn 180. Second pass.”

 She held onto the yoke as she held her presentation board many years ago. She held on and flew.

[rafescoke]

i’m sooo obsessed with your entire page holy moly. if you’re taking requests can i get kinda an angst one where the reader is with jj and finds out him and kie have been doing stuff behind her back, and the rest of the group knew the whole time? so she ends up getting close to rafe and hanging out with his friends so it eventually ends up with rafe x reader??? sorry that’s so long lol pls never stop writing, i love your fics too much <3

All I Ask ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

#Part 1

#Part 2

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Reader finds herself in the arms of her best friend’s brother after finding her boyfriend cheating on her 

Warnings: Cheating, substance, mentions of sex, jealous Rafe, JJ & Kie being an asshole

A/N: Thank you so much for the amount of love I received from my last two works! It has been so overwhelming and I love each one of you with all my heart <3

p.s, my request box is always open! Send random ideas and I’ll turn them into a fic <33

p.p.s, so sorry if this isn’t my best work :(

“Come on, (Y/N), don’t be a party pooper!”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes as she pulled her best friend aside from all the commotion, “Sarah. I’m serious. I feel like he’s cheating on me.”

“He’s not!” Sarah groaned, and when (Y/N) gave her a look, she sighed. “I’m serious. He loves you too much, okay? Look, tomorrow’s your birthday, right? I’m sure JJ’s just ignoring you as a part of your birthday surprise.”

(Y/N) wanted to believe her so bad, but she couldn’t deny the strong feeling growing inside her. Ever since a month ago, JJ wasn’t there for her like always. When she tried to hold him in the van or at the Chateau, he would flinch and scoot away from her. She didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Look-” Sarah cupped her face, her eyes boring into hers. “I promise that he’s not cheating on you. Can you please let this go? How about you go and find him, have a smoke, and then come back to me with the verdict?”

(Y/N) hummed back in response, thinking about what Sarah had just told her. When she first moved to Obx from the city 4 years ago, she had been spending most of her time with the other kooks. When she bumped onto JJ one particular evening while he was too busy mowing down her lawn, that was when most of her happiest days started. 

(Y/N) made her way towards the far end of the beach where JJ and the other pogues were hanging out, her feet lightly patting against the hot sand. (Y/N) took a deep breath when she saw the love of her life laughing on a log, and quickly walked towards him.

“Hey,” she started, sitting on the empty space beside him. JJ shifted, giving her more space, and muttered a quick ‘hi’ back. He offered her a beer, to which she shook her head to, and he shrugged before downing the whole content.

“You’ve got some beer here,” (Y/N) said, leaning forward to wipe the tiny droplet on his chin. JJ hurtled backwards as if on cue, and quickly wiped the stain with the back of his hand. (Y/N) stared at him, being caught off guard, but decided to not create any drama.

“You really don’t have to do that,” (Y/N) muttered, wrapping her cardigan over her tighter. The cold night air swept over her, causing her hair to fall over her shoulders. She didn’t bother to fix it as she watched JJ scoffed, the fire in front of them reflecting on the surface of his blue eyes.

“Do what? Wipe my mouth? Come on, (Y/N), it’s really not that big of a deal,” JJ sighed. He didn’t even bother to hold her hand, to reassure her that it’s really okay, and instead he continued his conversation with John B about some kind of a movie. She noticed Pope looking at their way, but he quickly turned to look at the waves when she returned his gaze.

“Do you want to smoke?” she tried again, this time with her hands on his lap. He didn’t move, and (Y/N) took this as a good sign, her heart fluttering happily. 

It’s progress.

“You sure?” he asked, fumbling with his back pocket to reach for his extra blunt. When he grasped the rolled up herbs between his fingers, he handed it to her, smiling when she scooted closer. He lighted it for her, watching her took a deep huff before blowing the smoke.

“That’s good?” he asked before taking a blow for himself. He felt his heavy mind getting lighter, the weight he has been holding since forever slowly lifting into the air. He laughed, and turned to look at the state of the girl beside him.

“Thank you, baby,” (Y/N) smiled, this time with her head on his shoulder. She saw Pope looking at them with some kind of a heavy look again, but just like before, he turned away before she could ask him anything. 

“Pope?” 

Pope’s attention from the crashing waves turned completely to (Y/N), his eyes wide and his mind panicking. His eyes glanced to the blonde boy beside her for a second, but it settled back to her. “Yes?”

“You’re okay? You keep looking at me. Is there anything that you want to tell me?”

“Me?” he pointed to his chest, and when he saw the look on JJ’s face, he laughed, making an action of swatting his hands against the air. “Oh no. I was just thinking about something else. I guess I involuntarily looked at you.”

(Y/N) laughed with him, her head still on JJ’s shoulder, her eyes slowly squinting against the glowing fire that seemed to be too bright. She turned to whisper to JJ, “Can we go home?”

“Tonight? But It’s Bonfire night. We can’t leave yet,” he protested, glancing at both of his friends for help. Pope, not wanting to spend anymore time with them anymore, quickly stood up from his seat and walked towards the main space of the party. 

“I’m gonna go with Pope, okay? Find Sarah. Go and talk to her? I’ll call you later,” JJ quickly added, standing up from his seat, stirring (Y/N) from her previous position. She sighed, her head still woozy, but she didn’t want to think about the possibility of him cheating on her.

He wanted her first, it’s just not possible for him to suddenly lose feelings for her. The countless times he would tell her that he loves her, that she’s the only girl he will ever mark as his, and now nothing?

She groaned, kicking the sand, all while the muffled music thrumming against her eardrums. She turned to look at John B, the only guy left with her, and opened her mouth to say something.

“Do you see the problem, John B?” she asked, her voice slow. When he didn’t reply, she sighed again, this time standing up from her seat to return to the ongoing party. “This is exactly the fucking problem.”

She didn’t understand; why is everyone treating her differently? What did she do? She sacrificed almost everything to be apart of their group, including her relationship with her kook friends. At that moment, she longed for her bedroom, where she knew she will be totally safe, all cuddled up with Netflix to enjoy.

“If it isn’t the princess,” a voice said from behind her back, and (Y/N) rolled her eyes before turning to look at the source. The tall figure of Rafe Cameron loomed over her, and (Y/N) tried to block his scent of cigarette and expensive cologne. She never really stopped liking his smell.

The Camerons and her family are business partners, and that was the core reason for her family to move to Obx in the middle of July 4 years ago. Meeting Sarah and her siblings for the first time, she couldn’t deny the strong attraction she felt towards the oldest sibling, but she had thought of it as nothing more than a silly crush and tried to focus more on her relationship with a certain blonde boy living on the other side of the island.

“You can take a picture, it’ll last longer that way,” he smiled, and (Y/N) groaned when she could hear the amused tone lacing in his gruff voice. She made to walk away, but was halted by Rafe’s fingers around her wrist.

“Come on, I was just playing. That’s not the way to treat an old friend,” he laughed, letting go of her. He looked around her, noticing her odd behaviour, and suppressed his smile. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

“I don’t know,” she finally replied, and returned the gesture of looking around him. “Where’s the girlfriend?”

Rafe laughed, throwing his head back as his hair messily slicked to the back. “Girlfriend? I don’t do girlfriends. Come on, (Y/N), you know that.”

“Not a surprise,” she said in a singing tone, giving her attention towards the dancing bodies next to the speaker. “Look, Rafe, just say whatever you want to say to me, okay? I’m tired of trying to figure out what people wanted to say to me.” 

“I just want to make a conversation,” he shrugged, chugging down his beer before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His actions reminded her of JJ, and she quickly looked away when she felt a pang of hurt across her heart.

“Uh-oh, I know that look,” Rafe said, tugging her chin to force her to look at him. (Y/N) grunted, feeling his cold skin against hers, but she let him stare into her eyes before quickly pulling away. “Yeah. It’s that look you’ll put when you’re worried about something. What’s up?”

“Rafe, it’s really nothing,” she sighed, scooting away from the boy. She looked around again, and her eyes landed on a certain blonde boy, and she could feel her heart soaring up again. Rafe’s eyes followed her gaze, and when he saw JJ, he turned to look away.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rafe replied, already making his way towards the keg station.  (Y/N) noticed the change in his behaviour, seeing how cold he turned, but decided not to mention it. She was being cold towards him first, so she guessed it was fair for him to be acting that way. 

Rafe didn’t understand how blind she could be. Couldn’t she notice the pattern of the girls he fucked? How they all looked so similar to her? 

He scoffed, sipping from his red cup as he watched her walk towards the boy that stole her from him. Everything was going perfect; they were hanging out almost every day; just her and Rafe, either it was in his swimming pool or (Y/N)’s hot tub. When her father had hired JJ Maybank to mower his lawn, that was when everything went downhill. 

“Cameron,” a voice greeted from beside him, and when he turned to look at the figure, he expressed a sly smirk.

One more person that looked like her.

. . .

JJ’s phone was beside her.

She kept telling herself no, that she should trust him since they are in a relationship, but her brain was yelling for her to go through his phone.

He’s cheating on you.

She groaned, unable to contain herself anymore as she grabbed his phone, looking around briefly before typing his passcode. 

The phone vibrated in her hands as she failed to guess his passcode, and she frowned before the screen. It had been her birthday’s date, so why wouldn’t it open? She tried again with their anniversary date, and again, was met with the same fate.

“What the fuck?” she said to no one in particular, and sighed before trying out random numbers. Lastly, she pressed all 1, not thinking much of it and already accepting her defeat. She exclaimed in happiness when his home screen appeared with his background a picture of a dog.

(Y/N) frowned again, remembering how it used to be a picture of them, but decided to not question it as their picture had been replaced by a dog instead of something else. She went through his Instagram, scroling down the many direct messages, through his Imessages; where he texts the pogues a lot and through his Snapchat, only finding their private pictures in his ‘my eyes only’.

She released the breath she didn’t realise she was holding, shutting the phone off and letting it lay in its previous position. She smiled, secretly cursing at herself for ever doubting JJ. He must’ve been busy with his life, just-

Ding!

Involuntarily, (Y/N) picked up the phone and watched as Kie’s name appeared. She typed in his passcode quickly, trying to see what she needs so that she could try and help her with anything in case if it’s urgent. Her heart stopped for a minute when she saw her text.

Kie: You’re sleeping with her tonight?

Why would she even text him that?

(Y/N) sat up straighter, her fingers gliding across the screen in a swift motion.

wdym?

She watched as the typing signal appeared, biting the insides of her cheeks. She looked at the direction of the toilet again, hearing the blonde boy humming to a Nirvana song. She looked at the screen again.

Kie: You promised me you would be with me tonight

Kie: Just us two

Oh my god.

She could feel the hot tears coming in, but her bathroom door creaked open, so she threw the phone back to its initial position and cleared her throat, looking to the ceiling and randomly muttering words to herself.

“Huh?” JJ asked, looking at the direction she pointed. He saw nothing, and looked back to her. 

“I said white’s not the color anymore. I think I’m changing it to grey. What do you think?” She asked, feeling her throat hurting. She cleared her throat again as JJ stared at the ceiling one more time, his face all scrunched up.

“I think grey’s okay?” He said, but it was more to a question. He took his phone and sat beside her, shielding his screen from her. She watched him from the corners of her eyes, silently interpreting his strange demeanor. 

She cursed when it finally hit her; she hadn’t delete her text to Kie.

She bit her lips, curling her toes and randomly tracing circles on her lap. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see clearly, she couldn’t think.

How could she forgot to delete that one, single text? 

“I have to go,” JJ stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket. (Y/N) looked at him, ready to ask if she could follow, but halted her action when he put a hand up.

“I’m seeing John B. Something about, um, Sarah stuff. Just me and Pope. The boys,” he muttered, clearly trying to tell her that he wouldn’t be bringing her to the Chateau. (Y/N) nodded, feeling her heart sank, because she finally understood everything;

The glances he would give to Kie in the HMS Pogue, the brief moments where he would put his hands around Kie’s waist when he tries to slip in between her and someone, the flirtatious laugh he’ll emit when she makes a joke - it all made sense.

(Y/N) used to think that it was all just friendly behaviour and how he had known her longer hence it must’ve been normal for best friends to do that. One thing that (Y/N) likes about herself is how she’s able to guess things correctly - 

But she had never wanted to be so wrong about something before.

“You’re okay by yourself tonight?” 

“Huh?” She finally looked up to him, seeing his blue eyes staring straight into her boring ones. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he smiled, proceeding towards the open window to exit her bedroom. (Y/N) ‘s father would never give his blessings towards this relationship, so he had to enter and exit his girlfriend’s room through the window. 

He hesitated before reaching the seating girl, placing a soft but immediate kiss on her cheeks. (Y/N) smiled weakly in return, not trusting herself to say anything.

How could he?

Ten minutes after his departure, (Y/N) quickly grabbed her father’s car keys before fleeing after a particular black motorcycle. She didn’t even think about turning the car radio on, and her mind was set on only one thing; JJ and Kie.

When she arrived at the Chateau, her fingers trembling and her hair all over the place from the wind while she was driving down the road, forgetting to close the window, she quickly made her way to their usual hanging out place.

Before she could enter the room, Pope’s voice interrupted her actions.

“(Y/N)? What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes widening. He looked at her palm around the doorknob, and let out a nervous laugh. “You’re looking for JJ? He’s not here.”

She gets it now.

“Pope, I know,” was all she said before opening the door. 

She felt her world shattering right after she was greeted with the sight of Kie on JJ’s lap, running her fingers through his blonde locks while she kissed him tenderly like  (Y/N) always did. John B and Sarah were right next to him, cheering him on, but stopped when they finally looked up to the looming figure.

“Oh my god,” Kie exclaimed, pushing herself off JJ and fixing her hair. (Y/N) made a look, disgust filling every inch of her body as she quickly walked away from the scene, not wanting to hear any apologies or explanation.

None of that mattered to her; she just wanted to go home.

“(Y/N)!” she heard him yell, but she exited the Chateau as fast as her feet could take her, not stopping to look at him. She cursed when she couldn’t find the right key to open her door, her fingernails clanking against the metal.

“It was a dare!” JJ said, right after he reached her. He watched as she didn’t pay any attention towards him, still fumbling for her keys. “I swear! The kiss was just a dare!”

“Was the text a dare as well?” she asked, finally putting the right key into the keyhole and stepping into the car. JJ cursed and stepped aside, feeling drained and tired from the screaming.

Of course he didn’t send the ‘wdym’. He never like short forms, only using them when he is in the toilet and typing with his left hand. Why didn’t he realised this sooner?

“I’m sorry,” he said, but before he could say anything else, the girl drove straight towards the exit, away from him. 

The worst part of all wasn’t about not having a chance to explain himself to get out of the mess he made, but it was when he saw the pained look on her face. 

“Fuck!” he yelled, kicking a stone and making his way back towards the Chateau. 

(Y/N) fingers scrolled down the many contacts in her phone as she tried to focus on the road simultaneously, and finally stopping when she reached the letter ‘R’ contacts. 

She tapped on the first name under the R letter, putting the phone call on speaker and placing her phone on her lap. She shuddered, suddenly remembering the way she had found JJ and Kie in, but shook her head when his voice filled the atmosphere.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Rafe.”

-

add yourself to the taglist!

[sinner-as-saint]

we can’t stop, we’re enemies.

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader AU

Run-through: After the events of the last battle against Thanos, you teamed up with Sam and Bucky to carry on your superhero duties. You got along with Sam just fine, he was a really good friend to you. Bucky however, was not. From constant banters, to unnecessary hand-to-hand combat, to purposely getting each other in trouble during risky missions, to being the main cause of Sam’s migraines; it was safe to say that you and Bucky considered yourselves to be each other’s nemesis. Although that soon changes when, courtesy of your silly banters, a certain mission goes slightly wrong - one which involves strong chemicals which, unbeknownst to you, were designed to mess with the brain and hormones, thus encouraging the need to breed and procreate amongst all those who inhale it...

Themes: enemies-to-lovers, smut, sex pollen trope, dirty talk, swear words, fluff

“How is it going up there Sam, talk to me.” 

You spoke, waiting to hear from Sam through the ear piece. 

The three of you were on a mission on unfamiliar lands. Rumor had it that some shady organization was conducting illegal experiments. The whole location was spooky, and you needed to be thorough and quick. So Sam decided to get an aerial view along with Red Wing, and see if there are any threats coming your way while you and Bucky decided to check out the underground laboratories. 

The whole place was shadowy and old, it almost seemed like no one had been here in a long time. But still, these people were criminals so you had to gather every evidence you could which would lead you their way. 

And so far, after exploring the place for the past half an hour, you found nothing major. Just weird laboratory glassware filled with liquids and what not. 

“Sam?” you called out again into the ear piece, keeping your gun at the ready. “Say something damn it.” 

His reply came. “There’s something sketchy about the building at the back, I’m gonna go check it out. But you have to promise me you won’t kill each other by the time I get back.” 

You and Bucky sent death glares at each other in disgust. He was on the other side of the lab, flipping through files and papers, while you were searching the cabinets and drawers. The two of you were separated by a steel workstation. Dark leather jacket, metal arm exposed; you’d find him handsome if he wasn’t so annoying. 

“Sure, whatever.” Bucky mumbled, being his grumpy self. 

You frowned at him, “Dude, drop your fucking attitude.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at you, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Sam roared through the ear piece, “Enough! Focus, you two are in the labs and we don’t know what’s in there. Just, maybe look out for each other. Okay? I’m going in.”

“Be careful, Sam.” You spoke, sending another dirty look at Bucky. 

“Yeah y-,” 

Sam got cut off. All you could hear was some static noises and then complete silence. 

“Sam? Can you hear us?” Bucky tried reaching out but neither of you could hear him. “This isn’t good.” 

“Damn it!” You cursed. “Maybe he flew out of range. Or maybe we’re too deep under.” 

For once in his life he nodded, agreeing with you. “Let’s just hurry up and see what we can find. We need to get out of here as fast as we can and get to the Jet.” He said, flipping through more and more files and papers, his metal arm glistening in the poorly lit room. 

You sassed in the same tone he used before, “Don’t tell me what to do.” And you earned yourself another glare from him. 

Fifteen minutes later and you two still had nothing to work with. 

“This is useless. There’s nothing here, this is just bullshit.” Bucky complained, slamming down a file on the workstation so hard that it made you jump. 

You were annoyed. You slammed a cabinet shut and turned to face him. “Oh I’m sorry princess, is work getting too tiring? Do you need a break? Hmm?” 

“Shut up, you’re the one who keeps whining all the time.” He wasn’t wrong. 

You stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the cold workstation. “Well maybe if you’d quit complaining and actually do your part of the job, then I wouldn’t have to whine about always doing everything on my own and you taking credit for it in front of Sam.” 

He leaned forward, his metal arm already denting his side of the edge of the workstation. “Maybe if you’d stop bitching about everything and everyone all the time then maybe we’d get along and actually get shit done.” 

You leaned in too. “Or maybe if just me and Sam teamed up, we’d work better. I still don’t know why he keeps you around. Take your metal arm away, what are you? Exactly, just a hundred year old, confused man.” 

He smirked. “And what are you? Just a spoilt, whiny brat who knows how to use a gun?” He knew just what to say to get the reaction he wanted out of you. 

In less than a few seconds you had your loaded gun out in front of you, aiming it at his forehead. “And guess what, she never misses a target.” You spat at him. 

You had done this before; aiming guns at each other until Sam comes to break the tension. But Sam wasn’t here this time. 

Bucky knew you would never pull the trigger on him so he gave you a handsome, arrogant smirk which only pissed you off even more. “Come on, shoot.” He provoked you. 

“Stop pissing me off.” You warned. 

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me for calling you a whiny, spoilt brat? See, that’s exactly what brats do.” 

“James, stop.” Oh he was getting on your nerves. You were agitated. 

He just smirked and went on. “I actually believe that that might be your superpower, destroying people by annoying them to death with how much of a brat you can actually be.” 

You glared at him, unmoving, furious. You placed your forefinger on the trigger. “Say brat one more time and I will blow your fucking head off and when Sam asks, I’ll make it seem like an accident.” 

He leaned closer, aligning his forehead to the barrel of your gun. He stared at you with his stormy, ocean blue eyes; inciting you to just pull the damn trigger. He watched you with mischief in his eyes. “Brat.” He mouthed, smirking right after and waiting for your reaction. 

You clenched your jaw and shifted your aim just a little so that the bullet misses him but still shoots right by his ear. You pulled the trigger without hesitation, shooting at the shelf filled with dark red and brown liquids behind Bucky. 

Bucky maintained his calm and composure despite the loud sound of the shattering glass falling on the tiles right behind him. “Brat.” He said again, out loud this time. 

“I hate you.” You lowered your gun but then noticed something behind Bucky. Smoke, or some sort of vapor oozing out of the broken flasks and test tubes. You froze for a second. “Bucky, look.” You walked around the workstation and joined him on the other side. 

The vapor quickly filled the room like thick fog, reducing visibility and making your throat burn a little. You coughed; once, twice. You looked beside you and Bucky was standing there with a look of horror on his face. 

The moment his supersoldier sense got a whiff of the vapor, something in him ignited. No… 

“We have to get out of here. Now.” You heard his voice, then felt his cold fingers wrap around your wrists as he tugged you along, making his way out of the lab. He tried to hold his breath but he couldn’t hold it very long. He tried to find the door to exit the room but that was hard too because neither of you could see properly. 

“This stuff,” you spoke in between coughs, “will probably kill us, won’t it?” You held on tightly to his arm. “You need to get us out of here now.” The vapor was reducing your visibility more and more. 

He felt the side of the wall, looking for the metal handle of the door through which you entered the lab. “It won’t kill us.” He growled as he looked beside him. You were standing close to him, so close, holding on to his arm tightly, a thin layer of sweat covered your face. 

It was almost funny how you had your gun aimed at him just a minute ago and now you were relying on him for protection. 

“How can you be so sure? Do you know what this stuff is?” You asked. 

He sighed. He knew. “I have a hunch, but let’s hope I’m wrong.” He felt warm. Deep inside something stirred in him. Animalistic, primal, feral. It was there, pressing and burning. Guess he wasn’t wrong. 

He finally found the door and he pushed it open, letting the two of you out and you took off running at once. You tried to reach Sam. A couple tries later, he finally responded. “I got some names, I think we got what we’re looking for. Where are you guys?” 

“We found…. uh, nothing. We’re on our way to the jet, meet us there.” Bucky responded, running beside you. 

You were confused out of your mind, not to mention you felt feverish. Hot, and you were sweating more than usual in places you’d rather not think about. Something in you was yearning to break free. You felt chained, you needed release. You felt like something had awakened inside of you; a deep hunger. Aroused, you felt aroused. Or was it just the adrenaline rush? 

By the time you tried to figure out what was actually going on with you, you both had made it to the Jet. 

“I feel sick.” you mumbled, stumbling on your way inside the jet. “I think… I think that smoke poisoned me.” You placed your palm against the side of the plane to hold on so you don’t fall. You felt like gravity wasn’t pulling you down anymore. You were a little out of breath. 

Then you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. You grimaced as it only ignited the fire which you just found out had been burning inside you since you left the lab. 

“You’re not poisoned. You’re not sick, you’re gonna be okay. We just have to… we have to get home.” Bucky was worse than you were. His enhanced senses allowed him to feel everything you felt, times ten perhaps. 

His heart raced as he got a whiff of your fading perfume, mixed with the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your natural, raw scent. He could feel your arousal from here, and it pulled him in so easily. All he wanted to do was to tear your suit off, pin you up against the side of the Jet and fuck the living hell out of you, stretch you out and just rail you until you could no longer take it. 

Fuck. 

You looked up at him; heart racing, palms sweating and even your mouth was salivating more than usual. “You know what that thing was, don’t you?” You asked, ignoring the way his cold hand upon your shoulder made you want to lean into his touch even more. “What was it?” 

You saw the look in his hooded eyes. Bucky sighed, pulling his hand away from you and the loss of contact made you whimper ever so quietly. You felt warmer and more and more breathless with each second that passed by. 

“They used to make those substances, long ago back when I was with HYDRA. I didn’t expect to find those here. They were used to… to try and see if they could get super soldiers to procreate naturally.” Bucky explained and waited for your reaction. 

“Sex pollen. Correct?” 

He nodded, “Yes.” 

You were a little shaken, but relieved knowing that at least it wasn’t poison and you wouldn’t be dying a painful death. “That’s… I mean, it could have been poison.” You didn’t know how to react after you pieced it all together. “How long before it wears off?” 

“Twenty-four hours unless...” 

“Unless what?” 

“Unless you fuck it out of your system well enough.”

That had you surprised. “Oh. Well that’s just great, isn’t it? Fucking perfect. I’m screwed.” 

Bucky tried his hardest to refrain himself from leaning in and biting that sassy mouth of yours, shoving his tongue past your lips to shut you up, to hear you moan and gasp and cry out his name as he takes you however he wants to… 

“We.” He corrected you. “It’ll get worse every hour.” He replied. 

You sighed and moved away from him, unzipping your combat suit partly and removing the jacket because you couldn’t handle the heat. Bucky cursed as you stripped into just a tank top and tight pants, right in front of him. He felt his cock get harder. 

“Can you not?” He sounded pissed off again; frustrated. “This is all your doing. The least you can do is make this a little bit easier for both of us.” 

His words made you turn around and glare at him. “How is this my doing? I didn’t even know what was in that lab.” 

He stepped forward, instinctively. The sight of your exposed neck and your soft skin was making him think of unspeakable things that he wanted to do to you. As he advanced, you tried not to look down at his cock, straining against his zipper. Your heart raced as you took in the size of his bulge. Enhanced super soldier indeed. 

“Had you not been a spoiled brat who can’t take a joke, you wouldn’t have tried to shoot at me nor would you have shot those flasks!” He argued, feeling more and more warm as he got closer to you. 

You took a step forward as well, fueled by annoyance, lust and anger. “Who was it who provoked me into doing that because they couldn’t keep their fucking mouth shut, huh? That’s right, your annoying ass!” 

Bucky pushed you against the side of the Jet without a second thought. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with his hand while pressing his body into you, his metal arm circling around your waist and pressing you further into him. 

He hadn’t thought this through. He hadn’t thought about how your warm breath would feel against his skin, or how warm your body would be under his touch. You felt feverish, having him this close. His tall, large frame and his tight grip made your whimper under him. Your body reacted to him naturally. 

All you felt was warm, his body heat, his scent. The feeling of his cold leather jacket against your flushed skin. You wanted him. Or rather, your body did. 

“Don’t you provoke me now, you fucking whiny brat.” He whispered, menacingly into your ear. 

You tried to ignore the shivers his voice sent down your entire body. But he saw it. And you could feel his erection press against your crotch. Just to mess with him, you discreetly moved your hips against his, making him hiss loudly. 

“What are you gonna do about it, dipshit?” You sassed, knowing that given his intensified senses he must be feeling much worse than you. 

He groaned as you kept grinding against him, your pulsating core rubbing against the bulge in his pants. And that only made it worse for both of you. 

“Fuck…” Bucky swore, before quickly pulling away from you, but not releasing you yet. “You’re such a bitch.” His body was screaming for you, each nerve ending of his was on fire. A fire only you could douse. 

You were just the same, on the edge and wanting to reach out for him; knowing he would satiate your hunger better than anyone could. Your body was throbbing as you stared into his eyes, your gaze lowering down to his dog tags. How you wanted those dangling right above your face… 

You heard someone clear their throat. It wasn’t Bucky. 

“Something you two need to tell me? Or is this just your new way of trying to kill each other?” A deep voice asked from behind Bucky. 

“Sam! Are you okay?” You escaped Bucky’s grip and rushed to Sam. 

He seemed alright to you. He nodded. “Yeah, we just need to get home. I need to notify the team and see what we should do next. What was in those labs?” 

You glared at Bucky. His smug face alone was pissing you off, but God right now you wanted to ride that man until the sun came tomorrow morning. 

“Just a bunch of useless experiments. Nothing major.” He glared at you as he said the last bit to Sam. 

The ride back home was one of the most painful, annoying and frustrating situations you had ever undergone. Each time you felt like someone was watching you, you’d turn your head to the side and find Bucky staring; and his stares would make your body tremble in need. 

Meanwhile he was having a hard time too, in more ways than one. He could feel his blood rush south even at the brief sound of your voice whenever you sighed in annoyance or talked to Sam. Luckily the latter could not pick up on the thick, sexual tension. 

Once at the compound, you each hurried to your own rooms and that’s where you stayed until the evening. Sam found it weird that you both skipped dinner but he didn’t need another headache today so he went to bed, telling himself that he’d deal with you two tomorrow morning. 

Bucky was a mess. Even after an hour under the cold shower his body was still calling out for you. He tried taking care of his business on his own, but that wasn’t working. He was still so hard it was painful. Nothing could make this better, nothing could soothe the pain - nothing but you. He needed you so badly it was driving him insane, like he was an animal in heat being asked to suppress his feral desires towards his mate. Being away from you was painful. He couldn’t help but hate you for no reason at all usually, but he’d do what it takes to be inside you and make you scream his name right now. 

You were equally as troubled at the super soldier. You tried taking a warm bath and tried to think of other things you could focus on, but nothing worked. Your toys didn’t seem appealing tonight, you needed him, all of him. You shivered at the thought of his taut, virile body under yours, or above. His masculine scent, the sound of his moans, would he bite?… fuck. You could feel your arousal leak out of you every now and then, it was insane how aroused you were. You couldn’t look at him for long without getting unnecessarily annoyed, but you would do anything just to have him rearrange your guts right now. 

What made it worse was that neither of you could stand each other at all. Enemies, you called yourselves. But right now you couldn’t help but crave each other in the most salacious way possible. 

Fuck this. You couldn’t take this anymore. You decided to swallow your pride and make your way to his room and ask him if you two could come to an agreement on how to fight this thing because it would be impossible to go another twenty hours feeling like this. You were burning from the inside. This was unbearable. 

Just as you opened your bedroom door, you were slightly surprised to find Bucky standing right outside your door. His metal hand up midair, as though he was to knock on your door and you happened to open the door just in time. You almost drooled at the sight of him; sweatpants and a tight, white t-shirt. You swallowed and cleared your throat. 

“Hey.” You greeted him, not knowing how to deal with this situation. You felt so drawn to him in that moment, so damn restless and needy that it was hard to breathe right while looking at him. 

“I was, uh, about to knock…” He didn’t know how he got here, he didn’t remember. Maybe it was the chemicals messing with his brain and turning him into a hungry beast. He didn’t care that he was knocking on your door in the middle of the night, he wanted you. He was craving you and that’s all he knew. Also the oversized t-shirt, the only you were wearing at the time, was not helping at all. 

“Yeah, um…” you rambled then stopped talking the moment you found him staring into your eyes with a wild look in his eyes. 

That was it. 

You grabbed him by the waistband of his sweats and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. Before Bucky could process anything, you had him pushed against your closed door and your mouth was on his, kissing him hungrily. Your hands slowly slipped under his tight t-shirt and you lazily trailed your hands up and down his toned abs. 

His hands gripped your hips on either side as he kissed you back with just as much ardor as you did. His body ignited the moment he felt your lips and hands on him, yet the heat was weirdly satisfying; it stimulated him but calmed him down at the same time. It felt perfect. This was just what he needed, you. 

Your movements were rapid and passionate, fiery. Hands roaming each other's body, touching and feeling and exploring; making each other moan like you were both touch-starved. 

You let out a soft moan when you felt his tongue slip past your lips, stroking the top of your mouth while his metal hand slipped under your shirt. Your body was tingling wherever he touched you. His touch made you feel way better than you had felt in the past few hours and you were grateful. Your moans sent his mind straight to the gutter and he couldn’t wait to be inside you. 

“I need you…” you whispered against his lips as you pulled away to catch your breath. “I need you to fuck me… right here, right now.” Your demands made him smirk as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes. 

“Oh?” he managed to still find the energy to be an ass to you. “Why don’t you go on and beg for it, then?” 

You scoffed, leaning in to lick his lips while you hand dipped into his pants. You grabbed his erected cock and gave it a little, gentle squeeze. He moaned like he hadn’t been touched in forever. Like he was desperate for one thing and one thing only; you. You whispered, “You need me too, Bucky. I’m not gonna beg you, I’m doing you a favor here.” You slid your closed fist up and down his length and made him moan some more before you let go and watched him groan and clench his jaw in annoyance. 

He looked down at you, panting in need just as you were. His hand slid into your hair and he gripped it, tugging on it just enough to make you gasp in pleasure and pain. “Still a fucking brat with that annoying attitude I see?” He leaned in to bite your exposed neck, making your cry out in pain before he licked the spot, soothing it. “Don’t worry doll, I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you.” 

He let go of your hair but tightened his grip around your waist as he placed his mouth back on yours. Kissing you like there’s no tomorrow; biting your lip and bruising your already swollen mouth. He was wild, and you needed it and more. 

He pushed you down on your bed, and stood back to watch you for a moment. How did he never realize that you were so naturally beautiful? He looked down at you like a predator looking at his meal; fiercely, ready to ruin you and make you scream and beg and satiate his hunger. As well as yours. 

“Well, if you’re done staring…” you knelt on your bed and reached out for him, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him closer. “I want you in me. Now.” Your demanding tone riled him up. 

Bucky grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back again. “If you wanna get fucked, you’re gonna ask nicely. Understood?” 

You glared at him, shooting death glares right at him while your hand palmed him through his sweatpants. “I fucking hate you.” You spat at him, whimpering as he pushed you back down on the bed, quickly climbing on top of you this time. 

“I hate you too.” He knelt on your bed, straddling your waist as he tore your oversized shirt in half and off your body, throwing the pieces of fabric somewhere on your bedroom floor. You laid beneath him in just your underwear and he growled. 

“That was my favorite shirt, you fucking idiot.” You whispered, breathless, shivers dancing down your spine as he traced your mouth with his two fingers, slipping them past your lips once, then twice then trailing his now wet fingers down your neck, till your belly button. 

“You think I care?” he leaned down and took one of your breasts into his mouth, kneading the other with his metal hand. The contrast of his warm mouth around one and his cold hand around the other was driving you crazy. He bit, and tugged and licked; making your back arch off the bed as you purred in pleasure. 

Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his erection again to try and alleviate the pain. You were desperate. Bucky pinched and rolled one of your nipples while he lightly grazed the other with his teeth, and you let out a loud moan. 

“Please… please, I need you. Please…” You muttered under your breath, knowing he could hear you. Bucky smirked as he pulled away from your chest, ignoring the way his cock throbbed. “What’s so fucking funny?” You grabbed him by the throat, pulling his face closer to yours. 

His metal arm reached down in between your legs and he ripped your underwear off. The fabric hurt just a little when it tore against your skin. “Just that it's the first time I heard you asking for something so politely. It’s not so hard after all, is it?” 

Now he was pissing you off. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and flipped the two of you around. You got on top of him and straddled his waist, trapping him under you like he had you before. You had better control like this. 

You grabbed him by the jaw and leaned in to kiss his lips, fiercely. “Stop fucking playing, Barnes.” You whispered against his lips, grinding against his hard cock again. He closed his eyes and hissed in pleasure as you kissed down to his neck, nibbling on his skin along his throat. 

He moaned, hands gripping your hips and guiding you as you rubbed your bare core against his clothed erection. “No? I thought brats liked games?” He mumbled. 

You pulled away from his neck and looked down at his smug face. “You are so fucking annoying.” You reached down in between your bodies and lowered his sweatpants all the way down until he kicked them off. You grabbed his cock and stroked him gently, agonizingly slow. He moaned shamelessly, and eventually caught on that you were just teasing him even more. 

“Don’t tease me…” he sounded just as breathless as you were. 

“Why? Not so fond of games anymore?” you sassed, rubbing your throbbing core against his thigh while you stroked him so gently that he felt like he was losing his mind. 

He growled as he grabbed you by the waist and flipped the two of you around, him being on top again. “Enough,” he growled in your ear, “Spread those legs for me.” He ordered, settling in between them as you spread your legs to accommodate him. He grabbed your thighs and parted your legs even more as he aligned the tip of his cock to your opening. “Now stay still, don’t move.” 

You braced yourself for him, but nothing could have prepared you for that. His length stretched you open until he was seated deep inside you, filling you up entirely to a point where you couldn’t even think of anything else other than him being balls deep inside you. 

You moaned as he removed himself entirely and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to adjust to his size. He lowered his face again, and leaned into your ear, “Fuck….” you heard him moan; panting and swearing under his breath as he rocked into you. 

You were a moaning mess under him in no time. He kissed your open mouth while he rammed into you over and over again, making your eyes tear up. The burning need subsided a little bit as his cock brushed against all the right spots inside you. “Buck… faster, please,” You whimpered. 

He chuckled into your ear, “Needy little brat…” he mumbled as he sped up into you, making you lose your ability to focus on anything else other than him and his body. He pulled away from your face to look down at you, his metal hand coming up to wrap itself around your throat. “This is what you wanted since we left that lab, huh? For me to fuck your greedy little cunt? Hmm?” He taunted as he stretched you out completely. You lifted your legs up and wrapped them around his waist; allowing him to thrust deeper into you. 

You felt tears escaping your eyes as he pulled you closer and pressed his forehead to yours fucking deeper into you. He was relentless; each moan which left your lips only encouraged him to get more and more rough. 

You felt a pressure form in between your hips, your body begging for release. “Bucky… please.” You moaned, begging. For something, anything. You’d take anything at this point. But right when your walls started clenching around him and when you were just about to come undone; he pulled out. 

“Please what?” He surprised himself with how he was able to tease you in this situation when all he wanted was to make both of you cum over and over again. 

“I need to cum, Bucky please,” you cried, with tears in your eyes. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss your swollen lips, not minding the tears. “Do you deserve it?” He asked, and you nodded immediately, your body shaking with how bad you needed to cum. “Oh you do, do you?” 

You nodded again. “Please…please...” 

“Well since you asked nicely…” Bucky flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you onto your knees by your hips and pushed himself inside you again. You felt his muscular body press against the curve of your ass as he filled you up again. 

He rocked into you from behind. His hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm against your lower abdomen. He liked how he could feel himself deep inside you with each thrust. And he liked how that drove you insane, he could by the way your walls gripped his cock. 

“Feel that, little brat? That’s all you’re good for… to take my cock like a good little slut.” He whispered. 

You groaned at the sound of his raspy voice, his words making you milk him even harder. “You wish, you dipshit.” You moaned as he sped up when you least expected it. You whimpered, and he chuckled now that he had you at his mercy. 

His hand travelled all the way to your throat and he choked you gently as he bent down to whisper in your ear, “I can assure you that no one is ever gonna fuck you this good,” he boasted as he very gently squeezed the side of your throat. But hard enough to make you lose your mind.

You could only moan and whimper in response while he kept pounding into you incessantly. “Fuck… please....” you cried. 

You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you couldn’t hold back anymore. You felt him quicken his pace as he chased his own orgasm. “Cum for me. Now.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice. You came undone, hard and fast; moaning his name as you did. Bucky came right after you. 

You collapsed onto your bed, sprawled unevenly and not even caring. Your eyes were shut in fatigue, your heart racing and you could feel Bucky’s body heat right next to you. He was catching his breath too, mumbling something under his breath which you couldn’t catch. 

For the first time in hours, you felt at ease. Your body wasn’t yearning anymore, but the hunger was still there. So when Bucky got up to leave, you grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back into bed with you. 

He smirked as he fell helplessly onto your bed again, right next to you. “You want more, you greedy little brat?” 

You punched his arm before getting up and getting on top of him again, sliding your body down his cock. He hissed as you did. 

“Just another round.” You whispered, loving the sight of him under you. His tan skin against your white sheets, him moaning as you slowly lifted up and sank back down on his cock. Oh fuck… 

You placed your hands on his muscular chest to hold yourself up as you sped up, riding him like you’ve been dreaming of this whole time. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you up and down his cock until you both found a pleasurable pace. 

You weren’t going to last too long, but you just needed to have him buried deep inside you again. His thick, girthy cock stretched you open as you took him as best you could, moaning and whimpering desperately as he groaned and gasped under you. 

Your walls gripping him and milking him like they had earlier, not even a few minutes ago. You felt the pressure forming nicely in between your hips again. You let out a loud moan as you felt his cock reach places it hadn’t before, turning you into a mess. 

His grip on your hips tightened as he brought you down on his cock with force each time and thrusting upwards to fuck you deeper. “Cum for me.” He threw his head back, growling. “Cum for me again…” 

Your hand grabbed him by the jaw and you leaned in to press your lips against his, claiming his open mouth and muffling his animalistic growls as you came undone around him again. Your orgasm then triggered his. 

You fell limp on top of him right after and he instinctively cradled your head. “You okay?” 

You nodded, your sweaty bodies pressed against each other but neither of you minding it. “Yeah.” 

Bucky gently rolled to his side, letting you down on your side of the bed. You tried your best to calm your racing heart. Not to mention you felt much, much better than earlier. 

Bucky got up to leave again, and you grabbed his hand before he got completely out of your bed. He turned to face you with a smirk then groaned dramatically, “Woman please, I’m not a machine. The pain will subside now, I believe we’ve done pretty good at fucking it out of our systems. I can’t go all night, seriously.” 

You were in a haze so his words made you giggle. “You’re really leaving?” 

He looked down at you, sprawled on your bed. Your face was glowing, you looked ethereal. “You want me to stay?” He asked, wondering where the sassy brat in you went. 

You nodded. 

He smirked, getting back into bed next to you, “What, now you're obsessed with me?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up. I’m just saying since I might need you again in the morning, you might as well just sleep here.”  

He pretended to be hurt. “Wow.” He didn’t mind that at all. He got under the covers with you, “So… is it just the chemicals or are we…?” 

You snuggled closer to his side, he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head under his chin. “Shh, I still hate you.” Your tired, soft voice reminded him of a sleepy kitten. 

He held you closer. “Of course.” He looked down at you and saw that you had already fallen asleep on his chest. He cracked a soft smile, whispering under his breath, “Brat.” 

[majestyeverlasting]

Hi!! Could you write for Bucky prompts 4 and 26??

♡ Hi, Anon!! I love this prompt pairing so much! Thank you for requesting this, and for waiting on me to get around to it! In this one, Bucky and the reader visit a park in Brooklyn that stirs up some nostalgic memories. But what he doesn't know is that, later that night, he'll learn that he's going to be a father. There's some pretty fall imagery and lots of sweet moments. I hope you like it! (Note: this isn’t canon regarding Bucky’s true age)

♡ Prompt 4: "Remember we used to come here when we were kids?"

♡ Prompt 26: “I’m not reading this thing wrong, am I? You’re really pregnant?”

All I Ever Wanted

There was a crispness to the evening air as the beginnings of fall settled within Brooklyn. The trees of Prospect Park, once green, were slowly transitioning into rich shades of orange and red. As you and Bucky walked along one of the pathways, leaves crunching beneath your shoes, there was an absence of car engines and horns—it was peaceful. All there was to be heard was chirping birds, the soft chatter of other park-goers, and the occasional whir of a cyclist’s wheels whenever one passed by.

Upon reaching a wooden bridge, the gentle sound of flowing water emerged as well. Beneath it, was a slender waterfall that fed into a small pond with dead leaves floating on the surface. Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist as the two of you admired it from over the railing. Somehow the whole day, including that moment itself, had managed to feel like a dream.

The two of you hadn’t been to Prospect Park in what felt like forever. Life had a way of sweeping you up in winds of responsibility that kept you from enjoying moments of stillness. But those winds had since drifted elsewhere, leaving the two of you with the freedom to simply be. Venturing out into nature and away from the noise had been Bucky’s suggestion earlier that morning. There was no place like the outdoors that was capable of soothing the soul.

“Look, doll,” he said eventually. Your eyes followed where his free hand pointed.

On one of the big rocks peeking out of the water below, a yellow butterfly had perched itself on a rock. “Yeah, I see it. It’s so pretty.” You smiled when he gave you a gentle squeeze.

“You know what butterflies symbolize?” You met his gaze, willing for him to continue. “Life and new beginnings,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

For a fraction of a second, you froze. You’d managed to keep yourself collected for the entirety of the day, but hearing those words quickened your heartbeat. Enough so that you became all the more reminded of what he didn’t know—not yet.

That morning, as he spoke to you through the bathroom door about going to Prospect Park, you’d been staring at a positive pregnancy test. You barely had enough breath to agree to the outing. And when he’d asked if you were okay, you told him you were fine, but left out the fact that your lives would be changing forever in the months to come.

The two lines on the stick explained weeks worth of your body trying to communicate to you. It explained that deep sense of knowing that refused to go away. To say that you wanted to merely tell Bucky would’ve been the largest understatement of your lifetime. With all the emotions that stirred within you, you wanted to scream, cry, and jump at the same time.

A voice within you encouraged you to make the moment you told Bucky really special and intimate. Especially considering every turn that his life had taken over the years. So you vowed to wait until the two of you arrived home from your evening at the park.

“Life and new beginnings,” you repeated. You were already aware that such was associated with butterflies, but hearing him say it in that moment carried a certain magnitude. “I love the sound of that.”

Later, after walking further, you found yourselves nestled on one of the benches overlooking the lake. The water sparkled in the warm light of the sun as it prepared to set. A couple men stood peppered along the bank fishing. Children giggled as they chased after each other. Paired with the fall trees and colors all around, it was nothing short of a beautiful scene.

You let your head rest on Bucky’s shoulder, and took his real hand in yours to play with his fingers. There was a time, years ago, when the two of you would play along that same lake—throughout the whole park, actually.

You were the first to speak after a while, “Remember we used to come here when we were kids?” You straightened up from his shoulder to look at him.

“Of course I do,” he said, a smile starting on his face. “Especially during the summer. We’d always try to find open fire hydrants to play in after we left. And if we were lucky, our mom’s would let us get ice cream or shaved ice,” he recounted, chuckling. “Those were the days.”

You shook your head. “I know. Now look at us.” About to have a child of our own, you thought.

“Yup. Time flies when you’re having fun,” he said, casting out a brief look around at the serenic evening. Then he focused back on you, his tone shifting, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...” you tried not to answer too fast. “Why?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes a bit and gave a shrug. “I don’t know, I can just tell that something’s on your mind—ever since this morning,” he noted. “But you have yet to tell me what that something is, pretty girl.”

It took everything not to tell him right then and there, as you sat under a blue and orange sky in the park you knew like the back of your hand.

You offered him half a smile. “I’m that easy to read?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not necessarily. I’ve been reading you for a long time so it’s easy.” You allowed yourself to chuckle when he playfully quirked his brows. “So am I gonna have to work really hard to coax it out of you?”

You shook your head earnestly. “I promise I'll tell you when we get home… I have something to show you.”

On your way out of the park, there was a mama duck waddling under a tree with her ducklings trailing behind her.

It wasn’t until after you and Bucky made it back to your apartment, and had changed into something comfortable, that you told him you were ready. He sat on the edge of the bed as you went to retrieve the small gift box holding the pregnancy test. It was a miracle that you had had enough supplies left over from birthdays and holidays to be able to make it look as presentable as it did.

You extended it to him from a couple feet away. So much anticipation had built within you that you felt light, and as though you were buzzing.

Bucky accepted the box, and looked up at you. There was a sparkle in his blue eyes. “Why are you standing a mile away from me? C’mere.” You inched closer, and laughed when he pulled you to stand more so between his spread legs.

As he began to undo the white ribbon on the box, your lower lip was secured between your teeth. It seemed as though he was moving entirely too slow and fast at the same time.

As soon as he popped the lid off to reveal the pregnancy test sitting on top of little strips of crinkled, beige paper strips, your heartbeat sped up. Bucky’s attention lingered on the test. When he finally looked up, his gaze attested to the influx of thoughts that had been sparked into motion within his mind.

“I’m not reading this thing wrong, am I?” He briefly looked back down to stick again. Two lines. “You’re really pregnant?”

A smile broke across your face. With the news out, it felt as though you were uncaging a group of birds that had been longing for freedom for way too long. Before you could say anything else, Bucky set the box aside and stood to press his lips to yours. You stumbled back at the intentness in which he gripped your waist. It was a kiss that you felt every part of him through; his love, his passion, his warmth. And an intoxicating mix of joy and expectation.

He pulled away just enough to speak. “We’re gonna be parents?” His breath fanned over your lips. Then he leaned back in to kiss you once more, a soft peck. “You’re carrying our child?”

Bucky’s hands slipped under your shirt, and the feeling of palms against your skin was pleasant in the best way. One was cooler than the other, but they were both gentle and reverent.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I found out this morning.”

He scratched gently at your stomach, sending a shiver through you. “You managed to keep it to yourself the whole day. That’s what was on your mind?” He kissed you again.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted to tell you. No idea.” You brought your hands up to his cheeks, the budding stubble scratchy against your palms. “But I wanted to wait until we came back from Prospect.”

Bucky released a breath after a few beats of silence. “I don’t even know what to say,” he said, voice low. “This is so crazy—a good crazy.”

“I know. I’m happy and terrified at the same time,” you admitted. “I’ve never felt this way in my entire life, but it feels….”

“Good,” he finished.

A laugh escaped you. “Yeah.”

Seconds later, he was getting down onto his knees to be level with your stomach. It wasn’t until he lifted your shirt to press a kiss to your stomach that the reality of the moment set in. For the first time since learning about your pregnancy, tears slipped down your cheeks.

Bucky heard you sniffle, and stood back up to take your hands in his. “This is all I ever wanted, you know that, doll?” A few tears had come to the waterline of his eyes. “A beautiful wife, a family. This is all something I thought I’d never have.”

You sniffled again, nodding. “You deserve everything,” you murmured.

“I have my everything right in front of me.”

Without waiting another moment, you wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed him tighter than you had in a while. Parents. The two of you were going to be parents.

-

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment, if you'd like. For more fluffy Bucky Barnes fics, click here.

[alonelysimp]

One last time for me

Ignore me, I just need to get this out of my brain so I can work again

Characters: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya (separately) x reader

Word Count: 1075

Warnings: Major Character Death, Angst

Prompt: Singing "You Are My Sunshine" to comfort them as you slowly die in their arms

Albedo

"Y/N are you okay–" He freezes. The sword drops from his hand with a loud clang and he quickly shrugs off his coat and presses it on the wound, the blood quickly seeps through. He checks your pulse, eyes flickering back and forth between his and and your face. "Stay with me, okay?" He scrambles for his sword and cuts off a piece of his coat, securing it to your wound.

"Albedo?" He sushes you, gently caressing your face as if you were about to shatter into a million pieces.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me after I get you healed.” His face is tense, brows pressing together and the corners of his lips turned downward. “I’ll go see if that village we passed can send someone to help.” He leans back, shifting his weight to stand up but you catch his hand.

“Please don’t go.” You look up at him. His hair was messy and disheveled with braids threatening to come loose and glossy eyes. He hesitates, settling down next to you again after a few seconds. His sigh is heavy, dark and solemn as he moves to hold you in his arms.

“I’m sorry.” You hum questioningly, staring up at him to watch his expressions. “For almost leaving you.” Tears begin to roll down his cheeks. You clasp his hand, holding it closer to your face.

“I wish I was more like you.” Loose strands of hair flutter in the breeze, you smile at his wide-eyed expression. He returns it though, after a few seconds, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You begin to hum the song, one last time.

You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine.

You make me happy

When skies are grey.

You’ll never know, dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

Childe

He falls to his knees beside you, pulling your head into his lap and brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. His free hand cradles your head and nestles itself in your hair.

“Hey,” you smile weakly at him, resting a hand on top of his. Tears drop onto your cheek, some rolling down into your hair as you think of a way to comfort him.

“Please…” he chokes out and holds you closer. “Please don’t leave me.” He buries his head in your chest as you softly brush his hair.

The breeze dances softly around you, stirring up small petals and a few leaves. It carried the delicate scent of cecelias.

You are my sunshine,

“Darling,”

My only sunshine.

He coughs out quiet sobs into your chest.

You make me happy

His arms tense around you.

When skies are grey.

Rocking back and forth in an attempt to soothe himself.

You’ll never know dear,

He grasps at the fabric on the back of your top, holding it tightly.

How much I love you.

Relaxing, face still buried in your chest

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

“You were supposed to conquer the world with me.” He sits up and cups your cheek, stoking it with his thumb. His eyes watched you with numbed horror, lips twitching slightly.

“Ajax,” you look back at him peacefully, a smile never leaving your lips. “There’s no one else I’d rather dramatically bleed out in their arms than you.” The corners of your vision fade out, you take one last look at your lover and squeeze his hand.

“You aren’t supposed to die yet.”

Diluc

He catches you right as you hit the ground. Your breathing still ragged from the fighting, the prominent wound in your thigh isn’t helping much either.

“That’s an… a lot of blood,” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet and strained, as if he were holding back tears. Your brows furrow together slightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“Diluc—”

“I failed you.” You take his hand, squeezing it. He chokes back muffled cries as tears begin to slowly roll down his cheek.

“You didn’t fail me.” His arms hold you closer to his chest, his tears soaking through your top. You sigh, brushing your thumb over his hand.

The sunlight peeks through the green leaves and lights up his hair, making it glow in the early afternoon light. It was beautiful.

You hum softly, bringing his hand to your lips. Neither of you needed the lyrics, the sweet melody of it was enough. His cries grew louder, his whole body shaking from the intensity of them.

“Please don’t,” his voice cracks and catches in his throat. “Not again.” You weakly raise a hand to his cheek, brushing away his glistening tears.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Kaeya

His hands wrap around your waist to support your weight. You can feel him shake nervously as he sets you down and presses a cloth to your wound.

“Y/n?” he breathes, cradling your body in his arms. He fidgets and rubs your back softly. Your fingertips brush against his face, wiping away his tears.

“I’ll be okay.” His grip tightens around you and he picks you up, one arm under your legs and the other holding you to his chest.

“I think I saw a village to the South, can you make it that long?” His weight shifted as he climbed on top of his horse.

“Hey, Kaeya?” He looks down at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “Thank you for the best years of my life.”

“Stop talking like you’re gonna die.” He sniffles, setting a quick pace. “I’m not losing you.” His voice cracks, hugging you closer. “I can’t lose you.” The wind whips at his hair, now thrown back in a disheveled mess. The rocking of the horse’s strides worsened your headache, but you brushed it aside. For Kaeya’s sake.

A soft hum leaves your lips, a familiar melody you once sang to your lover while he embraced you. It reminded you of crackling fires on cold nights, carefree laughter and soft grass underfoot. Times when the two of you were the only people in the world.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are grey

You'll never know dear,

How much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

Choked sobs from the person above you as your vision begins to darken at the edges. You smile solemnly, relaxing against him as the hoofbeats lull you to sleep.

I would like to formally apologize, I don't write angst often ;-;

[realcube]

BABYSITTING WITH HIM

characters ♡ oikawa, tendou & sakusa

tw ♡ children, cursing & mentions of arson

TŌRU OIKAWA

♡ he is pretty much a professional babysitter, or so he thought

♡ which is why he accepted when you asked if he could help you take care of your nieces/nephews for the weekend

♡ i mean, he takes care of his nephew all the time so how hard could babysitting possibly be? it was basically a free pass to spend the day with you 

♡ however, he began to regret his decision as he sat on your couch and realised that he wouldn’t be able to get even somewhat intimate with you when there was constantly an annoying little boy clinging to his arm, asking him if he had any games on his phone

♡ “sorry, kid.” oikawa smiled, clenching his jaw to hide the rage but it wasn’t very effective, “i’ve not got any games. maybe you could go play with your toys or something.” 

♡ he let out a sigh, making the mistake of thinking that would be the end of their interaction

♡ “can’t you just download some?” the boy retaliated

♡ you snickered, watching as the energy visibly drained from oikawa, yet he still wore his frighteningly bright grin

♡ “i’ve not got any storage.” 

♡ “then delete some of your apps or photos.” the boy said with a shrug, then proceeded to point at oikawa’s home screen, which happened to be a picture of him and you in front of an ethereal sunset, “start with that one. you both look like dorks.”

♡ you and oikawa’s unified gasps of offence were enough to show the boy that he was able to do exactly what he intended; piss y’all off

♡ hence, with a final mischievous snicker, he dashed off

♡ “i hate kids.” oikawa muttered, inspecting his homescreen to see if he really did look like a ‘dork’, “what is his problem?”

♡ “what if our kids turn out like that?” you joked 

♡ his eyes widened momentarily, turning to look at you with an uncharacteristically sheepish expression, “our w--”

♡ “mr kawa!” a cry could be heard from the kitchen so without hesitation, you both hopped to your feet and rushed over there as quick as you could 

♡ once you both reached the area the yell came from, you were fortunately not greeted by anything gruesome 

♡ instead, you both got to behold two children trying to reach the top shelf with the power on friendship; the taller boy was standing on a chair, while the toddler held it still 

♡ however, his grip on the jar of the Nutella must’ve loosened at some point as it now lay dejectedly on the ground, half spilled across the tiles and the other half drenching the toddler, not that they seemed to mind though 

♡ in fact, it looked like they were having the time of their — albeit, short — life

♡ the container was only plastic, hence you didn’t have to worry about shards when you darted over to the poor, chocolate-covered baby and scooped them up into your arms, “are you guys, okay?!”

♡ “yeah.” the boy chuckled, noticing that holding the toddler was transferring the chocolate onto you too

♡ “if you wanted nutella, you could’ve just asked.” oikawa sighed, helping the boy get down safely from the chair before putting the object back at it’s intended spot at the dinner table 

♡ “you could have gotten seriously hurt! i thought you would know better than to do something like this.” you scolded, becoming even more furious as the baby continued to playfully slap your face with their grimy hands, “please don’t do that again.”

♡ before they boy got the chance to do anything besides murmur a vague apology, oikawa interjected, “they won’t get the chance.”

♡ and he was right

♡ after cleaning everything up (including the child, which took forever), you didn’t let either of the rascals out of your sight until your duties as babysitters were complete 

♡ “i think we handled that pretty well.” oikawa mused, gathering his stuff along with you as you both got ready to leave

♡ “yeah, maybe we should do this again sometime.” you suggested, but it was followed by a few second was complete silence

♡ until you both burst out laughing 

♡ “yeah, never again.” you agreed

♡ “the kids can take care of themselves.” oikawa said with shrug, offering his hand to you, before you both strutted out of the disaster house

♡ ever since then, it was a common inside joke between you to, when in the vicinity of a kid causing mayhem or being a nuisance, whisper to each or exchange a look that says, ‘it’s a great day to not be babysitting.’  

SATORI TENDŌ

♡ at first, you thought that asking tendou for help babysitting would be a bad idea bc he is just as hyperactive as the damn kids sometimes so he’d probably not be the best influence 

♡ and you knew this bc one time you happened to run into him while out in the park with the kids and you asked him to watch them for literally a minute so you could run to the bathroom but when you came back all you almost had a heart attack because tendou was teaching them fkn tricks on the monkey bars 

♡ however, you then realised that if the kids were busy committing arson with uncle tendou, then they wouldn’t be bothering you 

♡ so here you are, playing monopoly with your boyfriend, a seven year-old and a one year-old

♡ well, it was less like monopoly and more like debate class since none of you could agree on the rules

♡ “well, uncle ten,” the older sibling began, in a very matter-of-factly tone, “if i burn your property down, then i  don’t have to pay you for landing on it.”

♡ “but then you also go to jail.” you pointed out

♡ “not if the police don’t catch me.”

♡ you burst out laughing, meanwhile tendou kept his business face on, “good point, but watch this.” tendou spoke as he rolled the dice, though no matter what if he got a number between four and seven, he would end up landing on somebody’s property

♡ he got a four

♡ picking up his piece, he moved it across each square individually and once he was due to land on your property, he knocked his piece over

♡ “whoops, i slipped.” he chuckled, though his friendly aura immediately dropped as he looked you dead in the eye and said, “i’m suing.”

♡ “you can’t sue me because you tripped!” you yelled 

♡ “i guess i just fell for you.” he said, resulting in the kids both making gagging noises before he stuck out his hand, “100 monopoly dollars, please.”

♡ “like i said,” you tried your best to stay strong and not laugh at his shitting pickup line, “i’m not giving you any money, you fell!”

♡ “i guess we’ll have to take this matter to court then.” tendou said, tapping the shoulder of the one year-old who was currently chewing on a 500 bill which you quickly had to confiscate 

♡ “judge, do you think (y/n) owes me 100 monopoly dollars for poor health and safety conduct?”

♡ “yes.”

♡ “that is the only word they know how to say!” you cried, begrudgingly handing over the money 

♡ “thank you, angel.” tendou cooed, adding your singular bill to the pile he had already stored up; the winner of the game had already been decided 

♡ and although you and the seven year-old kid both cried later after getting your asses kicked in monopoly (the one year-old cried too but they were just hungry), you all went out to get food and actually had a pretty good time

♡ it became a routine for tendou to help you babysit whenever he got the chance and y’all would always play table top games

♡ also when tendou got accepted into culinary school, he’d teach/show the kids what dishes he has learned to prepare and let them help by stirring the pot, adding spices etc etc

♡ and even when he moved to Paris, on special occasions, a box of chocolates would suddenly appear at the kids’ door and all the little pieces would be shaped and moulded into some of their favourite characters or made out of their favourite flavours 

♡ and at one point the kids even insisted that you teach them how to make chocolates so they can send some back to uncle tendou <33

♡ they weren’t the best, but when tendou received the misshapen, slightly stale chocolates at his apartment, addressed from you and the children, he cried

KIYOOMI SAKUSA

♡ his first response when you asked if he could help you babysit was ofc ‘ew no 🤢’

♡ needless to say it took a lot mansplain manipulate malewifing to convince him to come over 

♡ but once he did, obviously he was in his full protective gear; there was no way in hell he was going to catch whatever germs the little goblins have

♡ honestly he almost sprayed a chid in the face with hand sanitizer when they came running up to him with open arms, trying to give him a hug 

♡ which was unusual because the kids don’t tend to be overly friendly with new people, but you just brushed it off and figured that sakusa must’ve been an exception

♡ during his time babysitting, sakusa spend most of his energy trying to avoid the children at all costs that it basically became a game of tag, with you helping the child try to reach sakusa, and him hiding

♡ but honestly you couldn’t complain since the whole time the child was playing, they were safe with you rather than playing with fire 

♡ until later you were reminded of their odd fondness for sakusa when they insisted that sakusa carry them to their bedroom when it was their nap time

♡ and as you were shifting through the books, looking for a story to read, it hit you why they seemed to be so familiar with sakusa

♡ it’s because he looked exactly like the prince in one of their favourite story books; same hair, both tall and they even had similar moles to each other

♡ upon noticing this, you immediately showed sakusa and was quite amused

♡ in fact, he found it so cute that he gave both you and the toddler a lil’ kiss on the cheek, as a parting gift — mask off and everything

♡ he ended up reading the story and the kid fell into deep slumber by the time he reached the second page

♡ letting out a sigh of relief, sakusa slumped onto the ground, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut for a moment, “what a day.”

♡ you shuffled over to you could lay down beside him, “indeed it was, prince sakusa.”

♡ “shut up.” he teased, poking your rib slightly before absently intertwining his fingers with your own

♡ next thing you knew, you were both awakened by the sound of a grumpy toddler...

[confessionsof-a-writing-freak]

I Don't Wanna Be a Memory

Summary:

“Well, I’m not just your boss!”, Steve hears himself say, “I’m not just your boss. I’m also an omega. And I want you to tell me what to do. Your voice is like it’s permanently in alpha command, and I want you to fucking command me! Because I’m not just your boss. I’m not just an omega. I’m your fucking omega! And I can’t stand you saying my name like you’re seconds away from telling me to get down on my knees because you never do!

And it isn’t your fault! It’s not! You don’t want me anymore, and that’s fine, but my omega hasn’t forgotten, and my heart won’t forgive you for not loving me anymore. So stop. Stop saying my name like you still want me. Because every time you do, I feel like you’ve come back to me, but you haven’t- you won’t! And it’s killing me, Buck.”

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33385405

Rating: Explicit

Ship: James 'Bucky' Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional tags: A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha bucky!, Omega Steve!

Bucky’s voice is the single most dangerous weapon he possesses.

Not the guns, or the knives, or even the years of government-issued muscle memory in hand-to-hand combat could compare the carnage that rubbles and quakes the earth when he says Steve's name.

“Stevie,” Low and silky. Full of authority-full of alpha. But still understanding the difference in rank despite the apparent superiority in designation. Never challenging or speaking down, but fuck did it make Steve want to sink to his knees and watch Bucky fall apart due to his mouth for a change.

“Steve?”

Okay, maybe not the entire earth, but Steve’s world sure feels like it’s been turned on its axis.

“...Steve.”

The worst part of it all is Bucky has no idea. No clue. No motivation! He simply exists and speaks like that with no intention of letting his voice get all severe and appetizing for the purpose of getting Steve’s omega excited for Bucky's alpha.

It’s especially distracting during missions.

Steve’s heart races, his conscious thought nowhere to be found as he conjures up impossible scenarios involving his reformed assassin best friend and naked cuddling.

The second they boarded the Quinjet, Steve had torn the earpiece away as if it had burned him.

Can you imagine leading a team or keeping them safe when every so often your second in command asks for your position, voice rough as he asks Steve for orders?!

Can anyone really blame him for getting lost in the phantom sensations of Bucky saying his name like a secret no one else deserves to know?

He didn’t think so.

That being said, all the control he can muster in order to actually complete a mission evaporates into the wind the moment the dance between life and death comes to a close; every suppressed, shameless fantasy unleashed and unforgiving as they consume his every thought.

Steve is abruptly pulled from his most recent daydream when a cool metal hand taps the back of his wrist twice, “You with us, Steve? I’ve been calling your name for a minute now.”

Quickly, Steve straightens his back and squares his shoulders, meeting stormy grey eyes.

“Sorry, Buck. Had a lot on my mind.”, He says with more confidence than he actually has.

It’s not really a lie. He does have a lot on his mind, all the ways he can find himself face down, ass up on the other man’s bed. Drooling and crying and breathing in Buckys scent with every breath he takes.

Of course, he can’t very well say that, can he?

He was lucky the S.H.I.E.L.D issued, super soldier approved suppressants made him nearly null. He can’t fathom the level of embarrassment that would claim him if Buck- or the whole damn plane for that matter- could scent the desperation, horny inside of him.

Bucky shifts closer, grey eyes softening the tiniest bit with concern, “Is everything alright?”

No.

“Yes, of course, “ He lies, “Just thinking about battle techniques is all. Scouts honor!” Steve makes an odd, incorrect gesture as a mock salute.

Bucky allows a small huff of air Steve recognizes as his poor imitation of a chuckle. There’s a moment of fuzzy pride that nearly causes Steve to purr; happy he brought a smile to the alpha’s face before his stomach drops clear down to his toes as murmured laughter rumbles too close to a growl in Buckys chest.

“My memory may be shit, Stevie, but I know for damn sure you weren’t no boy scout.”

Aaaand there it is.

Stevie.

Steves omega stirs and preens before the captain shoves them back down. Resenting the butterflies crying out in his belly and the urge to beg Bucky to just say his name over and over and over…

“Steve?”, This time, the concern isn’t quite as subtle, “Are you sure you’re alright, pal?” Bucky takes a step closer towards the blonde, drawing out skittish blue eyes, lowering his voice in case anyone was listening.

Again, the omega clears his throat and squares his shoulders.

“Did you want to tell me something, Sargent?”

Bucky opens his mouth, defiance dancing on his tastebuds before something makes him snap it shut, offering a curt nod, “Yes, Captain.” His voice strained, everything he wants to say lodged in his throat.

“I just wanted to let you know that we should be landing in less than 15 minutes.”

Like before, Bucky opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Choosing instead to take a seat beside his captain, slipping his arms through the provided harness. He gives Steve a pointed look, “We should probably buckle up.”

For a moment, Steve is taken back to the war. When his body was just beginning to react to the serum and the increased suppressants. (The government had taken every percussion necessary to ensure the public wouldn’t know Captain America was an omega.)

After Steve became ‘big’ and outranked Bucky in the military, the brunette never did anything but follow him into the fire. Loyal and boundless. Never questioning his strategies or actions unless it put him in direct danger. That didn’t mean he could keep himself from telling Steve what to do. He just found different ways to do it.

Suggesting tasks, like putting on seatbelts, for instance. Strapping extra weapons to his ankles before handing one to Steve and forcing it into his hands even when the blonde would roll his eyes, whispering his disapproval so only he would hear.

Never raising his voice or permitting his tone to deepen or his scent to take on that spicy, electric feel that never failed to make Steve bare his neck. Never stepping out of line. Never disrespecting or demeaning Steves title. Always in charge anyway.

Bucky doesn’t utter a single command or request, but Steve buckles up anyhow. Drinking in the small, hardly there smile that Bucky offers to the air in front of him, not even meeting Steve’s gaze. And the omega hates the happiness, the relief he feels at satisfying Bucky.

Hates that Bucky doesn’t even have to tell him what to do for him to obey. Hates that he has to obey, even though Bucky doesn’t need him to anymore.

He doesn’t need him anymore...

Bucky still hasn’t said a word when they land, but it’s not like Steve gave him much of an opportunity.

Things have been strained between them since Steve began pulling away. Avoiding Bucky’s calls and limiting their time together.

It was just easier that way. Miserable and lonely, but easier.

The moment the Quinjet is stationary, the supersoldier is up on his feet and stomping down the runway, leaving the Avengers and Bucky behind him.

He needs to breathe.

He can’t breathe!

If he didn’t know any better, he would say he was having an asthma attack. It feels like an asthma attack.

Steve’s eyes sting with unshed tears, taking large gulps of air into his lungs, and it burns!

He arrives at his door by the grace of God, not remembering entering the tower or if he passed anyone on his way.

“Jarvis. Door.” He gasps. Actual fear starting to seep into his bones.

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” The AI responds, the oversized steel doors swinging open.

Distantly, Steve hears the door shut behind him and feels himself settle against a wall. He pushes his back against the surface and tries to even out his breathing. Revisiting everything he can remember about how to resolve an asthma attack.

After several attempts, he stumbles into a somewhat consistent breathing pattern, his chest heaving at a slower rate.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose…

It’s not working!

Steve’s heartbeat only hammers against his chest and neck quicker, his breathing sharply turning back into hyperventilation.

It’s then that he realizes he isn’t having an asthma attack at all. He’s having a panic attack.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. InthroughthenoseOutthroughthemouth.

Why isn’t this working!?

The blonde clenches his eyes shut, a sob fighting its way past trembling lips. He feels so alone. So unwanted, Unwarranted.

He thinks back to the 40s- back to him and Bucky. After the serum, during the war. Hidden behind the cover of night and an abandoned building at the far end of Base. The first time since the change, his heart felt like it would crawl its way up Steves throat and swan dive right off his tongue.

Struggling to ease the fogginess in his mind, Steve remembers strong arms wrapped around his waist. Cool metal poking his nose as he bumped Bucky’s dog tags with each of his movements, scenting warm flesh.

Bucky’s voice is rumbling demands, his voice leaving no room for argument while every word was also laced with patience and love. Scent projecting love, understanding, I’m here, you’re safe.

“In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

He repeats the mantra until Steve’s Omega obeyed his alpha, sucking in lung fulls of oxygen and releasing it in time with Buckys orders.

The memory of bombs and gunshots lost behind the sound of Bucky’s voice.

In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

He conjures up the memory of Buckys voice, coated in alpha command, urging him to breathe evenly. Fingers digging into Steve’s flushed skin, grounding him.

His alpha always knows what he needs...

Steve misses him.

Misses more than just the raw irrefutable attraction that got them into more trouble than it should have growing up. But he misses the rest of him too.

Misses the smirks and the long nights dreaming of what the future would bring. He misses Bucky’s laugh. God, he can hardly remember what it sounds like now.

Steve misses the way he would kiss. Gently. Chaste. Rough. Long. Kiss him in private and kiss him places that weren’t safe. On the stoop in front of their apartment, before the sun would come up and wandering eyes could catch them. Or alone in their bedroom, lips starting on his eyelids, across purple bruises, then down to his chest. Swallowing the omega’s moans and grinning into his mouth before settling beside him and chuckling deep into his ear, the last thing Steve would hear before sleep would overcome him. He misses the way Bucky would say his name like a prayer, wrap his lips around every letter like a caress, eyes sparkling with their love.

He misses knowing he’ll never be alone.

His heart thunders in his ears, chest feeling seconds away from crumbling in on itself as he thinks maybe it was easier when he believed the alpha was dead. Before he found out Bucky was alive, he mourned the man who loved him. Now, he grieves the love he’s lost. The alpha- his alpha-standing beside him without an ounce of affection or desire in his eyes.

Bucky wasn’t mourning the loss of Steve because he didn’t want Steve. Not anymore.

He clearly remembered enough. He may remember it all. However, knowing didn’t mean he had any intention of returning to what they had.

But even if every memory was gone, if the omega mattered at all, Bucky would remember him- his soul! If Steve himself were robbed of his past and they were just meeting again for the first time, he knew his soul would remember Buckys. Would want to know him all over, not needing to understand why!

The tears are falling before Steve has the chance to notice. A jagged whine barreling past his lips. All the weight of devastation and loneliness finally falling onto his shoulders.

Bucky had met him again. But he didn’t need him the same. Didn’t know his Omega; he didn’t want his heart.

Steve slumps further against the wall, blonde hair drenched in sweat, hands clawing at his chest, trying fruitlessly to manage his racing heart.

Closing his eyes, the omega summons an image of Bucky smiling reassuringly, soothing him as he tells him what to do.

In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

Okay… okay. That’s better.

“It hurts to think of you,” The omega confesses to no one, the tears running past his chin onto his suit. But I need you, “And I can’t breathe without you.”

“In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. I’ve got you, Stevie. In and out. That’s it. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

Steve allows himself to sink deeper into his fantasy, swearing he could actually feel Bucky's hands running down his back and through his hair.

“I’ve got you, Stevie.”

It’s the last thing Steve hears before he passes out.

***

Steve is warm.

Steve’s bed has always been too soft, even after Sam suggested a firmer mattress. While helpful, he still couldn’t manage anything better than a fitful half-sleep most nights. He knew why, but in an effort to avoid further misery, he chooses not to dwell too much on that matter.

Aside from the too-soft mattress and the alpha missing from his bed, the omega was never warm enough. He shivered and reached out for body heat too far from his reach. But…

Steve is warm...

For a moment, he swears arms are around him.

And for a moment, he doesn’t care who they belong to. Because he isn’t shivering, for once. Isn’t suffering through another cold sweat, and the omega constantly pacing within him is actually settled. He hasn’t been this comfortable since the previous century, so whoever the hell is beside him can very well stay where they are, as long as he can keep this feeling.

It’s with another breath, he feels consciousness slowly creep up on him.

He almost laughs at the thought of being comfortable in anyone else’s arms. Of course, Bucky should have been his first thought, but honestly, at this point, Bucky willingly in his bed was a cruel dream.

Bucky must be using the same blockers Steve does. His Omega can’t scent him even this close, but who else’s arms fit so perfectly around him?

It’s the closest they’ve been at all since rescuing Bucky from Hydra, and Steve hated it as much as he loved it.

He wants to go back to sleep. Wants to bask in the warmth Bucky offers and pretend they’re back in their tiny apartment in Brooklyn. Struggling to make ends meet and unplagued by the horrors of war. Hidden from the world behind wilting wallpaper, sharing sweet kisses and bruising grips.

But this isn’t 1939. Bucky doesn’t share his bed...or his affections.

He would give anything to go back. He’d give anything to have his alpha again.

“I didn’t know you still had panic attacks.”, of course, Bucky noticed he wasn’t asleep anymore.

Steve feels him shift away, the arm around his waist, already feather-light, hardly there.

The omega within him whines, not wanting him to pull away. No, he wants him to climb on top of him. To drop all of his weight onto Steve’s hopeless body, make him stay in place. Unable to move until Bucky tells him he can...

Steve clenches his eyes tightly, suppressing his every unrelenting instinct from manifesting into something that will only push Bucky further away. And he needs him. Steve needs him, even if it is killing him.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about, Buck.”, the omega remarks, his back still firmly pressed to Bucky’s chest.

Bucky may be ready to move, but Steve certainly isn’t. It’s not like the Alpha will say anything. Steve is far from perfect, despite whatever bullshit the news wants to feed the public. Steve is flawed and can be as selfish as anyone else. There are times where he permits his gaze to linger longer than it should, hands lazily pulling back when they should’ve never left his side, to begin with, or say Buckys name in the dead of night, surrounded by nothing but darkness and the sticky evidence of his spent weaknesses.

In private or in front of the alpha, Steve has toed the line of what is appropriate between friends and behavior shared between lovers.

Bucky has never reacted to any of it. Robotic and perfect all at once. His responses are exactly what they’re supposed to be, feeling false all the same.

Never contesting. Never reacting. As if Steve doesn’t ache for him.

It’s then that the confusion begins to twist at the recess of the omega’s mind.

“Why are you in my bed, Buck?” And how can I keep you here?

There’s a beat of silence, Bucky’s breath even beside Steve’s ear. It almost feels rehearsed, as if Bucky is concentrating on his breathing. Steve shakes the thought away before he can fool himself for the millionth time something is there that has proven again and again to be long ago dead.

“I was worried about you,” Bucky eventually admits, the arm just barely resting on Steve’s hip returning to its previous pressure, fingers hot and electrifying as they accidentally meet bare flesh peeking beneath Steve’s sleep shirt.

Sleep shirt?

“Did you change my clothes?” Steve says without thinking, saying anything to stop himself from moaning. He can’t remember the last time Buckys hands were this close to his body without explosions and frantic shouts playing in the background.

He turns his neck enough to meet Bucky’s clouded grey gaze.

A gasp falls from his lips instinctively, his own eyes widening on their own accord, taking in the receding blood red only just beginning to fade from the alpha’s eyes.

Just like that, Bucky is removing his arm entirely, releasing the Omega and taking all of that delicious warmth with him.

Bucky stays on the bed, though. His back resting against the headboard.

Steve just narrowly stops himself from shouting, ‘No! Stay, please!’, his heart pounding in his ears and his hands burning with the desire to reach out and drag the other man in.

Instead, he swallows his cries and urges his weary muscles into a sitting position, facing away from the former assassin.

While Steve was changed into something more comfortable than his uniform, the omega notices Bucky remains in his clunky tactical gear, down to his boots.

He had no intention of staying, Rogers. Take deep breaths, and give him an out.

He just needs to go.

The blonde is good at pretending. Well, most days anyway, he can fake a smile when the world is falling apart; he can pretend to be happy. But what he can’t seem to do anymore is pretend that he isn’t painfully in love with the man currently sitting on his bed, not a single reminisce of what they once were hanging between them.

He can’t manage a smile or a whisper of optimism when everything good has been taken from him. He knows what’s expected of him, but there are days when the sorrow is crippling, and he feels weaker than he ever did as that little guy from Brooklyn.

Clearly, no more talking is going to happen. And Steve isn’t emotionally stable enough right now to act as if he doesn’t want the alpha to bathe him in his scent, forcing the lingering panic, unwell, lonely away.

He moves to stand when,

“Rest.”

The order is sharp and certainly unintentional.

The shiver that races down Steve’s spine is violent, and his body locks up, ready to obey.

Turning his neck again, Steve catches the profile of the alphas annoyingly handsome face. His eyes are closed, brow pinched in concentration.

Steve stands slowly, hands shaking. It’s sickening how dreadfully good that single word made him feel. Floaty and sated. His blood, always raging, rushing, and crying out, settles within him, preparing to be taken care of.

The logical part of him reminds the omega they’ve been here before. Bucky will do something so woefully familiar, he dilutes himself into thinking he’s still wanted.

It’s never the case.

Steve keeps the hope from his tone when he challenges, “Excuse me?” Waiting for another command with bated breath.

“You should probably rest, Cap,” Bucky folds his arms across his broad chest, still ignoring Steve’s previous question as well as his gaze.

Forcing a smirk that makes him want to throw up, Steve teases, “Are you avoiding my question, Sargent?”

“Steve,” Bucky objects, voice chastizing.

Something uneasy burrows into Steve’s stomach, his body rejecting the discontent emanating off Bucky's skin.

He shrugs away the urge to whine, instead offering an ingenuine chuckle, “Jeez, I’m fine. Why so serious, Buck?”

Bucky stands, eyes hard, glaring right into Steve’s soul. The blonde sucks in a harsh breath, his fingers tingling and breath shallow.

Bucky’s eyes are red.

“Why so serious? “ The alpha growls, not moving from his spot beside Steve’s bed. The distance separating them not making sense in contrast to the intimate edge heavy in the air. It would be comical if not for the current sparking the negative space.

“We’re just gonna pretend like I didn’t find you seconds from passing out less than an hour ago? Is that something casual, am I supposed to just ignore it?”

Steve’s plastic smile fades, a tired expression painting his sharp features, “Yes. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.” He sighs, scrubbing his face in frustration, “Ignore it. Like you ignore everything else, Bucky...Just go.”

“What’s tha ‘posed to mean?”

“It means I’m sorry you had to see that, but you don’t have to worry about it.”

“See what? You being irresponsible?”

The thin scrap of patience the omega has evaporates; actually, it burns the fuck up, raging as loud as Steve’s fury, “Irresponsible!?”

The anger shoots through Steve like a wildfire, his temperature rising and his hands balling into fists. If the Alpha didn’t know any better, he’d think Steve was going to punch him.

Even so, he doesn’t back down. Instead, he takes a single step towards the blonde, body tight and rigid. Voice booming when he sneers, “Yes, goddamn it! Irresponsible.”

“Fuck you, Bucky!” Steve shouts, “Who the hell are you to lecture me on being irresponsible?”

“I’m your… I’m your second in command, and if you were struggling with PTSD, you should have told me something! Instead of me following you to your rooms and basically threatening Jarvis into letting me in. You were pale, Steve. Snow White ain’t got shit on how you looked- you were nearly blue! And I’m sorry for stepping in. We can blame it on your biology, but you finally managed to relax when my alpha came forward. It’s irresponsible to let yourself get to that point when you could have come to me- or, or anyone in the avengers for help.”

“You’re sorry,” Steve scoffs, “ You’re sorry you had to help me.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh, but it’s what you said, isn’t it?” The Omega is nearly in hysterics. Half sad laughs, the only thing keeping him from crying.

“Steve...”

Buckys voice is now soaked in concern, the anger lost behind wisps of worried seeping from his concealed scent. Which serves only to break Steve further.

“Stevie.” Bucky repeats, wondering if Steve was spiraling into another panic attack.

He is only two steps away from him in a second, twitching, never touching but always close.

Steve feels another shock rack his entire body. His name falling from Bucky’s lips so effortlessly. The authority he holds swallowing every syllable. The sheer force of it nearly brings the omega to his knees.

Steve's heart pounds against his chest, like his heart is trying to escape. Running both hands across his face, then over tufts of blonde hair, his hands meeting behind his neck craned up towards the sky. Praying to anyone up there with mercy that Bucky will just leave. He keeps his arms where they arm before he can do something stupid like reach out.

“Bucky, why are you so concerned about it?” Steve’s eyes are still trained to the ceiling.

Steve knows he’s playing with fire. Playing with his own emotions, but sometimes he can swear he lives for it.

Bucky hesitates, watching Steve with careful eyes. “Because…You are our Captain and my best friend. If you need help, I am going to help you.”

The finality in his tone almost sounds like an alpha command, but his words contradict any sense of attraction or desire.

Another huff, gaze and arms dropping, “I’ll be fine once you leave.” Steve counters, harsher than he intended.

But fuck if he cares. Bucky doesn’t want him. He deserves to be a little angry. If he can’t grieve him, he can at least have this!

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” He snaps, “Just leave, James.”

“James? Oh, I’m James now?”

Steve could care less if he’s hurt his feelings. He’s had enough. His heart hurts, and his head aches. He is done playing this ‘I’m okay with everything’ game.

He is not okay with this, Dammit!

His heart is broken. Shattered. Irreplaceable. And he’s just supposed to be okay with that? He’s supposed to be Bucky’s friend and make jokes and smile when he is dying inside? Crying for his alpha- for stability when he feels like his whole world has been rocked?

Well, he’s had enough. He’s behaved for 2 years. He’s done!

Clenching blue eyes shut, Steve feels every carefully constructed wall of deception crumple at their feet.

“I don’t have time for this. Just leave so that I can breathe! I can’t breathe with you here!”

“Stevie…”

“Please,” the omega whimpers, all the fight leaving his body, long pale fingers running through sleep tousled hair, pulling at the roots, “Just stop.”

“Stop what? I can’t stop doing something if I don’t know what it is I’m doing!”

It’s Bucky’s turn to be panicked. In two strides, he’s in front of Steve, feeling the alarm creep up his chest, a flash of something sharpening eerie grey.

“Steve! Answer m-” Bucky lifts his hands as if to reach out for the other man but catches himself before metal could find flesh, “Will you tell me what I am doing wrong?”

Steve wants to cry and scream and rip that stupid mental arm out of its socket just so he can slap Bucky with it.

“Stop!” He repeats desperately, “Just stop! Stop saying my name! Stop talking to me like-like…”

“Like what!?”

Taking a calming breath, Steve forces himself to meet the alpha’s eyes, “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to give you orders and never receive a protest in return?”

There’s a beat of silence accompanied by a blank expression. Steves heart shouting in his chest.

“...What?”

Steve continues, “Telling you what to do and how to do it. At least before you would fight me, yell at me. Make it easier to breathe.”

“Steve, what the fuck are you talkin’ about? You’re my boss. I’m s’posed ta take orders from ya.” Steve just about weeps when the Brooklyn accent begins to peek through, just as it usually does when Bucky is confused.

“Well, I’m not just your boss!”, Steve hears himself say, “I’m not just your boss. I’m also an omega. And I want you to tell me what to do. Your voice is like it’s permanently in alpha command, and I want you to fucking command me! Because I’m not just your boss. I’m not just an omega. I’m your fucking omega! And I can’t stand you saying my name like your seconds away from telling me to get down on my knees because you never do! And it isn’t your fault! It’s not! You don’t want me anymore, and that’s fine, but my omega hasn’t forgotten, and my heart won’t forgive you for not loving me anymore. So stop. Stop saying my name like you still want me. Because every time you do, for precisely one second, I feel like you’ve come back to me, but you haven’t- you won’t! And it’s killing me, Buck.”

Steve’s eyes are misted with tears, his chest heaving and skin flushed with embarrassment and shame, “Please… Just don’t say my name, or I’m just gonna break.”

The words pour from his lips, and he wants to disappear. He wishes the ground would just swallow him whole and save him from Bucky’s response.

Steve trembles beneath stormy grey, choosing instead to watch the ground. His omega whining and clawing at the back of his mind.

“I can’t do this anymore, Bucky.” He murmurs, waiting for the outrage or worse; the indifference-the clunk of footsteps walking away from the mess he’s made. The life they had. The man he no longer loves.

Steve hasn’t found his eyes again. Won’t move his head. He doesn’t care how submissive it makes him look because he’s spent most of his life searching for steel grey eyes in crowds and across rooms. Seeking them out in the dark, the only beacon of light he would see most days. And now… Now those eyes that kept him so safe when the world was crumbling around them made him feel like winter on a summer day, cold and alone, only seconds from melting into nothing.

He’s not sure how much time passes without a word between them. He waits another moment before surrendering a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, shaking his head and turning to leave.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he couldn’t stay here.

Like lightning, Bucky’s right hand snaps forward, catching the omega’s wrist before he can make it far, and just like electricity, a jolt of fire scorches where their skin meets.

As one would an old friend, Steve invites the sensation to consume him, feeling every nerve respond to Bucky, it’s like he was brought back to life, and he wants nothing more than to cry because he knows it won’t last. He knows as soon as the alpha lets go, he’ll return to reality as only half a man. Something-someone always missing from him.

“Steve.”, his breath hitches, and his hands shake. A whisper of a scent he’s all but forgotten seeps into the room, but it’s gone before Steve can determine if it’s only a memory.

Steve’s name rolls off of Bucky’s tongue too easily. Too pretty. Too dark. Too much!

Jesus!

Hadn’t he been clear enough the first fucking time? How else exactly was he supposed to phrase it; ‘Don’t say my name, or I’ll break from how horny it makes me?’

“Steve,” The alpha repeats.

Steve feels another pang of electricity shoot to his fingertips, itching with the need to just touch, “Bucky, I think you should leave.”

He doesn’t want him to. But when was the last time Steve got what he wanted.

“Now,” He adds after another second passes. Bucky's feet were firmly placed on the ground, not a single muscle prepared to even twitch.

The room is blanketed in heavy silence before, “No.”

Steve feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. His lips part in surprise, brow furrowed as his heart begins to pick up the pace.

“Excuse me?”

“I hate that I can’t scent you,” The alpha announces, talking slow, calculated steps forward, eradicating any space brave enough to separate them,

“I hate that I can’t tell where you are during missions.” Suddenly Bucky’s grip loosens, yet it doesn’t move far. He runs his hand up Steve’s forearm, fingertips dragging across perfect porcelain skin, not stopping until the palm of his flesh hand rests on Steve’s neck.

“I picture what it would feel like to sink my teeth into your neck and keep you there, with my fangs in your flesh, drawing blood from your skin and moans from your lips. I dream of you whimpering, “ He whispers harshly, eyes trained to Steve’s neck.

The omega’s eyes flutter closed, lips trembling around the alpha’s name, “Bucky,”

Ignoring the blonde, the other man continues, not quite done yet, “I defend those thoughts by saying to myself, it’s all so that I can feel you. So I can feel where you are when we’re in the field. So I won’t worry as much, won’t get distracted. But I know it’s just half of it. I know I want to tell you to take those damn blockers off. To wash it away, or let me lick it away with my tongue-whichever came first.”

“I hate that I want to fall asleep with you curled above my chest because you’ll be warmer that way. And for whatever reason, I remember you always being cold before bed. I want to demand you buckle up and wear extra layers. I want you to fight me a little. I want you to tell me to shut up but get all soft when I give you a hard look. Like, you are now, with my chest touching yours, hands at your neck and waist. Your heart stuttering against me. I want you to tease me because you want me to get annoyed so that I tell you to shut your mouth and put it to good use. I hate that I want to do all these things, but I can’t. Because you don’t want me to...”

Blue pop open, held hostage by grey. Bucky is everywhere. His face is so close Steve can feel every breath the alpha takes fan over his eyelashes. His eyes tracking over the curve of pink lips and soft skin. Left arm curled around Steve’s waist, metal grip unmoving. His other hand still firmly placed over his scent gland, Bucky’s long fingers spread over the column of flesh, thumb running back and forth along the length of it, causing goosebumps to follow his trail of fire.

Steve moans at the sensation, baring his neck so Bucky has the access he would need. His legs nearly giving out beneath him, but the arm at his waist won’t let him fall.

“Are you telling me that you want me to?” Bucky presses. His voice is sharp and promising. The hand around Steve’s neck, a light pressure the omega finds himself pushing into.

“Steve! Look at me. Look at me, omega.”

The blonde hadn’t noticed his eyes fluttering shut again, the sensation of being held, of having so much alpha- his alpha right there in front of him. Soaking him in his scent. Not a true claim or even a scent mark, but this is more than he ever thought he would ever get again.

Bucky’s words have barely registered for the omega; he lost the ability to comprehend English the instant Buckys hands found his body. But he reacts to the order, all the same, seeing the steely, beautiful grey (beginning to tint red again) he has known since he was a boy.

Slowly, so slowly, Steve begins to piece together the things Bucky has confessed, his eyes once more welling with tears.

Patiently, Bucky waits for the understanding to reflect in sapphire eyes, speaking only when he knows the omega can now retain information.

“Are you telling me you want me to touch you, Stevie?” Bucky murmurs, staring at Steve’s bottom lip.

“Yes,” He breathes, just barely audible without an ounce of hesitation.

The next thing Steve knew, Bucky had him against a wall. His nose buried in his neck and his hands rounding his ass, using his shoulders to pin Steve to the wall and lift his legs until the omega joined the program and wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist. Bucky’s hardening cock pushing into his hip.

“Oh shit, Buck!”

“ I have to say your name,” Bucky growls, grinding into his omega.

“As much as I can, even if it doesn’t work in the conversation, because it’s the closest I can get you in my mouth. It tastes like heaven, and memories I can’t decipher are real or just fantasy they- Oh, fuck baby. Yeah, Stevie- They don’t compare to this- Keep moving, just like that, babydoll.”

Steve ruts against Buckys friction, his eyes closed tightly, whatever was left of their blockers bleeding out, replacing the neutral aroma in the room with their combined scents, desperation, and slick.

“God, Bucky. I missed you so much. I’ve been so alone.”

Buckys mouth finds Steve’s trembling lips, nothing subtle or slow about his movements. The alpha’s tongue swallows the moans tumbling past Steve’s lips. Hands gripping his waist tighter.

The sun bursts behind their eyes. Blood rushing and hearts bumping to twice their regular speed. For different people, people who aren’t Steve and Bucky, a first kiss after so long should probably be slow and tentative, something soft and building. But they aren’t different people. They are too broken and too powerful and undeniably deserving people who have had nothing to count on besides one another their entire conscious lives. To entertain even a second of not indulging in hard, fast, desperate supersedes unthinkable and settles somewhere over cruel.

“Never again, Stevie. I ain’t leaving you alone” another thrust, “Ever, “ another bruising kiss, “Again.”

Bucky’s cock strains against his uniform, desperate for Steve’s hole. Steve is a withering whimpering mess, drunk on Buckys scent and high on all the delicious friction causing his weeping cunt to flutter, uncomfortably empty.

After several more minutes of making out, Bucky moves them back to the bed, lying Steve out on the mattress. He only has a fraction of a second to admire the work of art that is Steve Rogers sprawled out and waiting to be fucked when Steve’s hands are at his neck, pulling him back in.

His lips move against the alpha’s sloppily, sucking on his bottom lip until the ex-assassin growls impatiently, searching for his mate’s tongue. His mate…

His mate. Steve thinks he may cry as the sheer relief almost painfully washes over him. All of the uncertainty and shame of being unwanted melts away, and all that surrounds him is the vibrating want, mine, love, love, love from the man above him, trailing scorching hot kisses down his neck.

“I wanna be ‘side you, baby. Please, Steve. Let me, ugh, please, babydoll. Can I-”

“Yes!” steve interrupts, “Yes, Alpha, you never have to ask! I’ll do whatever you ask, oh just touch me, Bucky, alpha, my alpha, touch me-”

“Shh, “ Bucky chuckles, stopping the omega’s rambling. He runs his flesh hand through disheveled blonde hair, dragging his nails through Steve’s scalp and marveling at the hiss the omega releases, “I’ve got you, Stevie. All I needed was a lil consent, then all bets are off, aren’t they? ‘Cause you’re mine now, aren’t you, baby?”

“Always have been, jerk. I never stopped.”

“Good. Now, stop touching me.”

With a whimper, Steve can’t stop his hands from frantically clawing every inch of Bucky he can access.

“Now, babydoll, don’t you wanna be good for me?”

Still clutching one hand around Bucky's thick, muscular biceps, the other pulling at the strands of dark brown hair helplessly, “I can be good,” the omega babbles, “I’ll be good, Alpha. So good, I can be good, so so good. Please-”

“ Then listen to what I am telling you. I won’t repeat myself again, Steve. It’s my turn now. I wanna get my mouth on you, and I can’t do that if you keep pullin’ me back up to kiss. So stop touching.”

The moan that stutters past Steve’s lips would be embarrassing if not for how fucking fantastic it feels for Bucky’s alpha command to slam into him. Paralyzing him in place. Hands falling unceremoniously at his sides.

Crystal blues brimming with tears, he feels safe for the first time since coming out of the ice- he feels familiar. Not somewhere foreign with no understanding of anything besides, fight this, kill that. This is different. This is them. This is intimacy- their intimacy.

There’s trust swimming within the negative spaces Bucky extends, and he knows, to his core, he can let go. Steve surrenders all his false smiles and exhausting positivity. This is home. Bucky is home. He doesn’t have to put up a front because his alpha has it handled.

Steve isn’t Captain America or some beacon of hope. He’s just Steve, Stevie. Bucky's Omega.

He’s unsure how much time passes or where it went, to begin with, but his body sinks deeper into his mattress, feeling entirely boneless.

“You okay, baby?” Bucky’s husky voice breaks through the fog, “I lost you for a second there.”

Steve feels himself come back, callused hands running through damp blonde hair.

“Mmm,” he hums.

“You spaced a little, Stevie. You’re so beautiful when you get all soft for me. But you’re back now, aren’t you? Look at you. So perfect. Pretty, perfect omega-mine. Kept your hands at your side the whole time too. Such a good boy. You’re gonna keep your hands right where they are, Stevie. Don’t you move a fucking inch. I’m going to lick you open now, babydoll. And you’re gonna come on my tongue as many times as I want you to. Because I’ve gone 70 years without you, and I’m goddamned starved” Bucky’s voice goes from soft praise to near feral growls. His voice sending nothing but jolts of electricity down Steve’s spine, another wave of slick slipping down his thighs.

Before the ‘please’ has the opportunity to touch Steve's mouth, Bucky's hot, slick tongue finds his pulse point, just mere inches from his mating gland.

“Bucky!”

“I want this off!”, The ex-assassin grunts, in one swift move yanking the crisp white shirt from Steve's chest.

“Oh!”

Bucky backs up to lean on his knees, eyes tracking over pinkening skin. Steve’s own gaze glides over now exposed skin. Steve tries to finger out when he removed his clothes but falls short.

After so long without Buckys tenderly harsh commands, falling into space came a little easier than he would have thought. Overwhelmed by the unanticipated satisfaction.

“Open your eyes.”

When had Steve closed his eyes again?

“There you are, dolly. Keep those pretty eyes on me, okay? Always on me, baby.”

Rough, mouthwateringly calloused hands find the waistband of Steve’s pants and yank down in one fluid motion.

The blonde hisses for a moment at the sudden cold air biting his skin, but it only lasts a moment before he’s screaming.

“Fuck!” Steve throws his head back in favor of making sounds even a prostitute would blush at.

One moment Bucky’s on his knees, eyes predatory and sinful, calculating all the things he could do to the man shivering beneath his gaze, the next finds him throat deep, swallowing down Steve’s sweet omega cock, slurping up his precum and getting high off the scent of slick so close to his nose.

Steve can’t breathe.

God! It’s too much. It’s so good. It’s too good!

Steve can feel the familiar pull of an orgasm tugging inside of him. The corners of his closed vision whitening out around the black, lacking the energy to even feel embarrassed by how quickly he’s reached his pinnacle.

Pulling off agonizingly slow, Bucky lets his tongue harshly lick along Steve’s little shaft and twirl over his tip, remembering- fucking remembering! All the sounds and glazed looks elicited from the man below him in the past.

Grey eyes flick up hungrily, ravenous for a look into perfect crystal eyes; he can remember the glazed debauched expression that could devour Steve’s pupils, but it’s not enough!

He wants the real thing.

He wants something tangible and alive in his hands he can never again confuse with desire. Something he’s sure happened, a gift Steve is willingly offering instead of a snarled half-memory he can’t allow himself to believe.

“I-ugh! I’m gonna-“Steve stutters, toes curling and knees bending, framing Bucky's face between his thighs. His hands twitch beside him, but he doesn’t dare move them.

“Oh!”

It should have been a cry of ecstasy.

Should have been the Yellow River Flood; relentless and relieving. No survivors.

Instead, Steve is left with his chest heaving violently. Gasping for air just as he did when he was small.

The omega hears Bucky tutting before he manages to pry his eyes open. Immediately recognizing his mistake before the words fall from cum slick lips.

“Oh, baby. You were doing so good.”

“Nno! Buck, please!”

“Shhh, What did I say, dolly?” Bucky replaces his mouth with one strong hand, lazily jerking at Steve’s straining cock.

He’s smirking when Steve hisses beneath him and hums in approval when his hands stay at his sides.

“F-Faster! Please, Buck! Goddamn it, stop teasing’ me.”

“What did I say, Stevie?” Bucky repeats sharply. His movements slowing further.

Steve’s omega cries.

“You wanna cum, baby doll? “

“Yes!”

“Then what do you have to do?“

Steve’s mind has gone to mush. He thrusts his hips up, chasing after Bucky's friction. Hands struggling against the bedsheets.

“Still, omega!”

Bucky's voice is rough as sandpaper, sounding as on edge as Steve feels. A firm metal hand presses into the omega’s hip holding him in place.

“Be good, Stevie.” The alpha asserts firmly, scent growing muskier with every heavenly noise gasped and groaned from Steve’s sinful lips.

“If you wanna cum, what is it you have to do?”

Bucky rubs a metal thumb soothingly over a sinfully sharp hip bone before trailing his fingers over Steve’s quivering thigh.

Grey eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, “Fuck, baby, you’re so soft. C’mon, don’t you want me to touch you?”

“Yes! Please, fuckin touch me, you jerk!”

Chuckling darkly to himself, Bucky watches Steve with bated breath, and all at once, he feels like his mind had never left. Like an addict, he was never over his addiction; he just forgot how good it was. And like the degenerate addict he apparently was, he sucks in deep breaths, sucking in as much of Steve’s aroused scent that his lungs can handle.

All it took was one hit of Steve- his omega- and he had fallen into himself, more of who he was than any memory had offered.

Steve is his clarity and his habit. The one thing that will always bring him back because Steve is home.

And he’s gonna make him feel good. He’s gonna make up for all he put his omega through, and he’s gonna enjoy every second of it.

Every moan, every shiver, every cry. He’s gonna hold him and bruise him because Steve is his, and that’s how the omega likes it. Bucky’s omega. Bucky's Sweetheart. Bucky’s mate.

The ex-assassin lets his fingers trail lower, his other hand still just barely moving over Steve’s pulsing cock.

The first touch of cool metal meeting Steve’s hole causes the blonde to nearly jump off the bed.

“Buck!”

Steve thinks he’s gonna die.

He feels every cell in his body vibrating with a hot, hopeless sensation. Slick pours out of him the second Bucky’s teasing, perfect, godforsaken pinky circles Steve’s core. His lungs and eyes are burning, nearly out of breath, and only capable of volunteering a broken sob when that fucking pinky just barely pushes in.

“Please,” he whispers jaggedly.

He’ll be good for bucky. He’ll keep his hands at his side. He’ll do what he says even without the command, the fogginess of his brain settling deep enough that any request will register as a command anyway.

That’s just how Steve is wired.

Designed to submit to Buck’s direction.

He knows what Bucky wants, but to physically pry his eyes open at that moment was easier said than done. He struggled to determine whether or not he’s trying to starve off a quickly approaching orgasm or trying to chase one.

Whatever the answer, Bucky doesn’t let him reach it.

The alpha’s dark, whiskey voice sounds as wrecked as Steve feels.

“What. Do. I. Want?” Bucky growls impatiently. Another wave of slick dribbles from the omega wetting the sheets beneath them.

Think, steve! Give alpha what he wants! You can be good. I can be good…. What does he want again?

“My…ugh! M-My eyes.”

Finally, fucking finally, Bucky pushes a finger into Steve’s hole. Fast and absolutely delicious.

Just when he thought Bucky would stop playing games, he realizes the ringing in his ears is replaced by the alpha tutting above him.

“Very close, baby, but not quite.”, Buckys finger starts to draw out slowly; what little fullness Steve has is threatened, and the distressed mewl Steve makes in protest causes the alpha to chuckle darkly.

“P-pretty! Keep my pretty eyes on you! Only on you!” his eyes snap open frenzied, finding a swirl of grey and red zeroed in on him.

In a millisecond, Steve has two metal fingers thrusting into his hole. His back arches on the mattress, fingers nearly numb as they grip the sheets tighter, but his eyes don’t close again.

“That’s right, baby. Only on me.”

“Oh! Yes!”

“Fuck! You’re so tight, Stevie.”, Bucky groans, lowering himself as to mouth along Steve’s jaw, nipping his skin between tentative licks.

“Pl-Ease! Oh, yes... Please, Buck.”

“Please what, Stevie? Use your words.”

Steve’s mind is a simple stream of 3 thoughts, Touch me. Fuck me. Love me!; all of which he can only vocalize as, “Oh please, please. Bucky!”

Working a third finger along with the other two, Bucky hisses with Steve at the stretch his hole gives.

So fucking tight, the alpha thinks to himself, I don’t know how I’ll survive it, but I’m gonna fuck this omega so gooood.

“Words, Steve. Or I’ll start thinking you don’t want me t’touch ya at’all. Huh, maybe I should stop...”

“No! God, Buck, don’t stop, don’t ever stop!”

“Then tell me what you want. What a’you begging for, Doll?” Bucky trails the tips of his fingers over Steve’s ribs, rounding at his back, “is it my fingers? Sliding through all your slick? Or is it my mouth?”

“Yes!”

Bucky chuckles,” That’s not really an answer, Stevie.” His voice gets darker each time he says the omegas name like he knows. Actually, the bastard does know! He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The prospect of teasing seems to pull him just the tiniest bit to the side of coherent, a snarky remark falling from his lips as easily as the desperate pleas had moments before.

“You havin’ fun, Buck?” Steve pants, “Seems like you’re having a little too much fun.”

“Aw no, baby. I’m having the exact right amount of fun. Aren’t we?”

“ ‘We’ are a lotta peop-le!! Oh shit!” pushing his fingers in deeper, Bucky just brushes against Steve’s prostate. A sinister and smug smile curling his lips upward.

“Words, Stevie. Tell me what you want. And I’ll give it to you, omegamine. Just tell me.”

Steve’s chest flushes more as the words tingle on his tongue. Bucky's nearly feral tone betrays his suave and calm demeanor.

He’s just as desperate to be buried deep in Steve’s hole as Steve is to have him there.

Bucky’s fingers push more firmly against Steve’s prostate, and the omega nearly sees stars.

“Sing for me” Almost like an echo, Steve hears Buckys words like gospel.

It’s a command he’s most familiar with. He knows just what ‘ song’ Bucky wants ….

“Daddy!” Steve hisses around a fourth finger. The words punching out of him before he could stop them.

“ I wondered if that was just fantasy,” the alpha mumbles. Eyes darkening a rich crimson. An ever-present growl rumbling in his chest.

Bucky leans over, letting his fingers get even deeper, dragging against Steve’s special spot with every new thrust. With red eyes and diminishing control, the alpha drinks in every pant and whine that drips past kiss-bruised lips and bouncing off the walls of Steve’s room.

Bucky drops his nose into Steve’s scent gland, swiping his tongue over the swelling tissue for a better taste.

“You smell so fucking good, baby. Like mate.”

“Buck…” Steve gasps, feeling overwhelmed. Any moans he could possibly wish to suppress are yanked from his chest with every move the alpha makes. Sounds too rowdy even for porn echoing in his small dark room.

Bucky can’t get enough of it, stuttering an accidental thrust into Steve’s hip when the omega whines in a delightfully sweet way, the scent of slick and alluring sounds steve makes nearly choking him.

Fuck, I hope Tony has these rooms soundproofed. Steve uses his last brain cell to think.

Bucky's metal fingers continue to work him open, preparing him for his big alpha cock fast and rough and exactly how he likes it, but his other hand still moves sluggishly over Steve’s, slowly purpling prick. Tightening and stopping entirely every so often as to starve off Steve’s orgasm.

“Bucky, please!”

Fuck, Bucky thinks, I hope everybody can hear him, fuckin; hear us,

The blonde knows all he has to do is tell Bucky ‘Fuck me’ maybe add on ‘Daddy’ to further wreck him like it did back in the days if he even still likes that. But as much as Steve likes Bucky telling him what to do, he loves to defy him into aggression, twice as much.

“Say it again,” Bucky mumbles against the omegas scent gland, unable to move a millimeter.

The laugh that tumbles past Steve’s lips is quickly swallowed by Buckys tongue shoved down his throat. Pearly white teeth pulling back only to stress a bite on his bottom lip, not stopping until a faint taste of metal joins the deliriously delicious taste of Buckys omega.

“Again, omega. Say it again.”

With another brush against his prostate, Stev’s vision begins to blur, but he won’t close his eyes, no matter how much he wants them to,

“Alpha!”

Steve is a debauched disaster. A puddle of liquid fire and Bucky wanted to fucking burn.

“You know that’s not what I want to hear, babydoll. But I’m feeling generous, so let’s make a deal, yeah? You say what I want, and I’ll tell my precious boy how good he is. How good you feel around my fingers swallowin’ my fingers so fuckin’ good. And I’ll say your name as much as you want. That’s what you were beggin’ for, wasn’t it?” Bucky rambles, fingers pumping quicker into Steve, hand starving off the omegas dick, tugging over the length with dangerous precision.

“You want me to say your name, dontcha dolly? Tell you you’re being good. Everything Daddy needs. My good, beautiful Stevie.”

Buckys cock presses into the mattress, the slightest friction sending magic to tingle over his skin. His knot calls out for Steve’s sopping wet pussy, fluttering around his fingers. The sensation alone is a mutual torture all on its own.

It would be so fucking easy to slide home into Steve’s awaiting heat. So fucking easy!

Not yet, he reminds himself.

No, he wants something first, and he’s gonna get it.

Outside of the bedroom, the thought of ever using his alpha tone with Steve is unthinkable. There isn’t a scenario out there that could justify taking away his omegas free will.

But here-like this. Sweaty and drooling and filthy, reeking of mate and sex, the tone combines with his voice as if that’s the only way there is to speak.

“Say it again, Steve. Now!”

“Daddy! Daddy, fuck me! Please,pleasepleaseplease”

Gently, the alpha removed his fingers. Steve’s mouth opens to cry, but before he can focus too much on the dreadful emptiness, Bucly is buried to the hilt in Steve’s ass.

“Ah!” Steve shouts, throwing his head back and moving his hands to grip at Bucky’s shoulders for the first time since being told not to move them an inch.

He quickly realizes his mistake, and in a fearful attempt to keep Bucky inside of him, confident he wouldn’t survive another moment of his teasing, his alpha’s voice rumbles past the panic.

“Touch me. Wherever you want, Stevie.”

The sigh of relief is an afterthought, long nimble finger trail over both metal and flesh shoulders, a satisfying wave pushing into the realm of too damn good. Being allowed to touch after being denied was always such an experience. Reverse touch starved. Bucky has the go-ahead to do with him as he wishes. Meanwhile, every instinct within the omega seeks Bucky out. His skin, his mouth, his scent. He wants to feel his alpha under his fingers as much as he wants to bounce on Buckys, but he can’t. He has to lay there and fight against the urge to suck hickeys onto every surface of skin he can find.

Pulling on stands of dark chestnut-colored hair, Steve tries to adjust to the girth inside of him.

“Move.”, the omega whispers harshly after a few moments.

Bucky doesn’t need much prompting; he knows Steve can take it, and more than that, any remaining sting that prepping might have missed, Steve fucking aches for.

“As you wish.”

It’s like a dam break. A flood, unforgiving, and exactly what they each fuckin need!

Bucky's shallow, calculated thrusts soon quicken, taking on a brutal pace.

He slams his cock home and grinds deep before pulling nearly entirely out and slamming back in. Again and again and again. Returning quicker every time he finds himself back inside Steve’s velvet-soft heat.

Words are lost on the omega, choosing to indulge rather on feral groans and guttural whines, meeting every thrust and dragging sharp nails across Bucky's shoulders.

It’s all so much. Like a storm, heavy and pounding in their ears. And it all makes so much sense.

They’re a natural disaster. Bucky kisses like a hurricane, all lips, tongue, and teeth. Steve moves and squeezes his walls around Bucky's cock, no rhyme or reason to his actions, just passion, just I have to have this.

Kisses pouring down upon kisses like rain, soaking them in love, and Steve nearly cries.

He never thought he’d have this again.

The ex-assassin is a bit more vocal.

He can feel his release creeping up, desire warm and urgent low in his belly. But cumming before Steve is absolutely not an option. Half the fun was watching the poster child for purity throw his head back in ecstasy, beggin for ruin with Buckys name on his lips. And he’d be damned if he's gonna miss it in the cloud of his own pleasure.

“D-Deeper!” Steve whimpers, pulling Bucky closer by the nape of his neck.

The hand that had been knotted in Steve’s own hair follows suit of the palm firmly placed over one sharp hip bone.

Gripping him with enough pressure to bruise, Bucky bends over Steve’s lithe build and takes hold of one muscular thigh, nearly folding the blonde in half as he settles Steve’s leg over his flesh shoulder.

“Fuck!” Steve cries, Bucky's cock sliding that much deeper, hitting his prostate with nearly every thrust.

Bucky groans at the new position, one large hand kneading and pulling at Steve's ass, tugging him back with the snap of his hips. His other hand runs over the omegas sweaty, slick body, sliding a finger over a single hard nipple before securing his fingers around Steve’s neck. Palm pushing into his scent gland.

It is a little more than light pressure, but it gives its desired effect; Steve’s eyes go from unfocused and glassy to piercing. More black than blue, pupils blown, but Bucky still catches the glint of gold mingling about, exactly what he’d been waiting for.

There you are, omegamine, he thinks.

“Ugh, yes, fuck! You like that, don’t you. Like me pushing you down. Like me pounding into your sweet pussy. But it’s not really yours is it, baby?”

“Gnnn”

“Answer me. Who’s pussy is this, Steve?”

“Y-yours, Daddy. I’m yours.”

“Mine.” The alpha growls, yet another wave of slick passing Steve’s thighs. “My omega. My good boy. Listened so good, doll.”

“Fuck, Buck. Alpha, my alpha. I missed you, I missed you so fuking much. I missed your big alpha cock. So good to me. I wanna be good, Daddy. Tell me how to be good.”

“You wanna be good?”

“Yes!”

“You’re already so good for me. Perfect omega. Pretty, perfect thing.”

“I can be-ugh yes!! I can...nnnn….be better.” The omega stutters between kisses, “Wanna be the best boy.”

“Yeah?”

“Please, Alpha. Knot me!”

“Okay, baby. Listen closely, hmm?”

“Keep still.” In two mostly smooth movements, Bucky is lying on his back, Steve’s lean frame now straddling the alpha, lifting him by the waist; Bucky sinks Steve further on his cock.

“Ride me.”

As if without his permission, Steve’s moving above the bigger man.

Thick thighs feel even wider between Steve’s slightly smaller ones. Bucky’s hands come to Steve’s waist, helping him grind down harder, deeper.

Steve can’t keep his gaze from trailing down to where they’re connected. His hole swallowing 6 to 7 inches of monster alpha cock, and he could just cry for how hot it is to see them connected like this.

I wanna be locked to you. I want your knot!

“Eyes, Stevie!” Bucky snarls with another hash snap of his hips, impaling Steve further and hitting his prostate. The omega falls over, making sure to lock blue with grey.

Abandoning their vice grip on the alphas thighs, Steve steadies himself with one hand over his lover's heart, fingertips brushing the mating gland by his neck as the other grips the headboard above the bed, wood splintering under every shock of pleasure jolting through Steve in response to each of Bucky's strident thrusts.

“Oh, oh! D-Daddy. I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum!”

“Now that I’ve got you back, we won’t be leaving this room for much, Stevie. I want you on your knees sucking my big alpha cock. Licking up the evidence of what you do to me. I’ll hold you by your neck and force-feed it to you just like you like it.”

“B-Buck-eyy!”

“Yeah, baby, say my name. You’re beautiful. Angelic. A work of. Fucking. Art.” He punctuates his words with a sharp jerking of Steve’s body above him. Pulling his center as close as he can get him, knot swelling mercilessly and snagging on Steve’s rim.

Steve feels pleasure like he’s never felt before. Words slurred and hardly coherent,

“‘Wan’ yur k’nnot!”

He sounds drunk.

Bucky loves it!

“Not until you cum, baby doll. You first, then Daddy. Good boys get their rewards, and this is-” using Steve as a ragdoll, Bucky manhandles him into circular motions, twisting and penetrating the omegas sweet spot with wild precision.

One hand (Steve couldn’t even tell you which, mind too fuzzy and too loaded with his quickly approaching orgasm) presses into the omegas gorgeous tits before sweeping down to tug on Steve’s crying cock, pre-cum dribbling from its bright red head.

Steve cums with a shout, back arching and eyes struggling to stay open, finally shut. His vision whites out with pleasure, but he can’t bring himself to remember anything outside of this bliss. No world lived outside of these walls. Just him, his alpha, and all the pleasure Bucky brings him.

“Ohhh, Allphaa,”

“Yours. Yes! Oh, you feel- God so fucking tight, Stevie. Look ‘atchyou. Milking my cock, pussy squeezing my knot, beggin for it. Daddy’s gonna give it to you.”

“Gimme,” he whispers weakly.

He doesn’t feel Bucky flip him over or the hands pushing both his legs over Bucky’s shoulders, but the moment Bucky starts pumping in and out again, his body jolts awake, and all Steve wants is to make his alpha cum.

“Daddy’s gonna cum right inside your tight, perfect pussy. Yeah, Stevie. ugh!”

“Wan’ be...hmm.”, he tries to form words, but they die on his tongue, not coming down fast enough to entertain even a murmur of conversation.

Another 30 seconds passing before he has enough brain cells to return his gaze to stormy grey.

As always, Bucky’s eyes are already on him.

“That's all you got, Daddy?” The blonde snarks between pants, another orgasm building in his belly, toes curling, and his half-soft prick smushed and pulsating against Bucky's abs.

Bucky laughs around a moan, pulling Steve into another kiss before giving one, two, three more thrusts, shouting out a string of praise as his knot pops inside of his omega.

Steve’s heavy punched out sigh joins the shuddered fluttering of his hole, another wave of release escaping him.

The room fills with pants and sloppy kisses. Each man nosing along their scent glands, finding where a bond mark would go and lapping over it lovingly.

In the 40s, hiding their love was a matter of survival, and a surrender of their need to properly mate. They didn’t have to hide here. They could love each other and bite each other someday. Unified in the one way they spent most of their lives thinking they’d never have.

They Lie there, tied together even after Bucky’s knot goes down. Thoughts of taking that step-marking each other, on the tip of both of their tongues.

They lie there, bathing in the calm after the storm.

Sometime afterward:

After another round and many minutes of lazily making out, the pair rest beside each other, touching the other man wherever he could reach, tracing nonsense patterns into heated flesh and feeling happier than either had in 70 years.

“What were you sayin’, y’know before we… Y’know”, Steve blushes as if he wasn’t just face down ass up drooling over Tony’s Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Before you started crying for my knot, and I fucked you 6 ways from Sunday?”

“You’re a fucking jerk!”

“Nah, I’m just fucking a jerk.”, The alpha smiles, joy like nothing he’s been able to remember trips over his heart.

“I’m serious, Buck. Before we...did it”

“Ha!”

A sharp smack falls onto Buckys bare chest, “Fine! Before you came like a geyser up my ass-”

“Steve!” Bucky barks a laugh, loving the pink blush dusting over Steve’s cheeks despite the faux aggravation he was attempting to express.

“Will ya quit interrupting me? You fucking alphas are so rude!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Stevie. What were you saying?” Bucky concedes, the shit-eating grin doing nothing for the butterflies swarming the omega’s insides.

“You were saying that you couldn’t decipher real from what’s fake?”

Sighing, Bucky cards his fingers through Steve’s hair, not stopping, when the omega turns onto his stomach, exposing his back and facing the brunette. Bucky smiles down at the omega letting his hand slide down to his spine, tracing the smooth pale skin with the tip of his finger.

It’s freeing, liberating even, to let his hands and eyes roam wherever they want. After so many years of separation, then being reunited only to build unnecessary obstacles designed for the sole purpose of self-sabotaging, somehow they’ve found themselves again in the other man’s arms.

Bucky bends down to press a gentle kiss on Steve’s shoulder, loving the way the omega shivers beneath his lips.

I could just eat him alive…

“Buuuuck,” Steve shakes his head, smiling at the alpha underneath long lashes.

“Sorry, baby, you just look so sexy.”

“Oh, do I? Maybe it has a little to do with all the naked skin?”

Smiling goofily, Bucky allows his voice to get al sweet, “C’mere, smartass.”

Bucky pulls a yelping Steve into his lap, effectively laying the slender omega over his broad alpha chest.

The feeling is exhilarating. Bucky feels his stomach swoop and heart skip a beat, feeling more accomplished in this solitary moment entangled with Steve than in months of SHIELD work.

Steve grins despite himself. Settling against Bucky's chest, folding his hands in front of him and resting his chin onto his knuckles. Suddenly thrilled by the position.

He can stare into Bucky's eyes forever, and he has a sneaking suspicion the alpha won’t protest.

Cold metal fingers trail down Steve’s spine, eliciting a gentle quiver from the blonde man, shamelessly beaming beneath the attention.

“I remember how scared I would get in the winter.”

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion, lying his head down onto his forearms and urging the larger man with his eyes to continue.

“I love that I can make you shiver now. But I think it would’ve just about wrecked me with worry back then.”

Bucky's flesh hand curls across Steve’s exposed waist, letting his heat seal into his fingers. His eyes close in relief. Like he’s remembered something… or rather; reminded himself of something.

“ I remember the worry best. The sleepless nights and evenings spent bent over pews, praying no one could hear your name falling from my lips because then they’d know… Know how much I wanted you. Wanted you to live. Wanted you to love me. Wanted you to be my omega. I remember going to work at the docks and feeling the bike rise in my throat as we talked about chasing tail when all that I fucking wanted was to make it through my shift and run my way home to you.”

Steve smiles fondly at Bucky. His head remains rested in the crook of his right elbow but reaches forward with his left to trail patterns on Bucky’s scent gland. Trailing back from his neck to his cheek, he will never understand how helpful he is just by existing.

“ I remember wanting you. I know there has never been a moment in which I existed, and I didn’t love you, even under hydra. Even when they told me- made me go after you. They had to wipe me twice before I stopped fighting… I should’ve kept fighting.”

“Buck-“ Steve’s tone is soft and reprimanding in the way only Steve Rogers could manage, but it’s not enough. The tears build behind grey and crimson. Shame burning him from the inside.

Bucky shakes his head, trying to shake away Steve’s tender touch.

Leaning forward, Steve ignores the alphas dismissal, warm petal-soft lips find Buckys, and he presses his weight deeper into his alpha.

“I’m here. With you. You stopped, Buck. You never, not for a second, stopped fighting! That wasn’t you.” Steve’s tone was loving and firm in the way only Steve Rogers could ever manage- or could ever feel for Bucky Barnes.

Bucky's eyes find crystal blue, and for a moment, he’s thrust back into his mind, his heart thrashing and growling, crying Not him! Not Steve. Stop! God damn it! You’re hurting him! We can’t hurt him!

For a moment, Steve’s sweet pink cheeks are bruised and bleeding, split by Russian metal and the free will Bucky was robbed of.

“Bucky!” Steve whispers harshly, just on the edge of frantic, “ C’mon, alpha. Don’t leave me alone again.”

“I’m here.”, Bucky chokes out, “ I’m here, baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

They hold each other for, neither of them speaking. Foreheads pressed together between grabby hands pushing firmly against heated flesh.

A reminder…

I’m alive. You’re okay. We’re together.

“ I remember those things; that panic of possibly losing you, very easily,” Bucky continues, “ And then… it started as flashes. Split seconds. But god, did I chase after them. It would be something minimal at first. You lying down on the bed or smiling at me over a sketchbook. But then they changed, and your head was thrown back, and the things you were drawing were us-naked. And I started hating myself because my fucking crush on you was filtering in on my memories of you, and it wasn’t fair. It felt real, but I knew it wasn’t or-“

“But they are real, Buck. We’ve always been us. This way! Laws be damned! We loved each other, and no one was gonna tell us we couldn’t have that!”

“It didn’t matter, though,” Bucky adds.

Steve shoots up off his chest, kneeling on the mattress, and as naked as the day he was born. More hurt than he thought he could ever be in his alphas arms, “ Of course it did. How could you say that? Wha-”

Bucky sits up quickly, reaching out, but Steve swiftly evades him, feeling colder than Brooklyn in February.

“Steve-“

“No! How could you say that? It matters! We matter. You matter. I fucking matter, Bucky! I lost you. You died! You fell off that train, and my alpha died!” he cries,

“I flew that plane into the ocean not because Captain America’s nobility prevails, I did it because l was grieving and life wasn’t worth living without you.”

“Steve-“

“No! Shut. Up.” Steve growls, but it sounds more like a whine.

“I died too, Buck. And woke up to a life I didn’t want either. Not just like you. I know what you went through was unthinkably cruel. But living without you was a prison sentence. And I had no choice but to wear red, white, and blue in place of orange and serve out my life miserably and without you. And that mattered.”

“I know, Stevie, I know. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant, baby.”

“Then how else did you mean it?”

“There were things that I saw or remembered-whatever! But neither matter because fantasy is something that can never happen, and if it’s a memory, it will never happen again.”

Steve can feel his heart breaking in his chest. Angry and more than a little offended, he can practically feel the anguish emanating from his alpha’s skin.

“Because you wouldn’t want the blood-soaked into my hands to touch you. To touch your pretty perfect body, so I say your name, and I can’t stop because my alpha is always just before feral, and you are the only thing keeping Me on the side of sane. I know you matter. You’re the only thing on this entire fucked up bullshit infested planet that matters!”

“But the thought of losing you based on things I simply wanted and not what you needed from me? It didn’t matter- nothing mattered beyond you. I thought you wanted Bucky Barnes, the closeted best friend. I couldn’t trust myself to believe you wanted me in the 40s, and I couldn’t hope that if you had, you’d want me still.”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve sighs, eyes misting, but he lets himself be drawn in by strong, vulnerable arms.

“...I think I understand what you mean, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to say I miss you ao many times. But then I just...couldn’t. I thought it wouldn’t change anything, so I just kept pretending I didn’t. But then there are days when I wake up, and the fact that it’s without you won’t let me pretend anymore.”

“Now, who’s the idiot?” Bucky chuckles, brushing strands of hair from those hypnotizing blue eyes.

Bucky lets the Sympathy, understanding pool from his scent and settle over Steve like a warm blanket.

Smiling, Steve takes the comfort from his alpha in stride, “Of course, I talk like an idiot, Buck. How else are you ‘posed to understand me?”

Huffing a quick laugh, the ex-assassin feels all the love for this omega shine in a smile, “You’re such a fuckin’ punk, y’know that little omega?”

“ I’m your fuckin’ Punk, and besides, I’m not so little anymore.”

Whatever faithless semblance of decency they had left swiftly deteriorates as Bucky fully settles Steve into his lap, lying back into the cushions and pulling the duvet over them both.

He presses a soft kiss on Steve’s forehead and whispers with as much meaning he can muster, “You’re perfect, omegamine. Fuckin’ perfect! Perfect for me, you hear?”

Steve releases a joyful giggle,” I hear. Are we going to sleep, Alpha?”

“Yep!”

Snuggling deeper into the alpha’s chest, Steve feels content for the first time in what feels like forever, loving how perfectly he still fits in Bucky's arms, even all beefed up by the serum. Not a single gap between them.

“You comfortable, sweetheart?” Bucky asks happily. Certainly hearing and feeling Steve’s pleased purring.

“ I’m warm,” The omega mumbles, exhaustion barreling into him.

“Good. Sleep, Stevie. We'll talk more in the morning.”

Steve doesn’t respond, just nuzzles into his alpha more until his nose is close enough to the source of the brunette’s scent, humming satisfaction as he sniffs pleasantly.

“I never thought I’d get to have this. That you’d be in my arms like this. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life just pining after you-loving you. I love you, omegamine. I love you so much.”

Steve replies in soft snores, but Bucky doesn’t care. He presses a kiss to the top of ruffled blonde hair and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

He doesn't mind that Steve fell asleep because nothing else matters besides his blue-eyed beauty. Not when he has this. Not when Steve is soft and asleep and warm. He has the rest of his life to tell his omega he loves him.

One thing is for sure.

Bucky will never stop saying Steve’s name.

[blackkatmagic]

I'm sorry? But also not because I've spent the past week trying(and failing) to draw Guenhwyvar and the zabrak bros all asleep in a cuddle pile. And I absolutely blame you. I haven't drawn anything in 16 years!!! The idea is just so cute though.

(Disclaimer: I have no idea how timeliness work, but...) I am also imagining Mother Talzin hiring someone to get them back and I mean the shenanigans that could result from a certain mandalorian taking the job? *makes puppy dog eyes*

I know you probably meant Jango but given the timelines I went with Jaster and im totally not sorry.

There's someone in the forest.

Drizzt raises his head, sees Guenhwyvar do the same from the other side of the fire. Against her side, Savage stirs, clutching his brother tighter to him, but when Guenhwyvar wraps her tail around them, curls in tighter, he settles. She looks back at Drizzt, ears folding back, and Drizzt nods, silently sliding down from the rock he was perched on and drawing a scimitar.

“Stay with them, Guen,” he murmurs, though he likely doesn’t need to; Guenhwyvar likely wouldn’t leave a pair of children on their own unless directly ordered to, and even then she’d resist as long as possible.

Guenhwyvar rumbles her agreement, claws digging into the soft earth, and drops her head onto her paws, still perfectly alert. It makes Drizzt smile, and he leans down to stroke her head as he passes but doesn’t pause. This moon’s forest is thick and deep and dark, and the sun only rises on it rarely, which makes it perfect for a drow, and Drizzt's steps are perfectly silent as he slips away from the camp, following the source of the sound. Savage had said there were no predators on this moon, and Drizzt, still unfamiliar with the workings of the holonet and ships and all the other strange things in this universe, had taken his word for it, but—

Someone hunting them isn't out of the question. The matron Drizzt stole Savage and Feral from—with their permission and willing participation, but stole all the same—seemed far more like Malice Do’Urden than anyone Drizzt has encountered in centuries, and Drizzt would believe without hesitation that she would send pursuers after them.

At the very edge of the deep trees beyond the camp, he stops, looks back. Guenhwyvar looks like she’s asleep, though Drizzt knows she isn't, and the two shapes tucked against her side are dwarfed by her bulk. He lingers for a moment, watching Savage sleep, watching Feral turn his head and press closer to his brother, the dig of his small horns making Savage huff and shift before he sinks back down into sleep. It makes something in Drizzt's chest feel tight in a way it hasn’t in a very long time, since well before Catti-brie died.

Connection, he thinks, even in this disconnected place. But for all this whole dimension is strange and foreign and often alarming, no one here seems to know the drow. No one thinks Drizzt is going to kill them as soon as they see him. And maybe the victory of that should feel hollow, after so many years trying to find a place where he was welcomed in his own world, but—it’s truly just a relief.

Feral and Savage are his, and this world is his now. Drizzt won't let anyone take it from him.

Steady, careful, Drizzt picks his way over the rise, up through massive trees that blot out the sky and the planet there. There are voices ahead of him, he thinks, so low that even his ears have a hard time picking them out. Steps, and the shift of cloth, and the brush of metal, and Drizzt slides behind a tree, lets his vision slip to infrared, and immediately spots a pair of figures who are just separating. One circles around through the trees, while the other heads right towards Drizzt, and it’s clear that they’ve spotted the little fire, the campsite. Drizzt tightens his grip on his sword, blinking back to regular sight, and debates who to take first. The one circling around will run right into Guenhwyvar, and for all Drizzt doesn’t want to scare the children, it seems better to catch this man, who’s moving more quickly, with more purpose.

Silently, Drizzt waits, listening to his steps approach. Closes his eyes, marking each one, and just as the man passes the tree Drizzt is tucked behind, Drizzt leaps.

The man is almost a foot taller than him, but then, most everyone Drizzt fights is. He’s in armor, black and red with a design on the chestplate in gold, but it just means he’s heavier. When Drizzt hits him from above, fouls his feet, and uses his weight against him, he goes down hard. Hits a rock, rolls, his helmet bouncing free, and Drizzt doesn’t hesitate. He has both scimitars out and striking in a fraction of a second, and drives the blades into the ground on either side of the man’s head, crossed over his neck.

Instantly, the man stills, and Drizzt leans over him, knee planted in his chest, gripping the hilts and ready to sweep the blades across the vulnerable throat. “Who are you?” he demands, and the man’s eyes sweep over him, a little wide, before he carefully, deliberately brings his hands up, fingers spread. Drizzt tenses, but there's none of the green magic the matron used, no attempt at a spell. Just a surrender, wary and slow.

“I'm Jaster Mereel,” the man says. “Of Mandalore.”

It’s likely supposed to mean something; the way he says it has weight. Drizzt has dealt with too many people who thought themselves important, though, and he just narrows his eyes. “And who sent you after me?”

“Not you,” Jaster says, cool. “The children you kidnapped. A tribe on Dathomir—”

“I took them,” Drizzt says, willing to admit it freely. “Because they wanted to come with me. They told me Nightbrothers are—”

“Nightbrothers?” Jaster interrupts, and immediately the tension is back in his body, stark and almost startling. “Only the Nightsisters call their men Nightbrothers.”

“Yes,” Drizzt says, confused. “That is who I took them from. Matron—Mother Talzin.”

There's a long, long pause, and then Jaster scowls, deep and displeased. “The witch who hired us failed to mention she spoke for Talzin.”