#but they already have that foundation. they know each other and train with each other and support each other

[demilypyro]

Ok so as someone who knows very little about sonic characters that aren't the main cast. Can you explain to me who Surge is? (I am asking you to infodump. I understand I could just check the wiki but then you wouldn't get to talk about a character you like)

Alright you asked for it. Long post attack.

So Eggman had this protege named Doctor Starline, who had a falling out with his mentor and hatched a plan to kill Sonic and replace him with a new hero, one who would take Sonic's place in the eyes of the people but be under his control.

So he kidnapped a random girl off the street (no name or history known at this point), filled her with a bunch of cybernetics to give her superpowers, and slowly brainwashed and trained her into becoming essentially Sonic's equivalent of Wario.

This was Surge the Tenrec.

As Sonic's so-called "imposter," Surge is like an exaggerated version of Sonic. She has his heroic heart, but also his temper, his pride, his irresponsibility, his rudeness, all turned up to 11. She's got the standard super speed, as well as electrokinesis - lightning powers. She's accompanied by Kitsunami, or just Kit, a blue fennec with water powers and a similar background, but who was based on Tails instead.

As part of their brainwashing, Surge was conditioned to hate Sonic. As Surge's backup, Kit was conditioned to want to support Surge in any way he can.

Surge and Kit eventually found out what had happened to them, how Starline had kidnapped and brainwashed them, and were planning to betray him. Before they could, however, Starline was killed, after being thoroughly trounced by Eggman, leaving Surge and Kit free to do whatever they want.

When Surge finally encountered Sonic, she blamed him for what had happened to her. She holds him responsible for always letting Eggman survive to come back another day, leading to ever-escalating conflict. While before she had no real reason to hate him beyond her brainwashing, all that baseless animosity now had a foundation, and she's wanted to take him down since. Surge and Kit have had several fights with Sonic and Tails already, and while they were defeated each time, it's clear they pose a real threat.

Left with only each other, and having no real goals beyond taking down Sonic and Tails, and no hints to their past, Surge and Kit became a neutral force of chaos, not affiliated with either Sonic or Eggman. While Surge has the desire to be a hero, she can't let go of her grudge toward Sonic, and Kit's obsession with helping Surge regularly shows itself to be unhealthy, which may lead to a falling out between them in the future.

Since their first appearance in the Impostor Syndrome mini-series, they've made regular appearances in the main comic starting with issue #50. They've been making waves, establishing new rivalries and inciting new conflicts. Sonic wants to believe there's good in Surge, but she's a tough nut for him to crack.

Surge is one of the series' best original characters. Surge is cool, has an interesting origin, and she contrasts Sonic in a way that gives ample opportunities for new stories. She's got a good heart, but she's carrying around a ton of trauma and animosity she doesn't know what to do with. She's scrappy, resourceful, and more introspective than you might expect. And by often being positioned as the underdog, she's very easy to root for.

I was always a bit uninterested in the Sonic series at large, but Surge really got me on board. She really made me a fan.

She's my favorite Sonic character.

If you're interested, look into the Imposter Syndrome mini-series, which leads right into Sonic IDW issue #50, or you can just read Sonic IDW from the start.

Okay bye

[vunblr]

Foundations (#6)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky)

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 6.4.k.

note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.

Previous Chapter

Bucky exhaled through his nose as he threw another punch at the training bag and his knuckles landed with a solid thud against the reinforced material. The compound gym was mostly empty this early, which was fine by him. He never did well with crowds.

Steve stood a few feet away, casually wrapping his hands, watching with mild amusement. "You know, Buck, as the guys say, you look rested for once. Must be the extra help at home."

He grunted in response, not offering him much. It was true, having her around had helped. But thinking too much about that came with… complications.

And then, the doors swung open, and Sam walked in fresh from a run, with a towel slung around his neck. "I saw your nanny last night," he commented, pointing at Bucky like he was delivering breaking news. “Boy, can she dance.”

Bucky’s hand froze mid-punch for half a second. It was barely noticeable, but Steve caught it.

"Yeah?" Bucky forced his voice into something bored, tugging the wrap of his hand tighter than necessary.

"Yeah," Sam continued, oblivious -or maybe not- grabbing a water bottle from the rack. "Didn’t know she had it in her, but man, she was feeling that music."

Steve turned, brows raising ever so slightly in interest. Oh, he was going to have fun with this.

“What pub was this?” he asked, tone oh-so casual.

"Some place called The Velvet Pine," Sam said, stretching his arms. "Never been before. Seemed nice. Drinks were decent."

"Huh," Steve mused, rubbing his chin. "And who’d she dance with?"

Bucky knew exactly what the punk was doing.

Sam shrugged. "Started out with her friends, y'know, girls hyping each other up, just having fun. But eventually-" he took a long sip of water, "I saw her with some guy."

Bucky this time tightened the wraps around his wrist. The fabric stretched to its limit as something hot and unpleasant curled low in his stomach.

Steve definitely saw it.

"And?" he pressed, because of course he did.

Sam lifted his hands. "I don’t know, man. I wasn’t exactly watching her all night. At some point, I noticed her friends were still there, but she wasn’t."

Bucky bent the metal clip on his wrist wrap. Didn’t even realize he did it.

From a few feet away, Clint -who had been silently lifting weights until now-chuckled, dropping his dumbbells with a clank. “Oh. Naughty nanny.” He grinned.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, muscles ticking beneath his stubble as he exhaled slowly through his nose. His grip on the wrist wrap tightened further, the already-strained fabric pulling taut around his poor fingers.

Steve, who had been enjoying poking the bear just moments ago, suddenly didn’t feel so amused anymore. He saw it then, the shift in Bucky’s expression. It wasn’t just irritation. It wasn’t even anger.

It was something heavier.

Possessiveness? No. That wasn’t fair. But something bordering close to it.

Steve cleared his throat, giving Clint a quick, subtle glance to shut him up before casually steering the conversation back. "Well, wherever she went, I’m sure she was just having a good time," he said carefully like he wanted to smooth over whatever storm was brewing in Bucky’s head.

----

Monday came, and she picked up Thomas from kindergarten like usual. The walk home was filled with his excited chatter, small hands swinging in hers as he told her about his day. When they arrived at the apartment, Bucky was already there, waiting.

He greeted Thomas as warmly as ever, ruffling his hair and kissing the kid’s temple.  But something was off, she felt it immediately.

Short answers. Little eye contact. Still, she tried to keep things normal, moving around the kitchen, and talking to Thomas about what they needed to pick up at the store. It had become their thing, a routine that had started naturally. But today, when she asked if they should go before the hot discount items run out, he shook his head.

“I’ll go alone,” he muttered, already grabbing his keys.

Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard, but she nodded, pretending not to notice the way her chest suddenly felt too tight.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was quiet. She played with Thomas, helped him with the items he needed to bring the next day, and folded some laundry.

Bucky never came out of his room. He wasn’t asleep, she could hear the occasional creak of the old bed frame when he moved. But he stayed away. It was like he was hiding.

Eventually, she knocked on his door, pressing a hand against the frame. “Dinner’s ready,” she called gently. “And I’ll be heading out soon.”

Silence.

Then, after a beat, his voice came through, low and hollow. “Alright. Thanks.”

She lingered for half a second longer than necessary before pulling away. No see you tomorrow. No safe trip home. No let me walk you down.

----

He knew she had noticed something, how could she not, if he was acting like a boy? Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face.

This had to stop.

He wasn’t sixteen. He wasn’t some kid sulking because a girl he liked went out and had a good time. He didn’t have any claim on her.

She was just the damn nanny, for fuck’s sake. Someone who kept his home in order, who made sure that Thomas was cared for when he couldn’t. So what if she had a life outside of these walls? So what if she went out, laughed with people, danced with some guy, or even fuck-

No.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away before it could turn into something ugly, something he wasn’t ready to face. He had no right to feel this way and no right to let it fester.

Because this worked. The dynamic they had, the structure, the balance, it worked. And he wasn’t going to fuck it all up just because his dumb, touch-starved brain had decided to fixate on something it could never have.

So he’d suck it up. Just like he always did.

Tomorrow, he’d get his shit together. He’d act like a normal person. He’d even -fuck- ask her about her weekend like any regular, functioning adult would.

And he’d pretend.

Pretend it didn’t matter.

----

Tuesday afternoon, after she brought Thomas from the kindergarten, Bucky tried. Really tried. He put on that practiced smile -the one Sam always told him didn’t fool anyone but was the best he got- and forced himself to act normal. Like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t spent the last two days trying not to picture her dancing with some faceless stranger, disappearing into the night with him. So, when Thomas ran off to the bathroom at some point while she was making a snack, he casually made his way to the fridge for a glass of cold water, buying himself a few seconds.

He shouldn’t ask. But before he could stop himself, the words were already out. “I forgot to ask, how was your girl’s night?” His voice was so detached, so casual. Like he wasn’t already bracing for impact.

She stopped mid-motion, hovering the butter knife over the slice of bread, and looked at him as if deciding what to say. Then- “Not so great.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed before he could stop them. If dancing with some guy and leaving early wasn’t so great, well… “Oh?” He set the glass down on the counter, watching her carefully. “Why’s that?”

She pressed her lips in a thin line, exhaling sharply through her nose. “I-” She hesitated, then forced it out. “Someone put something in my drink.”

The world stilled. Bucky’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. The fridge door clicked shut as he took a step forward, and his body moved before his mind could even catch up. His fingers twitched at his sides, his breath came out slow and measured like he was trying to keep something dangerous contained. “What?”

She swallowed, dropping her gaze to the counter for a second before she continued. “A guy invited me to dance. He seemed nice, you know? Attentive. At some point, he bought me a drink, and I accepted. After a while, I started to feel… weird. And he started to-” She waved her hand vaguely, like she couldn’t -or didn’t want to- say it out loud.

Bucky saw red.

His jaw locked so tight it ached, and something dark curled in his chest, coiling tighter and tighter with every beat of silence that passed. He wanted to ask questions, to demand names, and answers. But he restrained himself and let her talk.

“I don’t remember much,” she admitted, quietly. “But someone noticed something was off. The bartender, I think. He called someone from the staff, and they got me a secure cab. I managed to tell them my address.” She took a breath, “I sent a voice message to my friends while I was in the car. I couldn’t think straight, so the woman driving the car had to help me inside. I… was fine after a couple of hours. Just dizzy. Nauseous.”

Bucky was not fine. His fingers curled into fists so tight his knuckles cracked, and his vision tunneled as he fought the instinct to destroy someone.

She must have noticed the shift in his behavior because her hand suddenly did touch his, just barely, the lightest press of her fingers against his wrist. "I'm okay, Bucky," she said softly. "It didn’t go further than that."

Didn’t go further than that.

That shouldn’t be comforting. His chest ached with the effort of holding it all back, of swallowing the rage and forcing himself to breathe. “Who was he?” The words came out quieter than expected. Deadly.

She hesitated again before shaking her head. “I don’t remember his name but either way, it could have been a lie.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose. You should've told me. Called me. Instead, what came out was, “You should’ve taken yesterday off. You needed time to recover.”

Then he realized. He had ignored her all of Monday while she’d been dealing with this. While she’d been sitting with the weight of what happened alone. He felt like a fucking dick. “Do you wanna go home?” he asked softly.

“No. I- I don't want to be alone right now, if that makes sense. I prefer to distract myself.”

Of course, it made sense. She just escaped a fucking rapist by a hair. Bucky’s fingers flexed at his sides, and his protectiveness twisted tighter and tighter inside him. “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

Fuck it.

“Can I… I'll understand if you say no, but- just need a hug.” The last words came out lower like she was embarrassed to ask. But before she finished saying them, her body was enveloped in his. Warm, big, protective. And she let herself dive into it.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest, and he let out a slow breath, resting his chin on the top of her head.

It felt… right.

For both of them.

She shouldn’t want to stay there. Shouldn’t want to let herself sink into his warmth, into the solid comfort he provided her. But she did. And when she felt his arm pressing just slightly around her back, when he lingered, she dared to think that maybe… he didn’t want this to end either.

But while she was thinking about holding on, Bucky’s mind was already elsewhere.

Already planning.

He wasn’t a killer anymore. He wasn’t the man who mindlessly hurt and destroyed on command without thought. But when he finds the bastard who did this… when Bucky finishes with him, he’ll wish he was dead.

----

That night, he didn’t hesitate.

He called Steve and asked him to take care of Thomas, kept it vague. Steve asked if everything was alright and Bucky just answered, “I need to handle something.”

His first stop was the pub. It took all of ten minutes to get the surveillance footage. No one argued when he asked. Whether it was the weight of his name or the look in his eyes, he didn’t care.

The next stop was the Tower.

"Friday, pull up the security feed from Saturday night. Find her." Seconds later, there she was, black dress and nice hairdo, the picture of someone out to have a good time. Completely unaware.

Bucky fast-forwarded until he spotted her on the dance floor, spinning in some asshole’s arms. His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to keep watching.

Fast-forwarded again, there they were at the bar. “Friday, enhance the footage. Close-caption the movements."

And there it was.

The bastard dissolved something into her drink while her back was turned. Then he rejoined her near the dance floor, charming, smiling. They flirted -another painful churn in Bucky’s gut- and then, she took a sip.

It didn’t take long. A shift in her posture, a slight lag in her coordination, the way she started leaning more into him, like gravity had shifted.

Then the hands. On her thigh, on her hip. Bucky didn’t finish watching. He couldn’t. It felt wrong.

But he had seen enough.

"Friday, run a facial recognition scan. See if he has a record." It took less than ten seconds. Convicted of multiple sexual offenses. Vicious ones.

Bucky’s blood turned to ice. "Give me his last known address."

A pause.

Then, a map appeared on the screen.  And Bucky was already grabbing his jacket.

----

The news broke early the next morning, spreading like wildfire across the city. A known sexual predator had been found unconscious at the doorstep of a police station, it seemed his battered body was dumped there in the dead of night. Law enforcement officials remained tight-lipped, refusing to release details, but unofficial sources painted a far more gruesome picture. Multiple broken fingers, a savage beating that left him barely recognizable, and the most horrifying detail of all: his own severed testicles shoved into his mouth. Whoever had done it had made sure he lived through it, going so far as to cauterize the wound with a knife, ensuring he wouldn’t bleed out before he was found.

Speculation ran wild. Some whispered about vigilante justice, others murmured that the man had it coming. The brutality of the act sent shockwaves through the media, but behind closed doors, some simply nodded in grim understanding. No suspects had been named, no witnesses had come forward, and no security cameras had caught a thing. It was as if the man had been plucked off the streets, punished, and discarded without a trace.

Bucky sat at his kitchen table, sipping his morning coffee as the radio droned on in the background. He didn’t react to the report, nor did he stop munching his toast when the anchor speculated about the motives behind the attack. He simply stirred a little sugar into his cup, took another slow sip, and went about his morning routine as if it were any other day.

----

In the afternoon, Thomas asked to watch a movie, so she picked Toy Story. The kid was thrilled by the idea that his toys might secretly move and talk when he wasn’t looking. Every now and then, she caught him sneaking glances at them, with his eyes full of wonder, as if he could catch them in the act.

At some point, he begged for popcorn, and she laughed, ruffling his hair before heading to the kitchen to make some.

She was rummaging through the cabinets, searching for the right pot, when Bucky emerged from his bedroom. His hair was a mess, sleep-tousled and falling loosely over his shoulders. He moved on autopilot, going straight for a couple of plums. His heavy steps and sluggish posture told her he hadn’t been awake long from his nap.

She turned on the burner, setting the pot down, and spoke as casually as she could. “Saw the news today.”

He didn’t answer. Just let the water run as he rinsed the fruit, lowering his head slightly, his strands of dark hair covering his face like a curtain.

She gripped the pot handle a little tighter. No point in dancing around it. “The man at the police station,” she continued, voice even. “It was him.”

He stilled. Just for a second. A fraction of hesitation before he reached for a bowl, placing the plums inside with slow, deliberate movements.

"Figures," he muttered, shutting off the tap, and reaching for a towel. But before he could step away, she moved without thinking, brushing her fingers over his bicep, rubbing slow, careful circles with her thumb against the fabric of his shirt.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

He still didn’t look at her.

“I would do it again,” he murmured.

There it was. The cat was out of the bag.

Now she knew -or was reminded- exactly what he was capable of. What kind of man stood before her.

Would she flinch away, look at him differently? He wasn’t sorry for what he did, wouldn’t regret it for a second, but he wasn’t naïve enough to think that actions didn’t have consequences. And maybe this -whatever this was- was something he was about to lose.

But then, instead of pulling away, she did the last thing he expected.

She pressed her forehead gently against his arm. “Want to watch what’s left of the movie with us?” she said softly, as if nothing had changed. “Thomas is loving it.”

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

She wasn’t afraid of him.

He nodded, still without looking at her. "Then go sit with Thomas and I'll bring the popcorn when it's ready." She instructed, taking a step back and turning around.

----

She wasn’t stupid.

When she saw the news the next morning -just the night after she told Bucky what had happened- it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.

He could have just reported the guy, turned him over to the authorities, and let the system deal with him. Instead, he had gone out, hunted him down, and made sure he’d never hurt anyone again.

This wasn’t about justice. It wasn’t even about punishment.

It was personal.

Why? Because she was Thomas’ nanny? Because, somewhere along the way, she had become part of something he wasn’t willing to risk losing?

She thought about that night, when he had offered her his bed, and told her outright that he didn’t mind her there, that she was part of his household. Maybe that was why he felt compelled to do this. Maybe, to him, this was just… protecting his own.

----

Bucky was done pretending.

Done pretending this was just a comfortable, familiar routine. Done acting like this was enough when it had long since stopped being so.

And after what happened, after hearing what almost happened to her, the dam was close to breaking.

He was on edge.

Because if she had been with them that Saturday, she wouldn’t have been in danger. She wouldn’t have had to look for a good time with strangers and wouldn’t have been put in that position. And maybe that was the worst part. Not that she had gone out. Not that she had almost gotten hurt. But she had to go somewhere else to look for what she wanted.

What she needed.

Because he was a coward.

Trailing after her like a touch-starved idiot for months, basking in the warmth of the status quo. Letting himself be pampered, doted on, and wanted, but never taking it. It was time to admit, to face it head-on, that under all his layers of self-deprecation and doubt, part of him had noticed the signs. The ones Steve had subtly and not so subtly tried to make him see.

It used to be easy for him. To read those signs. To know when someone wanted him. And if they didn’t, well, he had once been the kind of man to make it happen.

But that man had died the moment he fell from that train.

Now, he was this. A fractured thing. A man with too much past and too many scars, with a kid who deserved a better role model than someone who spent his nights fucking his own hand inhaling a damn scarf because it smelled like her.

Yeah.

She hadn’t lost it, as she thought.

He had found it in the laundry pile weeks ago and, instead of leaving it out like a normal person, had tucked it away like some depraved, desperate little secret.

Like a fucking creep.

And now, after what happened, he didn’t just want to protect her. He wanted to keep her. Not just so she wouldn’t have to expose herself to the dangers of the world, but because-

He was a selfish bastard.

And he’d had enough.

----

Bucky was sprawled across the couch when she returned, popcorn in hand. He shifted slightly, making room for her, but hesitated -just for a second- before not removing his arm from the couch’s backrest.

Oh.

Subtle. But not that subtle.

She sat down, careful and deliberate, placing the bowl within reach. At first, she kept her posture straight, too aware of the space -or lack of it- between them.

Minutes passed. The movie played on. Eventually, her back started to ache, as a dull protest against how stiffly she was holding herself. She needed to lean back. And still, he didn’t move his arm.

There was no way he hadn’t noticed, no way this was anything but intentional. A week ago, he would have given her space, even would have put Thomas between them. But now…

She let out a slow breath and took the offer. Slowly, carefully, she eased back, resting her head against his shoulder.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his arm shifted, pressing her closer, barely brushing the edge of her sleeve with his fingers.

Okay, she wasn’t imagining this.

She was cuddling with her boss.

Her boss, who had just tacitly admitted that he was the one who hunted down and beat the life out of the man who had almost hurt her.

The realization should have made her tense, should have made her overthink every second leading up to this moment, but instead, her body acted on instinct. She shifted -just a little- closing more of the space between them, pressing herself against the warmth of his body. She felt it. The way he caught his breath, the way his muscles went tight for a brief second, before exhaling and resting his cheek against the top of her head.

----

As the movie went on, Thomas remained fully engrossed, laughing and gasping at all the right moments. But the same couldn’t be said for the two adults on the couch. Neither of them was really watching.

At some point, she shifted again, adjusting herself against his body, and Bucky felt it, all of it. The warmth of her body against his side, the subtle weight of her head resting just right on his shoulder. She smelled like something soft, and warm, like lavender and the faintest hint of chamomile, and he knew if he moved even an inch closer, he’d drown in her scent.

She wasn’t faring much better. Every slow rise and fall of his chest made her hyper-aware of just how solid he was. How warm. How big. His arm, resting along the back of the couch, wasn’t quite touching her, but she could feel its weight hovering there like it wanted to.

Her fingers, resting idly beside her, shifted just slightly, brushing against his thigh. A featherlight touch. Accidental. But the way Bucky tensed made her stomach flip.

Neither of them moved away.

Another slow inhale. Another shift.

Bucky turned his head slightly, just enough that his nose brushed against the top of her hair. He breathed her in, slow and quiet, and let it out on a slow, controlled exhale. And then, in the quietest, rawest voice she had ever heard from him-

“Fuck.”

It was whispered, barely audible, slipping past his lips before he could bite it back. She felt it more than heard it, the vibration of his voice against her temple.

He went still after that, like he’d just let something slip.

And she couldn’t help it. Slowly, carefully, she tilted her head up to look at him, brushing her nose along the rough stubble of his jaw.

He inhaled sharply, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

Then, almost hesitantly, he moved, shifting ever so slightly, just enough to press his forehead against hers.

A slow, shared breath.

The space between them was nonexistent.

It would be so easy to close the distance. To press her lips to the corner of his mouth, to finally give in to whatever had been simmering between them for months.

And judging by the way his fingers pressed ever so slightly on her arm, he was thinking the exact same thing.

But.

As much as she wanted it, as much as he seemed to want it, Thomas was sitting mere inches away.

It was wrong.

All it would take was a second -a moment of distraction from the boy, a glance in their direction- and he would see everything transpiring between them.

A sudden laugh from the kid at just the right moment brought reality crashing back down. So, she swallowed, ignoring the heat curling in her body, and lowered her face slowly, resting her head on his shoulder again.

And that was when Bucky moved.

His arm, which had been resting on the back of the couch, scooped her closer, dragging her fully against him. Her cheek was pressed into his chest, and her hand landed against his ribcage, feeling his strong heartbeats beneath her palm.

She let herself sink into his body, into the way he held her there, firm and certain, like he needed it just as much as she did.

----

The movie ended, and with it, the fragile atmosphere built between them.

Thomas was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing in his seat as he fired off questions, questions that Bucky could only half-assedly answer because, truthfully, he had barely processed a single second of the film.

How could he?

Not when he’d spent the last hour fighting the urge to shift, to press closer, to let his hands wander where they shouldn’t.

Not when the scent of her arousal had curled into his senses, sweet and warm and impossible to ignore while she let him hold her, and press her against his chest.

Not when the dull ache between his legs had made every passing second feel like torture.

Fuck, he was wrecked.

She got up, answering Thomas’s rapid-fire questions easily -she’d seen the movie countless times- while making her way to the kitchen, and Bucky forced himself to move, standing up with a quiet grunt as he rolled his shoulders, discreetly tugging at his pants to adjust himself, willing his body to calm the fuck down.

A cold shower. He needed a cold fucking shower.

Throwing a glance toward the kitchen, he watched her move, hawking at the sway of her hips as she reached for a cutting board, the way she bent to reach a pot. Jesus. He clenched his jaw and forced his feet to move, heading straight for the bathroom.

----

She heard the shower start, and that was when she remembered. The towels.

Her fingers stilled on the knife for a beat before she turned to Thomas, mustering the most casual voice she could. “Sweetheart, can you take a clean towel to your dad? I forgot to put them back after laundry.”

The boy nodded happily, grabbing one from the pile and running down the hall.

And just like that, she was alone.

Alone with the feeling of his body pressing against hers. His smell. The weight of his arm. The slow, almost reverent way his fingers had traced just under her breast.

The way her body had reacted to his, aching, wanting-

Eventually, the sound of the bathroom door opening snapped her out of it.

And when she turned-

Oh.

Bucky stood there, fresh from the shower, water still clinging to his collarbone, shoulders, and forearm where he had missed a few drops before putting on a tank top that left almost none to the imagination. His beard was neatly trimmed, his jawline sharper, cleaner. And fuck, that damn ponytail again, like he knew exactly what it did to her.

She swallowed, forcing her gaze lower, only to regret it instantly.

The grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, and her stomach flipped violently, while heat crawled up her neck.

And God, then he looked at her.

Like he was devouring her with his eyes while he reached for a piece of bread from the table, biting into it with slow, deliberate movements,

She swallowed, gripping the wooden spoon tighter, forcing herself to focus on the food in front of her. Stirring. Stirring. Not thinking.

She gave the sauce one last absentminded stir, then shut off the burner.

Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she exhaled slowly before turning back to the table. "Alright, I should get going."

----

Thomas frowned from his seat, already settling in for dinner. "Already?"

She ruffled his hair with a small smile. "Yeah, kiddo. Gotta catch the bus before it gets too late."

Bucky, who had been watching in silence, shifted in his seat. Then, without a word, he stood, tugging his phone from his pocket and typing something before shoving it back in.

“I’ll walk you down.”

It wasn’t a surprise. It had become routine at this point, the act of accompanying her to the door, sometimes even down the street if it was late. If she ever protested, he’d just look at her. That flat, unimpressed stare that made it very clear she wasn’t going to win that argument.

So she just nodded, grabbing her jacket before saying goodbye to Thomas, who, as always, made her promise she’d be back tomorrow.

With that, she followed Bucky out of the apartment.

The hallway was quiet, save for the buzz of the overhead lights and the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them looked at each other. Even as they stepped into the elevator.

She risked a glance at him, catching the way his fingers picked absently at a cuticle, and his jaw worked like he was thinking too much.

The elevator descended, floor numbers ticking down in a slow rhythm.

7

6

5

Her stomach flipped for no reason at all.

4

Bucky moved.

His arm slowly reached out, and before she could process it, his palm pressed the stop button.

The elevator shuddered to a halt.

Slowly, so slowly, she turned her head, looking at him.

And, oh.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… dark, intense, burning.

Her lips parted, and then-

His hand shot out.

Not to touch her. Not quite.

But close enough.

His fingers braced against the wall beside her head, caging her in, while his body got mere inches from hers, radiating heat. He leaned in, just enough for his breath to ghost across her cheek.

His voice, low and rough, sent a shiver down straight to her pussy.

“Tell me what you want, doll.”

Her stomach clenched, and her pulse hammered against her chest.

Oh, fuck.

There was no point in pretending anymore.

She shifted her face to the side, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

He tensed beneath her lips. But she didn’t stop.

Slowly, she traced a path along his jaw, breathing warmly against his skin, teasing, waiting, until she reached the corner of his mouth.

And then he just took what she offered.

A low sound rumbled in his chest as his vibranium hand came up, cradling her face with a gentleness that contradicted the hunger of his kiss. His other hand remained firmly pressed against the elevator wall, keeping her caged between him and the cold metal.

He kissed her hard, like he had been holding himself back for too long, because he had.

And she melted.

A moan escaped her lips as she parted them for him, surrendering as his tongue swept inside, claiming, coaxing, demanding more.

Her hands found their way to the back of his neck, threading her fingers through his hair, nails grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His body pressed into hers firmly, as if daring the space between them to disappear entirely.

The elevator walls blurred away, and the world narrowed down to nothing but heat and mingling breaths.

He growled against her mouth, raw, almost desperate. His hands found the bare skin of her thighs beneath her jumper, digging his fingers into her soft flesh as he lifted her effortlessly, pressing her back against the elevator wall.

A gasp tore from her lips as her instincts took over, wrapping her legs around his waist, and locking him in. And then, he ground against her. A slow, deliberate roll of his hips, pressing the hard, aching length of his cock against the heat between her legs.

His eyes rolled back, as the pleasure ripped through his body like a live wire.

Fuck.

The thin fabric of his sweatpants did nothing to dull the friction, to stop the rush of sensations shooting straight up his spine. He barely had a second to gather himself, to hold on to what little control he had left, because if he didn’t, if he kept moving just like that-

He was going to fucking come in his pants like a damn teenager.

She took advantage of his momentary stillness, curling her fingers into his hair, and giving a soft, teasing tug at his ponytail. His breath stuttered, and his grip on her thighs tightened just before she latched onto the exposed skin of his neck.

Her mouth was warm, and her lips soft as she nipped and suckled at his skin, careful -too careful- not to leave a mark. Not that she could, really. She’d have to work damn hard to bruise him, to claim him in any visible way.

And still, he let her.

He thought he was going to die right there.

His neglected, touch-starved body struggled to process all the stimulus, the heat of her body pressed against him, the teasing scrape of her teeth, the friction, the fucking wetness soaking into the fabric of his sweatpants. He didn’t even know if it was his or hers or both, but he needed-

His hand moved on its own, slipping beneath her jumper, sliding up and brushing the rim of her panties, guided by pure desperation-

And then his phone blared between them.

The sharp sound sliced through the haze, snapping them back to reality for a fraction of a second.

He tensed. She gasped.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His past self had set that damn alarm. A fail-safe, a reminder, because he knew something could happen. Not this, definitely not this far, but something. He didn’t want to leave Thomas alone in the apartment for too long. Panting, he pressed his forehead against hers, squeezed his eyes shut, and muttered a curse under his breath.

She couldn’t stop herself, just one last time, and she rolled her hips against his, biting her lip when she felt just how hard he was.

His sharp gasp sent a thrill down her spine.

“Sorry,” she blurted, breathless.

His eyes snapped open, dark and hazy, his pupils blown wide. His chest heaved against hers, their warm breath mingling in the charged space between them.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid her down, letting her body drag against his, while his hands glided up the backs of her thighs, fingers splayed. She barely had time to catch her breath before he squeezed both hands on her ass, hard enough to make her gasp.

But before she could say anything, he exhaled sharply and fished out his damn phone, silencing the alarm. His fingers curled around the device as if fighting the urge to crush it in his palm.

“Sorry,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Thomas…”

“Of course,” she managed to say, forcing herself to focus. “He’ll wonder why you’re not back.”

She ran her hands over her clothes, smoothing fabric that had been wrinkled in his grip, and fixing her hair in a vain attempt to make herself look less like she had just been thoroughly manhandled.

Bucky wasn’t fairing much better.

She caught the way he stiffened and looked down, muttering a curse under his breath.

She followed his gaze-

A wet patch stained the front of his sweatpants, where the fabric struggled to contain his very prominent erection.

She swallowed, and heat sparked again deep in her belly.

Bucky scowled, tugging his tank top down in a pitiful attempt to cover himself. It didn’t help. At all.

With his jaw tight, he reached for the elevator panel and pressed the button, setting it back into motion. The sound of the machinery filled the small space, but neither of them spoke.

He barely even looked at her.

Couldn’t.

Not when he still felt her warmth against his skin, still tasted her on his lips, still throbbed painfully inside his damn stained sweatpants.

When the doors slid open, she stepped out first, and he followed instinctively, keeping close behind, using her frame to shield the evidence on his pants from anyone lingering in the hallway.

They walked in silence. When they reached the doorway of the building, she finally turned, meeting his gaze, with a small, timid smile playing at her lips.

Something in his chest pulled.

Without thinking, he lifted a hand, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek, tracing the warmth of her skin. And, instead of doing what he wanted -instead of kissing her the way he needed- he dipped his head and pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of her hair.

Soft. Safe.

All he could trust himself with right now.

“See you tomorrow, doll,” he murmured.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” she murmured, almost hesitant. Before he could pull away, she lifted her hand, cradling his where it still rested against her cheek.

Bucky swallowed hard as she brushed her thumb over his knuckles, slow, absentminded. Like she didn’t want to let go. But then she pulled back, releasing him and letting the air settle cool where her warmth had been.

She turned, walking toward the bus stop without another word. Will have the whole way home to think about what happened.

And him?

He had all night to regret letting her walk away.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira @technicallytinyheart @put-trash-here @chinggay85-blog @tulippix @dumblani @chuiisi @calwitch @civilbucky @neyr100 @tanyaherondale @theflowerswillbloom @stars4birdie @soberbabes @greatmistakes @littlesuniee @casey1-2007 @escapefromrealitylol @thriving-n-jiving @vxllys @hi172826 @imaginexred

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[ramp-it-up]

Trouble in Mind

Summary: Las Vegas, 1952. James Buchanan Barnes is the newest, and youngest, Capo in town. But amid the glitz and shadows of the Strip, he never expects to find you, the beautiful singer who vanished from his life six years ago without a trace. Bucky wants you back. And he wants answers. But you're only willing to give him one of those things.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Lounge Singer!Reader

A/N: This is an absolute fever dream inspired by #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Mafia Bucky.

I went back to 50's Vegas because I need another world to get lost in. This is a little longer because this world is so fetch. I can't quite decide if he is going to be dark!Mafia! Bucky after this. Let me know what you think! Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Angst. Lots of cigarette smoking, longing, forbidden romance, Steve and Sam (they are warnings!), Bucky is an ass, cocky Bucky, smooth talker Bucky, young love, heart break, a slap (which he deserves), rough sex, wall sex, 50's foundation garments, long time no sex, oral (f receiving) squirting praise kink, raw p in v, lies, deceit, and crime, along with 1950's race relations and allusions to Jim Crow. Whew.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

Las Vegas, 1952

Vegas glittered at night.

Neon lights buzzed, the air thick with cigarette smoke and money. And tonight, a set of eyes was watching you that you thought you’d left far behind. 

You felt his gaze before you even saw him. It burned into you from the darkest corner of the club. The kind of stare that made your skin prickle, which was both a warning and a temptation.

Bucky.

You’d heard a new Capo was coming to take over the casino, an up and comer from the East Coast, one of the youngest Bosses ever. 

You never imagined it would be Bucky Barnes.

------ 

Brooklyn, 1946

Bucky saw you before you ever looked his way.

James Buchanan Barnes was fresh out of the war and already sinking into the life waiting for him back home.

The one his mother prayed he’d stay away from. 

The one he walked into anyway.

The scent of fresh bread drifted from the bakery down the block as Bucky leaned outside the corner store, trading laughs with his boys, cigarette dangling from his fingers, watching the world pass him by.

Then you walked past, on the way to your vocal lessons.

Your head was high, shoulders squared, exuding the kind of confidence that was ingrained. Your dress clung just right, swaying with each step, and Bucky swore he forgot how to breathe.

He knew your type, a daddy’s girl, from a family with expectations. A good girl from Bed-Stuy, the kind who kept her nose clean and didn’t look twice at trouble.

Trouble, like him.

Down on the corner, they could hear your voice carry over the city noise, rising like a bird above the clatter of the el train.

Lark. That’s what they called you when you weren’t listening. Never to your face.

They knew better than to get too close, and Bucky knew better than to look too long.

But he looked anyway.

And when you finally met his eyes, something in you flickered.

Your father had warned you about guys like Bucky Barnes. 

‘Young punks’, he called them, hanging outside that shop owned by the local boss. Nothing but dead ends and broken hearts. He told you to keep your head high and your eyes forward, and to remember who you were. 

And if that warning wasn’t clear enough, there was another, unspoken one layered beneath it: Girls like you don’t mix with boys like him. Not in this world.

But when Bucky looked at you with those blue eyes, you knew you were already ruined. 

He found ways to get close. 

Catching your eye when you passed by, a slow smirk when you looked away too fast. Holding the door open a second too long, letting his fingers brush yours when he handed over your change. Words, always words, low and teasing, dangerous for a girl with a mind like yours. 

Words were your weakness.

"You gonna keep pretendin’ you don’t see me, Doll?" he asked one evening, stepping into your path as you left the bakery. 

You could smell his cologne and feel his heat and why were you thinking that his lips were nice? What was the tingle in your lower back that you just knew would go away if he touched you there?

You shook your head, remembering you couldn’t entertain this.

"You gonna keep acting like it don’t matter?" you shot back, heart pounding. 

You continued on your way but that night you couldn’t sleep for thoughts of him. 

One day, he whistled as you walked by. And that day, you stopped.

"You want a problem, Barnes?"

He smirked, looking you over blatantly and licking his lips.

"A problem’s not what I want, Doll. Just enjoyin’ the view."

That should’ve been the end of it. But it wasn’t.

You should’ve ignored him. Should’ve listened to your father. But you didn’t.

Because Bucky Barnes had a way of making himself impossible to ignore.

It was stolen glances at first, then hushed conversations on the stoop when the sun was setting. His voice curled around your name, making it sound like something precious. It was the thrill of his hand ghosting over yours, his fingers rough but careful, like he was afraid you’d pull away.

Except you never did.

You knew the risks. You knew people talked. In a world that kept its lines drawn thick and unyielding, Bucky chasing after you was a dangerous thing. 

But Bucky never cared about lines.

He didn't care when people whispered, when your father tightened the reins, when your friends warned you that even if he wasn’t afraid, the world wouldn’t be kind.

“You scared?” he asked one night, his voice soft but steady.

"Of what?"

"Of what happens if you let yourself want this as bad as I do.”

You should have been. But you weren’t.

At first, you told yourself it was just curiosity, just a bit of rebellion before you settled down and did what was expected of you. But curiosity turned into something more, something dangerous. 

Something like love.

Because when he kissed you for the first time, heat pressing against heat in the shadow of an alleyway, you didn’t care about the rules. Bucky tasted like smoke and sin and the promise of something reckless. And suddenly, all the warnings in the world didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter that Brooklyn had unspoken rules. Because Bucky knew what he wanted. And he knew you wanted him back. 

He savored those stolen nights in dark alleys, the way you melted under his touch, the way you let yourself need him, even if only when no one else could see.

And you knew that it wasn’t just about the thrill of sneaking around, or the way he could make your breath hitch with a single look. It was about him, the way he softened when it was just the two of you. The way his fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, memorizing you like you were something sacred.

The way he made you feel like you belonged to him.

Maybe you did. Because you gave him your innocence. 

But love like that didn’t come without consequences. 

What Bucky hadn’t expected, what he hadn’t planned for, was how deep he’d fall for you, how much he’d care.

You weren’t just a good time. You weren’t just a secret thrill. You were it.

The one thing that made the rest of the world fade away.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t see it coming.

One day you were there, warm and real beneath his hands. And the next, you were gone.

No warning. No note. No goodbye. Just vanished, into thin air.

And for six years, he told himself it didn’t matter. That if you wanted to leave, then fine. That he wasn’t the type to chase ghosts.

But then he saw you again, standing under the lights of a Vegas stage, your voice carving its way through the smoky haze.

And in that moment, Bucky Barnes knew one thing for certain.

This time, he wasn’t letting you run.

—-

Vegas, 1952

The man that you had to leave in the middle of the night was sitting in the lounge that you sang in. The man that you dreamed about at night as you sang love songs was right here in the room with you.

And you didn’t know how to act.

You should have run. But you didn’t.

He was seated in the VIP section, flanked by two other men in sharp suits, but he was the only one that mattered. The way he lounged, cigarette between his fingers, watching you like he never relinquished his ownership of you, made your head spin.

—--

Bucky leaned back in his seat, cigarette burning low between his fingers, letting the familiar hum of the casino settle into his bones: the money, the women, the men who thought they were untouchable.

Las Vegas glowed like sin, neon and greed dripping down its streets. It wasn’t Brooklyn, but it had its own kind of pull, its own kind of power. And now, it belonged to him.

It all revolved around him.

But none of it held his attention. Not like you did.

He saw you before you saw him, and for a moment, the world tilted as the air sucked straight out of the room.

Then you stepped onto that stage, looking like something spun from a dream, and for the first time in years, Bucky almost believed in fate.

He’d spent too long clawing his way up in this world to let anyone, or anything, decide his future for him. But seeing you again? It felt like something supernatural.

Because here you were.

In his city.

Singing like you owned the damn room.

You had changed. Not just older, not just more poised. It was in the way you carried yourself, the way you commanded the stage with a presence that made every other woman in the world fade to nothing.

And your body. It was a marvel, showcased in shimmering fabric that clung to curves he remembered all too well.

Now you had fuller hips and softer edges; your body was made to be held. If he got his hands on you again, he knew there would be more of you to worship, to savor.

You weren’t that wide-eyed girl from Brooklyn anymore. And yet, you were still his Lark.

He saw the exact moment you felt his gaze, the subtle tension in your spine, the way your fingers curled just a little tighter around the mic. Even after all these years, you could still feel him.

Then your eyes found him in the dim glow of the club, and Bucky saw it, the sharp inhale, the slight part of your lips, as if you were about to say his name.

It was enough to make his chest ache.

—--

You should’ve kept walking.

You should’ve ignored the butterflies in your belly and that tingle in your back that only Bucky Barnes had been able to inspire.

But you didn’t.

Instead, after your set, you let your feet carry you straight to his table.

Bucky smirked, his fingers tapping lazily against the glass in front of him. 

Like he knew you would come to him.

Six years gone, and yet the moment your eyes locked with his, it was like no time had passed at all. But you weren’t that girl anymore. And Bucky wasn’t that boy.

He was something else now. Something more defined. The suit fit too well, the watch on his wrist cost too much, and the men flanking him sat too still, waiting for his command.

Still, when he looked at you, it wasn’t the infamous new Capo of Las Vegas James Buchanan Barnes staring back.

It was him. Your Bucky.

The boy who once kissed you breathless in the back of a borrowed car.

The boy who called you ‘Baby’ like the word belonged to him.

The boy you left behind in the dead of night, never looking back.

Until now.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, keeping your voice steady.

His smile was the same one that decimated you back in the day.

“Funny,” he said, tapping ash from his cigarette. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Your stomach flipped, but you didn’t let it show. 

Bucky had always been too good at reading you. Way too good. And then he did something dangerous. He nodded to the empty seat beside him.

“Sit with me, Doll.”

The way he said it, low and easy, like it was a foregone conclusion made your body obey like you had long ago. Your fingers twitched at your side. But instead of walking away, you lowered yourself into the seat beside him, your skin prickling with goosebumps under his gaze.

And when he smirked again, just a little, like he’d just won something, your breath hitched.

Because you both knew.

Six years apart hadn’t changed a gotdamn thing.

—--

The moment you sat down, you knew you’d already lost something. Maybe the upper hand, maybe your damn mind, but something shifted the second you met his eyes and made the choice to stay.

Bucky took another slow drag from his cigarette, like he was savoring this moment. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, peering at you through it with those blue eyes, then finally turned to the two men sitting beside him, as if he’d just remembered they were there.

“Fellas,” he drawled, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray, “this here is Trouble.”

Your lips parted slightly, a profane retort ready to go, but before you could snap back, he continued.

“Trouble, this is Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.”

Steve, the blonde with the sharp blue eyes, nodded at you, his expression unreadable. He was the kind of man who didn’t say much but noticed everything.

Sam, on the other hand, smiled a beautiful gap-toothed grin. 

“Trouble, huh?” 

He extended a hand, and you hesitated before taking it, but his grip was warm and firm.

“I gotta say, any woman that can put that look on Barnes’ face is someone I gotta know.”

You arched a brow, tilting your head. 

“And what look is that?”

Sam’s grin widened. 

“Like he just won the jackpot.”

Your stomach tightened, but you kept your face neutral. Instead, you turned back to Bucky, leveling him with a look. 

“Trouble?”

Bucky’s lips curled, and something wicked danced in his eyes. 

“You always were.”

You didn’t blink. 

“And you always loved it.”

There was a silence thick with sex between you, and again the other men were forgotten.

Then, Steve cleared his throat. 

“How do you two know each other?”

Bucky chuckled darkly, and leaned back in his seat.

“Let’s just say…” His eyes met yours, heat simmering beneath the surface.  “She used to belong to me.”

The words struck your chest like lightning. You’d learned enough curse words to set his head on fire since you’d known him last, but you didn’t lace the room with profanity. 

Your fingers curled into a fist in your lap, but you kept your expression steady. 

You weren’t the girl anymore who let Bucky Barnes own her with a smile and a whispered promise in the dark.

So you tilted your head, letting your lips curve.

“Used to,” you repeated, voice smooth as velvet. “Interesting choice of words.”

Bucky’s smile didn’t drop, but he clutched his glass tighter, and you saw the way his jaw ticked.

Sam let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the show. 

“Damn. She’s quick.”

Steve, ever the observer, just watched the exchange with a smirk.

You leaned in slightly, just enough to make Bucky’s eyes flicker to your mouth and down to your cleavage before he dragged them back up. 

“If I remember right, I was the one who left.”

Bucky exhaled a slow breath through his nose, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray again, his voice a shade lower now. 

“That’s what you think?”

You raised a brow. 

“That’s what I know.”

He made a sound low in his throat before taking another sip of his drink. He gazed at you like he was trying to figure out what to do with you now that you were sitting right in front of him again.

Then his eyes narrowed just a fraction.

“So tell me, Trouble. If you walked away so easy, why are you sitting here now?”

That’s the question, you thought.

So instead of answering, you reached for his glass, plucked it from his fingers, and took a slow sip before setting it back down.

Then you met his eyes and smiled.

“Maybe I just wanted to remind you,” you said softly. “That you don’t own me anymore.”

Bucky stared at you, unreadable. That muscle in his jaw twitched again.

Then, slowly, that wicked smirk crept back onto his face and he tilted his head at you, those blue eyes sparkling.

“We’ll see about that, Lark.”

—----

Bucky watched as you set his glass back down, the ghost of your lipstick staining the rim, taunting him. Six years apart, and you still knew how to get under his skin with a single look, a single move. 

A single sentence.

Maybe I just wanted to remind you… that you don’t own me anymore.

You challenged him in ways no one else dared to. And Bucky fucking loved it.

Steve and Sam were watching, though they had the good sense to stay quiet. Sam was chuckling, and Steve’s face held a small crooked smile, one that appeared after Bucky said Lark.

Bucky didn’t give a damn about either of them right now.

His eyes stayed on you. You were trying to be tough, but you had to be feeling the same pull that he was. Bucky leaned forward, closing the space just enough to catch your scent and see your pupils blow wider. 

Gotcha.

“Never needed to own you, Doll.” 

His voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. 

“That was never the game.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you caught yourself, chucking your chin up instead. 

“Then what was your game, James?”

He smiled again. He wasn’t about to hand you that answer.

Yet.

Instead, he sat back, dragging his gaze over you slowly, and licking his lips. 

You were still the most beautiful thing in the damn room, and you had to know it. That dress, those eyes; every man in this club was probably watching you, and wanting you.

But only one of them had ever had you.

And only one of them was going to again.

He tapped his fingers once against the table before rising smoothly to his feet. 

“C’mon.”

You blinked, “What?”

He nodded toward the back of the club, where the private booths were. Where you two could talk without an audience.

“Walk with me.”

A challenge. A test. A door you could still choose not to open.

Bucky saw you hesitate, for just a moment, but then you stood, smoothing out your dress and holding your head high like you hadn’t just made a decision that would change everything.

Bucky’s smirk widened.

That’s my girl.

—-

Bucky’s smirk deepened when you stood, like he’d known you would. That alone made something tighten in your chest, but you swallowed it down, lifting your chin as you followed him through the club.

The noise of the club, the conversations, the clinking of glasses, the jazz band, it all blurred as he led you toward the back, past the heavy velvet curtain that separated the VIP section from the private rooms. It infuriated you how easy it was to fall into step with him, how your body remembered before your mind could protest.

The moment you were away from prying eyes, he turned.

“You still listen like a Good Girl,” he murmured, voice smooth as smoke and just as dangerous.

You crossed your arms, shielding yourself from his stare as he leaned back against the small table between you, eyes skimming the curves of your dress like he had every right to.

“And you’re still a little asshole, Bucky.”

His smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened. He pulled out a cigarette, tapping it against his lighter before the soft flicker of flame cast his face in gold. He inhaled slow, exhaled even slower.

“I think you know I’m not ‘little,’ Baby,” he said, voice dipping lower. “Bet you that cunt still curves to my dick.”

You didn’t think. Your palm met his cheek in a resounding slap before you could stop it.

Bucky only grinned.

“You must wanna see if it’s true,” he murmured, stepping closer, “because you know that turns me on.”

Your breath hitched, anger curling hot in your gut, and you turned to leave, but his hand wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm.

“Sorry, Doll.”

You knew he was anything but.

Although he let you go the moment you glared at his hand, the heat of his touch lingered.

“Stay,” he said, quieter this time. “I think we need to talk, don’t you?”

You lifted a brow. “About?”

He studied you like he was searching for the right words.

“You left Brooklyn.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a wound, still fresh after six years.

You met his stare, steady. 

“I did.”

“Didn’t say a damn thing to me.”

You thought of the reason why, of the tiny heartbeat that changed your life forever, and you folded your arms tighter across your chest.

“Would it have mattered?”

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he took another drag of his cigarette.

“That’s cute, Doll.”

His voice was rough.

“You really think I would’ve let you go?”

Your stomach clenched, but you didn’t flinch. 

“That might be why I didn’t tell you.”

His jaw ticked, frustration creeping into the lines of his face. He leaned in, forearms bracing against the table, his eyes locking onto yours.

“You ran. Fine.” 

His voice was softer now, laced with something you couldn’t name. 

“But tell me this. Was it worth it?”

The air left your lungs. You thought of why you ran. What was expected of you. What would’ve happened if you’d stayed.

Six years of building a life from scratch. Six years of trying to convince yourself you made the right choice. Six years of missing him. Six years of seeing his eyes every day both in your dreams and when you woke.

“Absolutely.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered, searching your face for something, doubt, regret, a lie. But he didn’t find it.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “You were mine.”

You exhaled slowly. 

“I’m not sorry for what I did, Bucky. But I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

You meant it. Every word.

But you belonged to someone else now. Someone more important than James Barnes.

—---

Bucky’s eyes flashed, then he sat back in his seat, appraising you yet again. 

“It’s okay, Doll. I turned out okay. And here we are, together again.”

“We’re not together, Bucky.”

He took another drag of his smoke.

“Only a matter of time, Baby.”

You took a breath, steadying yourself, lifting your chin. 

“I have another set.”

Bucky smiled at you.

“I know.”

Of course, he knew. He ran this town and he always paid attention, always saw more than you wanted him to.

You stood, ready to walk away, to put some space between the past and the present before you lost yourself in it again. But before you could take a step, something small and cool slid against your palm.

You looked down.

A key.

Bucky’s fingers lingered over yours just long enough to make your pulse jump. He looked into your eyes and leaned down and it was like your lips were connected by magnets. 

He tasted like whiskey and cigarettes and regrets as his tongue slid into your mouth, establishing ownership yet again. 

He pulled back and rested his forehead on yours.

“Royal Sierra Hotel. Top floor,” he gruffed.  “I’ll be waiting.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You should have dropped the key right back into his palm. Should have told him no, should have walked away, should have done a thousand things. 

But you did none of them. You just curled your fingers around the key, just for a second, then slipped it into your dress pocket like it meant nothing. 

Bucky didn’t call you on it. Didn’t press. He just smiled, slow and knowing, then stepped back.

“See you soon, Doll.”

Then he was gone, and you were left standing there, with a key in your pocket and a storm in your chest, knowing damn well you were about to make a mistake.

——

Your second set of the night flew by in a blur. Your voice soared through the rafters, full of emotion, carrying the weight of things you couldn’t say out loud. The memories all spilled into the songs, wrapped in melodies that weren’t yours but might as well have been. 

You poured your soul into every note, and the crowd felt it. They responded with enthusiastic applause and with generosity for the waitresses and bartenders. At the end of the night, the club manager pressed extra bills into your hand, murmuring something about record-breaking tips.

You barely heard him. 

Your mind was already made up.

You stepped out into the cool night air, exhaling as you raised your hand to hail a cab, but before you could, a smooth voice cut through the darkness.

“Need a ride?”

You turned, heels clicking against the pavement as you took in the sight before you.

Steve Rogers, all broad shoulders and quiet authority, leaned against a gleaming black Continental, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. 

Your brows lifted. 

“Didn’t peg you for a chauffeur.”

Steve chuckled.

“Just trying to be nice.” 

He nodded toward the passenger seat. 

“We’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Your gaze shifted past him to Sam, watching you from inside the car, his smile just visible through the window.

“And if I need to go home?” you asked, testing.

Steve shrugged. 

“Then we’ll take the lady home. But if you’re looking for a little more excitement…”

“We know a place or two,” Sam finished, his voice tinged with amusement.

Despite yourself, you smiled. You liked them. Even if they were Bucky’s men, and even if they saw more than they let on.

“I’ll take you up on that,” you said, sighing as you stepped forward. 

“Standing on a stage in heels all night isn’t exactly easy on the legs.”

Steve’s gaze flickered down, tracing the slit in your dress, lingering just long enough to make your pulse skip.

“Those legs look just fine to me,” he murmured.

You arched a brow. Was Steve Rogers flirting with you? And was Sam giving you the same once over from the passenger seat?

And more importantly, what would Bucky do if he knew? 

You didn’t have time to wonder. Steve was already holding the door open, waiting. You slid inside, sinking into the plush leather seats, and shot him a tired, knowing smile as he shut the door behind you.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the mirror, his eyes catching yours in the reflection. 

“Which way, Miss Y/L/N?”

You hesitated.

Bucky was making this hard.

You closed your eyes, reaching back, searching for the girl you were six years ago. The girl who ran. The girl who had every reason to. But she was gone, her memories worn thin, fragile as cigarette paper.

You could stand to make some new ones.

And they would have to last. Because this would only be one night.

“The Royal Sierra,” you said softly.

Steve’s lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You two do this often?” you asked as the car rumbled to life.

Steve and Sam exchanged a glance, the kind that spoke volumes.

“I’ve known Bucky for three years,” Sam said, voice lighter than his meaning. “And I’ve never seen him give a woman the time of daylight.”

You let out a soft laugh.

“It’s nighttime, Sam.”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. 

“He’s never introduced me to a dame before. Plenty have tried to get to him through us, but he doesn’t let ‘em. He just shoos ‘em off like stray dogs.” 

Sam’s smirk deepened. 

“But you? You’re different.”

Something in your chest tightened. You turned toward the back of Steve’s head. 

“What about you, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve cleared his throat, his hands flexing on the wheel.

“I’ve known Buck since we were kids in Brooklyn,” he said after a pause.

“And he’s only ever talked about one woman to me.”

The weight of his words settled over you. He didn’t have to say it. You knew.

Steve’s voice was softer when he added, “But he stopped talking about her about five and a half years ago.”

Your heart clenched.

You didn’t ask any more questions after that. You just let the city lights blur past the window, let the neon colors bleed together as they carried you to the man waiting at the top of the Royal Sierra.

Waiting for you.

——-

The Royal Sierra was a loud kind of quiet. The kind that came from power. Bucky’s kind of place.

Steve pulled up to the entrance, stepping out with effortless authority, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like he belonged here. Like you belonged here. No one stopped you. No one asked questions.

His presence alone was a key. A shield.

Bucky Barnes’ reach extended farther than Mr. Crow’s.

Before you knew it, you were stepping into the elevator, watching the floors tick by, your pulse a slow, deliberate drum in your throat. And by the time you reached the penthouse, your body had made a decision your mind refused to acknowledge.

You lifted a gloved hand and slid the key into the lock.

The door opened instantly.

And then, there was Bucky.

His gaze collided with yours, stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t move. Just stood there, watching you, burning you into his memory like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

Then his hands were on you.

Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth crashing against yours, desperate and deep, like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know that six years hadn’t dulled his hunger for you.

You melted, even though you knew better.

You knew this was dangerous. That this wasn’t just about lust, or longing, or the years between you. But none of it mattered as you wound your arms around him, tangling your fingers in the dark curls you missed too damn much.

Bucky groaned, dragging you flush against him. His hands roamed lower, exploring this new version of you, the one with fuller curves, wider hips, a body that had known things he hadn’t been there to witness.

He needed to erase it all.

He deepened the kiss, his breath ragged as he backed you against the wall, pinning you there, swallowing the soft sound you made.

God, that sound.

He had dreamed about it.

You pulled back. Your lips were swollen, your breath uneven, you were beautiful. But there was something else in your eyes.

A flicker of hesitation.

Bucky smirked.

He didn’t want to talk. Not tonight. He wanted to taste you, to relearn every inch of you. 

He brought your hand up to his mouth, taking the glove off your hand with his teeth, one finger at a time.

Your mind short circuited, forgetting what you wanted to say, the only thought that your panties would burst into flames, but the liquid at your center would surely put the fire out.

Bucky Barnes was still so goddamn hot.

“You staying?” 

His voice was hoarse with desire.

Your lips parted slightly. Then, slowly, you nodded. That was all he needed.

With deliberate slowness, he backed you toward the couch, his blue eyes never leaving yours.

He didn’t know why you left.

Didn’t know why you were in Vegas.

Didn’t know how long he had.

And tonight, he wasn’t asking.

"Missed this," he murmured against your throat, his breath hot, his fingers digging into the roundness of your ass. His voice sent a shiver down your spine.

He turned you, fingers finding the zipper of your dress. You felt it slide down, the cool air kissing your bare skin as the rich fabric slipped from your shoulders, revealing the decadent silk and lace beneath.

Bucky let out a rough exhale.

The longline bra molded perfectly to your curves, the underwire and boning lifting your breasts high, the lace trim barely concealing your peaked nipples. The silk garter belt cinched your waist, accentuating the swell of your hips, its straps fastened to sheer stockings that clung to your legs like a whisper.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands ghosting over your sides, gripping, kneading. 

“Jesus, Doll… you always did know how to drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he rasped.

He trailed a finger along the edge of your bra, teasing you through the lace with his knuckles grazing the soft swell of your breast. 

“Look at you… all wrapped up like a goddamn present,” he muttered, voice thick with reverence.

His hands slid down, and his thumbs traced slow, reverent paths along the edge of your garter, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin of your thighs. He tilted his head, lips curving against your jaw.

“Been dreamin’ about this,” he whispered, voice dripping with possession. 

“And now it’s real.”

You shivered beneath his touch, and Bucky smirked, satisfied. He trailed his fingers lower, slipping beneath the garter belt to palm your ass, squeezing greedily, pulling you flush against him.

“Missed these fuckin’ curves,” he groaned, rolling his hips against you, letting you feel just how hard he was, how much he needed you.

He was losing patience. Six years was too damn long.

His hands found the hooks of your bra, and he made quick work of them, peeling the garment from your body and tossing it over his shoulder. He pulled back for just a second, just long enough to admire the sight of you, bare, breathless, your eyes fully dilated.

“Damn, Doll” he whispered, voice almost reverent. 

Then his mouth was on you, trailing down your neck hotly, over your collarbone, lower, until his lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking, groaning when your fingers tangled in his hair, when your body arched into his mouth.

“Feel so good,” he murmured against your skin, voice wrecked.

His hands roamed lower, curling around your thighs, gripping hard as he lifted you effortlessly, walking you backward until your spine hit the cool surface of the wall.

Bucky looked up at you then, eyes burning, voice nothing but gravel.

“Hold on tight, Baby. I ain’t letting you go this time.

Bucky pressed a kiss into you, his hard length grinding against your soaked panties. The heat of him, the sheer size of him, had you trembling.

"Need inside you, Doll… so fucking hard for you," he groaned, his voice rough with need.

You gasped as he rocked into you, your damp panties and his boxers doing little to separate the friction between you. Your hips rolled in response, dragging a throaty grunt from his lips.

"Fuck!"

Bucky hooked a finger into your panties, yanking them to the side. The first brush of his bare cock against your slick folds sent a shudder through you. It was heaven. The aching kind. The kind you felt.

"Bucky, please!"

You needed to feel him again after so long.

His thick cock slid through your folds, coating himself in your arousal, teasing your clit with every slow stroke. You felt everything, the ridges, the veins, the swollen head nudging at your entrance.

At the same time, his mouth latched onto your nipple, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. His calloused fingers kneaded the roundness of your ass, pulling unashamed whimpers from your throat.

"Mine," Bucky growled.

Your breath hitched. But just as you prepared for that first, deep thrust, he pulled back.

You gasped in protest.

"Gonna fuck you proper, though. In a bed."

You let out a breathless laugh as Bucky scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to his bedroom. He laid you out, spreading your legs as he loomed over you, devouring the sight. His manicured nails dragged over your thighs in a slow, teasing stroke.

Your breath stuttered with anticipation.

"Be a good girl for me," he murmured, eyes dark with intent. "And grab my hair if you need to."

Confusion flickered in your eyes, until you felt your legs being thrown over his shoulders. Then, Bucky was between your thighs.

You scrambled up on your elbows, heat rushing to your face as he spread you open with two fingers, stroking the sensitive, slick folds hidden beneath. His gaze locked onto your glistening sex, mesmerized.

"So beautiful, Lark."

Your breath came in shallow gasps as he ran his fingers through your wetness, spreading it.

"So wet… dripping… coating my fingers, Baby."

The filthy words, the intensity of his stare, made fresh arousal seep from you. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, aching for more.

"Pinch those nipples for me," Bucky rasped,

Your lips parted in shock, but his stare was unwavering. With a shaky breath, you obeyed.

The added sensation sent pleasure rippling through you, making your back arch, your ass pressing into the mattress as Bucky pumped his fingers nice and slow. The other hand fisted around his cock, stroking in time with the movement inside you.

Your gaze dropped to watch him touch himself as he touched you. Fuck.

A gush of slick spilled from you. Bucky cursed under his breath, scissoring his fingers, stretching you, preparing you.

"So fucking tight, Doll. Need to get you ready."

Then, his head dipped lower. Your gasp filled the room. Bucky smirked.

"Why so shocked?" he taunted. "You act like you haven’t had sex since I borrowed Johnny’s car—"

He stopped.

Your face must have given you away because his own softened instantly.

"Oh, shit."

His tone was different now, understanding. 

"It’s okay, Baby. I got you."

Determination flashed in his blue eyes as he leaned down again, brushing a featherlight kiss against your most sensitive place. It was intimate. Like he was kissing your mouth.

Then, he licked into you, slow and deliberate, and your world shattered. Lightning coursed through your veins as your thighs instinctively clamped around his head. Your fingers fisted in his curls, tugging mercilessly.

Bucky groaned in approval, his tongue swirling, sucking, worshiping. Every swipe, every firm drag, every deep flick had you writhing beneath him, riding his face, chasing oblivion.

When he pried your thighs apart and plunged two fingers back inside, curling them just right, you detonated. 

Your orgasm ripped through you, your body seizing, your walls fluttering around his fingers as a flood of wetness spilled into his mouth.

"Bucky!"

He pulled back, lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction.

"S’okay, Baby. It’s natural."

Then he leaned down again. And drank from you like a man dying of thirst.

You whimpered, overwhelmed, your body trembling as he held you down, refusing to let you escape. The overstimulation was brutal, unbearable.

Too much, too good.

"Really have been such a good girl for me…" he murmured against your sensitive skin.

Then, his voice dropped to something sinful.

"Gonna give you this cock you been waiting for."

When he finally kissed you, his lips slick with you, the last shred of restraint dissolved.

You moaned into his mouth as he lined himself up, dragging the thick, swollen head of his cock through your drenched folds. He parted your lips, teasing you with tiny, torturous strokes. Then, with a sharp slap, he tapped his cock against your clit, making you cry out.

"Shit, Doll…" 

Bucky’s voice was strained, his jaw tight as he fought for control. You rolled your hips, desperate, pleading.

"Inside, please!"

"You’re gonna feel… so… goodddd…"

He bit it out through clenched teeth as he pushed forward slow, steady, and stretching you inch by inch. You choked on a moan as he filled you. He was so big. You had forgotten how thick, how deep, how perfect he felt inside you.

"Ohhhhhh, Bucky!"

"Right here, Baby."

His eyes locked onto you, greedily drinking in your bouncing breasts, your trembling stomach, the way your body took him. The sight alone nearly ended him. His head dropped back, his grip on you tightening as he bottomed out, grinding his hips into yours, making you wail in pleasure.

"You feel amazing… so fucking good. Never felt anything like this, I swear, Lark."

Your walls clenched around him, and Bucky’s face twisted, his control slipping.

"I need you to cum all over my dick."

You gasped as his hand found your clit, circling it with the same practiced precision that always ruined you. His other hand pinched your nipple, sending another bolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Cum for me, Doll."

You had no choice. Your body seized, pleasure obliterating you as you came, gushing around his cock, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through you.

Bucky’s grip turned bruising as he drove into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His breath caught. 

"Mine!" he growled. 

And his release filled you, thick and hot, as his body shuddered violently against yours.

And in that moment, tangled together, sweat-slicked and sated, you both knew

You were his again.

—--

Bucky collapsed beside you, chest heaving, staring blankly at the ceiling.

You did the same, but while he was basking in the afterglow, warmth spreading through his chest like hope, your stomach twisted into knots.

"Where you going, Lark?"

His voice was thick with exhaustion, but he still caught the way you shifted, the way your body tensed before you sat up.

"Bathroom," you murmured, already moving. "Need to clean up."

Something flickered in his eyes, something soft, something real. But the moment you slipped away, his hope dimmed just a little.

You disappeared into the harsh fluorescent glow of the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

—--

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed, watching as you slipped your shoes back on. You moved quickly, deliberately. Like you’d planned your exit before you ever walked through his door.

"You don’t have to run out like this," he said, voice rough.

You hesitated, just for a second, before fastening your coat.

"I have to get home."

Bucky’s fingers flexed against the sheets.

"Home."

He rolled the word over his tongue. He didn’t like the way it tasted.

Your gaze lifted, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered there, regret, and sorrow buried so deep he almost missed it.

Bucky nodded, jaw tight. He had questions. Too many. But he knew you wouldn’t answer them.

So he let you go.

But that didn’t mean he was letting this go.

—-----

Bucky sat in the back of the Continental, silent as Steve drove.

He hadn’t said a word since Steve muttered, “I’ll take you to where she lives.”

Vegas never slept, but the streets were quiet this early. Bucky stared out the window, jaw clenched.

He should’ve stopped you from leaving. Should’ve asked the damn questions instead of letting you walk out. But you were good at slipping away. You’d done it before.

Not this time.

Steve glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"You sure about this?"

Bucky’s eyes stayed on the road ahead.

"Just drive."

Steve sighed but didn’t argue. The car veered off the Strip, where the lights weren’t as bright, where the buildings weren’t as tall, where the money wasn’t as loud. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it sure as hell wasn’t where Bucky expected you to be.

The car slowed.

A modest duplex came into view, its porch light flickering on.

Bucky barely registered anything beyond you were here. Until he saw the front door open.

You stepped out, wrapped in a housecoat, makeup gone, hair wrapped in a scarf. Then you walked to the neighboring unit. And knocked. The door cracked open.

And out ran a little boy.

Bucky sat up straighter, his breath hitching as the kid bolted toward you, dark messy hair bouncing, big blue eyes shining as he laughed, launching himself into your waiting arms.

You caught him effortlessly, hugging him close, whispering something into his ear.

Like you’d done it a thousand times before.

Because you had.

The realization hit like a bullet to the ribs.

You had a son.

Bucky’s world tilted.

Then, the boy’s voice, small and sleepy, carried through the quiet street.

"Mama, you’re home."

His breath left him in a rush.

"Yes, Jamie, I’m home."

Steve tensed, hands gripping the wheel.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists.

"Buck—"

"Drive," he rasped. The word barely made it past his lips.

Steve hesitated.

"Now."

The car pulled away, but Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on you.

Six years.

Six years, and you had kept this from him.

—---

The moment Jamie crashed into your arms, the world melted away.

"Mama, you’re home!"

You exhaled shakily, smoothing his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Miss Thea stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her housecoat, watching with quiet understanding. She didn’t ask questions. Never had. Just gave you a slow nod before retreating inside.

Jamie yawned, burrowing into your shoulder, his little arms tightening around your neck.

"You smell funny," he mumbled sleepily.

You huffed a quiet laugh, shifting him in your arms.

"Yeah? What do I smell like?"

Jamie blinked up at you, barely awake.

"Like trouble," he sighed.

Your breath caught.

A chill danced down your spine, one you always felt when Bucky was near. Slowly, your eyes lifted, scanning the street.

Nothing. No car. No sign of him. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been here.

You swallowed hard, clutching Jamie closer as you stepped inside, locking the door behind you. You couldn’t shake the feeling.

Bucky knew.

And no matter how much you wanted to believe you could keep him away….You knew better.

James Buchanan Barnes was coming for you.

For both of you.

——-

Read The Trouble With Love Is

[bunni-v1]

Requesting for a scenario with my best boys Lighter and Harumasa(feel free to add more if you want)<3 where reader tries to Kabedon them to try to fluster them!!

I feel like it’d work with Harumasa but Lighter will only be slightly flustered before somehow turning it around and it ends up with him pinning us somehow

Kabedon…

🍓I’m gonna be so fr, I hate Kabedon. That shit makes me cringe so incredibly hard UNLESS it’s like ur getting scolded or smth. Then it’s super fuckinf hot. I’ll give these a try though, it’s too classic to pass up on lol. These are short.

Tw: None

Info: Lighter x Reader; Harumasa x Reader; Fluff; Headcannons

Lighter Lorenz

-I’m gonna hold your hand gently and tell you this, but good luck doing this to him.

-It’s not like he’d hurt you or anything, but Lighter is big. He’s big and tall and very very hard to catch off guard. You’d have to conspire to get this done.

-Lucky you Burnice lives for causing chaos. It was probably her idea, honestly. The idea of Lighter all flustered as you pin him to the wall was too funny for her to pass up!

-With the right distractions and timing, you can easily press Lighter up against the wall with a big smirk. One arm next to his head, the other pressed against his cheek.

-You honestly didn’t expect much of a reaction out of him, but the tips of his ears turn a bright cherry red. He’s positively adorable!

-Unfortunately, you don’t have a plan after that. So you and Lighter are stood there staring at each other, faces getting incredibly hot the longer you’re pressed against him. (You can hear Burnice giggling in the background, but it’s hard to pay attention to when you have the hottest guy in blazewood under you.)

-Eventually he clears his throat and gives you this halfhearted smirk, trying to play it cool like you hadn’t just defeated him in one fell swoop.

-“Aren’t you bold?” He’ll purr, a little shaky, “If you wanted to hold me close, all you had to do was ask.”

-Ah, he was smooth.

Asaba Harumasa

-I’d argue that Harumasa is a pretty tough person to fluster, at least outwardly. He’s got a solid foundation and plenty of confidence in himself, so word play and flirting just doesn’t work on him. (Not with the silver tongue of his, at least.)

-If you wanted to see Harumasa flush, you’d have to do something more extreme. Something that he couldn’t easily flip the script around on you with.

-Obviously you picked the Kabedon. It’s a classic, and even if it doesn’t work, Harumasa would take it in stride anyway. That’s just the kind of guy he was, after all.

-You wait until he’s already resting near a wall, not wanting to take him by too much surprise. He was still a trained agent, if you spooked him too much he might just throw you across the room.

-He sees you coming from a mile away, of course, but humors you because he thinks you’re cute when you’re scheming. He does not, however, expect you to press him up against the wall with a victorious smirk.

-It certainly does fluster him, for all of five seconds, then he’s smiling that award winning smile and pressing his face closer to yours. “Aren’t you confident? Did you really think this would work on me?”

-He won’t tell you, but it definitely does work. A little too well if he’s honest, his heart rate skyrocketed so high he’s surprised he didn’t keel over and die right there.

-You’ll pout at him, foiled yet again by his cool demeanor. It’s really a shame that you have no idea how much of an effect you’ve got on that heart of his. You’re way too cute for your own good, don’t you know?

[wildflowersandvibranium]

The Newlywed Game

Pairing: NewAvengers!Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Summary: After a brutal mission leaves the team bruised and exhausted, Alexei rallies everyone into playing a chaotic round of The Newlywed Game as a bonding exercise. What starts as playful teasing and laughter soon unravels into something deeper.

Word Count: 2.1k ish

Content: Fluff!!! Idiots In Love Trope + Friends to Lovers , kissing , love confession , featuring the thunderbolts *new avengers

A/N: this is a cute little idea i wanted to post before my angsty series chapter one is posted later eeee thats exciting! it will revolve around domestic violence themes (not Bucky hurting reader) anyhooo heres this little fun thing enjoy bbys

The aftermath of the most recent mission was thick in the towers air. 

Bruises , cuts , soreness , and the kind of silence that meant everyone was just trying to feel and go back to normal again. Yelena was the first to cut through it.

“We need a break. All of us. My back hurts. My soul hurts. I haven’t even threatened anyone in days I’m , that exhausted .”

You were curled up on one end of the gray couch , Bucky beside you sprawled out , his thigh resting warm and solid against yours. 

He was currently flipping through TV channels half-caring , eyes distant.

Across the room , John groaned , flinging himself into an armchair like the drama queen he swore he wasn’t. 

“I swear I’ve got permanent whiplash from that last explosion.”

Ava snorted beside him , in mock. 

“Oh please , Walker. I phase through buildings. I don’t whine about it.” she rolled her eyes.

It was Alexei who stomped into the room from the kitchen , holding a sandwich in one massive hand and what looked like an old , slightly torn-up board game box in the other.

“I have idea,” he said, mouth full. “A great idea.”

Everyone groaned in unison.

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath.

Alexei ignored the clear disinterest. “Is bonding exercise. Fun!. Makes heart grow fonder and team stronger!.”

Yelena ground dragging her hand across her face dramatically. 

“Is it another round of Russian roulette but with vodka shots and those awful pickles?”

“No , no , no.” He brandished the game box. “It is—The Newlywed Game.”

You blinked. “Wait. Like the actual Newlywed Game?”

“It is genius,” Alexei said proudly. 

“Two people. Friends. Ask questions. See how well they know each other. Test trust. Build foundation of eternal bond.” he gestured for dramatics.

“That’s not even the game’s actual purpose,” Bucky muttered , head leaned back, eyes closed.

Alexei powered through. “Yelena will be scorekeeper. I will host. We pick pairs. You write answers on boards , see if you match. Hilarity. Revelations. Perhaps…a reveal?”

John nearly choked on his water. “You want us to play couples’ therapy.”

“Exactly!” Alexei clapped his hands. “You understand me.”

Somehow, the idea started to grow bigger. Yelena , eyes glinting , was already pulling out markers and whiteboards from the box. 

Bob, the sweetest of them all who somehow always got roped into the chaos , looked trapped in his hoodie beside her.

“I’m in,” Ava said , stretching her arms. “Sounds hilarious.”

“I’ll play if I can be with Bob,” Yelena said , grinning wickedly at her shy friend. “He owes me after letting me take that last explosion hit.”

Bob turned pale but smiled. “Oh. Okay. Coolcoolcool.”

“Fine,” John grumbled. “But only if I’m with Ava. She’s at least more tolerable than Bucky.”

“Oh , thanks for the honor,” Ava replied dryly.

Alexei spun around to look at you and Bucky. “And you two. The loverbirds.”

You blinked. “W-We’re not—”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “We’ll win anyway.”

You shot him a look, heart suddenly doing a full somersault. 

Ava snorted behind her whiteboard. “You’re literally attached at the hip , some real soulmate stuff..”

Yelena didn’t even look up as she said, “Like how you two are always together in the kitchen. And in the training room. And the couch. And that one time in the showers—”

“HEY,” Bucky cut in, flushed. “She was stuck. I was- was trying to help.”

“Mhm.” Yelena wrote something on her scoreboard.

Alexei cleared his throat. “Okay. Teams are: Ava and John. Yelena and Bob. And the unstoppable team of James Buchanan Barnes and the lovely Y/N.”

Bucky glanced sideways at you, smiling softly. “Let’s crush them.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips. “Fine. But when we lose, I’m blaming your old man memory.”

He smirked. “You underestimate me doll.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The compound living room had been transformed.

Pillows were tossed onto the floor for seating , snacks piled high on the coffee table , and everyone had their own whiteboard and marker. 

Yelena sat with her legs crossed, a permanent smirk on her face, acting as the world’s most unhinged score keeper. 

Alexei stood in front like a proud game show host , chin lifted, chest puffed out like he was about to present on Oscar.

“Welcome,” Alexei announced in a booming voice, “to the most powerful test of knowledge, loyalty, and emotional connection—The Newlywed Game: New Avengers Edition!”

John Walker groaned from where he sat beside Ava. “Do you have to say everything like it’s the Hunger Games?”

“Yes,” Alexei answered without missing a beat. “First question!”

You sat beside Bucky on the floor, your knees brushing. 

His metal arm was slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you, but not touching.

 He always gave you space unless you gave him permission. 

A part of you adored him for it, the other part just wanted him to touch you without having to ask for it. And another part desperately wanted to lean into him and never leave.

“Question one,” Alexei read dramatically. “What is your partner’s favorite food?”

You scribbled immediately.

Bucky glanced at you, smiling softly as he wrote his answer.

“Reveal!”

You both turned your whiteboards around at the same time.

Y/N: “Chocolate chip cookies with vanilla ice cream.”

Bucky: “Cookies, but only when they make them.”

The room exploded with reactions.

“Oh my god, that’s disgustingly cute,” Ava whispered to John.

John rolled his eyes. “No one likes cookies that much.”

“I do,” Bucky muttered with a small, boyish grin. “She makes good ones.”

You looked down, cheeks hot and pink , trying not to melt at how sincere he sounded.

Alexei beamed. “One point for the Soulmates.”

You nudged Bucky’s knee with yours. “Lucky guess.”

“Sure,” he said. 

But the look he gave you was anything but teasing—it was soft, quiet, and filled with something that made your chest ache.

“Alrighty question two , What is your partner’s most annoying habit?” Alexie's voice boomed.

“Oh this is gonna be good,” Ava muttered, already writing.

“Please be kind,” Bob whispered to Yelena.

“No promises,” she replied, grinning.

You thought for a second and wrote something down quickly. 

Bucky hesitated before writing.

“Three, two, one….reveal!”

Y/N: “He leaves his socks everywhere. Like, everywhere.”

Bucky: “Losing my laundry.”

The team howled.

“That’s not even a bad habit!” Yelena said, laughing.

“Yes, it is! It gets really old!”

Bucky grinned shamelessly. “Sorry doll but at least i know you will always be there to help find my socks”

You turned away, flustered. 

His tone had that low, affectionate warmth again, and it did something dangerous to your heart.

Yelena waved her board. “Bob said I interrupt people too much. He’s correct. I interrupted him by saying it.”

Alexei roared with laughter. “Another point for honesty.”

“Walker,” Ava said, showing her board, “said my most annoying habit is ‘calling him out on his crap.’ So I wrote ‘being a pain in the ass.’ Perfect match.”

John gave a thumbs-up, clearly proud.

“question three , If your partner could be anywhere in the world right now, where would they be?”

This one stumped everyone except you and Bucky.

“Okay,” Yelena muttered. “That’s very vague.”

“Is it, though?” you whispered to yourself.

Bucky’s pen moved before yours this time.

Again , you revealed at the same time.

Y/N: “Back in Romania. Where he felt safe for the first time.”

Bucky: “That café in Romania with the blue door.”

Dead silence.

You turned your head, meeting Bucky’s stare. 

His eyes were wide , almost startled , as if he hadn’t expected you to remember that. 

It had come up only once, in a late-night talk over peppermint tea when he’d told you about the only few years of peace he’d ever really known.

The same place you’d dreamt about going with him someday, even if neither of you had ever said it aloud.

“Okay, what the hell,” Ava said. “Are you guys pretending to not be dating?”

“No , just telepathic,” Bucky muttered.

Your heart was thudding now, not from the game, but from how your answers kept syncing, from how easy it was to know him—how easy it was to love him.

Because you did. You had for a long time. You just never told him.

“Now , What’s your partner’s go-to comfort thing when they’re upset?”

“Easy,” you whispered, not even thinking.

Bucky didn’t look at you this time. He kept his eyes on his board, scribbling carefully.

“Reveal!”

Y/N: “His  favorite hoodie, headphones , and walking loops around the training floor.”

Bucky: “My hoodie , music, and them being with me.”

You blinked.

He had you.

And judging by the way Ava and Yelena both gasped—one dramatically clutching her chest, the other slapping a hand over her mouth—you weren’t alone in realizing what he said.

You turned to look at Bucky, who was now studiously focused on the floor like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. 

His jaw ticked. His hand tightened around the marker.

The others kept reading their answers aloud, some joking, some confused, some wildly mismatched.

But you barely heard any of them.

Because your heart was pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“Question five , Ooo this is good one , what’s your partner’s biggest fear?”

No one answered quickly this time.

There were long pauses. 

Quiet scribbles. 

Some uncomfortable shifting. Bucky tapped his marker against his knee a few times , his nervous tick.

He turned his board around without a word as you did.

Bucky: “Being alone again.”

You looked down at your own answer and held it up.

Y/N: “Being left behind , alone.”

He read it, and then looked up.

Your eyes locked, and everything around you—the whiteboards, the laughter, the chaos of the compound , faded like a dusty storm. 

There was something behind his gaze that pulled the air from your lungs. 

Not fear. Not confusion.

It was love. Undeniable.

Anyone with eyes could see the way he looked at you but of course you were too oblivious to see it.

Alexei’s voice boomed like a thunderclap.

“Final question thunderbolts! What’s your partner’s type in a romantic partner?”

“Ooooohhhh!” the group all reacted.

John laughed. “This is going to be interesting.”

Ava snorted. “Walker you better not say 'mirrors.'”

Bucky gave you a sideways glance, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t look. I’ll know if you cheat.”

“I’m not cheating! You’re just slow.”

You wrote first, but hesitated before turning it around.

“Alright!” Alexei bellowed. “Time to expose your romantic preferences to your emotionally unstable teammates! Readyyy Reveal!”

Y/N: “Dark hair, blue eyes, grumpy face, soft heart.”

Bucky: “->.”

You froze. The arrow was pointing directly at you.

And dead center of his whiteboard was your name—underlined.

Gasps echoed around the room. 

Someone dropped a marker. Yelena shouted, “HA! I KNEW IT!”

You gawked at him. “Bucky…”

His ears were red. “It’s always been you.”

You laughed—half shocked, half breathless. “You—you idiot!” You dropped your board and slapped his chest.

You could’ve told me!”

“I didn’t want to screw it up. You’re—my best friend , and once I realized how I felt I was too scared to tell you , to lose you.”

You shoved the pillows on the floor aside , moving toward him before your brain even caught up. 

“Bucky Barnes, I have been in love with you since the moment you made me tea at 2 a.m. because I cried during a documentary about dogs.”

“You cried for twenty minutes.”

“You cried too!”

“I had allergies!”

You were nose to nose now, your hand pressed over his chest, his thumb tracing the edge of your wrist like he couldn’t help it. 

“I love you,” you said again, this time softer. “So much.”

“I love you,” he whispered back, eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them. 

He leaned in and kissed you, warm and slow and sure, and the whole room exploded in cheers.

Ava screamed. “WE’RE NEVER LETTING YOU FORGET THIS.”

Yelena tackled her dad with joy the John grumbled handing her a twenty dollar bill.

Bob was clapping and teared up “They are finally one , The Winter Soldier and his soulmate” he whispered.

“Gross,” John muttered. “But fine, cute.”

You pulled back, forehead to Bucky’s, your smile impossibly wide.

His hand slid to your cheek, and he sighed softly – I love you.

You grinned and kissed him again , pulling back whispering ”I love you more” , just to tease him knowing his stubbornness  would claim he loved you more.

And finally you two weren’t dancing around the other and could finally share and show your love for each other.

-end

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[izzih22]

Can you do a one shot of Paige and Azzi having a huge argument about something and Paige ends up leaving since they both needed space from each other, only for Paige to come back some time later with flowers and gifts to make up with azzi because they can’t stay mad at each other.

Come Back Home

Note: Long one for y’all this time. Also like usual remember this is fiction.

They didn’t fight often.

Not really. Not in the loud, slamming-doors, throwing-things kind of way people expect from two elite athletes under pressure. Paige and Azzi had grown up together, evolved into their relationship through late-night FaceTime calls, shared playlists, and the kind of love that settled into their bones quietly and deeply.

They knew how to talk things out. They always had.

But this time… something felt different.

It started small. Everything always did.

“I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me,” Azzi said, arms crossed as she leaned against the counter, her voice more confused than angry.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Paige replied, her tone quiet, tired.

“You changed the plan, P. You told your dad we’d go to Minnesota first, without even asking me.”

“We’re just stopping by for a couple days before Virginia. I thought it’d be fine.”

Azzi paused. “You thought it’d be fine, or you just didn’t want to deal with asking?”

That made Paige’s head snap up.

“Wow,” she muttered, pushing her hair back. “Seriously?”

“I’m not trying to fight,” Azzi said, softer now. “I just want to understand why you didn’t talk to me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to!” Paige snapped. “I thought two days in Minnesota wouldn’t be something you’d get upset over.”

Azzi flinched—not because Paige raised her voice, but because Paige never did. Not with her.

And that was the moment she knew something else was going on.

Paige was wound too tight. Her shoulders stiff, her voice sharp, her eyes somewhere else. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, like the weight she always carried had finally begun to crush her beneath it.

Azzi opened her mouth to say something—gentle, grounding—but Paige was already grabbing her keys.

“Where are you going?” Azzi asked quietly.

“I just… I need some air,” Paige muttered, not meeting her eyes. “I’ll be back.”

“Paige.”

She froze at the door.

Azzi’s voice was steady, but warm. “This isn’t about Minnesota. What’s really going on?”

Paige didn’t answer.

Azzi took a slow breath. “You’re not running because I’m mad. You’re running because today… it’s just too much.”

Still nothing.

“I know you,” Azzi added, barely above a whisper. “I know you like the back of my hand. So I’m not mad that you’re overwhelmed. I just wish you’d let me be with you in it.”

Paige’s shoulders dropped, a shaky exhale escaping her lips.

“I can’t do this right now,” she said, not cold—just broken.

And then she left.

⸻

The car was silent, except for the hum of the engine and the pounding in Paige’s chest.

She gripped the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turned white, her breath catching in her throat.

It wasn’t about the flight change. Not really.

It was everything.

The pressure of the season. The media noise. The responsibility she felt to be strong all the time—for the team, for Azzi, for herself. Her dad’s texts reminding her she hadn’t visited in a while. Her mom calling, asking when she’d be in town next.

And underneath it all, buried so deep she barely acknowledged it anymore—the echo of that old, familiar fear.

Her mom had left when she was three.

Just packed a bag and moved states away.

They were close now, sure. Time and effort and forgiveness had stitched them back together. But scars don’t just disappear. Especially not when they’re carved into your foundation.

So when Azzi questioned her decision, when she looked at her like she’d been left out—all of it hit Paige in the chest like a freight train.

She hadn’t meant to decide alone. She’d just… wanted to make everyone happy. And somehow, like always, that left her unraveling.

⸻

It was nearly an hour before she parked again.

A small flower shop near the edge of town. Azzi’s favorite—tucked beside a coffee place they used to sneak off to during the offseason.

The woman behind the counter smiled as Paige approached, her eyes red, hands shaking.

“Red roses,” she said, voice raw.

She left with flowers, a tiny paper bag of chocolate, and a blank card she filled out in her car with a pen she found in the glove compartment.

The words came slowly. Painfully.

I’m sorry.

Not just for today. For all the times I shut down and make you feel like you’re on the outside of my head.

You’re not. You’re home.

I love you. Even when I don’t have the words. Even when I need space. Even when I walk away.

Especially then.

⸻

When she finally walked back into the apartment, Azzi was curled up on the couch in a hoodie that swallowed her whole, her eyes glued to the screen of a paused show she clearly wasn’t watching.

She looked up. Said nothing.

Paige stepped forward, flowers in hand, heart in her throat.

“I brought peace offerings,” she whispered.

Azzi blinked slowly.

“Chocolate,” Paige added. “And an apology. A real one. With a handwritten card. It’s in my pocket, but it’s a little smudged because I cried on it. Don’t judge me.”

Azzi didn’t laugh.

But her expression softened.

“I’m not mad,” she said.

“I know,” Paige replied.

“I was never mad.”

“I know.”

They stood there a moment, the quiet stretching between them like a rope—tight, delicate, but unbroken.

“I just wanted to make them happy ,” Paige murmured. “But I should’ve told you. I should’ve asked.”

Azzi stood slowly, her voice gentle. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Paige said. “I’ve been off for weeks. I’ve been holding everything in, pretending I’m fine, and then today just… tipped me over. And you didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of that.”

Azzi walked toward her, stopping just a breath away.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me, Paige.”

Paige swallowed. “I just don’t ever want to be the reason you feel like someone decided without you. Or left you out. Or worse—left.”

Her voice cracked.

Azzi reached out, tucking Paige’s hair behind her ear.

“You’re not your mom,” she said softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Paige whispered, her eyes wet again. “But sometimes my brain forgets.”

Azzi opened her arms.

Paige folded into them like she’d been waiting all day.

They stood there, wrapped in each other, breathing in the kind of silence that wasn’t empty—but healing.

⸻

Later, curled into the couch together with their legs tangled and a blanket pulled over their shoulders, Azzi read the card.

“You did cry on it,” she said, smiling at the smudge across the “I love you.”

“I told you not to judge me.”

Azzi kissed the side of her head.

“I love you too,” she said. “Even when you make spontaneous travel plans.”

Paige groaned, burying her face into Azzi’s neck.

“Never again,” she mumbled.

“Good,” Azzi whispered. “Because next time we fight, you’re making dinner.”

“Fair.”

They didn’t fix everything that night.

But they held each other through the unraveling.

And sometimes, that’s all love needs to keep going.

⸻

The morning light filtered through the curtains in soft golden strips, casting lazy patterns across the bed where Azzi was still curled into Paige’s side, one arm draped over her stomach like it belonged there.

Because it did.

Paige blinked slowly, still caught in that gentle haze between dreaming and being awake. The events of yesterday drifted back like smoke—sharp in places, but fading.

The argument. Her leaving. The overwhelming weight that had finally broken through.

And then the coming back. The flowers. The way Azzi opened her arms without hesitation.

Now, Azzi’s thumb brushed against her side in a sleepy, half-conscious motion, and Paige felt something inside her settle.

“I love you,” Paige whispered, her voice hoarse.

Azzi didn’t respond with words, just burrowed in closer, face tucked into the crook of Paige’s neck.

Paige let her eyes close again.

They stayed like that for a while—no rush, no noise, just two heartbeats syncing back up after the storm.

⸻

When they finally dragged themselves out of bed, Paige was the one who shuffled into the kitchen first, rubbing sleep from her eyes and messing with her already wild hair.

Azzi followed a few minutes later, wrapped in a hoodie that clearly belonged to Paige, her expression soft and unreadable.

“You want eggs?” Paige asked, already cracking some into a bowl.

Azzi leaned on the counter. “Only if you don’t poison them because I called you out yesterday.”

Paige let out a snort, but didn’t turn around. “You called me out lovingly. There’s a difference.”

Azzi smiled faintly. “I always do.”

There was a short pause before Paige added, quieter, “I needed it.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “I’m sorry again, baby.”

Azzi met her eyes, voice gentle. “I know. And I told you—I’m not mad. You just scared me.”

Paige’s hands paused mid-whisk.

“Not because you left,” Azzi added quickly. “Because I could see how much you were holding in. And I didn’t know how long it’d been since you let anyone help you carry it.”

The words hit Paige like a soft blow to the chest—gentle but powerful.

“I didn’t even realize how heavy it’d gotten,” she admitted.

Azzi walked over, resting her head on Paige’s back as she hugged her from behind.

“You don’t have to wait until you’re breaking to let me in.”

Paige nodded slowly, the quiet comfort of Azzi’s touch wrapping around her like a weighted blanket.

They finished making breakfast together, a calm rhythm to their movements—Azzi reaching for plates while Paige buttered toast, brushing shoulders in that easy, intimate way that only comes from years of loving each other.

⸻

They sat on the couch with their plates in their laps, legs tangled like always. Paige nudged Azzi gently.

“I was thinking,” she said between bites. “We should go to Virginia first.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

Paige grinned. “I already texted my dad. Told him we’d swing by Minnesota after you see your family.”

Azzi blinked. “Really?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. He gets it.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I’m more than okay with it.” Paige set her plate down and turned toward her. “I want to go with you. Be with you. Not just physically there, but actually there. I’m done making decisions in my own head like I’m still a solo act.”

Azzi’s eyes softened.

“You’ve never been a solo act, P,” she whispered. “Not since we were seventeen.”

Paige leaned in and kissed her—slow and sweet, like a thank-you and an apology all in one.

When they pulled back, Azzi rested her forehead against Paige’s.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“I love you more.”

Azzi smiled, her fingers playing with the hem of Paige’s sweatshirt.

“So,” she teased, “when do I get my flowers for every fight we don’t have?”

Paige laughed. “You tryna bankrupt me?”

“You started the trend.”

“Okay, fine,” Paige mock-sighed. “Every minor disagreement comes with one flower. Full-blown arguments get a bouquet. Near-breakdowns get chocolate-covered almonds and a card.”

Azzi hummed. “And what do I get if we go an entire month without fighting?”

Paige’s grin turned slightly mischievous. “You’ll see.”

Azzi arched a brow, but didn’t push.

⸻

Later that afternoon, they packed for Virginia, the air light between them again.

Paige folded shirts with more care than usual, glancing across the room where Azzi was carefully organizing their toiletries.

She walked over, wrapped her arms around her from behind, and rested her chin on Azzi’s shoulder.

“I really do love you, you know,” she whispered. “Like… the kind that doesn’t go away. Even when things get hard.”

Azzi turned her head just enough to kiss her cheek.

“I know,” she whispered back. “I’ve always known.”

And that was the thing.

They knew each other.

Even when things cracked, even when emotions built and spilled and overwhelmed—Azzi always knew where Paige’s heart was. And Paige always came back. Always found her way home.

Because they weren’t just in love.

They were best friends. Soulmates. Constant in a world that never stopped shifting.

⸻

One Week Later – Virginia

Paige stood at the edge of the porch, watching Azzi laugh with her brothers as they passed a basketball around in the driveway. Her curls bounced as she turned and called something back to her mom, who was inside preparing lunch.

Paige hadn’t stopped smiling all day.

Azzi caught her looking and jogged over, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

“You okay?” she asked, reaching for Paige’s hand.

Paige laced their fingers together.

“More than okay,” she said.

Azzi smiled and leaned in.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because you’re not going anywhere without telling me again.”

Paige chuckled. “Promise.”

“Good. Because next time, I’ll block the door.”

“You’d tackle me, huh?”

Azzi smirked. “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

[astroxrion]

Saturn is the Contract that you signed with life, and it will tell you —based on where it is in your houses— how to fulfill the plan created for you at birth.

Saturn in each house, below 🧿

Saturn in the 1st House

You signed a contract to become your own authority. Life demands you build strength from the inside out. The restriction is self doubt shaped early by pressure to be perfect. Your body, your choices, your voice must be earned through repetition. This placement tests your confidence until it becomes unshakable. You become undeniable the moment you stop asking who you are and start acting like you already know.

-

Saturn in the 2nd House

Your contract is to turn raw potential into lasting value. Life makes you prove that what you build is real and self owned. Restriction shows up as fear of loss or scarcity no matter how much you have. The work is to earn your sense of worth through consistency. Security will never come from luck, it’s built brick by brick. Wealth comes when you stop proving and start preserving.

-

Saturn in the 3rd House

You agreed to master communication under pressure. Life forces you to speak with clarity forged through experience. The block is the belief that your thoughts do not matter or that your voice will be misunderstood. You must train your mind and refine your language until every word is a strategy. Build influence through structure. Speak when it counts. Silence becomes power when you choose it, not when fear chooses it for you.

-

Saturn in the 4th House

You promised to create stability where there was once emotional chaos. Life makes you earn inner peace by confronting the fractures at home and within. The restriction is a fear of vulnerability or a cold foundation. You must build safety not by avoiding pain but by facing it. Your roots may be cracked, but your legacy will be whole. Family is no longer inherited, it is forged

-

Saturn in the 5th House

You signed up to take your creativity seriously. Life will test your ability to express without fear of rejection. The block is the belief that you must perfect joy before it’s shared. You are here to show that play is not childish, it is revolutionary. Build beauty with discipline. Love with maturity. You lead when your heart becomes your tool, not your wound. Fame or fulfillment will come when you create with commitment.

-

Saturn in the 6th House

You agreed to master the mechanics of life. The contract is daily devotion to systems that serve the soul. Restriction comes as burnout, perfectionism, or self neglect masked as duty. You are here to turn routine into resilience. Work becomes sacred when your body is part of the process. Build rituals not to control life but to carry it. Mastery is your birthright, but not without the sweat.

-

Saturn in the 7th House

You made a vow to learn love through loyalty not fantasy. Life delays real partnership until you stop abandoning yourself to earn it. The block is enmeshment or avoidance. Your mirror is sharp and sometimes painful. But every trial in love refines your standards. You’re here to build union not dependence. The reputation you seek is born in the way you hold yourself in every connection.

-

Saturn in the 8th House

You agreed to become a master of power by learning to survive its absence. Life restricts your access to intimacy control or trust until you face your fear of betrayal. You must learn to let go and still remain whole. Death and rebirth become tools. You are not punished by loss, you are rebuilt through it. Legacy means nothing if you fear the depths. Own what others repress. Lead with emotional authority.

-

Saturn in the 9th House

Your contract is to anchor truth with structure. Life tests your belief systems until they are lived not just spoken. The restriction is blind faith or intellectual arrogance. You are here to earn wisdom through experience not opinion. Travel becomes a curriculum. Philosophy becomes practical. You will teach not what you read, but what you bled through and came out knowing. Preach with proof.

-

Saturn in the 10th House

You signed up to climb higher than your ancestors thought possible. Life gives you pressure early so you build muscle. The block is fear of failure and a harsh inner critic. But your ambition is not ego, it is your calling. Authority is lonely at first, but you were made for legacy. Earn it through structure, patience, and results. One day they’ll say your name before you even enter the room.

-

Saturn in the 11th House

You agreed to build a future others said was unrealistic. Life teaches you that your vision means nothing without strategy. The restriction is alienation or mistrust in groups. You must learn how to belong without betraying your individuality. Your tribe will form when your mission becomes magnetic. Change is not your fantasy, it is your responsibility. Lead the system you wish existed.

-

Saturn in the 12th House

You made a contract to master the unseen. Life gives you invisible pressure, guilt fear grief, so you turn spirit into structure. The restriction is isolation or unconscious sabotage. You must learn how to discipline the inner world. Make silence your strategy. Your legacy lives in what you heal but never broadcast. The strength you build behind the curtain shapes what the world believes is divine.

[gazstations]

Affairs of the Heart

ASK REQUEST: find original post here

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SUMMARY

Johnny has liked you for a long time. He doesn’t know how obvious he can get. You never get it. But it turns out you’ve been assuming the wrong thing this whole time.

FANDOM: Call of Duty 

PAIRINGS: John MacTavish x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,103 words

WARNINGS: Good ol’ miscommunication, I’m probably writing Soap’s accent wrong, no extreme warnings

◇ Notes: In everything I write, Johnny always ends up a little bit obsessive and I think that really captures who he is. Am I right? Idk how I feel about this one, but you guys are the judges.

○●○ NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

SOMETIMES JOHNNY WANTED TO WRING YOUR NECK.

He had never met anyone so sweetly oblivious to romantic advancements. If he was another person—a far smarter one—he would cut his losses and bar off the part of him that craved you. Yet, he always had a cruel desire to torture himself, he supposed. A masochist for emotional turmoil.

But all of this? He wanted to bang his head against the wall. Maybe that would rewrite his synapses until he forgot you. No, he never wanted to forget you. You were so frustrating. He wanted to cup your face and kiss you silly.

Knowing you, you would probably still find a way to assume he was just being friendly.

Gaz suggested that his object of affection just wasn’t interested and didn’t know how to let him down easy. Normally, maybe Johnny would agree and forget about you. Plenty of fish in the sea. Only the one fish he wanted was currently taking him on a dreadful tour of the deep waters.

Maybe Gaz was right. If he got scared by the black waters, you wouldn’t have to voice your disdain for his constant pursuing.

However, his ma didn’t raise a quitter.

He was at risk of you actually getting annoyed and taking his heart and crumbling it in your fingers. Was he in love with you? Not yet. But he could see it now. You’d be so easy to love, and he would be good at it.

Today, you were having a bad day. He could smell the acid as soon as he walked into the common room. You were there, nestled at a table alone, a few other soldiers scattered about. He paid them no mind, instead zeroing in on your hunched form. Dread filled his stomach.

Who had hurt his bonnie thing?

“Bad day?” He asked as he casually slid into the seat next to you.

He didn’t miss the way you wiped at your eyes discreetly, pulling a frown to his lips. The sight wasn’t right. He wanted to see happiness blooming on the sweetness of your lips. To see that dewey glow on the apples of your cheeks.

“Bad day…” you repeated with a discontented scoff.

“Ye want a hug?” He offered already opening his arms. Eager mutt.

You relented. Not enthusiastically, but you still allowed him to envelop your form. He was broad and smelled like sweat. He had recently been training. The faint cedar deodorant he used was prevalent as he tucked you into his arm.

“Ye wanna go tae the pub?” He asked when he finally released you from his shackles. He was puffed up now, that little interaction doing more than you realized.

“Now?” you responded. “I mean… I have a couple of things…”

“Nae. Later,” Soap corrected. “Dinnae fash. Ye got time.”

You watched him with an unreadable expression as your eyebrows quirked. It was cute, watching you go through your thought process live. You always thought a lot. Always trapped in that prison. He hoped it wasn’t storming in your brain.

“Don’t you go with Ghost to the pub on Fridays?” You finally asked.

“Ach. He willnae mind. Lad is busy,” Soap dismissed.

He watched you purse your lips. He wanted to pick apart your brain like sweet petals on a sunflower. What would each layer hold? He wanted to explore who you were down to the very prime core. The very stakes that held up the foundation. Were they polished neat? Were they full of grime, dirtied down to the ends as they were shoved into the ground?

“Okay. I can go for a couple drinks,” you finally relented, and Soap could feel a grin pulling at his lips. “But I'm not getting drunk.”

Soap beamed. “Ah will take care of ye.”

♡◇♡

True to his word, Soap didn't let intoxication get out of hand. He didn't want to give you the impression he was some untethered wild animal that frothed at the mouth whenever it came time to quench his thirst on something divine. He was coordinated and calculated when he wanted to be.

He finally got you to relent and chance an outing with him. He wasn't going to waste it.

His fascination was cruelty. It shackled him down onto his knees in your land. He hungered for your attention, no matter how little scraps you gave him. He knew you didn't hate him. You just never connected the dots. That the man was irrevocably caught in your web.

“Been comin’ ‘ere fer 5 years,” Soap spoke against the tense silence.

He had never been so beaten down by anxiety before. He could talk up a pretty bird just fine most days. End up in their sheets just as fast. He was no stranger to instant gratification of sex, and he loved those simple pleasures.

You were his friend, though. At least he wanted to assume. He yapped a lot of nonsense in your presence, and you never barked at him and bared your teeth. He found himself craving that instead of the honeyed flesh between your legs. It became more than what Soap was used to.

“Surprised you didn't get banned yet.” You mused.

You took a sip of your drink, and Soap found himself zeroing in on the way your lips parted and your throat bobbed. Enticing. He was completely hopeless, smitten, and maybe even horny in one. But he didn't want to make his relationship about the latter of the three. He was trying really hard to be a good boy.

“Ah got a wee bit of charm, love,” Soap remarked. If he was a wild animal, he would be a peacock, puffing up his iridescent feathers in hopes you took a bite.

“Mhm. I've seen you blacked out, nothing charming about it,” you said back.

“Aye. How am ah sober?” Soap put his elbow on the bartop and leaned closer to you.

His eyes softened when he looked at you. Were you really that bloody oblivious to the signs he was putting off? Or did you know and just didn't want to let him down easy? Knowing his luck, it was the latter.

“Slightly more charming,” you gestured with your index and thumb, pulling them slightly apart to show how much you thought it qualified.

Soap drank it up like the last droplets in a frozen pipe.

“Slightly? How does a lad do better?” He inquired. He glanced down at your lips again and salivated like a damn mutt. There was still a droplet of your drink beading on your bottom lip.

“Dunno. You have to figure that out.”

Soap liked a challenge. He reveled in it. Maybe that’s why he pursued you time and time again, even if there wasn't a happy ending in sight. Not yet, at least. He wouldn't give up until you pushed back against him and hissed. But you were so sweet, you would never do that.

Although, Soap had a knack for unlocking unexpected reactions.

“What do you and Ghost do for fun?” You asked randomly. Soap raised an eyebrow, confusion forming in his one track mind.

“LT and I?” He scratched at the bit of scruff on his face. “Dinnae think LT has fun.”

“No?” You tilted your head and grew thoughtful.

What were you thinking? He was going to wring himself dry trying to figure that out, he was sure of it. You weren't so straightforward as he was used to. Even Ghost had more outward emotions than you most days.

“So you don't take him on dates?” You asked.

Soap nearly choked on his drink when he heard those words. He flushed and looked like a deer in headlights as he processed those words. Was that what his sweet bonnie thought this whole time? You were going to murder him without lifting a finger one day.

“Dates?” He let out a small, incredulous laugh. It sounded pained more than anything. “Oh, love. Did ye think…?”

He found he liked the way you flustered and bit your lip. He was no better. How in the hell did you assume he and Ghost were… bloody hell? Sure he joked about marrying the Lieutenant so they could always be together, but the older man just rolled his eyes at the Scot's antics. There was never anything going on.

Plus, Ghost was smitten with a little civilian bird who made him a little treat every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. Bloody bastard was worse than him. Maybe they both had a thing for lasses that looked right at the signs and still read them wrong.

“You're not…? But everyone says…” you shamed yourself in your alcohol and Soap internally cooed.

“Tsk. Only rumors, hen.” Soap brushed off.

He didn't mind really. There were worse people to be bunched together with and rumored to be dating. He would gladly be pinned with Ghost. Though, he definitely wanted to pin you down more.

“Is tha’ why ye're evadin' me?” He asked a moment later.

“Huh?” You lifted your gaze and gave him a quizzical look.

“Oh, hen. We got a lot of catchin' up tae do.”

♡◇♡

Soap loved a good drama. He loved starting it even more. He always sparked little fires here and there, just to keep the natural flow of the world spinning. He couldn't sit still half of the time. He was always a very agitated kid.

Now he was an even more ruthless adult that had the extravagant galore of opportunity at his fingertips.

The next morning, thankfully only a bit tipsy after the pub, he paraded your hesitant form down the hallways. You, always suspicious by default, tried to glue your feet to the ancient carpeting. He could tell you would rather frighten like a little doe rather than find out what he had planned.

He could feel you halfway out the door, muscles coiled tight when he stopped you in front of Ghost. He smiled wide, eyes still gleaming with amusement from your revelation last night.

“Right. LT, the wee lass has assumed quite the funny thing…” Soap started, patting you on the back. He ignored the glare you sent him. He was the equivalent to a dog that brought his owner a gift, as he wagged his tail and preened.

“Is that right?” Ghost looked between the both of you.

“Hen thinks ye and ah are rompin’ in the sheets,” Soap says.

He heard your exhale as you spluttered out an explanation. “Dating! I thought dating. Not what he said.”

Soap watched with blissful delight as he saw the faintest hint of amusement fall over Ghost. He knew his little tells after serving for so long beside him. His left eyebrow always rose and the mask moved as the man smiled. He always tilted his head just the tiniest bit as well.

“You listen to rumors then?” Ghost prompted and you shrunk, as if you expected to be physically struck. Soap would never let that happen. No one would ever be allowed to mark up your flesh.

“Well… I… yes… I suppose I do,” you decided lying wasn’t worth it. You were around two mutts that sniffed out bullshit for a living.

Ghost analyzed you for a long moment, even Soap found himself intimidated. He hovered behind you instinctively, even if he knew Ghost wouldn’t harm you. Maybe he wanted to assure you more than anything. The Lieutenant was amused, not insulted.

“You spent all that time fussing over a rumor to realize the mutt was after you this whole time,” Ghost finally said.

“Aye. He’s right,” Soap nodded his head vigorously, staring at you intently as he waited for your response.

Soap rocked on the balls of his feet eagerly. He was full of humor, but he really was just a simple man desiring companionship. He didn’t often get to that point, but this time it came as swift as a punch to the gut. The attraction really did hit him head on like that.

In their line of work, it was hard to indulge in long term pleasures. Life was always revolving and he didn’t even know if he’d be six feet under in a casket the next day. It was all up in the air and he often felt it was selfish to seek out someone who wanted a deeper connection.

He decided to bite the bullet this time. You were too good of a chance to pass up. He’d be happy and secure with you, he could feel it.

You finally opened your mouth to speak. “And here I thought he was being friendly the whole time.”

Steamin’ Jesus, Soap was going to wring your neck one day.

[nana-luvy]

. 𝐌𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡

warnings: established relationship, fem!reader, suggestive content (i got a lil carried away sry) and dirty jokes (beware.), somewhat foul language

(also luke cosplaying nightwing which i need for my life-)

In which he's starting to understand why Halloween is cool.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

If camp half-blood was a training place dedicated to children of Greek gods, where believing in them was no question anymore, a pagan festival was still welcome once a year, because who doesn’t love Halloween ? Getting away from yourself for a night, partying and stuffing your face with candies and weirdly colored drinks, all dressed up in costume ranging from dinosaur to ballerina… maybe even upsetting a little the parents with a festivity not in their name, whatever they have to say about it.

You loved that atmosphere, the fire burning in the middle of the camp area getting bigger as the night came closer, turning almost purple with everyone’s excitement, the smell of sugar surrounding the place as bowls of candies were put everywhere, the enveloping warmth of the late Fall; it all brought the biggest smile on your face. After all, it was one of your favorite events of the year.

You were sat on your makeshift vanity, since Hecate children didn’t have the same kind of layout as Aphrodite ones, enjoying for now the silence in your cabin as you had left all of your half-siblings leave before you’d started getting ready. Eventually, you’d slipped out of bed, putting on your Starfire costume —the 2004 version, knowing Chiron would certainly give you a dirty look if you went for any other—, and now settled in front of the mirror to do the matching makeup. You didn’t turn to the door when someone knocked from outside.

“Can I come in ?”

“Sure ~” you simply answered with a little laugh.

From the corner of your eyes, you caught the movement of the door, dark figure stepping in, and you finally turned to face them.

“Wow.”

There he stood, awkwardly fixing his gelled curls, Luke Castellan suited up in the matching Nightwing costume you’d chosen for him, and you couldn’t have been more proud of your idea.

“Damn, am I making you that speechless, pumpkin ?” he asked, gaining back his usual confidence instantly as he caught your gaze, raising a cocky eyebrow.

A slight blush probably coated your cheeks under the foundation. “And how would you like that…” you replied, a smile in your voice as you rolled your eyes, adverting your gaze from Luke’s form before your brain started stuttering and going back to your makeup.

A smile was etched on your face as your mind kept replaying the view you just had, his hair gelled and curls tamed, the way the black spandex fit so well, following every dip and ridges along his toned body, and you had to mentally restrict yourself from throwing glances his way or you’d never hear the end of it. But you couldn’t help but pat yourself on the back for the matching costumes idea.

“You still on for drawing the mask, right ?” Luke asked after a few instant, now sitting cross-legged on your bed, mindlessly cradling one of your stuffed animals.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry.” You looked at him through the mirror, seeing him already doing the same. “I just have to finish up my makeup and I’ll do yours…”

So he stayed there for a short while, watching you skillfully draw a sharp wing of black eyeliner over the colored eye makeup, his gaze eventually trailing down your face to stay on your lips, slightly agape from the concentration, pale from not being finished yet, and he just had this urge tugging at the back of his mind…

He’d been in your cabin for about 5 minutes, and you’re surprised it even took him this much time to start nagging you, getting up from the bed and reaching for every and each item next to you, studying it all.

“How much does all of this even cost you? There’s like… a lot.”

“I don’t really know, most of this I got as a gift… Maybe about 200 ? Something like that ?” you replied, trying to get the placement of you fake lashes right.

“What ?!”

You laughed loudly at his reaction, head falling back to look at him as he stood behind your chair. “I just… I got a cousin that really likes me ~” you said with a small smile, shaking a lash band to dry off the glue.

“Damnit, I went for the wrong cousin…” he mumbled, sly grin dancing on his lips as he looked down at you. And whatever he was saying, his eyes were too full of adoration for you to believe anything.

You playfully smacked his arm, sitting back up straight to finish the last touches. “Shut up, nerd…”

Just as you started to put on lipstick, arms sneaking around your waist made butterflies erupt in your stomach, effectively resulting in loss of focus and a stray streak of pink on your skin.

“Luke…” you trailed, aiming to sound intimidating and probably just letting out a chuckle halfway through as he squeezed harder, head resting on top of yours.

“When are you done ?” he practically whines, pouting at your reflection in the mirror as he casually brushes off your attempt at a threat. “They’re all waiting outside already, I’m sure. Can’t we just… wrap it up ?”

You slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder, face twisted in a mock scandalized expression. “Wow. If you really wanna make time cuts, I’m just gonna draw a straight line over your eyes and call it a day.”

The corner of his lips extended in a tight line, before he chose to hide his face in your hair, grumbling a small ‘Whatever, take your time, pumpkin’ against the top of your head, chest pressed to your back as he let you finish up.

You made your lips pop, evening your gloss, before getting Luke’s attention with a soft finger snap next to his ear. “Okay, birdie boy, your time to shine ~”

He didn’t necessarily like the excitement in your voice as you urged him to sit in the chair you sat in mere instants ago, but he obliged, knowing he couldn’t resist you anyway, and wanting to finally get this over with.

If he had to be honest, dressing up for Halloween wasn’t his strongest suit —pun not intended—, and since he was old enough to choose for himself, Luke had always went for whatever was simplest, whatever took barely a couple accessories over his everyday clothes. But since you’d arrived at camp, a few years back, you’d brought this spirit with you he couldn’t deny. And you’d made fun of him for ‘going as himself’ to a costumed event enough times for him to start to consider changing his beliefs. For you. So now that you two had finally started dating, after months and months of unresolved mutual pining, dressing up for Halloween didn’t sound so bad, if it put that smile that got his heart going on your face.

And he also happened to think he looked absolutely ripped in the black fitted suit.

“So… will whatever you’re gonna put on my face be easy to clean up ? Or will I have to come back and get it removed ? Like, tonight, when everyone’s too drunk to pay attention to where I went and-”

You quickly came back to his side as he rambled, his breath hitching through the smug facade when you tilted his head up to look at you, because even after this much time, you just had this effect on him… “Castellan,” you started, and boy did it make a shiver run through his spine, his last name spoken in that firm, bossy voice you sometimes took, “shut up before I forbid you from coming into this cabin tonight.”

Luke didn’t miss the way her lips quirked into a half-smile, and again, that sight just…

“Why do you wear that much makeup ? You don’t usually do.”

The way he stated it made you halt right before the kohl crayon touched his face to map out the mask, blinking in confusion at his question. You could see his eyes scrutinizing your face, his usual smile casually hanging on his lips, and you had no idea if you should be concerned by his comment or awfully upset by it after spending an hour and a half preparing.

“Yo, wow, I heard it, sorry,” he quickly said, taking back his awkward phrasing and mimicking a rewind motion with his fingers that made you chuckle. “I meant by that, it just… I can’t see when I fluster you, does that make sense ? Like, there’s this… skin-tone liquidy shit I don’t know the name of just blocking out your cheeks, can’t even tease you and reap the bright red laurels,” he explained, broad smile stretching on his face as this time he didn’t need to see any blush to guess your state.

“Shut-” You cleared your voice, embarrassed by his antics, knowing damn well it somewhat warmed your heart for a reason you wouldn’t know. “Shut up before I poke your eyes out…” you said, unconvinced as you puffed your cheeks, trying to escape the deep embarrassment

“Ah, the sweet mumbling of your inner demons, can never get enough of those, can I ?”

You chose to stay silent, not giving him material to broaden his smirk any further as you started to trace the outline of the mask in black pencil.

You quickly mapped it out, filling the shape with black face paint, fully focused on the task at hand as you made sure not to go over the edge or leave a single speck of skin visible around the eyes. Meanwhile, Luke didn’t utter a single word, simply looking at you with that face of adoration he carried everywhere you were, loving the focused look you sported, how your brows slightly furrowed and the tip of your tongue just slipped past your lips.

You sighed as you cracked your neck to release tension, the position you were in slightly uncomfortable, before standing right before him and tapping his knee with the tip of your fingers. “Spread your legs, pretty boy.”

“Wh- That’s my line ~” He smirked but immediately obliged, letting you get closer, hands obediently resting on his thighs. For a short while at least.

You had just begun the shadowing process, tilting your head to the side to ensure the design from another angle when his fingers tangled in your hair, a thumb gently grazing your cheekbone before pulling you on his lips the next moment. Your eyes instinctively fluttered close, giving in to follow his movements with your own mouth, hands clutching the back of the chair for stability as he kept you flush to him. But you snapped out when his tongue darted out to reach your lips.

You quickly pulled away, your brain registering your surroundings again and not just the feeling of his soft lips on yours. “I- what was that for ?” you asked with a little laugh, breathing already a little heavy from this little eyes trailing along his face. “I could've smudged your mask.”

Luke couldn’t help but smirk again, pride blooming in his chest, his hands gently combing through your hair. “I don’t know, do I need a rea-”

“Shit!” you whisper-yelled, taking in the sight of his mouth now covered in a mix of your lipstick and clear gloss. “I… my makeup is messed up, isn’t it ?”

His expression was all but guilty as he started tracing his fingers around the outline of your lips, way past where they should've been painted. “Just a little bit… here.”

“Luke!” you whined, pouting with your brows scrunched up as you swatted his arms in frustration, clearly upset by a situation that amused him deeply.

“But-” He cut himself off for a second, pushing towards you to press his lips on the side of your neck, and your legs felt like jello for a moment. “-you looked so pretty,” a kiss, “all focused and in your, by the way incredible, Starfire makeup,” another kiss, “and costume and it just makes me wanna have you close...” Luke tilted his head with an innocent smile, looking up at you with a glint of mischief dancing in his hazel orbs. The next moment, his hands left your nape to snake around your waist ad your thigh, effectively tugging you down to straddle his lap in the chair.

You closed your eyes, blowing air out of your noise like it would elongate your patience towards your boyfriend’s antics. Which it did not. But could you really be annoyed when he looked at you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever lay a finger on, making your heartbeat increase and the butterflies in your stomach fly free ?

Still, you tried to hold your ground. “Luke-” You tried to warn him but it only turned into a whimper as he littered kisses up your neck to that spot behind your ear that made you sigh, your resolve weakening. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get this over with quickly ?” Your fingers curled in his hair, gently pulling him off your now really hot skin, feeling the blush creeping up and the blood pumping at your pulse points. “That we should go join the others at the campfire as soon as possible ?”

Looking down at him, one of the only thoughts in your mind was how little time you’d yet spent admiring how he looked in the costume, when really the look alone could make you insane.

His gaze crossed yours, puppy eyes paired with a pout that made your head spin, and he caught a glimpse of the pink lipstick marks he’d littered on your neck, pout morphing to a smirk quickly. “Oh, I said it. But then I thought ‘like hell’, and now we’re here in your cabin, and everyone’s out at the party…” he hinted, looking back up at you with a look far from innocent this time. His smile was warm and affectionate, but the passion burning in his eyes was unmistakable, and his thumb brushing over your thigh while his other hand crept up your side, teasing the hem of your purple and silver cropped top, was a mix that sent electricity shooting up your whole body.

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to gain back your composure. “You like your Starfire, don’t you ?” The moment he nodded, pulling you closer, was the moment you snapped your fingers to make a little pink fireball appear in your hand, twirling it around your fingers. “Do you like her alien powers too ?”You continued, nicely threatening him, like saying ‘let me the fuck go or I’ll burn a clearing in your hair’. “Luke, there are people, actual people, waiting for us at the party, mkay ?”

“Damn, always so dramatic… It does make you me burn for you even more though,” he said, swiping his tongue over his lip while looking longingly in your eyes. “Pun intended,” he quickly added, and you couldn’t contain a laugh at the unseriousness of this boy. “Okay, c’mon, pass me a cotton pad so I can wipe it off while you finish my mask. Or maybe you like the pink lip marks ?” He raised his eyebrows playfully and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head in amusement and faint disbelief. You turned around, going to stand back up, but he was quicker, hands shooting to tug you back down by the waist. “Nu-uh, where you going ? Stay close.” And you could’ve just melted right there and then as he laid a chaste kiss on your shoulder.

“You big lovesick baby..” you grumbled with a laugh, your annoyance fully dissipated as you twisted your body to reach for cotton pads and the makeup remover, sliding it over his mouth before handing it to him. “And no slick move, you get it all off, right ?”

“Wow, I can’t even show you off anymore, can I ?” he huffed out, still doing as you said, delicately rubbing the cotton over your skin while you added the finishing touches to his, by some miracle of the gods, still intact makeup. “May I even add, Kori and Dick are pretty activ-”

“Luke ?”

“Yeah ?” He looked up at you with big, expectant eyes, while your gaze was more one of bewilderment.

“If you say that in front of anyone else tonight, I’m cutting you precious hair in your sleep.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” But the deadpan of your voice had him almost doubting it.

“Try me,” you stated, challenge in your gaze, before it quickly went back to its usual soft state. “Anyway, you’re all set,” you said, blowing him a playful kiss as you stood back on your two feet, not wanting to ruin your makeup any further. You quickly turned back around, putting your combo back on while Luke stood up behind you, hugging your form from behind.

“Myeah, cool…”

“Oh come on, you were all happy about it 10 minutes ago! Just wait and see, I’m gonna make you love Halloween ~”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it…” he trailed, breathing in the soft sent of your shampoo he found so relaxing.

“Ok, let’s go,” you finally said, closing back your lip gloss and popping your lips in the mirror as he hurried to the door, insisting on opening it for you. “Simp.”

“You love it, though.”

“I, insanely so, do, I’ll admit,” you replied with a soft chuckle, taking in the vision of him next to the door, waiting for you. “But what’s really insane is how much you do Nightwing justice in this suit, fits you so well…” you trailed, shamelessly looking Luke up and down.

“Yeah ? Even the bakery ?” he replied cheekily, sly smile dancing on his still slightly swollen lips.

You instantly laughed at his words, passing him by as you exited through the door. “You wish, birdie.”

Ok I had a little (lot) fun writing this, don't even come at me for posting it on Christmas<3

Also, it's my birthday, yayy (I'm 19, not yay.)

Anygaysss hope you liked it, bubye ~

Love, Nana -

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 70]

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AO3 Link

-

Nia, Tobias, Samir and Junie meet a few new faces--and one old acquaintance--in the village atop the mountains, and focus on recuperating before their search for Yveltal continues.

-

Nia feels dizzy with relief as they’re taken to the village. She tightens her arms around the neck of the lucario who’s carrying her, grateful that they’re doing most of the work of holding her and Junie up.

Junie is quiet where she’s nestled in the crook of Nia’s neck, surely just as exhausted as the rest of them, so Nia closes her eyes as the moonlit snow of the mountainside rushes by at an incredible speed, wind whistling against her ears with each impressive leap through the air. The lucario are beyond agile.

Lucario—Nia’s evolved form. She’s sure she’ll have a million questions for them once she doesn’t feel like a lump of a person anymore.

Could Nia make leaps like this one day, if she stayed in this world long enough to evolve? She’s pretty sure she could already manage the snowshoe technique they’re using with a little practice, and she’s weirdly proud that she thought of something similar during the avalanche, spiking her aura through her snowshoes to cling to the ice like cleats.

The lucario leap and bound silently, though, gracefully navigating the mountainside in a way that Nia knows she would struggle with. They move as a seamless group, like a school of fish, and Nia wonders if they’re using aura to communicate rather than words, or if they’re just that well-trained. She could probably use her own aura to find out, but she can tell her energy is low after holding back the avalanche.

Plus, some part of her suspects that would be rude. Like eavesdropping.

So Nia stays quiet and keeps her aura to herself, despite the way she can feel other auras brushing by hers on occasion, gone too fast for her to decipher what they’re feeling.

Time passes in a surreal blur, both endless and instant. Finally, Nia notices the lucario beneath her slowing down, and she lifts her head to see that they’re cresting a snowy ridge, light glowing from beyond its lip. And when they reach the top, Nia can see its source.

The village. It’s tucked away inside the shallow bowl of a valley, the slopes surrounding it too gentle for an avalanche to form. The buildings themselves are made from stone and wood, low to the ground with steeply pointed, snow-covered roofs. Thick ice crawls up the foundations of the buildings and hang as icicles from the edges of their roofs like delicate adornments, glistening with firelight from the torches outside nearly every home. Through the cracks in windows and doors, Nia can see more firelight beckoning with its golden glow.

Nia doesn’t think she’s ever seen a more inviting sight in her life. She’s so ready to be warm.

The lucario who rescued them cluster together as they enter the village proper, the leader striding forward with purpose and a destination clearly in mind.

Since night has already fallen, it seems like most of the villagers are already tucked away inside their homes, but there are still a couple of Pokemon out and about, nearly all of them species Nia hasn’t seen before. Ice types, most likely.

There’s a giant polar bear with icicles growing on his face like a beard, a basket full of some kind of vegetable or root sitting on his hip. A tiny blue and white bear cub with a dripping nose toddles after him.

A large white yeti Pokemon with an afro-like snowball atop his head pushes a sleigh of crates across the snow with his powerful arms. He passes by them with a quiet word of greeting to the lucario and a wary glance at Nia and the others.

A pale blue dinosaur Pokemon with a build similar to Maggie and a lovely sunset-toned frill atop her head watches them curiously from her house’s window.

Nia can’t manage more than a tired smile when she meets each of their gazes, but they don’t seem all that excited to see strangers. Fidel did say they’d be seen as outsiders, so it makes sense that they wouldn’t have a warm reception, even if some part of Nia can’t help feeling a bit hurt when they don’t return her friendliness. She tries not to take it personally.

“The Matriarch will want to speak with you right away,” the lead lucario says, catching Nia’s attention. It’s clear from how he says it that it’s an order, and not an offer.

“What about Fidel and Samir?” Nia asks, looking back at the zoroark’s limp form being carried between two of the lucario. “They’re both hurt.”

The lead lucario glances over his shoulder at Fidel, then looks forward again. Wordlessly, the two lucario carrying Fidel peel off to take the zoroark elsewhere.

“Hey!” Tobias barks. “Where are they—"

“The healer. Is your injury urgent, Skiddo?”

Nia glances back again to see Samir shake their head no, which Nia knows better than to fight against even if they really should get their leg looked at sooner rather than later.

Nia wishes they could rest before having to explain everything, but the lucario ahead of them is all business and strides through the small village at a quick pace, his tall ears pricked. She doesn’t think he’d agree to dropping them off somewhere for food and sleep before accomplishing what he has set out to do.

Luckily, it’s only a couple of minutes before Nia sees their destination. It’s a building larger than the others, and the ice at its base is much taller than the other clusters in the village, surrounding the structure like a fancy crystalline frame. A small set of stairs leads up to thick wooden doors, and the lead lucario opens them without hesitation, the others following him inside.

The lead lucario guides them down a surprisingly ornate front hall decorated with rugs on the floor, tapestries along the walls, and shelves and side tables displaying beautiful stones and gems. It’s dim, the wooden interior warm but not well-lit, and Nia barely has a chance to look around before they’re reaching the end of the hall and turning to enter a smaller room.

The new space is surprisingly cozy, almost like a den. It’s dim, lit by the flicker of a fireplace, but it’s just as well decorated as the front hall. Tapestries cover the walls in geometric patterns and abstract depictions of Pokemon, mountains, and plants. More stones and gems sit atop shelves and bookcases, glinting in the firelight. And in front of the fireplace, sitting atop a plush rug, are two tall chairs.

The lead lucario guides their group around the chairs, the pack gently setting them down onto their own shaky feet. Nia shudders as the heat of the fire hits her back; the warmth is both incredibly welcome and somehow too hot after being exposed to the frigid air outside. She watches over Samir’s head as most of the lucario exit the room, save for the leader who guided them here.

A new Pokemon catches Nia’s attention next, sitting in front of them in one of the high-backed chairs. She’s sipping from a stone mug with her eyes closed, but Nia’s gut swoops with surprise and lingering guilt as she realizes the Pokemon looks like Ezra. She has a similar shade of sleek, dark blue fur and a gleam of gold at her forehead. And around her mug, the impressive claws of Ezra’s evolutionary line are curled. The only differences are that she’s larger than Nia’s friend, and her striking red ears are held much lower beneath a tall, proud crown of feathers. Maybe she’s the sneasel line’s evolution?

The second thing Nia notices are the barely visible streaks of gray around her face, marking her age. A thin, patterned shawl also rests around her shoulders. She must be on the older side, but there’s something about the confident, leisurely way she holds herself that makes Nia feel like she’s still a force to be reckoned with.

“Matriarch,” the lead lucario says, bowing respectfully.

Nia hurries to bow as well, clamping a hand over Junie when the bird nearly falls off her shoulder.

“Soren,” the Matriarch says in return, voice wry. She opens sharp, cat-like eyes to look over Nia and the others. “So you’re the mites that set off the avalanche? You and that zoroark.”

The lucario, Soren, answers for them with a nod. He must’ve used his aura to let her know that ahead of time.

“Interesting that there’s a riolu among you,” the Matriarch comments, looking at Nia with idle curiosity. “It’s rare for riolu to separate from the packs, isn’t it?”

Nia exchanges an uncertain look with Tobias and Samir. What does she say to that?

“She’s human,” Soren answers, his tone unreadable.

Nia’s head whips over to stare at him. Soren stares back with piercing blue eyes.

There’s no way he should know that, so…he must’ve picked that up from her aura, even if Nia’s never noticed much of a difference between a Pokemon’s aura and a human’s aura. But she knows he’s been paying careful attention to hers ever since they met. Even now, she can feel his energy—a deep, almost royal blue color—brushing near hers, not quite looking at her feelings or thoughts but almost…encircling her. Guarding her aura and preparing to counter if she uses it in some way.

She doesn’t like the claustrophobic feeling.

Nia swallows down a note of fear. Okay, so they know she’s human. They still rescued them and brought them to the village, so even if Soren’s guarded stare isn’t her favorite thing in the world, they aren’t immediately freaking out about her humanity.

The Matriarch sips at her drink, watching. Waiting.

“I-I am human,” Nia admits. “My name is Nia. These are my friends—my teammates. Tobias, Samir, and Junie.” She gestures to each of them in turn. “The zoroark is our friend Fidel.”

The Matriarch glances at Soren, then back to them. “You four seem relatively unscathed for how injured the zoroark is.”

Nia winces, fresh guilt clogging her throat. “I used my aura to protect us, but Fidel was scouting ahead. I…I couldn’t reach him in time.”

The aura surrounding Nia’s tightens for a moment. Nia feels a flicker of Soren’s emotions.

Suspicion. Unease.

Just as quickly as they arrived, the emotions distance themselves.

“You held back the avalanche by yourself?” The Matriarch asks, tone neutral.

Nia nods.

Soren continues to stare at Nia, frowning. “You also knew that we were approaching you on the mountainside. And what our intentions were.”

Nia frowns back at him. Should…she not have been able to do that? “Yes..? I felt your aura searching for ours. That you were looking for survivors to bring back to the village.”

The lucario doesn’t respond, though the furrow in his brow deepens slightly.

“I suppose the next question is why you were trying to climb the mountain in the first place,” the Matriarch says, finishing her drink and setting it onto the side table with a quiet clunk of stone on wood. “Not many venture this way, and for good reason. You would’ve been dead by morning without the pack’s goodwill.”

Nia swallows, nodding. “W-We know.” She glances at Soren. “Thank you again.”

Soren doesn’t respond.

Beside her, Tobias steps forward. “We were sent here on a mission by Augustus, the Lexym guildmaster.”

The Matriarch straightens in her seat, clearly recognizing the name of the rillaboom.

“We’re looking into the world’s instability and suspect we might know the cause of it,” Tobias continues. “And we’re trying to figure out how to fix it before it’s too late.”

The Matriarch hums. “Is that so? A noble aim. And what could the mountain offer you in such an endeavor?”

Tobias glances at Nia and Samir. Nia nods.

“We want to explore the mountains to see if we can find evidence of Yveltal sleeping nearby.”

Though the Matriarch and lucario don’t visibly react, something in the air—in their aura—grows heavy. Cautious.

“We’re actually trying to find Xerneas,” Nia clarifies, a little frantic. “But we thought since they usually sleep so close to each other, we could narrow down the search if we could confirm Yveltal’s resting place first.”

“Yveltal’s location has been lost to time,” the Matriarch says. The light of the fire flickers across her face, giving her an eerie look. “What leads your search here?”

“The barren landscape, for one,” Tobias says.

“A-And the crystals,” Nia adds. Soren and the Matriarch lock their gazes onto her. “We ran into a researcher on a mission a couple weeks back, and he said he was coming here to investigate some strange crystal formations. Carnelian the sableye?”

The Matriarch sits back, her eyes narrowing. Quietly, almost too low to hear, she says something to Soren. For a moment, Nia thinks she’s just too tired to understand the jumble of words, until Soren answers back with something equally incomprehensible.

Oh. That’s…a different language. It’s a consonant-heavy tongue, and some of the sounds are entirely unfamiliar to Nia, throaty as they are. Nia thought that whatever allowed her to understand and speak Ordirune—the most common language in this world—just translated all languages, but apparently not. Nia glances at Junie, still perched on her shoulder, but the rookidee looks just as lost as Nia feels. Tobias and Samir seem equally out of the loop, their shoulders tense and brows furrowed.

Huh. She’d put the whole language translation thing on the backburner, but this makes her curious again. If there are multiple languages in this world, then doesn’t that mean Nia should still be able to speak plain English? Or…will her tongue always twist it into Ordirune?

She hopes not. Something about losing her native language entirely makes her feel…sad.

Finally, the Matriarch turns back to them. “If Augustus sent you, then he surely sent a letter to vouch for you, yes?”

“He did,” Tobias confirms, grimacing. “But we lost our pack in the avalanche. Our items were wiped.”

The Matriarch sighs, rubbing at her forehead with her knuckles. “Of course. In that case, I will need to have Soren check your aura.”

Tobias and Samir both lean away, visibly uncomfortable.

“Why?” Junie asks, suspicious.

“To verify that you’re honest about your intentions,” the Matriarch explains. “If we have any knowledge regarding Yveltal, I will not risk that kind of power falling into the wrong hands.”

Nia supposes that makes sense, but…

She glances again at Tobias and Samir and their tense postures. They clearly hate the idea of a stranger they don’t trust reading their aura.

“Could you just check mine?” Nia asks, taking a step closer to Soren. “Tobias and Samir are private people.”

“You can check mine too!” Junie chirps.

Tobias starts to protest behind them, but apparently thinks better of it as he falls silent.

“Will that work?” Nia asks.

Soren seems unhappy with the compromise, but maybe that’s just how his face always looks because he only hesitates for a moment before nodding. Then, he closes his eyes and holds out a paw in front of Nia and Junie.

And then, all at once, the aura that had been skimming around Nia's engulfs her. It's heavy, and it doesn’t hesitate before carding through her aura with purpose, digging between her ribs and pulling at her soul like taffy as it searches for something in particular.

It feels so…intrusive. Nia desperately hopes this isn’t what it’s like when she reads someone’s aura. She always tries to be gentle when she does it, turning their soul over in her hands like a delicate turtleshell to read the patterns and scars on its surface.

Soren’s aura feels like a pat down, like someone physically digging their fingers through her brain, clinically pulling away her thoughts layer by layer without care. It doesn’t hurt, per se, but it does feel deeply uncomfortable.

“Stop!”

Soren homes in on a particular chain of emotions, pulling at them to read the train of thought attached. A moment later, she realizes it’s about their mission. She glimpses the vague storm of feelings attached to the memories: the desperation, hope, and fear of learning about this world’s destruction and all that would come with it. And following that, their desperate plan to fix it and Nia’s burning desire to succeed. Her hope to save everyone in this world and her own.

“I said stop!”

Tobias?

Suddenly, blessedly, Soren’s aura retreats. It feels like fighting her way out of twisted, too-hot blankets. Like a gasp of fresh, cool air.

Nia’s legs nearly give out as she comes back to herself. Tobias’ arm is looped around her back as a steadying heat, though, and Samir is pressed close on her other side, the two of them the only things keeping her from collapsing into a heap of shaky limbs. Junie trembles against Nia’s neck.

“What were you doing to them?” Tobias snarls. “I’ve seen Nia do that with a hundred ‘mon and they’ve never looked like that!”

Soren’s blue eyes focus on Nia, narrowing. “You have read others’ aura?”

Nia nods, rubbing her hands over her arms and giving herself a shake.

“She’s done it with me and it never felt like that,” Junie snaps, making them all look at her. She’s glaring up at Soren despite the way she shakes. “Dude, I-I don’t even understand what you just did, but even I can tell it was super rude!”

The Matriarch snorts. “Soren, it seems your bedside manner continues to lack.”

“It was the most efficient method of verifying their claims,” Soren protests.

“Well maybe don’t pick the most efficient method if it’s going to suck!” Junie yells.

“Did you at least find an answer?” the Matriarch asks.

“I did,” Soren confirms. “They’re telling the truth.”

The Matriarch nods, satisfied. Then she looks back to them. “In that case, I apologize for the cold welcome you’ve received so far. We’re always wary of outsiders, but particularly when they come asking after such dangerous information.”

Tobias doesn’t respond, looking too riled up to answer politely. Nia doesn’t either, still trying to steady her own voice.

“In all truth,” the Matriarch continues, crossing her legs and folding her clawed hands atop her lap. “We summoned Carnelian here to research the crystals for a similar reason. While we weren’t hoping to find Xerneas, we have been concerned by the Silen mountains’ increasing instability. Although we’re aware that the issue is much more widespread than our little corner of the sky, I wanted to be sure that Yveltal’s presence wasn’t contributing in some way.”

“T-The mountains’ instability?” Nia echoes. “Like…the avalanches?”

The Matriarch nods. “The weather has been slowly growing more and more unpredictable each year, changing centuries-old patterns and creating volatile conditions. Storms and deadly winds are more common than ever, and our winters are harsher. And while the village itself has not been claimed by any, thankfully, a mystery dungeon formed on the next mountain over just last month.”

“And you already knew that Yveltal slept here, in the mountains,” Tobias guesses, brow furrowed and voice suspicious.

“We have records stating as much,” the Matriarch admits. “But we never sought him out. Intruding on a legend’s domain without reason is just asking for trouble. But when we noticed strange, unknown crystals growing on the mountainside…”

“You thought it best to look into them, just in case,” Nia finishes.

The Matriarch nods. “I wanted to know where exactly Yveltal slept, and if his proximity has been harming the village. Expediting the disasters. Carnelian was called in to verify that the crystals are indeed connected to Yveltal, and to track them to their source.”

“So have you already confirmed that they’re from Yveltal’s cocoon?” Tobias asks.

The Matriarch shakes her head. “Not yet. Carnelian believes we’re close, and has good reason to believe they are indeed from Yveltal, but we haven’t found his resting place.”

“Still, it sounds like we’re after the same thing, right?” Nia says. “If Carnelian can lead us to the crystals and we can confirm that Yveltal is actually here, that narrows down the locations where Xerneas could be sleeping.”

“And you believe Xerneas will be able to fix the world’s disruption,” the Matriarch says.

Nia winces. “W-Well…it’s more a hope than anything certain, but...”

“The dimensional border around our world is weakening,” Tobias says. “And soon it’s going to break entirely. We’re hoping that if we can find Xerneas, she can use her life energy to fill the gap and keep the barrier intact.”

There’s a long moment of silence where both Soren and the Matriarch take that in, looking thoughtful but not particularly surprised.

Finally, Soren speaks up. “Our pack has known for years that this was an issue involving the world’s aura, but where did you get such information?”

“Giratina,” Nia admits, cringing when both Soren and the Matriarch look at her in surprise. “It’s…sort of a long story.”

Soren huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. The spikes on the back of his paws catch Nia’s eye. “And even Giratina believes Xerneas will fix this?”

“You don’t think she can?” Tobias challenges.

“You should be more preoccupied with whether or not Xerneas will want to.”

A tense moment of quiet follows, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room.

“What do you mean?” Nia asks.

“Xerneas and Yveltal are the gods of creation and destruction,” Soren says. “The cycle of life and death. If this is meant to be how the world ends, then Xerneas will likely not stop it from happening.”

Nia’s stomach churns. “W-What? But…if she can fix it, why wouldn’t she?”

“It’s not her role,” Soren says simply. “Her duty is to rebuild once the destruction has already passed. Not to prevent it from occurring at all. If there were no winter, there would be no spring, after all.”

Nia shakes her head. No, that can’t be true. Right now, Xerneas is their only hope. If fixing the border is impossible, then…then this whole world and everyone in it will die. And so will the human world.

“And how do you know that for sure?” Tobias growls.

“Because Xerneas is the god of creation,” Soren says. “The guardian of life energy—of aura. We lucario are her most devout followers. We follow her guidance our entire lives.”

Another long pause. Nia feels panic slowly rising in her chest.

“S-So what does that mean for us?” Junie asks. “This was the only idea we had, right?”

Soren doesn’t answer, looking calmly resigned to such a fate.

The Matriarch, however, scoffs. “For such a stubborn bunch, you lucario are so weak-willed. I, for one, am not letting my village die without a fight.”

Nia looks at the older Pokemon in surprise.

Soren sighs. “Matriarch, you know as well as I do that finding and waking Xerneas is a long shot on its own, but convincing her to stop the cycle of life and death is simply a fool’s errand.”

“Ha!” The Matriarch bares her sharp teeth at Soren, the expression feeling more like a challenge than a smile. “Then consider me a fool, pup. You and your father might believe in following the will of the world, but I do not.”

“Then…you’re on our side?” Nia asks, quiet.

The Matriarch looks at Nia with a gleam in her eyes. “Thankfully, while the pack is not under my control, neither am I under theirs. So consider my village an ally in this wild legend hunt of yours. August always was one for crazy ideas.”

Hope lifts once more in Nia’s chest. “So you think we can do it? Fix the barrier?”

“Won’t know until we try,” the Matriarch says with a shrug. “And it’s better to die fighting than to roll over and guide death’s foot right to your throat.”

Soren makes a derisive sound from his spot off to the side, clearly disagreeing with the sentiment.

Nia is sticking firmly with the Matriarch on this one. Nia doesn’t care if Xerneas thinks this is the natural order of things, or if a new world would be born from the ashes of this one’s destruction. This is her world. Her people. This world and the human one both. She won’t let them go without a fight.

“So the plan remains unchanged, then,” Tobias says, glancing between Nia, Samir, and Junie.

Nia takes a breath and nods. “We find Yveltal to confirm his presence, then use his location to find Xerneas and ask her to reinforce the barrier.”

“And if she refuses?” Soren asks. His tone is neutral, but only just.

“Then we cross that bridge when we get to it,” Nia says, voice a bit sharper than necessary.

“Three cheers for winging it!” Junie says, pumping a wing from her spot on Nia’s shoulder.

Tobias snorts.

Samir looks just as solemn as they usually do when the topic of their mission comes up, but thankfully the skiddo doesn’t seem to have been shaken from their resolve at all. Their front leg, however, is still being held delicately above the rug.

Right. Samir’s injured, Fidel is unconscious somewhere, and between exhaustion, stress, and hunger, Nia feels moments away from withering away into a pile of dust. Right on cue, her stomach growls, loudly. She groans and covers her face with her hands, embarrassed.

“Sounds like you’re more than ready for food and rest,” the Matriarch says, clearly amused. “We can move forward with the search tomorrow morning. Have Eira take a look at your injuries, and then rest up. You should all be able to fit comfortably in the guest lodgings with your old acquaintance.”

Old acquaintance?

A timid knock comes from the doorway, and Nia turns to the newcomer. She perks up when she sees a familiar little ghost Pokemon, his translucent purple body nearly lost to the darkness if not for his diamond eyes glinting in the firelight.

“Carnelian!”

The sableye looks shy but pleased by Nia’s excited greeting, returning her wave across the room.

“Enter, Carnelian,” the Matriarch says.

The sableye skitters over to join them, smiling with sharp teeth. If Nia had seen such a face in the human world she probably would’ve had nightmares about it, but here and now she finds it strangely endearing.

“It’s so good to see you!” Nia says, feeling her tail wagging behind her. She has to fight off the urge to hug the nervous little ghost.

“I-It’s good to see you too,” Carnelian says. He looks between Nia and Tobias, then quickly averts his eyes from Samir and Junie’s curious gazes. “I-I was shocked when Cobalt sent word that you were here!”

Cobalt? Maybe one of the other lucario.

“Are you all right sharing the guest house with me during your stay?” Carnelian asks. “I-It’s the only one in the village since they usually never have visitors, but I-I wasn’t expecting anyone so I did have quite a few of my books shipped over, which in hindsight feels rude but—”

“Books?!” Nia interrupts, ears pricking.

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Tobias says.

Junie laughs. “Just try keeping this nerd out of your place now!”

Carnelian lights up. “Oh! Well, I-I’m happy to share!”

That is music to Nia’s ears. While they’re sure to be busy while they’re here and Nia still has plenty of books to read at the guild, she’s excited to see what the sableye has on hand.

“Go on, then,” the Matriarch says, catching their attention. She waves them out with a clawed hand. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll join Carnelian, Nouf, and Soren bright and early in the search for Yveltal.”

Soren is helping? Nia looks at the lucario, surprised.

In turn, the lucario scowls at the Matriarch with more expression than Nia has seen from him all night. “With all due respect, Matriarch, I never agreed to help.”

“Ah, but I have ways of getting your father on my side,” the Matriarch says, winking at Nia and the others. “Preparing the young leader-in-training to socialize properly with outsiders is a valuable skill, wouldn’t you say?”

Leader in training? So Soren isn’t the leader of the lucario pack, but the son of the leader? Nia supposes that does explain his stoic but deferring demeanor in the Matriarch’s presence. Even now, the lucario is visibly reigning in his irritation, jaw clenching and eyes closing for a moment before he regains his calm countenance.

“We shall see.”

“That we shall. Carnelian, if you would?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am!”

The sableye leads Nia and the others out of the room and down the hall, back outside and into the frigid bite of mountain air. Nia shivers and steps closer to Tobias to leech some of his meager warmth, keeping an eye on Samir on her other side. The skiddo is still limping, carefully navigating the icy ground so they don’t slip and fall.

Carnelian is surprisingly chatty as he leads them across town, clearly familiar with the place after a couple weeks of living here. He points out the purpose of each building they pass, from the market to the town storage to the homes of individual civilians.

Nia feels a little bad interrupting him, but she can’t help asking, “Carnelian, you don’t happen to know how Fidel is doing, do you? The zoroark that showed up with us?”

“O-Oh! Yes, Eira was checking him over when I left,” Carnelian says. “I don’t think she was too worried about him. She starts frosting over her workspace when she’s really stressed, and when I left, everything was still ice-free! In fact, I-I think she wanted to move him into the guest quarters to have somewhere warm to recover, so he might even be there already when we arrive.”

Oh, that would be lovely. While Nia’s just relieved to hear that Fidel is in good hands, she’ll feel much better once she sees him again for herself.

Thankfully, they reach Carnelian’s house—or, more accurately, the guest lodgings—soon thereafter. It’s a cozy triangle of a building, similar to the other houses they’ve passed, with warmth spilling through shuttered windows and painting the snow around its base with golden light and blue shadows.

Carnelian pulls open the front door and leads them inside, and Nia’s eyes immediately find Fidel’s bright red mane of hair. The zoroark is curled up beneath a pile of thick blankets, bandages peeking out from under his fur. The quilted lump of his body rises and falls with steady breaths.

Thank goodness.

At his side, an unfamiliar Pokemon is placing medical supplies back into a sturdy woven bag, though she pauses to look up as they enter. She’s very clearly an ice type, mostly white with light blue accents and two shards of ice atop her head. However, she also comes across as very feminine—almost like she’s wearing a kimono. Her arms flare out around her wrists like long sleeves, and a red sash-like piece circles her middle before arcing out behind her like a bow. She floats a few inches off the ground, no legs beneath her, and her face almost reminds Nia of a skull, the skin beneath her eyeholes and jaw a frostbitten purple. Her eyes are just as blue as Soren’s, striking a balance between beautiful and haunting.

Her expression warms as she sees them, though. “Welcome back. These are the rest of our guests, I assume?”

“Yes!” Carnelian moves to stand at the healer’s side, presenting the much larger Pokemon in an unusually confident gesture. “This is Eira! The best healer in the mountains.”

Eira gives him a playful nudge. “I’m the only healer in these mountains, you sly spirit.” Then she floats forward and bows to them. “It’s nice to meet you all. I assume the Matriarch let you know that I would be attending to your medical needs?”

“Yes!” Nia bows in return. “Thank you so much for taking care of Fidel.”

“Of course! Go ahead and take a seat, and I’ll check on the rest of you one by one.”

Nia takes a look around as they step inside the building, amused by what she finds. While the walls are a warm wooden brown, and a patterned rug spreads over most of the floor, any décor, is hidden behind towers of books and loose-leaf paper. Tabletops are similarly covered by piles of stones and gems.

Carnelian has certainly made himself at home here, huh?

Their spare bed, luckily, is already set up on the floor next to Fidel, close to the fireplace set into the wall. Nia groans with relief as she flops into it, spreading out and stretching her sore, cold muscles in the warmth of the fire. Junie does the same with a happy sigh, and Tobias and Samir follow shortly after, the four of them piling together on the makeshift cot like puzzle pieces as their bodies are finally allowed to rest.

This is heaven.

“Carnelian, why don’t you grab them some food?” Eira says, more of an order than a suggestion even with her light, almost tinkling voice.

“O-Oh! Of course, you all must be starving!” Carnelian hurries out of the house, and Nia blinks after him, surprised yet again by his eagerness.

“Excuse my cousin’s excitement,” Eira says, floating over to them with her medical supplies in tow. “He doesn’t often feel comfortable with strangers, but he told me all about Team Scarlet when he first arrived the other week. He’s thrilled to see you again.”

Nia flushes beneath her fur as she sits up. “We didn’t do that much for him, really! We were just doing our job.”

“Mm.” Eira looks at Nia fondly. “Yes, I imagined you’d say something like that. Well, just know that you have my thanks, regardless.”

“You’re his cousin?” Junie interrupts, looking curiously between Eira and the door where Carnelian had disappeared.

“I am!” Eira says, looking proud as she starts pulling out medical supplies. Bandages, herbs and little jars of ointment become organized piles on the floor. “When the Matriarch mentioned the crystals and their possible importance, I knew Carnelian would be up for the task. He’s very sharp, you know.”

“I can’t wait to see him in action!” Nia says.

Eira hums her agreement, glancing over their group with an expert eye before settling next to Samir and gesturing for them to extend their injured leg. The skiddo looks annoyed, but silently does as asked. Eira hums and feels around their leg, all the way from the lump of their knee down to their hoof, noting when they tense up and asking where it hurts most.

Nia looks away since Samir seems strangely embarrassed about the injury. As she soaks up the heat of the fire and pets Junie’s soft feathers, her eyes catch instead on Tobias. The charmander is scratching at his neck with an irritable expression.

“You okay?” she asks.

Tobias jumps, his face flushing. “Yeah. Yeah, just, uh. An itch.”

Nia frowns, tilting her head. “You sure? I thought I saw you scratching at your neck when we were climbing, too.”

Tobias averts his eyes, looking disgruntled. “’S fine. Just some old injuries acting up in the cold.”

“Oh. Maybe Eira has something for that?”

Tobias shrugs. Then, he looks back at Nia. “Are you okay? After whatever that lucario jerk did earlier?”

Nia blinks. She recognizes the deflection for what it is, but she’s also surprised Tobias is still thinking about that. “O-Oh. Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t great, but it’s not like it hurt or anything?”

“It was super creepy is what it was!” Junie says, sitting up from where she’d been sprawled across the blankets like a bird splatted against a window. Her feathers puff out as her anger reignites. “I thought it’d feel like when Nia reads my aura but it felt like the dude was rifling through my pockets or something! Except it was my head or my soul or whatever, which made it ten times worse! Talk about an invasion of privacy.”

Tobias’ eyes darken and he glances at the door, as if debating whether or not to march back outside and find the lucario to chew him out properly.

Nia lays a hand on his arm to keep him in place. “Yeah, it, um…felt a lot more intrusive than I would’ve liked. Junie, you said it doesn’t feel like that when I read your aura, right?”

Junie looks up at Nia, surprised. “What? No, definitely not! When you do it it’s all warm and stuff! Like…I’m your little guinea pig and you’re giving me a nice bath or something.”

Nia snorts a laugh, caught off-guard by the comparison. “Like what?”

“You know what I mean! It's like...how little animals get nervous about people handling ‘em, and you need to reassure them and be gentle and stuff so you don’t stress ‘em out, right? When he was doing the aura stuff, it was kind of…scary? I could feel how easily he pried my thoughts open, and he didn’t really care that I was nervous. But with you, you’re always super soft and stuff and you don’t pry like that, so I always feel safe!”

Oh. Nia doesn’t think she realized she was actually worried about this until Junie immediately laid her fears to rest. Hot tears prick at her eyes.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t get all weepy on me! Your little guinea pig doesn’t know how to deal with that!”

Nia barks another laugh. “Stop saying that!”

“She’s right,” Tobias says, catching Nia’s attention. His eyes are low, something in his posture a little upset. “I was nervous when you read my aura, but it wasn’t bad at all with you. I’m sorry he didn’t treat you two the same way.”

Fresh tears spring to Nia’s eyes. “Tobias!”

“Stop, you’re making her cry more! One guinea pig can only handle so many tears!”

Their delirious conversation continues until Eira gives Samir the all-clear. The skiddo’s leg is bandaged from the top of their hoof up to their knee, a chunk of ice tied to both joints. Their entire leg is also elevated on a pillow, and they look down at the setup with a disgruntled expression.

Nia’s happy mood dampens.

“All right,” Eira says with a little clap. “Other than that sprain, you should be good to go, Skiddo. No walking for you tomorrow, but you should be clear for the day after.”

Samir looks away with their ears low, not answering.

“Hey, that’s not too bad!” Junie calls, trying to cheer Samir up. “C’mon, we’re weak to ice types, dude. We’re lucky we even made it up here at all!”

Samir huffs, still not looking at any of them. Nia’s brow furrows.

Eira floats over to Tobias next. “Tobias, right? Let’s give you a look next.”

Tobias sighs but doesn’t argue, removing his winter gear and letting the ice type look him over. He is pretty beat up, bloody scratches and blossoming bruises littering his skin. Luckily, they all seem pretty minor, at least to Nia’s untrained eye.

Junie flutters around the charmander, chirping about how he’s going to look like a chameleon with all those colorful bruises, and Nia takes the opportunity to scoot over to Samir, who’s still glaring down at their bandaged leg.

“Hey,” Nia murmurs. “You okay?”

Samir doesn’t meet her eye, but they do nod.

Nia doesn’t believe them.

For a long moment, Nia worries at her lip, working up her courage. “Hey, Samir? I wanted to apologize.”

Samir finally looks up, visibly confused.

“About what I said on the mountain, after the avalanche,” Nia explains, shame squirming in her gut. She looks down, picking at the melting snow encrusted onto the bottom of her coat. “And during the avalanche too, I guess.”

Samir stares, still not getting it.

“I didn’t listen to you. Or, well, I almost didn’t. About letting Fidel go. I knew it was too dangerous to let my shield drop, but I just thought if I could grab him, I could—” Nia cuts herself off, taking a breath. “You were right. And I’m sorry that I argued with you. And then yelled at you afterwards. I was really worried about Fidel, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you when you were just trying to keep us safe.”

Samir doesn’t respond. After a few beats of silence, Nia peeks up at them.

The skiddo seems flabbergasted, blinking at her and her hunched, contrite posture. Finally, shakily, they whistle a quiet low-to-high response: Okay. It’s okay. They still seem like they’re trying to wrap their head around her apology.

Nia breathes a sigh of relief as one of the many, many weights on her shoulders melts away.

“Thank you. I just wanted to say that right away, especially since we’ll be separated most of the day tomorrow,” Nia says.

The skiddo’s glare returns as they focus back on their injured leg. They narrow their eyes, then glance at Eira, who is smearing some kind of salve on Tobias’ cuts and bruises and bandaging up the worst of them. Then Samir’s eyes flick to the door.

Oh no. Nia recognizes that look.

“Samir,” Nia warns in a low voice, leaning closer. “I saw that. You are not sneaking out to join us tomorrow.”

Samir huffs and shakes their head, stamping their other foreleg ineffectually against the blankets as they meet Nia’s gaze. No, they whistle.

“Samir, you have to rest! What if you hurt your leg more by walking on it too soon?”

Samir is shaking their head fervently before she’s even done talking. They meet her eyes, whistling again. No.

Nia stares at them, trying to understand why they’re suddenly so stubborn about this. They did this on the mountainside too, when they were freshly injured and trying to hobble down to help unbury Fidel despite Nia and Tobias telling the skiddo to stay put.

For someone so serious about Nia and Tobias playing it safe, they aren’t very safe with themself, are they? It’s like Samir thinks they’re playing by different rules, like they don’t get to rest just because they’re hurt. Like something terrible will happen if they do.

And then it clicks.

Nia feels her heart drop. She stares at the desperate shine in Samir’s eyes, at the way their mouth trembles the slightest bit.

Samir’s old partner abandoned them when they got hurt, right? So who’s to say that Nia and Tobias won’t do the same?

Nia hesitates, but then reaches out to cup Samir’s face in her hands. The skiddo jolts a bit, surprised, but doesn’t pull away. “Samir, you know you’re allowed to rest when you’re hurt, right?”

Samir’s eyes widen, something like fear crossing their face. They tug weakly against her hold.

Nia tightens her grip. “Samir, we want you to rest. It’s fine if you sit out tomorrow.”

Samir shakes their head, closing their eyes tight.

Nia tries to put all the conviction she can into her voice. “We aren’t going to leave you behind or think you’re a bad partner or something just because you got hurt, all right?”

Samir slowly stops fighting, cracking their eyes open again to search Nia’s face.

“We’re not your old teammate, Samir. When you’re ready to go again, we’ll still be here, okay? But until you’re better, just…please rest. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Samir’s expression crumbles. They yank their head free of her hold and dip their head to hide their face.

Nia silently panics, hands reaching. Was that the right thing to say? Did she make it better or worse? What does she do now? Scoot closer or leave them be?

Before she can decide, Samir gently buries their face in her lap, careful not to prod her with their horns. They’re shaking.

Oh.

Nia quietly turns her body to hide the skiddo from the others’ view, stroking a hand down the back of their head and through the surprisingly soft mane of their leaves as Samir shudders.

“You’re our teammate, Samir,” Nia murmurs. “And more importantly, our friend. You don’t have to prove yourself every moment of every day, okay? Especially if it’s going to hurt you. We don’t want that. Okay?”

Samir sniffles, but finally nods against Nia’s stomach. She smiles, relieved.

By the time Eira deems Tobias’ inspection finished, Samir has pulled themself together again, wiping at their face with their good foreleg. They look mortified by their little breakdown, avoiding Nia’s gaze, so she just gives them one more gentle smile before shuffling back to Tobias and Junie.

Tobias is covered in small bandages and shiny poultices, his expression resigned. Junie is making fun of the charmander even as Eira checks her over, gently extending her small wings and feeling for any breaks or strains.

Luckily, Junie is cleared with no injuries, and then it’s Nia’s turn. She dutifully takes off her own winter gear and follows Eira’s instructions as the ice type looks her over, gently squeezing and feeling along her limbs and shoulders.

As Nia answers Eira’s questions, she spots Tobias once more scratching at his neck, annoyed expression twitching into something painful before he pulls his claws away.

Nia frowns. She doesn’t know why Tobias doesn’t want Eira to see whatever scars he has perpetually hidden beneath his scarf, but…

She looks over her shoulder, to where Eira is finishing up. “Hey, Eira?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have anything for…old wounds? Uh, like when they act up in the cold?”

“For scars, you mean?” Eira asks, coming back around to face Nia with a curious expression.

“Um,” Nia looks over Eira’s shoulder, at her partner, and back. “I think so.”

Eira follows her gaze, making a quiet “Ah” of realization. Then she nods and digs into her bag, handing a jar of salve over to Nia. “Here—advise him to put it on once in the morning, any time during the day when the itching is bothering him, and once at night before bed, all right? Don’t be afraid to really pile it on. It should help moisturize and soothe the irritation, and it has a nip of a numbing agent, too.”

Nia takes the jar gratefully, cradling it in her hands. “Thank you so much.”

“Just doing my job,” Eira says, echoing Nia’s earlier words with a smile.

Just as they’re finishing their last checkup, Carnelian finally returns with food in tow.

“S-Sorry for the wait!” the sableye says, gently kicking the door open and shuffling inside with two bowls in hand. Soup? Whatever it is, it’s steaming hot, and Nia’s stomach rumbles as she takes a deep sniff of the air. “I had to get an extra pair of wings to help me bring them over.”

Behind Carnelian, a fluffy, red and white penguin-like Pokemon waddles in. He’s holding two more bowls of soup, one notably smaller than the rest for Junie’s tiny stomach. “Hey, Eira! Got some hungry bellies in here?”

Eira smiles at the newcomer. “That we do. Thank you for your help, Nico.”

Nico smiles back, and he and Carnelian quickly pass out the four bowls of soup. The food smells wonderful, hearty and well-spiced and loaded with some kind of vegetables. Or maybe roots?

Whatever the ingredients are, the dish has Nia drooling.

They quickly tuck in with a word of thanks, and Nia practically inhales her food, savoring the hot, salty broth, the soft potato-like vegetables and withered greens, and the slice of bread that Nico pulled out—from his tail?—and handed to them once they were settled.

If Nia weren’t so focused on devouring her meal, she’d be curious about all the ingredients they used for it. Vegetation doesn’t seem like it would do well in this climate, considering the lack of trees and grasses they’d seen on the way up. Maybe some kind of cold-resistant berries or crops grow up here? Or maybe they use roots or pine needles or tree bark or something. She thinks she remembers something like that back in the human world.

Whatever the answer is, Nia doesn’t think she’s ever tasted anything better.

Nico chats idly with Carnelian and Eira as Team Scarlet eats, the bird looking proud of how quickly they drain their bowls. When they’re done, satiated and warm and ready to pass out, they give the bird another round of thanks that he accepts with a bashful “Shucks!” before taking their bowls and spoons and heading out for the night. Eira follows him out, wishing everyone a good sleep and letting them know she’ll be back before they set out in the morning, and to send Carnelian for her if Fidel showed any worrying symptoms overnight.

Carnelian tries to start up a new conversation with them after that, but they don’t last long before they’re slurring their words through big yawns. Nia’s eyes feel heavier and heavier with each passing blink, and Junie has already slumped over into a lump of snoring feathers.

“You’d better get some rest before tomorrow,” Carnelian says with a smile. He slides a few more logs into the fire and peeks at Fidel’s sleeping face before retreating to his own nest in the back of the lodge with one of his books. Huh. It’s pretty dark over there, but maybe ghost types have good night vision? That would make sense.

They’re all too exhausted to go far, so they lie down to sleep right where they’d been sitting.  It’s not until Nia almost flops right on top of something hard that she remembers the jar she’d been keeping tucked away in her lap.

Oh, right!

Nia holds back another yawn and pushes herself back up. She squints over at Tobias, grateful that Junie is already out cold and Samir is quickly nodding off themself, their head dipping. “Hey, Tobias?”

Tobias was just about to lie down, too. Instead, his jaw cracks with a yawn as he looks back at her, matching her low tone. “Yeah?”

Nia holds the jar out to him. “Here.”

Tobias blinks sluggishly at the jar, then back at her, a furrow in his brow. “What’s this?”

“You said you had old injuries acting up, right? Like scars? I asked Eira if she had medicine for something like that and she said to use this when you wake up and go to sleep. Oh, and also if it itches during the day.”

Some alertness returns to Tobias’ expression as he realizes what Nia’s saying. He stares at her, face flushing, before he finally takes the jar and holds it close to his chest. “Oh. Um. Thanks, Nia. I’ll give it a try.”

Nia hums and flops back down in her spot on the bed, sighing happily at the softness and warmth. Just before she drifts off to sleep, Nia’s sharp ears hear the quiet spin of the lid being opened.

She hopes it helps.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

OUUH WHAT ABOUT spencer watching her do her makeup, pick out an outfit, get dolled up to go meet his team

fem bimbo!plus size reader, wc: 498.

۶ৎ a/n .ᐟ | AWW OMG writing this actually gave me cavities. this is probably the fluffiest thing i've ever written on this account!! i really tried to get into the mind of our precious bimbo reader, and i feel like i did a pretty good job if i do say so myself! 😏

You always liked to say that you did your best work under pressure, so why in the hell wasn’t your eyeshadow… eyeshadowing?

You looked at yourself in the vanity mirror, your gloss covered lips turned down into a deep frown. The lines caused by your frustration left behind little creases in your carefully laid foundation. You were one more mishap from a total breakdown.

Tonight was the night that you were going to meet your boyfriend’s team, which in your mind translated to his family. You had met his mom already, and she liked you, so why were you so intimidated? Maybe it was because these people were like your precious boyfriend just twenty times more terrifying.

Tonight had to go well, or you swear that you might just die!

“Spence?” You turn around in your porcelain white chair that  completely contrasts the dark coziness that was Spencer’s room. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” Spencer responds from behind the book he had his nose buried in. He had been resting against the headboard, the lower half of his body relaxed and his legs were stretched out carelessly. The advantage of being a human string-bean, you supposed.

“Does my makeup look okay?”

Your exasperated tone in your voice forced his eyes away from the page and onto yours.

He was surprised by the light tones of eyeshadow you had picked, they were a lot different from the bold pink, purples, and blues. That could only mean one thing.

“There’s no need to be anxious, honey. You look beautiful.”

Usually, you were very susceptible to Spencer’s praise, often turning bashful and shy, as well as giggling and grinning like a schoolgirl. Nope, not today. Today felt like not even the sweetest of hymns could bring you down from your anxiety ridden stupor.

“Really? Because I don’t know about the color… I feel like the eyeliner makes it look clumpy.”

Spencer Reid was trained for this, if the hours of cosmetology research he had done counted for something.

Why you may ask?

Well, the first time you had asked him about your makeup was when you two had first started dating, and it had unfortunately gone a little bit like this:

“Does this look okay?”

“It looks fine, angel.”

“Oh God, I should just start over, shouldn’t I?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Spencer smiles fondly, “It doesn’t look clumpy at all. In fact I think the dark and light colors complement each other well, they make your eyes look large and enchanting.”

And just like that, all of your apprehension melts away. “Oh, good!” You all but cheer.

He watches with a lovesick smile on his face as you pull out outfit-after-outfit from the closet – that’s really more yours than it is his – with an excited grin.

“How about this one?”

Spencer knows he’s in for a long night; with his book long forgotten, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that you have an hour before you guys have to leave.

© ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused .ᐟ

[weavergrovedevotional]

Digging Deep: Why Spending Time in Scripture Matters

In our busy lives, filled with work, family, and endless to-do lists, it can feel like finding time for anything extra is a monumental task. But today, I want to talk about something that isn't just an "extra" – it's a lifeline, a foundation, and a source of immeasurable blessing: spending time studying Scripture.

Think of it like this: imagine building a house. You wouldn't just slap some bricks together and hope for the best, would you? You'd need a solid blueprint, a detailed plan to ensure stability and strength. The Bible is our blueprint for life, given to us by the ultimate architect, God himself.

But just owning the blueprint isn't enough. It needs to be opened, studied, and understood to guide the construction process. Similarly, having a Bible on your shelf is wonderful, but its true power and purpose are unlocked when we actively engage with its pages.

Why is digging into Scripture so vital?

It's how we truly know God. The Bible isn't just a collection of stories; it's God's revealed Word. Through its pages, we learn about His character, His love, His justice, His mercy, and His incredible plan for humanity. How can we truly love and follow someone we don't know? Scripture unveils the heart of our Father.

It equips us for life's challenges. Life throws curveballs. We face trials, temptations, and moments of uncertainty. Scripture provides wisdom, guidance, and comfort in these times. It's our spiritual armor, helping us stand firm in our faith and navigate the storms with God's truth as our compass. As it says in 2 Timothy 3:16-17, "All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work."  

It transforms our hearts and minds. Spending time in Scripture isn't just about gaining knowledge; it's about allowing God's Word to penetrate our hearts and shape our thinking. As we meditate on its truths, the Holy Spirit works within us, convicting, encouraging, and transforming us into the likeness of Christ. It helps us to see the world through God's eyes and align our desires with His.

It strengthens our relationship with Jesus. Jesus himself constantly referred to and quoted Scripture. By immersing ourselves in the Word, we connect with the very words that shaped His life and ministry. It deepens our understanding of His sacrifice, His teachings, and His ongoing presence in our lives.

It provides clarity and discernment. In a world filled with conflicting voices and opinions, Scripture offers a clear and unwavering standard of truth. It helps us discern between what is right and wrong, what is godly and ungodly. It provides a solid foundation upon which to build our beliefs and make wise decisions.

Making Time for the Word:

I know it can feel overwhelming to add another thing to your already packed schedule. But even small, consistent efforts can make a huge difference. Here are a few practical tips:

Start small: Even 15-20 minutes a day can be impactful.

Find a method that works for you: Whether it's reading chronologically, focusing on a specific book, or using a devotional guide, find a way to engage with Scripture that resonates with you.

Be consistent: Aim for a regular time each day, even if it means waking up a little earlier or using your lunch break.

Pray before you read: Ask the Holy Spirit to open your heart and mind to understand God's Word.

Reflect and apply: Don't just read; take time to think about what you've read and how it applies to your life.

Discuss with others: Consider joining a Bible study group to learn from others and share insights.

Friends, let's make a conscious effort to prioritise digging deep into God's Word. It's not a chore; it's an invitation to know God more intimately, to be equipped for life's journey, and to experience the transformative power of His truth. Let's build our lives on the solid foundation of Scripture, one verse at a time.

What are some ways you make time for Scripture in your day?

[tacoguacamole]

ANOTHER TIME (Teaser) JJK

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple. But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Theme: Best friends to lovers to strangers. Marriage AU]

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Future Warnings: Long one-shot, Major Angst. Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Eventual Smut]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The soft hum of ocean wind curls through the half-open window, brushing against the layers of your dress — light ivory silk and whisper-thin tulle that moves like the tide. The bodice hugs your frame with gentle structure, hand-stitched with lace resembling seafoam swirls. A short train pools behind you like a gentle echo of waves. Hair pinned back in a soft, low twist, a single pearl comb tucked above your ear.

You’ve been ready for an hour. And still, you wait.

A knock breaks the silence.

Hobi peeks his head in. “Ready, Mrs. Soon-To-Be Jeon?”

You give a weak smile, the kind that doesn’t quite touch your eyes. “Hey.”

He steps in, holding his hands together like he’s going to burst. “You look stunning. Like, might make Jeongguk cry before you even make it to the aisle stunning.”

You laugh, but it comes out breathy. Your fingers fidget with your dress. “Hobi…”

“Yeah?”

“What if this… changes everything?” He straightens, eyes softening. Allows you to go on and share your worries with the look he sees on your face. “What if we ruin it? What we had? What we have? We've always been best friends before anything else. What if being married ruins that?”

Walking over to you by the dresser, he sits beside you. “You’re scared that love will erase the friendship?”

You nod. “Or twist it. Or make it... different in a way we can’t undo. What if we lose what made us, us?”

Hobi is quiet for a second before he takes your hand and gives the warmth of someone who’s walked beside you through every heartbreak and happy hour, like he’s always done. “You know what I see when I look at you and Jeongguk? Two people who chose each other. Again and again. Through confusion, bad timing, the whole messy ‘do we ruin the friendship’ crisis—hello, I’ve had front row seats.”

You huff out a laugh, watery and small.

“And yet,” he continues, “you still found your way to this moment. Love didn’t replace your friendship. It grew from it. If anything, it’s the strongest damn foundation two people could ever ask for.”

Taking a deep breath, you realize he’s right. He’s right. You know it. You feel it — even now, when doubt tries to knock.

Your chest loosens just a little.

“You’re not losing anything,” he finishes. “You’re building something new — on everything that already made you strong.”

A smile appears. Real this time. “How did I get lucky with you as my second best friend-slash-man of honor-slash-wedding planner-slash-therapist?”

He grins. “Dunno. But I’m billing you later.”

The sun dips low as golden light spills over Gwangalli Beach. Purple tulips sway above the arch over the altar, the sea whispering close behind. A hush falls over the small, intimate crowd as soft music plays and you step into view.

Jeongguk’s breath catches the moment he sees you.

He looks like he’s been waiting his whole life for this.

You walk toward him, and for a moment, everything else fades. Just him — shining in the sun, eyes already glassy, hands slightly trembling. He lets out a breathless laugh, like he can’t believe you’re real.

The officiant speaks, but your hearts are already speaking louder.

When it’s time for vows, Jeongguk reaches for your hands — his grip warm, steady despite the tears threatening in his eyes.

“I don’t remember the exact moment I fell in love with you,” he says, voice thick. “Because it wasn’t just one moment. It was all of them. Every inside joke, every late-night walk, every time you looked at me and saw more than I thought I was, every stupid argument we’ve had over ramen flavors.” The crowd laughs softly. “You were my best friend before anything else. You still are. And I promise, no matter what love turns into, I’ll never stop choosing you.”

Your chest tightens. You try to smile through the tears.

“I never imagined we'd end up here, but I’m so grateful we did,” you begin softly, “You’ve seen every part of me — even the ones I tried to hide — and loved me anyway. Today, I promise to keep choosing you. I promise to love you, even when you leave your outrageous toe socks all over the house.” Another soft laughter comes from the crowd. “I vow to be your rock, your hope and your home. I’m thankful for every moment we’ve shared and I can’t wait for the many more to come. I love you – always and forever.”

The officiant smiles. “You may now kiss—”

Jeongguk doesn’t wait. His hands cradle your face as he leans in, lips meeting yours – soft, sure, filled with every promise you just spoke and the ones you didn’t have to. Everything around you fade. The applause, the waves, the soft music — it all dissolves into the feeling of his arms around you.

Because in that moment, it’s just you and him.

Still standing. Still choosing.

Always.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

You think of the love and happiness that once filled your marriage, a flicker of warmth igniting as you glance at the wedding photo set as your phone’s wallpaper. The photo where you and Jeongguk stood by the altar, laughing, eyes bright with promises that felt endless. His hand linked with yours, a simple touch that once felt like home.

You trace his face on the screen, wishing you could go back to that moment, hold onto that feeling, that warmth.

But all you’re left with is the fading memory, slipping through your fingers.

[fishareglorious]

so like. bluepoch published an entire ass willorine article.

the entire thing is under cut if you don't want to take it to twitter.

The Uluru Qualifiers in London have come to a close, but for Arcanists passionate about the Floor Ritual, this is just the beginning. After a decade of silence, the prodigious competitor Charlotte, now competing under the name "Willow," has returned to the stage. In doing so, she not only secured her place in the Uluru Finals but also helped to clear up the smog and bring back our long-lost sunlight.

While Willow has experienced a triumphant return, star competitor Caroline Bartley's journey has been one of meteoric rise from the very start. What drove her to travel all the way to foggy London for the qualifier, and what compelled her to, even as she was defeated, smile and applaud for her former rival?

"Was it the Uluru Finals? Or the Beltane showcase? No … it goes back further. It all started the first time I saw Charlotte compete in person."

The Original Story

Willow was just eleven years old when she claimed her first gold at the Uluru Finals, making her the youngest champion in history. Her mastery of the Floor Ritual—both in her profound understanding of Arcanum and her technical brilliance—was nothing short of perfection. Before her gold-medal performance, Willow was already a promising competitor, but she was only recognized by the most dedicated Floor Ritual enthusiasts. At the time, the emerging favorite for the championship was Caroline Bartley, while many saw Willow despite her history as a skilled competitor, as someone lacking in the emotional depth of Arcanum.

"Right after the qualifier, there was a journalist who made some snide remarks. I'd love to know what their face looked like when they saw Charlotte become our youngest champion," Caroline said, vividly recalling the incident. When Willow remarked that she "remembers how Caroline looked back then," Caroline quipped that she was only thinking about how she would be the one to defeat Willow next time.

Caroline always regarded Willow as her strongest rival, keeping her as an imaginary opponent for every competition she entered. At the time, all Floor Ritual competitors endured grueling training regimens and strict dietary restrictions, which, at times, even took a physical toll on their health and nutrition.

"We had to maintain a strict body weight. When necessary, I'd consume Arcanum-based foods that elicited a sense of fullness … but only kept the hunger at bay," Caroline shared.

Still, setting Willow as her benchmark was her source of motivation. During the interview, Caroline recalled how her coach once told her that Willow could effortlessly remain airborne for over ten seconds. This pushed Caroline to extend her own airtime.

At the time, both Willow and Caroline were young competitors with many opportunities to face each other on the same stage. The media hailed them as two once-in-a-century prodigies in the Floor Ritual, predicting they would usher in "the era of the black and white swans."

However, the following decade saw these two contemporaneous stars take vastly different paths. One rose to the height of fame, sweeping championships across every major event; while the other vanished from the scene, fading from public memory.

These Ten Years

"From the grand stage of the Uluru Games to specialized competitions, I've participated in a variety of challenges. At the same time, with the invitation of the St. Pavlov Foundation, I joined the effort to revise the standards for Floor Ritual competitions."

Since 1900, the St. Pavlov Foundation has undertaken a series of reforms targeting various events in the Uluru Games, including Floor Ritual. Two decades later, guided by Caroline Bartley's professional advice, the rules for Floor Ritual relaxed their emphasis on technical precision in movement, instead placing greater value on the athletes' connection with and expression of Arcanum. The once-daunting issue of nutritional deficiencies and stunted growth among Floor Ritual competitors has been alleviated, replaced by a focus on overall coordination.

"We all love Floor Ritual, so of course, we want to see it get better," said Caroline.

Thanks to the combined efforts of the St. Pavlov Foundation and Caroline, Floor Ritual has shed its outdated conventions and found a new way forward. However, for Willow, adapting to these changes may take time.

"Our sport is moving in a positive direction. I think every Floor Ritual athlete is happy to see these changes, even if it will take some time to adjust," Willow remarked.

Over the past decade, an eerie screeching noise has frequently emanated from the witch's sinister garden—a sound that neighbors attributed to malevolent curses. In reality, it came from Willow's relentless practice of her Floor Ritual. While the scoring standards for Floor Ritual evolved during Willow's absence, her rigorous training ensured she retained the flexibility and agility essential to the sport.

Caroline, with a smile, added: "I never gave up on bringing Charlotte back to the stage … but more importantly, Charlotte never gave up on herself. Witnessing her return to the spotlight has been nothing short of spectacular for all of us and the sport."

A Story Yet to Begin

After securing her spot in the Uluru Finals, Willow prepared herself extensively. Occasionally, her rival Caroline would join her training sessions. According to both athletes, these joint practices were surprisingly enjoyable.

"I suppose I didn't have much of a choice, considering Caroline is one of today's …" Willow hesitated, looking slightly awkward.

"… top competitors in the Floor Ritual," Caroline finished for her. "While the core techniques of Floor Ritual training haven't changed much, Charlotte still adheres to the strict methods of the past. So, it's important that I stop her from being overly hard on herself."

Since her comeback, Willow has devoted almost all her time to training. There were too many rivals to catch up with and so much to learn. She divided her training into two parts: physical conditioning and technical skills. When she felt overwhelmed, she would retreat to her garden to calm her mind. Now, Willow is ready to compete on the same stage with Caroline once again.

When asked about her expectations for the Uluru Games, Willow replied, "To claim the sun once more." Caroline, on the other hand, said that seeing the sun rise again would bring her more joy than winning the championship.

For both athletes, this might be their last Uluru Games. Yet, in this moment, Willow and Caroline seem as eager and nervous as if they were competing in their very first Uluru Games, filled with excitement and anticipation.

It's as if both the hardships and blessings of this competition have yet to leave any lasting marks on them.

[draurer]

Someone has already posted about this, but the Oliver and Percy dynamic is not the classic "sun x moon". It's "a dude obsessed with one thing" x "a dude obsessed with another thing." In fact, sometimes we miss this important detail, which is built into the foundation of their love as a supporting structure.

Because, well. It literally shows how Oliver and Percy look alike. Oliver is obsessed with Quidditch, for him it's more than just a school sport: he searches for new strategies, studies rivals, studies the weaknesses and strengths of the players in his team, trains them as often as possible, supports, inspires. He literally burns with it, for him it's more than flying or playing – it's his inspiration, his way to realize himself.

Percy, in turn, is obsessed with studying / rules and the desire to build a career – it sounds generalized, but I see (or invent, lol, because I love Percy, don't blame me) what lies behind it. The magical world is an unstable, chaotic place, even at Hogwarts you will NEVER be completely safe (do they even have a fire system or evacuation plans? I don't think so). Through his increased commitment to the rules, Percy is trying to find stability, and his boiler bottom standardization project is literally an attempt to create that stability himself. By the way, ALL of YOU underestimate this project. If there were no different types of dishes for chemical experiments in our world, then every time something would explode or spill, hello chemical burns, so Percy is right about everything, I am his lawyer.

And yes, commitment to the Ministry is also about finding stability. For a long time, the Ministry was one of the few "normal" magical organizations, and YES, it is DIFFICULT to give up such a thing, as well as admit your mistakes.

I just see Percy as a rule-obsessed person because no one seems to care about rules anymore. A friendly reminder – the rules are written in blood and exist for a reason.

And when Oliver and Percy are together, they're just.. two obsessed men. And they LOVE each other's obsessions, they UNDERSTAND each other.

Oliver is literally one of two or three people in the whole world who understands why Percy's projects exist in the Magical Transportation industry, how they work, and what they change. He listens to all Percy's stories about how difficult it is to approve them, all the stories of failed launches or stories of how people refuse to use them because they are used to the old. He knows all his colleagues in the Department only by stories, and he asks over dinner, "well, how is Millie, did she break up with her fiance or not?" or "seriously? Kingsley tell you to finalize the report for the THIRD TIME??". When one of the Weasleys asks him "you don't have to pretend to be interested, Percy left the room anyway," Oliver looks at them with an expression of bewilderment, because he's really interested.

Percy, in turn, also relates to Quidditch. He understands teams and players, knows about famous matches, and has literally studied the most frequent opponents of Oliver's team. He has an analytical mindset, and he can roughly predict how a match between certain teams will go. He's completely on Oliver's side in his crazy love of Quidditch, and he gives the best gifts related to the game – a personalized, custom-made broom, a dragonskin breastplate enchanted to reduce the force of a bludger hit, and the autobiographies of Oliver's idols.

Well. Yeah.

Love is loving your husband's obsession.

[minoulapin]

Chapter One: The Shape of Uncertainty - Between Giving & Taking - Y. JW

Pairing: Demon!Jungwon × Angel!Reader

Genre: Forbidden Love, Fantasy, Romance, Mystery

Wc: 2.7k

Synopsis: A love unspoken, a fate unwritten, An angel and demon, forever forbidden. Bound by the laws of heaven and hell, A story of longing they dare not tell. At the Academy of the Occult, angels and demons coexist under a fragile truce. But when a celestial heir is assassinated, war looms, secrets unravel, and forbidden desires ignite. In a world where their love is a crime, will they defy fate or be consumed by it?

A/N: Coucou! So here’s the first chapter!! I don’t have much to say, it’s mostly to set the stage and get a better feel of their world. Also, since this is my story and I get to decide everything, there was absolutely no way I wasn’t making angel Jake blond… like, imagine Dark Blood era Jake. Okay more specifically, "full" concept Dark Blood Jake. Tbh, I think I imagined all of them looking like their Dark Blood era selves. Hope you enjoy & let me know what you think! -Joe

Tag list: open!! 🏷️ @whateveridontcaresheesh @iifrui @stormy1408 @indigoez @riribelle (Comment to be added)

PROLOGUE | MASTERLIST I NEXT CHAPTER

The Academy of the Occult was never truly neutral. It was a delicate lie, built on the pretense of cooperation, its foundations woven from uneasy alliances and fragile truces. For centuries, it had served as the only place where celestial and infernal forces could coexist without immediate bloodshed, a controlled experiment in diplomacy, designed not for peace, but for containment.

Angels trained to guard the heavens, demons honed their craft to command the underworld. Knowledge was exchanged, but never without a cost. Trust was nothing more than a well-rehearsed illusion, a performance of civility where both sides sharpened their blades beneath the table.

Yet, even an illusion had its limits. And now, it was fracturing.

The assassination of the Celestial Heir had been a spark in a room already drenched in oil. No one knew the assassin's name, no one could trace the hand that had done it, but it didn't matter. The fragile balance had shattered. Suspicion turned into paranoia, paranoia into whispered accusations, and now, every glance between celestial and infernal students carried the weight of an unspoken war.

There were no formal declarations. Not yet.

But war was no longer a question of if.

It was a question of when.

Twilight bled through the Academy's high-arched windows, staining the stone halls in fading gold before it succumbed to shadow. The torches that lined the corridors flickered between celestial and infernal energy, their glow unstable, never quite deciding which side they belonged to. The walls themselves seemed to breathe in the tension, holding onto the weight of centuries-old hatred like a creature waiting for the moment to bare its fangs.

Y/n stood at the edge of the upper corridor, arms lazily draped over the stone railing, watching the slow, inevitable collapse unfold below.

From this height, the courtyard looked like a battleground waiting to happen.

The celestial students stood in carefully constructed stillness, their postures poised but rigid, as if rehearsing restraint. Their faces were unreadable masks, but their hands twitched toward their weapons, a silent readiness simmering beneath their skin.

The demons? They didn't posture. They lounged instead, spines slouched, movements slow and deliberate, their grins all sharp edges. Their laughter wasn't loud, but it was pointed, intentional, a blade pressed lightly to the throat of the moment.

It was like watching two storms edge toward each other, the pressure in the air so thick it could snap.

Jake leaned beside her, arms crossed as he rested his weight against the stone railing. His golden hair caught the last light of the day, casting a faint glow around him, a perfect picture of celestial grace. Unlike Y/n, Jake embodied everything an angel was supposed to be, disciplined, dutiful, unwaveringly loyal to their kind. But he was more than just a soldier of the heavens. He was warm in a way most celestials weren't, easy to trust, steady in a way that made people instinctively look to him for guidance.

"You're staring," he said, voice low but knowing.

Y/n hummed in response, chin resting on her palm. "I'm observing."

Jake scoffed. "Observing, right. That's what you call it when you're getting ready to make my life difficult."

Y/n shot him a sideways glance, a smirk tugging at her lips. Jake was infuriatingly good at reading her. He always had been.

Jake had been a constant in Y/n's life for as long as she could remember. Y/n was a contradiction, a celestial who never quite fit the mold she was supposed to. Where angels were expected to be unwavering, disciplined, and dutiful, she was restless, questioning, always pushing the boundaries of what was allowed. She was sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and exasperatingly stubborn, the kind of person who would rather challenge authority than bow to it. He had always been the responsible one between them, the steady foundation she could fall back on, even when she didn't want to admit she needed it. And she needed it more often than she liked to admit. Her defiance made her an outlier, even among her own kind, but Jake never treated her like she was wrong for being different. He just sighed, rolled his eyes, and made sure she didn't get herself killed in the process of proving a point. Where Y/n was reckless, Jake was careful. Where she challenged everything, he carried the weight of tradition, not because he blindly followed it, but because he believed in something greater than himself. Where Y/n chased danger with relentless curiosity, Jake was the one to pull her back, not because he wanted to control her, but because he didn't know what he would do if something happened to her. They weren't bound by blood, but that had never mattered. Jake treated her like family, like a younger sister who never learned to stay out of trouble. And if protecting her meant dragging her out of her own messes, then so be it.

"You ever get tired of being so paranoid?" she asked lazily.

"You ever get tired of making me paranoid?"

She grinned. "No."

Jake sighed, shaking his head. "Then no, I don't get tired of keeping you from getting yourself killed."

His voice was light, but his eyes weren't. Jake didn't joke about things like that.

He had the kind of goodness that made people gravitate toward him, a warmth most angels lacked, a patience most wouldn't bother with. But when it came to her, that patience ran thin. He didn't just look out for her; he protected her. Sometimes that meant dragging her out of trouble, sometimes it meant standing beside her while she ran headfirst into it. Either way, he'd be there, whether she wanted him to or not.

She let the moment hang in the air for a beat before dropping her gaze back to the courtyard. "The Academy had always had rules. But lately, it feels like those rules don't matter anymore."

Jake followed her gaze, his expression darkening. "They don't."

She tilted her head. "Because of the Heir?"

His jaw tensed. "Because of what the Heir's death means."

The Celestial Heir. The one who had been meant to rule. The one who had been untouchable, until he wasn't.

His death had sent ripples through the Academy, but instead of seeking truth, both sides had responded in the only way they knew how.

With violence.

Y/n tapped her fingers against the railing, eyes narrowing. "I want to know who did it. Not because of celestial honor, or justice, or whatever nonsense the Council preaches—"

Jake cut in, his tone flat. "You just want to see how they pulled it off."

She turned her head slightly, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. "Jake" she said suddenly, her voice edged with something unreadable. "Someone outmaneuvered the system. Someone broke a rule no one was supposed to break. And if I can figure out how, maybe I can figure out what else is being kept from us."

Jake exhaled slowly. "And if you don't like the answer?"

Y/n's lips quirked. "I'm not picky."

Jake sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Of course you would say that."

She smirked. "What, do you want me to sit here quietly and be a model celestial?"

Jake gave her a deadpan look. "I'd like you to at least pretend that your survival instincts work properly."

She shrugged. "No promises."

Jake groaned. "Why am I even surprised?"

Then, a sharp crack split through the air below them.

Magic, dark and searing, collided with a celestial shield, sending a shockwave rippling through the courtyard.

She barely registered Jake's curse before she was moving.

By the time they reached the courtyard, the tension had already shattered.

And at the center of it all was Sunoo.

It was no secret that Sunoo despised demons more than any other celestial. He never bothered with quiet resentment, he wore his distaste plainly, like a blade strapped to his hip. While angels preached restraint, Sunoo had always worn his hatred like a dare, an unspoken challenge to anyone willing to test it.

But the reason why? That was something no one truly understood.

Some whispered that he had lost someone, family, a mentor, a lover, to the infernals. Others believed it was something more innate, a hatred passed through bloodlines, a belief so deeply ingrained that it had become part of him.

But if there was one thing everyone agreed on, it was this—

Sunoo never picked fights without reason.

And yet, here he was, standing alone.

Y/n's gaze swept the courtyard, searching for the missing piece.

Sunoo wasn't just standing his ground. He was waiting. His golden light flickered, controlled but coiled, shifting between attack and restraint.

The demons circling him weren't reckless. They were patient.

They weren't looking for a fight. They were waiting for him to break.

And the air, the air felt wrong.

She felt it before she even made the decision to move. A pulse, deep inside her chest.

Not fear.

Not concern.

An unease she couldn't name.

Like the world was holding its breath.

Her fingers curled. This doesn't make sense.

Why hadn't Sunoo struck first? Why was this taking so long? And why was no one stepping in?

The world was built on rules, spoken and unspoken.

But in moments like this, she hated them.

She didn't just want to interfere. She needed to know.

She Felt It Before She Moved.

The anticipation. The way the air had thickened, not just with magic, but with tension so dense it felt suffocating.

The demons were playing with their food, dragging this out because they could.

It coiled inside her like an itch she couldn't scratch. Frustration. Restlessness. A hunger for answers.

And when Jake's hand closed around her wrist to stop her—

Her magic flared.

It wasn't intentional. It never was.

A flicker of golden light curled at her fingertips, too sharp, too unstable, too unnatural.

Jake's grip tightened, just slightly. His expression didn't change.

He didn't need it to.

Because this wasn't new.

Because he had known since they were kids.

Because when they were younger, he used to panic.

And now? Now he just waited for it to pass.

She sucked in a breath, forcing it back down. Not now. Not here.

Not like before.

Not like the day the temple floor blackened beneath her hands, the stone hissing as if rejecting her touch.

Not like the time she cast a spell without speaking, without meaning to, without knowing how, only for the air to tremble in response.

Not like the day she first realized she wasn't stronger than the others.

She was weaker.

That's how they saw it, anyway.

And then, before she could stop herself, she was already moving.

"Y/n."

Jake's voice was sharp, cutting through the tension, his fingers wrapping around her wrist before she could take another step.

"Don't."

She didn't look at him.

"He's outnumbered."

Jake exhaled sharply, his grip tightening for a split second before letting go. "That's his problem."

His voice was steady, but his eyes weren't.

He wasn't heartless. But he was pragmatic. He knew when to pick battles and when to let things play out.

But Y/n had never been like that.

And he knew it.

"Not this again," he muttered, voice low, rough. "You don't even know what's happening."

She didn't care.

"That's why I have to."

She was already moving.

Jungwon Wasn't Interested in the Fight.

He never was.

Demons found sport in provoking celestials, testing their restraint, pushing them past their supposed divinity, but to Jungwon, it was predictable. Monotonous.

A celestial with a bruised ego was still just a celestial. They all bled the same.

So when Sunoo became the target, Jungwon didn't even lift his head.

Not his problem.

The fight had been escalating, but it was the same tired game they played every day. A push, a shove, a drawn blade. Sunoo was making it worse, his presence a challenge in itself. It was no secret that he hated demons. He made sure everyone knew it.

But then—

Something changed.

A voice, sharp, teasing, unafraid.

Jungwon barely turned his head, gaze flicking toward the scene, boredom shifting into intrigue.

He had been watching her for exactly seven seconds.

That was how long it had taken him to go from dismissing her to wondering why he'd never looked at her before.

She wasn't supposed to be interesting.

Celestials weren't supposed to be interesting.

And yet, here she was, acting like the rules didn't apply to her.

She wasn't Just Interfering, She Was Playing Them.

"This is getting embarrassing," Y/n drawled, tilting her head. "I thought demons were supposed to be good at fighting. Or is ganging up on someone the best you can do?"

Several demons turned to her, some amused, others irritated.

One scoffed. "Brave words for someone standing alone."

She shrugged. "Alone? Hardly. I'm just not dumb enough to throw a punch when my words will do the work for me. Unlike you."

She was testing them.

Jungwon's lips twitched. Foolish, but amusing.

She was pushing their nerves, taunting the demons, and they were letting her.

For a moment.

And then, the shift.

Jungwon felt it before it happened.

The amusement in the air curdled.

The anger shifted from controlled to dangerous.

Jungwon's gaze locked onto the demon just before he moved.

Y/n didn't notice.

Jungwon did.

And just as the demon lunged—

Jungwon struck first.

The Atmosphere Collapsed.

The impact was immediate. A single, precise movement, effortless, almost casual, sent the demon flying backward, crashing into the stone wall.

A sickening thud.

Then, silence.

Every demon in the courtyard froze.

Every celestial stared.

Because Jungwon hadn't just stopped an attack.

He had stopped one of his own.

She felt the shift like a storm breaking open.

Magic still crackled in the air, but the fight had already ended.

Because Jungwon had ended it.

Her breath was steady, but she could feel the pulse of her own heartbeat against her ribs.

Jungwon had moved before she could.

And that fact bothered her.

Y/n Met His Gaze, Unwavering.

"You..." Her voice didn't waver, but her mind raced. "Why?"

Jungwon rolled his shoulders, unbothered.

"He was in my way."

She frowned. "Your way to what?"

Jungwon tilted his head slightly. "Leaving."

Like this wasn't worth his time.

He turned on his heel, already walking away.

And something in her bristled.

"You don't seem like the type to get involved."

Jungwon paused.

A slow glance over his shoulder. Unimpressed. Unbothered.

"I don't."

She crossed her arms. "Then why did you?"

His lips twitched. "What, do you want a thank you?"

Y/n scoffed. "No, I want a real answer."

Jungwon turned back fully now, facing her. This time, he looked at her differently.

"Alright." His lips curved. "You were entertaining. That's all."

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "So you just felt like intervening?"

Jungwon took a step closer, tilting his head slightly.

"Yes."

And the way he said it, calm, effortless, honest, sent something cold down her spine.

Not because she feared him.

But because she didn't understand him.

The Fight Was Over. But Y/n Wasn't Done.

A sharp voice rang across the courtyard.

"Enough!"

Professors.

Jungwon didn't linger. His interest was already fading.

But Y/n?

She watched as he walked away, irritation simmering in her chest.

Something about this felt... unfinished.

She had a feeling this wasn't the last time they'd cross paths.

And she wasn't sure whether that thought unsettled her or thrilled her.

Jake Had Been Waiting.

Before she could process what happened, Jake appeared beside her, grabbing her arm.

"Alright, that's enough. Let's go."

She wrenched her arm free, eyes still locked on Jungwon's retreating form. "Did you see that?" she hissed. "He's so—so—"

Jake sighed. "Arrogant? Yeah. Dangerous? Also yes. And yet, you keep making this harder for yourself."

She crossed her arms. "I'm just saying—"Nope. Not listening."

Jake grabbed her wrist and dragged her away from the fight.

Jungwon, now halfway across the courtyard, smirked as he watched them leave.

Fascinating.

An angel who doesn't know when to stand down.

PROLOGUE | MASTERLIST I NEXT CHAPTER

🏷️ @whateveridontcaresheesh @stormy1408 @indigoez @riribelle @iifrui (comment if you’d like to join)