#but when i do that the fic almost never shows up in tags so *shrugs*

[woniedarlin]

Shared Custody

Pairing: Ex! Jungwon x reader

Synopsis: Breaking up with Jungwon was one thing. But agreeing to co-parent a dog afterward? That was how you ended up in the weirdest post-breakup situation ever. Because what kind of exes still see each other at precisely 10 a.m?

You broke up. You’re sure of it. So why does it feel like your relationship never ended? Just… got a schedule and a leash?

Author's note: Another fic has been sitting in the drafts for too long. I finally decided to share it with you all. Hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!

Warnings: This story contains equal parts fluff and angst, with a dash of unresolved feelings, awkward ex moments, and a dog that might steal the spotlight. Reader discretion is advised! 🐾

Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20

Here’s the thing no one tells you about breakups:

When you two bought a dog together while you were still dating, breaking up isn’t just about parting ways with a person. You get partial custody of an emotional support furball with no idea why mom and dad stopped living together. The breakup was mutual. There was no shouting, no ugly crying, no one storming out at 2 a.m. with a suitcase and a dramatic one-liner.

It was a quiet and tired conversation on the couch. Some nods. A few long silences. And Maeumi, curled up between you, unaware that his life was about to get complicated.

You probably should’ve fought over him. Or at least discussed like rational adults. Instead, you both just… didn’t let go. Now, you set schedules like divorced parents. Only with more awkward small talk and a lot of pretending it’s totally normal to see your ex every other day at exactly 10:00 a.m.

It started with meetups. Hand off the leash, say a polite hello, smile as if it doesn’t sting anymore. Then it became coffee afterwards. Then breakfast “because he looks hungry and I’m already here anyway.”

Then, last weekend, Maeumi ate an entire bag of chips and got sick all over Jungwon’s living room, which somehow led to you arguing about brand-name kibble.

“You were the one who said he needed variety!”

“Variety doesn’t mean junk food!”

“They were organic!”

“He threw up on my socks, (name).”

And you’re not proud of it, but you laughed. A little too hard. Then Jungwon laughed, and it felt like nothing had changed for a moment.

But everything had.

Now, you’re waiting for Jungwon in the usual meeting spot, Maeumi’s leash wrapped loosely around your wrist as he trots in excited little circles. Jungwon’s late. Not by much, just five minutes. Enough to make you wonder if he’s okay. Enough to make you check your phone. He shows up a minute later, hair a bit messy, holding two coffees. “Sorry,” he says. “I stopped by that place you like. The one with the stupid tiny straws.”

You take the cup without a word.

Maeumi barks, happy as ever, tail wagging because it was the best part of his week. Seeing his divorced parents together! ૮ ˶ˆ ﻌ ˆ˶ ა

“Did he eat?” Jungwon asks.

You replied. “Yeah. But he thinks spinning in a circle gets him more food now.”

Jungwon sighs. “You didn’t.”

You shrug. “It was funny. He almost knocked over my lamp trying it this morning.”

There was a slight pause before, “He seemed to miss you a lot when he was with me last week. A good thing he has spent with you these past few days.” Jungwon says, nudging Maeumi’s head.

You nod, eyes on your coffee cup. “I missed him too.”

You’re not sure which of them you’re talking about.

🍎

Maeumi planted his butt on the floor and refused to move. You tugged the leash gently. “Come on, it’s Dad’s turn.” Maeumi looked at you. Then looked at Jungwon. Then flopped onto his side. You sighed. “He’s being a brat again.”

Jungwon crouched beside you, holding out a treat from his pocket. “Maeumi, let’s not do this today.”

Maeumi sniffed the treat, stood up halfway, then turned around and pressed himself against your leg.

You and Jungwon exchanged a look.

“I think he’s made his choice,” you said.

“It’s not even a choice. It’s supposed to be my weekend.”

“You tell him that.”

Jungwon sighed and looked down at Maeumi, who was now rolling over, belly up, smug as ever. “You’re a traitor. You know that?”

Maeumi sneezed in response.

Eventually, after five minutes of bargaining and light bribery, Jungwon stepped inside your apartment to get him moving. One minute turned into five. Then ten. Now you were both sitting on the couch, a lukewarm mug of tea in his hands, Maeumi curled between you like a peace treaty in dog form. “You know,” you said, watching as Maeumi kicked his leg in his sleep, “he wasn’t like this when we first got him.”

“Nope,” Jungwon muttered. “He used to listen to me. Now he acts like he pays rent.”

“That’s your influence.”

He shot you a look. “My influence? You’re the one who started giving him tiny portions of your dinner because he’s a spoiled prince.”

You shrugged and grinned. “He deserves nice things.”

“He eats better than me.”

Jungwon glanced at you for too long, then looked away and sipped his tea.

You didn’t notice.

Well, yeah, you did, but you were pretending not to.

Jungwon leaned back a little. Then he looked toward the kitchen. And then he saw it. The mug. The one he bought for your birthday two years ago. You loved it to the point that you used it daily while you two were still dating. He nodded toward the cupboard. “Didn’t think you still had that.”

You glanced over. “Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything else, but his eyes stayed on it. That dumb, ceramic memory sitting there as if it had every right to exist in a post-breakup world.

You added, “It’s a good mug.”

Jungwon barely smiled. “Yeah. Real high quality.”

You didn’t reply.

He looked back at Maeumi, who was still fast asleep between you, snoring lightly. “I keep one of your spoons in my drawer,” Jungwon said suddenly.

Your head turned. “What?”

“You left it after that one trip. The one where we bought those instant noodles that tasted like cardboard.”

“Oh. Right.” You stared ahead. “That was a good weekend.”

“It rained.”

“I like rain.”

You both nodded and pretended the conversation didn’t sting a little.

Maeumi snored louder as if he were trying to cover the silence.

🍎

Your phone buzzed at 11:42 p.m.

You were half-asleep. Maeumi had gone home with Jungwon hours ago, but the apartment still felt…full.

You grabbed your phone.

Jungwon [11:42 PM]

Thanks for taking care of him this week. He seemed extra happy. When he saw you, his tail wagged about ten times per second.

You smiled without meaning to, your thumb hovering over the keyboard to send a quick "anytime" or maybe a "he missed you too."

But another message came in before you could type.

Jungwon [11:43 PM]

You’re still the easiest person to talk to.

You stared at the screen.

You didn’t know what to say. Or perhaps you did, and that was the problem.

So you… didn’t reply.

🍎

Jungwon sat on the curb's edge, nursing a canned coffee. Sunghoon was sipping from his drink, watching him spiral in silence. “I’m losing it,” Jungwon finally said. “She still knows how I take my coffee. Didn’t even ask.”

Sunghoon glanced over. “She made it the same way she used to? Back when you two were together?”

Jungwon nodded slowly. “Exactly like that.”

“And you’re upset because…?”

“I don’t know,” Jungwon shaked his head. “She laughs at my jokes the same way. She still says ‘bless you’ when I fake sneeze for attention. And today, I saw the mug I got for her birthday two years ago, sitting in her cupboard like it never left.”

“Maybe it’s just a good mug?” Sunghoon offered.

Jungwon stared at him. “That mug has a whale on it saying ‘whale you be mine.’ It wasn’t just a mug.”

Sunghoon choked on his drink and wiped his mouth. “Okay, yeah, that’s tragic.”

“And she still wears my hoodie,” Jungwon added. “She likes that hoodie.”

Sunghoon crossed his arms. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna ask for the hoodie back and confess your undying love in the same breath?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought I was over her. I thought we were fine being exes who raise a dog together.” Jungwon let out a long sigh and tilted his head back. “I don’t know when it started feeling like this again.”

Sunghoon crumpled his empty drink can and tossed it into the bin beside them. “You mean the part where you show up with her favorite foods, sit on her couch like you never left, and keep pretending Maeumi’s the only reason you’re still hanging around?”

Jungwon looked at Sunghoon. “…Okay, rude. But not wrong.”

“Exactly. Look, man.” Sunghoon turned to face him fully now. “You two broke up. Sure. But you’re still texting her late at night, still wearing the cologne she once said smelled nice, and still looking at her like she’s the only person in the room.”

Jungwon groaned. “She’s just being nice. She always was.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “No one’s that nice, bro. She has your hoodie. She made you pancakes last week. You said she cut the strawberries the way you like them.”

“She always cuts the ends-”

“Exactly.” Sunghoon gave him a look. “At this point, you’re not just co-parenting a dog. You’re toeing the line of a romcom reboot.” He added, “Seriously, who even does this? Shared custody over a dog? With your ex? This is the weirdest post-breakup dynamic I’ve ever seen.”

Jungwon didn’t even deny it. He muttered, “…Yeah, but it’s kind of working.”

Sunghoon nodded solemnly. “You’re doomed.”

Jungwon groaned. “I think I’m accidentally falling in love with her again.”

“No such thing as accidental. You just never stopped.”

🍎

Maeumi wasn’t himself. You noticed it the moment he refused his dinner. He moved slowly, dragging his paws across the floor, and his eyes looked distant. Something was off. He usually had a healthy appetite, but tonight, nothing. You knelt beside him, gently rubbing his back. “Hey, Maeumi, what’s going on?”

He let out a weak whimper. Panic rose in your chest. You didn’t know what was wrong but knew you needed help. You grabbed your phone without thinking.

Jungwon picked up almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” His voice was concerned, even though he wasn’t sure what was happening.

“Maeumi’s sick. He won’t eat, he’s not moving much… I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Don’t worry. I’m coming over.”

It didn’t take long for him to arrive, his face tense as he crouched down to Maeumi’s level. The dog barely acknowledged him, enough to make you both nervous. “We should take him to the vet,” Jungwon said after a moment.

You nodded, already on the phone, setting up an appointment. The drive was tense, your hand gripping the door handle while Jungwon kept one hand on the wheel, his eyes between you and Maeumi.

When you finally arrived at the clinic, it was quiet. You and Jungwon waited in the sterile, cold waiting room. Maeumi was lying on your lap, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. You rubbed his head absentmindedly, trying to calm yourself. “He’s going to be okay,” Jungwon said quietly, glancing over at you.

You nodded but didn’t answer. He touched his hand lightly near yours as he reached for the water cup beside you, and for a fleeting second, you felt his warmth. You looked at him, but his gaze was somewhere else, not meeting yours.

For a brief moment, you wondered if he missed this. If he missed you. But before you could even entertain the thought, the door to the exam room opened, and the vet emerged, pulling your focus back to Maeumi. Jungwon stood up. “He’ll be fine,” he said.

And you weren’t sure what to make of it, but for the first time since your breakup, you couldn’t ignore how much it stung to see him so close yet still so distant.

🍎

By the time you and Jungwon returned from the vet, Maeumi was already dozing off on the couch, wrapped in an old blanket and looking much more himself. The panic had eased. You stood by the kitchen, hands on the counter, watching Jungwon kneel to check Maeumi. You glanced at the time. “It’s late. You should eat before you head back.”

Jungwon looked up. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I was gonna cook anyway,” you said, opening the fridge. “Don’t expect a five-course meal, though.”

“I never did,” he said, smiling as he joined you in the kitchen. “You still burn rice, don’t you?”

You gave him a light shove with your elbow. “That happened once. And the pot betrayed me.”

Then, he washed the vegetables while you stirred the soup. It was annoyingly comfortable.

By the time dinner was done, the table was set. Jungwon set down the last dish and glanced over at you. “This… feels like we never broke up,”

You froze. Then, you replied, “We never used to have this much garlic.”

He huffed a small laugh but didn’t push it. And for the rest of dinner, neither of you brought it up again.

🍎

The dishes were washed. The leftovers are packed. Maeumi, finally feeling a bit better, had claimed his usual spot at the foot of your couch, tail thumping gently as he dozed. You stood near the sink, drying your hands on a dish towel, when Jungwon spoke from behind you. “I didn’t just miss Maeumi, you know.”

“I miss…” He let out a soft breath. “I miss all of it.”

“Do you still think about us?” he asked.

The silence was deafening. You felt him watching your back, waiting. And if the room had stayed that quiet a second longer, you would’ve said something honest. But Maeumi barked as if he’d sensed the tension rising and decided to cut it clean. You both jumped slightly. You turned with a light laugh, avoiding his gaze. “I think someone needs his water refilled.”

Jungwon didn’t press. He nodded before crouching to check Maeumi’s bowl.

Neither of you said anything else.

But the question stayed.

🍎

It happens on a night that should’ve been uneventful. A regular handoff. Maeumi is snoozing on your carpet, belly full. Jungwon’s quiet tonight. You notice it right away, but you pretend not to. You handed over Maeumi’s leash, but he didn’t take it. “You still have my hoodie,” he says.

You glance up. “What?”

He gestures vaguely toward the coat rack. “The gray one. I saw it last week. You used to sleep in it.”

You shrug. “It’s comfortable.”

His jaw tightens, but he laughs a little. “Everything I gave you is ‘comfortable,’ huh?”

You don’t answer.

“I saw your story the other day,” he adds. “Looked like a date.”

Now, you furrow your eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Jungwon runs a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

“No,” you say. “You brought it up. So say it.”

“It’s confusing. For one moment, we laughed as if nothing had changed. Then, in the next instant, I remember how you used to fall asleep on my chest or steal all the blankets.” His voice wavers for a moment, but he pushes on. “I just can’t tell if I’m the only one stuck in the past or you’re better at pretending.”

You hesitate, then quietly. “I wish I could say I moved on, but I haven't.”

Jungwon’s shoulders drop a little. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?”

He looks down. “Because you looked like you were doing okay. And I didn’t want to make it harder if you were healing.”

“I wasn’t okay,” you say softly. “I’m still not.”

Jungwon lifts his head, his eyes locking with yours. “Neither am I.”

“I miss you,” he says. “Not just Maeumi. Not just Saturday mornings. I miss… talking to you. I miss knowing how you’re doing without having to ask.”

You look away. “Then why are we doing this?” you whisper. “Why are we acting like we’re fine?”

He lets out a breath. “Because maybe we don’t know how to be anything else.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He says, more gently this time, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start an argument.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t.”

He bends down and clips the leash onto Maeumi’s collar. The dog wags his tail, clueless, happy just to be loved by both of you. Jungwon straightens up but doesn’t turn to leave right away. He looks around your apartment. His eyes land briefly on the hoodie by the coat rack, then the familiar mug on your kitchen shelf.

“I still love you,” he says suddenly.

You freeze.

“I didn’t think I should say it. I didn’t want to make this harder. I thought… maybe it’d get easier if I stopped talking about it. But it didn’t.”

He’s not asking for anything. Not a hug. Not a kiss. Not to come back. He was standing there with his hand gently resting on Maeumi’s back because it kept him from breaking. “You laughed at one of my jokes last week,” he says softly. “And for a second, I forgot we weren’t together anymore. That’s how easy it is to fall back into you.”

You swallow hard. But he keeps going.

“I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. Or corner you. I just needed you to know. It wasn’t because I stopped feeling everything when we broke up. I was scared. And tired. And maybe I thought it’d hurt less if we ended it on our terms.”

He finally looks at you. “But it still hurts.”

Maeumi lets out a soft bark. Jungwon reaches down and scratches behind his ears; for a second, it’s just the sound of his hand brushing fur. Then he straightens again, but now you notice his eyes are a bit glassy. “I’ll take him tonight. I’ll text you tomorrow. If you need anything, or if… you want to talk more, I’m one call away.”

You nod. Slowly. You can’t get your voice to work. But your eyes say enough.

Jungwon opens the door and glances back just once. “Goodnight,” he says.

And then they’re gone.

🍎

Jungwon sits on the edge of his bed, hair slightly damp from a rushed shower. Maeumi is curled beside him, his head resting on his paw, and his eyes blinking up at him as if he understands more than a dog ever should. Jungwon takes a small breath and runs a hand through Maeumi’s fur. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” he mutters. “I didn’t yell.”

Maeumi blinks again.

“Okay,” Jungwon sighed, leaning back a little, “I maybe said too much.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Maeumi,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “She just looked at me like I was someone from a different life. That sucked.’’ Jungwon glances down and smiles sadly. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “Mommy and Daddy were just having a little disagreement.”

He lays back on the bed. “I’ll bring her back,” he whispers. “I swear, Maeumi. I’ll bring your mom back to me.”

Maeumi lets out a soft woof.

🍎

The rain had been pouring since morning. You didn’t expect anyone when the doorbell rang, especially not Jungwon. But there he was. Standing at your doorway, drenched from head to toe, Maeumi dripped beside him and looked more like a soggy mop than a dog. “Uh,” Jungwon offered sheepishly. “He refused to walk anywhere else.”

You said in disbelief. “You could’ve called.”

“I did. You didn’t answer.”

You step aside. “Come in before Maeumi gets mistaken for a wet sock.”

Towels came out. You wrapped one around Maeumi, rubbing his fur as he wagged his tail. Jungwon was quieter. You handed him a dry hoodie from your closet, which was his, actually. It still smelled like him, though it had sat folded for months.

He changed. You made tea. He sat across you on the couch, rubbing Maeumi’s ears absently. “I’ve been thinking,” Jungwon started, voice gentle. “We weren’t ready back then. But maybe now…”

You looked at him, guarded. “I’ve changed,” he continued. “You have too. And I don’t just mean getting better at feeding Maeumi actual food.” You smiled a little. He took it as permission. “I guess I want to say I’m sorry. For everything I didn’t say before. For not knowing how to stay when things got hard.”

You met his gaze. “I’m sorry, too. For pushing you away when I didn’t know what I needed.”

“Do you think Maeumi would be okay if we lived together again?” Jungwon asked suddenly, eyes hopeful.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking for the dog or for you?”

A sheepish smile curved his lips. “Both.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned into his shoulder, your head resting there like it used to. “Maybe we could try again,” you said quietly. “For real this time.”

Jungwon’s hand found yours.

Maeumi snored at your feet.

And outside, the rain kept falling, washing everything clean.

[spencerreidenjoyer]

guess | spencer reid x reader

wc: 2.3k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, alcohol consumption (reader is not drunk during sex), lingerie, munch!spencer, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

a/n: heavily inspired by guess by charli xcx ft. billie eilish, specifically billie's verse. yes the song dropped yesterday. yes i listened to the song once and decided to write a fic about it. i'm insane about s7/8 reid rn so :) (also posted on ao3!)

You swear you don’t mean to show off, but the miniskirt you’re in doesn’t help your case in the slightest.

Spencer had told you to join him at the bar for drinks with his coworkers, the bar just a couple blocks down from the club you were at with your friends. Your boyfriend had been away for most of this week and you really wanted to see him, so you don’t think twice about popping by to see Spencer. Besides, you hadn’t seen Penelope, JJ and Emily in a while either, and those girls treat you too kindly.

You realise how skimpily dressed you are when you walk into the bar, though, when you approach the very properly-dressed group of FBI agents at a booth in the corner. Your top is cropped and low-cut, revealing your cleavage, and you were wearing a little black miniskirt, the hem of which barely skirted the tops of your thighs.

Spencer has never commented on your fashion choices, often being the very satisfied recipient of your sometimes revealing outfits. But as you greet the BAU, his eyes are dark and hungry as they roam your figure. You smile at him with a whispered “Hi, baby,” before you kiss him chastely. The look on Spencer’s face is unreadable, other than the fact that you know he appreciates the view.

His gaze darts up at Derek from across the booth when he whistles at you.

“Looking good, mama.” Derek waggles his eyebrows at you, earning him a smack to the chest from Penelope and a hearty chuckle from Emily.

You lean over to hug JJ, Penelope and Emily in that order on the other side of the table, and you feel Spencer’s hand quickly snake across your waist, pulling you back to sit down. You glance over at him briefly, but he only keeps his gaze straight ahead.

“You are one lucky guy, Reid,” Emily laughs, and you feel Spencer’s arm curl around you tighter, pulling you in closer.

The rest of the night is pretty fun, cracking jokes and talking with Spencer’s team, but with the alcohol in your system from earlier, it only takes a few more drinks for you to get drunk. You’re extra giggly, half-sitting in Spencer’s lap, his hand not leaving your side. You feel the rumble in his chest when he speaks, saying, “I think we’re going to head home first. This one here seems a little drunk already.”

“I’m not drunk,” you lilt, rolling your eyes. You lay your head on Spencer’s shoulder, blinking hard before you meet Penelope’s gaze. You hear Emily defending you about how you aren’t drunk, but Penelope smiles at you and says, “I think boy genius is right.”

You frown deeply, almost comically so. “Penny! You’re supposed to back me up here!”

Penelope laughs, always so kind to you. “Come on, honey. Let Reid take you home.”

You huff, crossing your arms like a petulant child. You don’t notice the way Spencer’s gaze darts down to your chest shamelessly. Derek whistles, and you assume Spencer must glare at him because Derek is raising his hands in surrender, telling Spencer he doesn’t mean anything. What were they even talking about? You don’t know, but Spencer is murmuring in your ear about getting a taxi home, and after you say goodbye to all of his friends, you’re letting him guide you out of the bar and into the cool night.

You shiver, the very little fabric you have on not doing you any favours when the temperature drops. Spencer is quick to shrug off his jacket and help you put it on. His jacket is long enough on you, considering Spencer’s height, to cover your skirt.

“I swear alcohol’s supposed to warm you up,” you grumble, holding your arms close to your chest as you try to stay warm. “I’m fucking freezing.”

“You feel warmer for a bit because the alcohol is a vasodilator – it causes the blood vessels under your skin to dilate, increasing blood flow, which makes you feel warmer. If you drink more, the higher levels of alcohol actually work to shrink your blood vessels instead and make you feel cold. Do you have a headache?”

You shake your head, but take the chance to snuggle up to Spencer now. “You feel nice and warm.”

“Good,” Spencer says, holding you close. In no time, he flags down a taxi, and you two pile in and drive towards his apartment.

Spencer’s hand is drawing circles into the side of your thigh, mindless, but the touch is incredibly distracting. You ask him softly, “You’ve been touching me all night, Spence. Something on your mind?”

“You,” he whispers back. “Can’t stop thinking about your underwear.”

You squeak at his brazenness, smacking his chest. “You– Spencer!”

“I got a good look when you were practically bent over the table just now,” Spencer continues, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “Didn’t even give me a chance to guess.”

You gape at him like a fish, but Spencer smiles and murmurs in your ear, “You know how much I love when you wear that lacy black pair.”

You bite down on your lip, trying not to moan like a whore in the back of this taxi. You just look at him, silently wishing he’d do something. Spencer presses a kiss to your jaw, and you feel your cheeks heat.

Thankfully, the driver is quick to announce that you’re at your destination, and you and Spencer stumble out of the cab quicker than you’d like to admit. Spencer doesn’t even wait for his change before he slams the car door shut.

Spencer crowds you against the back of the elevator, an old, rickety thing with no camera, so you feel less bad when Spencer slips his hand under your skirt and past your panties, his finger sliding between your wet folds. “Spencer!”

“You’re so wet for me already,” Spencer groans, kissing down your neck desperately. His fingers are so tantalising, rubbing up against your clit, your hole. “You’re so sexy.”

“Spencer,” you whine. “Hurry up and fuck me.”

The elevator doors creak open on Spencer’s floor. “Let’s go, then.”

Spencer barely locks the door behind you before he’s kissing you, eager and sloppy and desperate. It’s so hot, his large hands on your waist pulling you closer to him, and you feel the growing problem in the front of his pants.

“Spencer,” you moan. You feel his hands push up your skirt, feel him wedge his leg between your thighs. You must be soaked through your underwear by now, and you shamelessly rut your hips forward to grind against his leg.

“You know I love your fashion sense, my love, but this is slutty even for you.” Spencer’s voice is dark when he says it, and you whimper. “You’re dressed like you want somebody else’s attention.”

Your eyes widen and you look up at him. “No!”

“Derek was eyeing you like a piece of meat earlier. Emily, too.” Spencer frowns.

“I only want you, baby,” you insist, holding onto Spencer’s arms. “Only want you to notice me.”

“I am the only one who knows the colour of your underwear,” Spencer hums, his fingers skirting the waistband of your panties. “And fuck, you look good in them.”

“Please, Spence,” you whine, your plea lilting off into a gasp as Spencer lifts you, getting you to wrap his legs around him. You’d seen how he looked when he was younger, so scrawny he looked like he’d get swept away if the wind blew too hard, but now, he’s got more meat on his bones. His body is a pleasure to look at, let alone feel under your hands, which you’re happy to do now.

You touch the firm lines of his body through his shirt, as Spencer carries you to his bedroom. You mumble, hands frisky, “You’re so hot.”

“Says you,” Spencer smiles. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.”

You grin as he lays you on his bed, gasping when he slides his palm over your wet cunt through your underwear. His thumb flicks over your clit through the lace, the material dulling the electrifying sensation. you whine, “Spencer, please.”

Spencer tsks, looking down at you. “Let me take my time with you, darling. You’ve been teasing me all evening.”

He presses his thumb against your clit a little harder, making you moan loudly. While he tends to tower over you in bed, you also deeply appreciate the view of him getting on his knees so he can make a home between your thighs. His hair is wild, unruly, and you run your hand through it, admiring it. Keeping your gaze, Spencer leans down to kiss your pussy.

You feel his warm breath on you, the scratch of his stubble on your skin, pinned down simply by his gaze as his tongue darts out to lick you over your underwear. You whimper, as Spencer wraps his arms around each of your thighs, using you as an anchor as he presses his face between your legs.

You sob, because what Spencer’s giving you just isn’t enough, not when you need to feel his tongue on your cunt. He thumbs at your hole through the fabric, dipping into your wetness in a cruel approximation of the pleasure he usually gives you.

“Fuck me,” you groan. “Take my panties off already.”

“Not yet,” Spencer hums. Instead, he pushes your panties to the side, lets his fingers slide over your cunt. You gasp at the sensation, his rough, calloused fingers sliding over your wetness, and then you feel the warmth of his tongue.

The sounds his mouth makes as he eats you out are filthy, obscene. His tongue flicks over your cunt with a practised precision, familiar with what makes you tick, the wet, slick sounds too overwhelming. Your toes are curling with how good Spencer makes you feel – legs trembling, breathing heavy. You can’t stop the whimpers that leave your lips, almost helpless in the way you moan for him.

“Please,” your voice is shaky as you cry out for Spencer. “I need you so bad, baby."

Spencer hums against your cunt, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine in your pleasure. “Okay, my darling.”

Finally, finally, he’s sitting up and pulling your panties down, your little skirt still pushed up to expose your cunt. You look up at him, silently wondering why he hasn’t taken it off. He plays with the soft fabric in his hands almost absentmindedly and says, “I think we should keep it on.”

You blink up at him, not coherent enough to say anything about it. Instead, you watch him take his shirt off – you whistle at the sight, while he just rolls his eyes. He unbuckles his belt and push his pants down, his cock bobbing up, hard and red and leaky. You bite your lip, thinking about how he’ll feel inside of you.

“Kiss me,” you whine, and Spencer smiles at you. He tastes of you when his lips press against yours, and he’s quick to deepen it, his tongue in your mouth, like he's close to devouring you whole.

While he kisses you hungrily, you feel his hand between your legs, moving to line himself up with your entrance. You moan as the blunt head of his cock presses up against your hole, the sensation you’ve been craving all evening. Cruelly, he rubs up against you just like that, sliding between your folds but not giving you the satisfaction you need. You’re close to biting his head off.

“Spencer–” you start, but Spencer decides to press his cock into you right at that moment, and you sob with the way his thick length splits you open. Every time he fucks you, you feel like he was made for you, filling you up in all the right ways, feeling so perfect on top of you, inside of you.

You meet his lips and kiss him lazily as he starts to thrust into you, at the perfect pace, just deep enough to hit all the right spots. It’s too good, Spencer knowing you and your pleasure like the back of his hand.

“Fuck,” Spencer groans against your mouth, finally showing some sign of his unravelling. “You’re so tight, darling.”

You gasp, groaning his name, legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, feeling like you could fuse into one person with how much you’re clinging onto him. You press your forehead to his shoulder, moans punched out of you with every one of Spencer’s thrusts.

“Feels– Feels so good, Spence, love you,” you cry.

“I love you too,” Spencer groans, voice low and rumbly in his chest. “You’re so perfect, my love.”

You sob as your orgasm hits you, crashing into you like a tidal wave. You shake as you come, feeling so positively overwhelmed with the way Spencer fucks you, the way he holds you, the way he kisses you. You can’t feel your legs as you come down from your high, head spinning with all the pleasure. “Spence…”

“I’m– Fuck–” Spencer’s tripping over his own words as he comes right alongside you, your clenched pussy sending him over the edge too. He blows his load deep inside you, sticky and hot and so satisfying. You can feel how hard he’s breathing as your mind clears, his arms trembling as he holds himself up so he doesn’t end up collapsing onto you.

“You’re perfect,” you hum in Spencer’s ear, soft and gentle as you kiss the side of his head. You pull him in close, letting him rest his weight onto you, and your hand goes to stroke his hair softly. “So good. I love you.”

“Thank you. I love you more,” Spencer groans, his voice a little raspy already. “I’m sorry if I was too possessive over you in front of my friends tonight."

“All is forgiven, especially since you were sexy as fuck,” you grin up at him. “You’re always sexy.”

“Says the girl in a miniskirt and black lace panties.” Spencer smiles.

“All the more I know what I’m talking about, then,” you giggle, before kissing him slow.

[neeeooon]

(un)official hype squad ;

29 | official hype squad

you jumped at the knock on your door and flung it open to reveal a red-eared rin standing with a little bag in his hand. “hi,” he greeted flatly, and you beamed at the sight of him.

“hi! you really didn’t have to buy me food, i swear i was joking about that.”

rin shrugged and toed his shoes off when you let him inside. “it’s fine. i don’t want you to think i’m mad at you.” you looked away so he didn’t see the blush on your face. clearing a spot on your table for him, you waited for rin to place the nuggets down before helping him unload the bag.

though the quiet between you was oddly comfortable, your mind wandered to the remaining days of his break. “you have to go back to blue lock in a few days, right?” rin shrugged, so you continued. “any idea what’ll happen?”

“no contact, probably. but other than that, i’m not sure. we’re popular now, so maybe something that involves the hype squad.” he said it so casually you almost missed that he referred to you and your girls as the hype squad. rin tended to ignore that chat, so you were surprised to hear him acknowledge you and your little group.

you chuckled and shook your head. “think we’ll get our own blue lock contract? we could make a bet?”

“no need. the sponsees will want to utilize your publicity.” you blinked at the big words, a little upset that he didn’t humor you, but brushed it off and smiled.

rin finally looked up from the food, and your grin slowly faltered the longer he scanned your features. tell him. tell him! your mind screamed, so you sucked in a breath and ran a nervous hand through your hair. “um, i actually have something i wanted to ask you before you leave…”

when you struggled to continue, he tilted his head to the side slightly, silently showing that he was listening. your face felt warm as you said, "i, uh, like you. i like hanging out with you."

"that's not a question," he teased after a moment, but you could see the little grin tugging at his lips as he turned his attention back to the food. sighing, you copied his actions and went on. "my question is, would you want to keep talking after you leave? just the two of us?"

"as friends?" he asked quietly, gaze still trained intensely on the nuggets. you shook your head. "maybe more than that?"

when he finally looked at you again, your pulse jumped into your throat. his eyes, usually sharp and full of disinterest, were sparkling. "more. you mean as in a couple?"

"if you don't want that, it's totally fine. we don't have to talk at all if you don't want to. but i like you, and i want to spend time with you and... i don't know what i'm saying—"

rin cut you off by reaching over and gently taking your hand in his. "i've never been someone's boyfriend before. i might mess it up."

you couldn't help but chuckle a bit at how shy he sounded. "then we can mess up and figure it out together. more than anything, i want to watch you succeed."

"i want you there when i do," he admitted, causing your stomach to flip. rin ran his thumb over your knuckles gingerly, and you stared expectingly at him. "me too."

he met your eyes. "can... will you... are we dating, now?"

you laughed, giving his hand a squeeze as you nodded. "yeah, we're dating now."

masterlist // previous (ch 28) // next (ch 30)

notes -> thank you to everyone who wanted to participate in this fic!! if you commented and don’t see yourself in this one, you’ll be in the next!

tags -> @enepsigosthelast @svnarxnn @shutuppeter @meekydeeks @tired-child00 @arwawawa2 @5-laska @evilenchantresss @ieathairs @zaephix @x3nafix @nensi @chaoslibra @yukari1k @90s-belladonna @imasimpsowhat06 @tachiibabe @kisses2kanao @kyutiipie @chuurinnie @lukapurin @arcanaloser @kuroshiinya @folksmione @kermitbbg69 @luvynii @irethepotato @poisonedst4r @heididaily104 @ichcocat @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @kurosagislvr @prettyblueskiess @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @lilsebnem @bubybubsters @cookielovesbook-akie @idexmids @sugacor3 @ohagiyo @loverryxx @mivqko @unr4v3l @ravenbc @kaz-0e @nevvynev @levihanmyotp @syarc0re @kaikaidenkai @kaidostwin @aldebrana @lonigiri

© neeeooon, 2025

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada or Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Duh, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Mistakes

Jungkook knew from the first look at your eyes, that you'd be the biggest mistake he'll ever make.

Tags/Warnings: Aged up!Jungkook, Younger!Reader, Age Gap (9 years, JK is mentioned to be 34/35), Angst, Mature romance, Smut, car sex, protected sex, no strings attached, big dick!Jungkook, implied size kink, very mild Dom!Kook undertones, oral (m. receiving), sugar daddy!Jungkook vibes but only in a joking manner

Length: 7k words (oops)

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──💜── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

Jeon Jungkook doesn't really attend parties- typically.

But this time, for this occasion, he can't really pull himself out- he's got to at least show up for a moment, be there and present, before he can call it a night and go home. It's not like he hates his coworkers or employees most of all- he's just not that good at socializing, and never really was.

He's learned to be alone, and now he's too good at it.

A lot of the people in the hall, he doesn't know. That's probably because he's allowed people to bring a plus-one, so most of the people here are couples, which makes the whole situation just so much worse. "You could at least try and appear like you're having fun, you know?" Taehyung laughs, standing closer to his coworker now, a drink in hand. "It's not that bad." He tries to lighten the mood, but Jungkook just rolls his eyes.

"It's not even been an hour and I already want to go." He sighs.

"Why not leave then?" Tae wonders, sipping his non-alcoholic drink, since he's gonna have to drive home later, his wife currently conversing with other coworkers. "Oh, right, because Namjoon-"

"God don't remind me." Jungkook mumbles, shaking his head as he sips his whiskey. "I can't believe I lost that bet." He growls to himself, watching how someone seems to struggle with choosing the right food at the buffet, plate still empty even after several minutes. You look young, or maybe you're just short- he's not sure, but what he is sure about is that you do not work for him or his company- at least not in the same building. He would've noticed you, just like he does right now.

"I think she's Yoongi's plus-one? Or at least he drove here with her together.." Taehyung mumbles, having spotted his friend watching you.

"She looks young." Jungkook mumbles. "And I thought Yoongi was seeing the secretary we hired a few months ago?" He wonders, finally letting his eyes leave you alone, form-fitting dress very complimenting to your body, not too revealing, but still somewhat teasing.

Taunting him, almost.

"Oh, he does! Namjoon caught them making out in Yoongi's office last week." Taehyung laughs. "She's probably just a friend." He shrugs.

A friend, huh?

"Maybe something for you though?" Taehyung jokes. "I mean, I think I saw her drinking earlier, so she's at least of legal age." He laughs, making Jungkook cringe at him. He doesn't really find this whole joke funny- not at all, but Taehyung is right when it comes to Jungkook having a.. severe lack of company these past few years. Only occasionally does he have some sex without any strings attached- never brings anybody home however, refuses to cling to someone.

He's divorced anyways. Most women don't really find that very appealing.

Maybe he can have some simple company this time as well, nothing serious at all- it's been a while, after all, and everyone's an adult here, no matter the age difference. As long as he communicates it properly, there's no reason not to at least converse with you.

So he does indeed approach you, finding you still at the buffet, barely anything on your plate at all.

"Too much to choose from?" He wonders next to you, and he realizes the huge mistake he's made when approaching you the second you lift your head to look at him.

The lights reflect in your eyes like mirrors, minimal makeup perfectly enhancing your features, lips shiny with the most sinful shade of lipgloss this world probably has to offer. He's a goner, right away, lost in the sight of you, as if he's been thrown into the deep end of a pool so cold that it freezes his muscles, making him sink down to the bottom like a stone.

"Oh, no.." You answer, looking back at all the foods. "I have a shellfish allergy, so I'm not sure what I can eat.." You mumble, one hand having reached up to play with the sparkling pink gemstone hanging around your neck.

His mouth feels dry for a second, before he catches himself.

"Here." He mentions, pointing at some small numbers near the names of the foods on the small cards. "Those small numbers, the three right there is for shellfish." He offers, pointing towards a different card close by where the numbers are explained.

"Oh! Thank you so much, I hate contact lenses!" You laugh to yourself. "I usually wear glasses, but I wanted to look pretty.." You giggle, putting some food onto your plate now.

"I'm sure nothing can ruin a face like that." He flirts without truly thinking about it- making you visibly blush, trying to contain a smile.

"I appreciate the compliment…?" You wonder, and Jungkook knows, he's probably about to make another, grave mistake.

"Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook." He introduces himself, and you tell him your name in return, smiling oh-so devastatingly beautiful.

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His plan was absolutely not to explore what might be beneath that pretty dress of yours- and it seems like that might stay that way despite his length inside you.

You're moving your hips in ways that makes him dizzy, mind clouded with lust as you bounce up and down, hands on your back the only thing helping you avoid accidentally hitting the steering wheel. He's pushed the seat back as far as it goes, but you can never be too sure- he wouldn't want you to honk and draw attention to the surely shaking vehicle in the darkened parking lot.

The condom had been pure luck- he's not a fan of pulling out, so if it hadn't been there in the glove box of his car, he probably would've had to awkwardly call it quits before anything really happened at all. It's not like you both instantly were at each other's throats the moment you left the gathering- he simply offered to drive you home instead of Yoongi, who'd wanted to stay a little longer, while you complained about feeling tired. And in his car, you'd talked- casually so, something clicking, as he's now got you on his lap, bouncing on his dick like he's not experienced in quite some time now.

He feels a bit bad. Despite making sure that you know this is nothing but a casual fuck, it still feels a little odd to him. He doesn't like things like these- it feels like he's using you, and he's not a fan of such situations.

Though he can't deny that you feel absolutely divine.

The rain is heavy outside, pushing against the car's windows from all sides, drowning out the otherwise rather obscene sounds coming from between your bodies. Your hands are on his shoulders, fingers gripping his muscles beneath the fabric of his formal button-up. He refuses to kiss you, can't find it in him to do it, and you accept it, instead treating it as detached as you can, simply chasing your high as you fuck yourself on his twitching length.

He feels good. Thick, able to reach far inside you, but not enough to hurt.

The way he holds you is nice too- not too strong of a grip, only enough to guide you, keep you moving, keep you going. He's not big on dirty talk, isn't over the top with anything, and it almost feels like he's treating you like a woman, and not some chick he's met at a party. There's a certain sense of respect he's offering you that gives you confidence, makes you feel powerful for once even though he's clearly setting the pace.

This is something you don't usually get to have. Someone taking you seriously.

"You close?" He asks out of breath, avoiding your eyes, rather looking at your lips, though never moving into action. A limit he's set, and a limit he follows, he's clearly a man that doesn't wildly change his mind on the fly. Though, considering who he is, and where he is in life, he probably has had enough time to be untamed and wild already. You faintly wonder if he's ever been in a long-term relationship. Yoongi hasn't really talked about him much.

Neither have you asked. You've seen him, once or twice- but a man like that is out of range for you.

You nod when he grips your behind, reminding you quietly of his question, hips stuttering as he takes over, helping you move to chase his own orgasm right after yours. You're a bit overly sensitive, but you push through it just to see him clench his jaw, eyes closing as he groans out in relief, cum spurting into the condom inside you.

It's suddenly over, and not even your evening breaths can mask the slight awkwardness that's filling the car.

One of his hands keeps you close, though you have to lean against him a bit as to not move your hips too much as he reaches for something from the glovebox, plastic wrap of the small pack of tissues making a distinctive sound. "You okay?" He asks you, and you nod, now having switched places apparently as you avoid his face entirely.

You rather move a bit weirdly to accept the tissue offered, lifting your hips to awkwardly wipe yourself down, before pulling up your underwear and climbing back into the passenger seat, where you clean the inside of your thighs while he discards the condom from his length with a slight hiss of sensitivity.

You never really know what to say. You don't actually do this often- this is only the second time you've ever hooked up with anyone like this, and it's just as weird as the first time.

"Thank you, by the way." He offers, taking the challenge away from you as he puts the tied up condom in the tissue to discard it at home later. "Let me drive a bit closer to the building, just so you don't get too wet." He says, pulling his seat back into proper position before he starts the car.

Such a gentleman- You're a little disappointed. But only mildly so. Will you even stay in his mind?

Probably not.

You're way too young for a man like him, who most likely wants a proper woman in his life instead of a.. instead of you. You're not even sure where you are at in life- neither a woman nor a girl, somewhere in between, floating, unsure, neither and both. You know however for a fact that you'll remember him- probably for quite a while, before the memory will fade into nothing but a glimpse.

"There we go." Jungkook says, stopping the car very much in front of your apartment building, sideways so that you can run right into the main hall. "Please remember to text Yoongi, okay?" He reminds you. "He might be worried otherwise." He smiles kindly, and you nod, a bit forced, grabbing your light coat and your handbag. "And.. I enjoyed it. Very much so." He makes sure to tell you, making you nod a bit shy.

"I.. uhm, I'm glad." You nod, awkwardly, causing him to chuckle.

"Now go hurry inside before the rain starts again." He urges, making you nod dumbly once more before you open the car door, running inside the apartment building after closing the door.

And he drives off, back home, where nothing waits for him but the humming fridge and a cold, empty bed.

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Daehyun can be a little spoiled, but other than that, he's a well behaved kid for his age.

He loves staying at your place, though his questions on when you'll be getting another dog after your first passed away a year ago are sometimes a bit stinging to your heart. He's a child, obviously- he doesn't understand the hurt that can settle in your soul after losing such an important piece of your life, so you can't blame him for moving on a lot quicker than you.

He's too young to understand that yet.

"Uncle Yoongi has a cat now!" Daehyun tells you as he builds the lego set with you, his small hands having some difficulty here and there, but he's a quick learner, and a good improviser. "But he said I can't play with her, because she's a girl-cat, and girl-cats don't like playing." He explains, pouting a bit as he uses all his strength to pull two pieces apart again.

"Well, I think she's just be a little nervous still." You reassure the boy. "You know, she just moved into a new home. Things might be a little scary to her." You explain, and Daehyun nods.

"I only pet her a bit." Daehyun tells you. "Appa said we're gonna get a dog soon though!" He says with excitement, making you smile.

"That's nice." You agree, helping him pull some bricks apart. You like having the little boy over at your place- it makes you feel both like a grown person, and also like a child at the same time. Daehyun doesn't judge your vast collections of stuffed animals and lego sets- he only sees you as the nice aunt, a big sister, a friend of his dad where he stays over at often whenever work gets in the way and takes away most of Taehyung's attention. Just like this weekend- Taehyung having needed someone to look after the boy, Dae's mother constantly equally without any time. You're not sure how long that marriage is gonna last with her refusing to step back at least a little to properly take care of her own child, and with Taehyung's growing frustration over the situation.

You hope the poor boy won't get caught up in the crossfire. That would just be awful.

Hours later, all the toys put away, your doorbell rings, giving you the clue that someone must be now here to pick the young boy up. Probably either Jimin or Yoongi- but when you open the door, it's neither of them, but a casually dressed Jungkook, hands in his slacks as your gaze gets caught on the slightly unbuttered shirt that's tucked into the pants, LY-labeled belt buckle accentuating his rather slim waist.

What the fuck.

"Oh- uh, come inside." You offer, stepping aside to let him in, Daehyun quickly running up to Jungkook, who mirrors the excitement of the young boy as he squats down to hug him. You let them both have their moment, instead walking around to collect all of Dae's things, checking twice to make sure he didn't forget anything, as you text Taehyung to make sure the man is really supposed to take the boy with him.

He is, which makes you a bit upset. Taehyung could've told you before.

When you walk back inside the living room area, Dae is currently busy showing Jungkook a stuffed animal- a gift from Jimin a year ago, modeled after your dog as a keepsake. "He was suuuper big, and really nice!" Dae beams up at the man. "He always ate ice cubes, but-" the small boy inspects the stuffed animal a little, lips pouting. "-Noona said he was really old, so he went to sleep." He offers, and Jungkook seems to realize what the stuffed toy might actually be.

"Let's put him back on the table then, yeah?" He offers, a hand with faint ink taking the toy from the smaller hands of the boy to place it back next to the picture frame of your dog and the collar on the tiny table near the door where he used to sleep. "So he can sleep well." He explains, making Dae nod. When you make your presence finally known, Jungkook removes the hand, heavy watch on his wrist faintly hitting the edge of the table for a second, as he watches how you help the small boy into his jacket.

You're a little confusing.

"Alright." You say after successfully getting Daehyun to put on his shoes. "Theres- uhm, there's a, wait, I'll show you.." You say, moving to pull a little folder out of one of the bags packed. "This one, please make sure Taehyung sees this. It's Daehyun's homework, and he really needs to do them this time." You emphasize. "Just make sure he actually looks inside at least once.." You sigh, putting the bright red folder back into the bag.

"I'll make sure." Jungkook accepts, taking the bag from you. "Anything else?" he wonders, and you refuse any eye contact, instead shaking your head to hug Daehyun goodbye as you bring him and Jungkook to your front door.

"Noona, you gotta hug Jungkookie too!" Dae says, surprising you with his lack of formality when addressing his father's friend- but you don't question it.

And admittedly, Jungkook is fairly surprised when you do in fact reach out to hug him goodbye, though very formal. It's still.. oddly nice, you don't seem to wear perfume but rather rely on your scented bodywash, which smells very good to him. This is weird. Why is he getting such feelings of comfort for a simple hug with nothing attached to it?

And why is he kind of disappointed when it ends far too quickly?

But it gets worse in the car, because Daehyun has clearly gotten the wrong message entirely. "Noona doesn't have a boyfriend." He says from the backseat where Jungkook has placed the booster seat he's gotten from Taehyung in cases like these where he has to pick up the young boy. "And appa said you don't have a girlfriend." He says, making Jungkook nod and hum a reply. "Noona is really pretty." He giggles. Jungkook cant help but chuckle along.

"She is." He agrees, because he won't lie about that. You are very pretty in his opinion, though he can only really judge you mostly by looks alone. "Did you have fun? I heard you were there the whole weekend." He tries to steer the conversation away, but the young boy clearly doesn't get the message.

"Noona can cook really well!" He praises. "She always makes me my favorite, and then we watch tv in our 'jamas." He says, and Jungkook has to imagine you both probably bundled up in blankets on the small couch you have, watching kid's shows until the poor boy falls asleep.

Domestic. Do you like children? Want your own in the future, maybe?

"Jungkookie?" Dae asks, and Jungkook hums a reply, telling the kid he's listening. "Do you like Noona?" He wonders.

"I don't know her that much, dae. But she seems nice." He offers instead, trying to evade the interrogation of the small boy.

"Do you like drinking?" Dae wonders. "Like, the stuff appa says I can't have?" He asks, and Jungkook grows a bit weary. Why exactly would the young boy ask something like that?

"Sometimes. Why do you ask?" He asks the boy, who seems to deflate now.

"Then you can't be friends with Noona." He complains.

"Why not?" Jungkook wonders.

"Because, the guy noona liked for a while always got mean when he was drinking that stuff." Dae complains, looking out the window. "I was never allowed to play at noona's house when he was there. He really liked that stuff that smells bad, but it made noona upset." He says.

Jungkook tenses up a bit. "Was he ever-, how was he mean to you?" Jungkook wonders.

"He always told noona to do things for him, and never let her play with me." He huffs. "And Yogi didn't like him too, because he always had to stay in his bed." He complains. Jungkook assumes the boy is probably talking about the dog.

Jungkook doesn't know how to ask what he wants to ask. It doesn't concern him at all- after all, it seems like you're no longer together with that guy, so he shouldn't pry. But something makes him worry- deep down, he's awfully wary, since he now realizes you did indeed not even touch any alcohol at the party at all- the drink Taehyung had seen you hold non-alcoholic. How bad must the relationship have been? You might not have a fear of men, but you're clearly affected by the past, it seems like.

"Did.." no. He shouldn't be asking that. It's none of his business.

"Do you get mean too when you drink?" Dae wants to know. "Appa only gets really sleepy." He giggles. Jungkook laughs along. Taehyung truly does only get horribly tired whenever he drinks- and he knows for a fact that he never gets drunk when he has to take care of the boy alone, so he's not at all alarmed by those words.

"No, I don't get mean." Jungkook answers. "I don't really drink a lot of it, so it only makes me feel a bit silly." He offers as an explanation, and Dae nods.

"Then, maybe Noona won't mind." He says, causing Jungkook to chuckle, shaking his head.

"Why do you want Noona to like me so much?" He wonders, and at that, Taehyung's son becomes excited.

"Because, then my favorite people like each other!" He exclaims. "And that's really cool. Then we can have sleepovers together, and you can help me get a new dog for noona!" He says. "She's really sad that Yogi sleeps now. I think she's lonely." He whines.

"We can have sleepovers anyways, dae." He laughs.

"But, appa told eomma, that you need someone you like." He huffs. Jungkook reminds himself to scold his friend at a later date. "Because you're not happy now, and you're lonely. And noona's lonely too." He offers.

Luckily, Jungkook escapes any further questioning as he finally reaches Taehyung's apartment, ready to drop the young boy off.

The whole conversation not leaving him at all the entire rest of the day, as he realizes he forgot to show Taehyung the folder.

Crap. This is your fault.

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It's been weeks- and apart from rubbing one out to the remaining memories of you in his car, he's not really thought much about you at all.

He's seen you on occasion here and there at the grocery store or a coffee shop, which made him realize that you've always been right under his nose but he just never knew who you were, but you two don't really have had any actual conversations anymore.

There's no reason for it.

He now knows that you're actually the part-time nanny Taehyung used to have a few years back, when you apparently had just been fighting to find a new job to keep your apartment and not get kicked out for not being able to pay rent. Back then, Taehyung and his wife had been living separated for a bit after a pretty bad fight- so the father had needed someone to take some weight off his shoulders, and help with the small child who couldn't even talk yet. You helped raise Daehyun basically, more or less- and, according to Taehyung, it shows.

The young boy has a strong sense of justice, and shares everything he has happily- something that he's learned from you. It makes some odd things make sense now to Jungkook as well- how Dae has some habits that seem very unique, but also too specific to have been developing all on their own. The child holds the front of his shirt a lot- something Jungkook noticed you do in a similar way as well, whenever you think of something.

Today, it's Daehyun's birthday. And Jungkook is sure, that the young boy probably demanded that both jungkook and you had to be there.

And he's right.

The minute he enters Taehyung's penthouse, he spots you sitting on the floor with the child, who's currently trying to read his own birthday card to you, before he spots him in the doorway. You look pretty, yet again. No makeup it seems like, and he can't say that you need it. You obviously don't, eyes still sparkling dangerously, smile still as lethal as ever as you wave a little bit before getting up.

You're dressed comfortably. He likes the sight of it- the casual dress you wear not too short to be scandalous, but short enough to tease him with the skin of your legs, hidden beneath a sheer pantyhose. Or?

No. There's an upper hem of lace- those are just stockings.

"Jungkookie, appa said you'll drive noona home today?" Dae says, now held up on Jungkook's hip, as he looks at Taehyung who laughs.

"Dae, I said I'm gonna ask him if he can drive her home!" He scolds gently. "Hey- sorry, he just runs with whatever he hears." The father tells him, and Jungkook just smiles, shaking his head.

"I can drive her home, no worries." He simply affirms. "It's no problem."

"Taehyung I told you I can go home by myself!" You whine, and Jungkook is intrigued by this seemingly new side of you. He knows you as a little shy, soft spoken, polite. You always greet him when you see him, and you've talked a little bit in his car weeks back- but then again, you only know each other on a very surface level.

He wonders what you're really like.

"And I said you're not driving alone when you're sick." Taehyung threatens, dad-voice coming through as he attempts to push through your clearly stubborn behavior, and Jungkook can't help but watch intently as your eyes roll around, attitude clear as you don't take your friend seriously at all.

"Noona is gonna be a mommy!" Daehyun blurts out to Jungkook, and for a split second, his entire body freezes, blood cooling down to the negatives, bones filling with fear.

He wore a condom- but what if something happened? What if it leaked? Was that even possible? He's not against becoming a father, absolutely not- but he'd like to have a proper relationship for that, a stable one, not something like this.

"Daehyun!" You scold with red cheeks, and Taehyung runs a hand over his face. "Appa just asked me if I was, I'm not!" You whine embarrassed, sighing. "Oh god, guys, please! I'm an adult woman, I'm not sick, I can go home by myself." You complain, walking into the kitchen, presumably to escape the pressuring situation.

"She threw up earlier, that's why I asked her. Dae must've heard me." Taehyung says, after averting his son's attention back to the TV in the living room, where his favorite show plays. "She refuses to see a doctor for it. But you look like you've seen a ghost-" Taehyung teases, before his eyes sharpen. "…could it be that the mention of her becoming a mommy made you worry?" He pokes, and Jungkook furrows his brows, averts eye contact. "Holy shit, you two!?" He hisses, and Jungkook groans.

"Shut up, it was nothing." He simply says, while Taehyung's eyes widen in a scandalized manner.

"Nothing?! Jungkook, where is that nothing?" He argues, surprisingly sternly. "I'll drive her home."

"You're acting like I forced myself onto her-" Jungkook sighs, but Taehyung shakes his head. "Taehyung, you heard her. She's an adult woman, she can decide things herself." Jungkook defends you. "I'll drive her home, and I'll text you once she's dropped off." He says, before he walks into the kitchen where you're filling up a glass with water.

"Oh god that was embarrassing." You whine into your hands, before you shake your head. "He acts as if I'm dying any second whenever something's up." You mumble, drinking from your glass. He can see you're a bit less energetic- hand a bit shaky as you drink.

"He worries." Jungkook offers, leaning against the counter next to the fridge, across from you. "And you should go see a doctor if you don't feel well." He scolds, and yet again, you roll your eyes.

"And you should try and work on your facial expressions, mister." You huff. "I could see the panic a mile away when Dae said I'm pregnant." You bite, making him tilt his head a little "Either way, I'm fine. I can't afford to call in sick right now or my landlord will kick me out the minute my rent is late again." You laugh a little bitterly, finishing your water before you rinse the glass in the sink.

"Do you not get paid a regular salary each month?" He wonders. You shake your head.

"I do, but it's the monthly bonus that keeps me afloat." You explain. "And I only get that one if I'm not sick and bring appropriate numbers to the table." You sigh. "My landlord just searches for a reason to kick me out, I'm sure." You mumble as you dry your hands.

"How come?" Jungkook asks.

"I didn't want to go out with the guy." You shrug, not looking at him. "I like older men, but sixty? No thanks.." You huff, turning around to look at a smug looking Jungkook, his arms crossed.

"Would've never guessed." He tells you in a cocky manner, and you cross your arms to mirror his position in an exagerated manner.

"I would've probably let you screw me if you were younger too." You respond.

"Oh?" He raises his brows. This is oddly fun. "Were you that needy?" He teases, and suddenly, your eyes soften quite a bit, scaring him.

"No." You shake your head. "Guess you were just that charming." You shrug.

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"If your job pays that awful, why not change it?" Jungkook wonders as he maneuvers out the parking lot, leaving Taehyung's home behind after Daehyun had gone to bed.

You shrug.

"I'm lucky I got accepted in this one." You say. You're tired- it's obvious to him. "I dropped out of school too early. Now I'm facing the consequences- and honestly, it's not that bad either. I get by, and it's a quiet life I'm living, which is nice." You offer.

"Do you not have any ambitions?" He asks, relaxed now that he knows you're not one to be overly sensitive when it comes to more personal topics like that. You don't try to read between the lines where there's most of the time nothing at all to find.

"Its not like I don't have any ambitions." You respond, neither denying nor confirming. "It's more that I realized some of those ambitions were.. unrealistic. So I instead pursued what was." You shrug. "Nothing too deep. It's.. part of growing up, I guess." You explain.

Growing up. Talking to you, right now, truly does remind him of that. Almost two hands between you both in years, but you're awfully matured in the way you think at its core. You just have a softer shell around it, your opinions can still move, your mind still has some sort of wiggle room.

His doesn't. He makes decisions and sticks by them, most of the time. He doesn't like change, he enjoys his routine, keeps everything in order most of the time- until now.

Because you're definitely a decision he keeps bending around.

"How much is your rent?" Jungkook asks, and you look at him from where you're leaning against the car's window, an amused expression on your face.

"Why? You wanna be my sugar-daddy?" You joke, and he shrugs, much to your surprise.

"I don't care what you call it." He simply says. "But if it get's you to take some time and take care of your health, I can take care of a month's rent." He offers.

"I don't like that." You respond.

"I know." He laughs. "I've come to learn that you don't like accepting help. But it's something you can't avoid at times." He explains to you. "I'm just offering help. Whether or not you take it, is up to you." He shrugs.

"Why would you do that?" You wonder, suspicious.

"Because Taehyung worries about you. And Daehyun would be terribly upset if something was to happen to you." He admits. "I don't know you well enough to say that I'm doing this for you- so I'll be honest. I do this mostly for them." He says.

You nod. You like this- that he's actually telling the truth, instead of trying to woo you into something.

"Alright." You sigh, tired. "I'll.. text you?" You wonder, and he nods.

"I have your number from Taehyung already." He chuckles. "I just didn't have a reason to reach out yet." He admits.

You just nod, eyes falling shut for longer he notices.

You must be working hard if you're this exhausted. He really hopes you'll take care of yourself after he helps you sort everything out.

Hopefully his help is enough.

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He's lost control over the situation. How can this happen a second time?

He's been texting you these past few days, especially after you've finally took some time off of work to sort out your doctor's visits, having received some medication to finally help you resolve your issues.

He's not sure why he keeps coming back to you. And he's especially not sure how the hell he managed to get himself caught up in a situation like this twice, especially after Taehyung had been clearly upset about the first time.

There's something about you he can't really pin-point. It's both scary, and exciting.

You're kneeling on a small heart-shaped pillow from your small couch, hands occupied and slicked up with your own spit as you caress his length, head of it warm inside your mouth as you lick and suck. You've offered, and he assumed it to be a joke- but the moment you got down between his legs, all of his usual control over things went out the window. He might appear to be the one in charge, right in this moment, but he's truly at your mercy.

It makes him anxious. This shouldn't be happening.

But he can't deny the appeal of you taking care of him so well- it feels scarily intimate to have you between his legs like this, eyes closed as you seem to enjoy yourself, mostly due to his own hand reaching out to run his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face and taking the chance to offer some form of affection before he collects your hair in his fist for a second, long sigh escaping him as he feels the tip of your tongue push against the head of his cock, dipping into the small point, before you adjust your legs, letting go of him for just a second to lick from the base to the very tip once more.

You're a succubus, hidden behind a pretty face and sinful body.

He's not sure what your motivation is, hasn't really figured it out for the first time either. There's this little devil on his shoulder constantly urging him to accept your advances and let himself go, but the angel is louder, and keeps on feeding him doubts about the whole thing. He's consumed by his work, he doesn't have time for you, he can't offer you what you might want from a relationship. He doesn't even know if he himself is ready for something like that- he knows he should be, considering how long ago his divorce had been finished, but it's still odd to think about it. He's scarred by what went down, and doesn't want to go through this again.

He can handle being hated by one person he used to love. He wouldn't be able to have two doing the same.

It made him wonder if he's even someone worthy of having a relationship. Does he have enough to offer you that's not physical or monetary? No. He doesn't have time, he's awkward as hell, he doesn't like parties and rather enjoys laid back vacations somewhere no one knows him- if he even takes one at all. He wants a quiet life-

A quiet life?

'it's a quiet life I'm living, which is nice.'

Maybe it's your hands on his cock, the back of your tongue over his tip, or the way your fingers suddenly move to massage his balls just right- but he's facing this horribly ironic moment of both pleasure and realization at the same time as his cum shoots into your mouth, lips sealed over the head to suck him for all he's got. His hand keeps pushing your head, fingers digging into your hair, and you moan quietly at the faint sting of it.

His head rests back on your couch. His hand loosens, letting you go, while his eyes stay closed, breath deep and uneven as he tries to calm himself. He doesn't even realize how you tuck him back into his underwear as he softens, though you leave the fly and belt untouched, instead moving to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

You wait. For what? You're not sure.

"I.." He starts, taking in a deep breath, a hand through his hair trying to sort him out again. "..you.."

"Was it good?" You wonder almost innocently, watching him amused.

He nods. "Very." He simply answers, brain dumb. He hates this.

"Nice." You smile, before you move to put the little pillow back on the couch. "Do you wanna.. leave right now? Or stay for coffee?" You wonder, treating this all way more casual than he is. He's not sure what to do. But he knows you need to talk about this.

"Can you come here for a second?" He asks, and you nod, putting down the mug you got out of the pantry, making your way over to him to sit on the couch next to him. "I hope you know this isn't.. needed. I honestly just wanted to help you out with rent." He urges, and you nod.

"I know." You say, making him feel a bit lighter. "Was that.. not something you wanted?" You worry, but he shakes his head.

"I'm.. I'll have to be honest here." He sighs, having closed his pants and adjusted himself prior already, not leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. He can't look at you- not if he wants to be honest and straight forward. "I'm not sure." He offers. "I think it's clear that there's an attraction going on- but I don't know how far this can go."

"I'm not in love with you or anything." You defend yourself. "Neither do I have a crush. I just like you." You shrug.

"That's good." He nods to himself. "It's good that you know that. That you... can distinguish it."

"I think your problem might have something to do with.. my age?" You wonder, and Jungkook turns his head towards you, eyes staying on your knees however. "Yoongi mentioned something once. That he has a friend who has some sort of mid-life crisis right now and thinks he's too old for everything." You giggle.

"And how do you know that would be me?" He calls you out a little offended.

"Because it just fits." You laugh. "You play around with Dae all the time, but the second someone watches you, you become all awkward. It's kinda sad." You admit.

"How so?" He wants to know.

"Because it's dumb." You say, leaning back against your couch.

"Maybe for you. But when you're my age-" He starts, and you suddenly start to laugh, cutting him off.

"See! That's how I know you're the one with the crisis!" You joke, hand hitting his shoulder playfully, and without any intention to hurt. "I'm not a kid. I can make my decisions just fine." You say.

"And your decision is?" He wonders, now looking at you.

"That I want to get to know you." You tell him. "I want to.. see where it goes." You offer.

"What if it goes nowhere?" He argues. "I can't promise you some fairytale love-story." He denies. "I'm divorced, I want children at some point, I don't like parties, I work long hours-"

"But that's stuff that we can work out, no?" You wonder. "Time is what you're scared of, right? Then how about this-" You say, suddenly sitting on your knees, body facing his. "Every day you're not trying is a day you could be spending in a more productive way. For example, by getting to know me. Trying out if your idea of a relationship aligns with mine, if your work schedule is too packed, all of that." You offer. "Right now, we could already be talking about more interesting things than the 'what-if'. Or, in your big-man-terms:" You joke, leaning closer to him. "You're wasting time."

"Have you ever considered a career in communication-training?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "You're awfully great at this." He praises, making you giggle.

"Nah, I like my normal nine-to-five." You say. "Even if it barely pays enough."

"Well I heard someone's taking care of rent at the moment." he offers, reaching out to tuck some hair behind your ear.

"Well, only for a month, so that's a bummer." You shrug, leaning into his hand now holding your cheek.

"..I'm not used to being in a relationship." He sighs.

"We can start just being friends." You respond.

"I think we're a little past the general boundaries of friendship." He chuckles.

"Then friends who occasionally have sex." You roll your eyes.

"That's not very romantic." He argues.

"You can fuck me with music in the background?" You joke, and he shakes his head, laughing.

You're truly far more than he thought you are, and he's not sure if he's worth your time. But he wants to be. Looking at you, right now, he wants to be worth it. He wants to put the effort into it, even if it doesn't work out in the end. He wants to try- so that even if you don't fit, you at least had some good memories together that were worth the time spent.

He wants to try.

Even if it's a mistake.

[leighsartworks216]

Perfect First Date

Zayne x fem!Reader

Had this idea and literally could not stop thinking about it

Warnings: fluff, blind date, first date, kissing

Word Count: 2,280

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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A steady drizzle paints the world outside in a blur of shadows and diffused lights. Traffic lights are reflected on the wet pavement below, blending with the orange and white headlights of cars. People pass by the window, covering themselves with umbrellas or their jackets. A few didn’t bother trying to do anything to hide from the onslaught of water. You didn’t bring an umbrella. The thought of leaving now and having to walk through the rain like that sours your mood even further.

A waitress politely clears her throat. “Would you like to order now?” She gives you a pitying look, her smile tinged with sympathy.

You force one of your own in return. “Just a few more minutes, please.”

She nods and walks away. You just know she’s in the kitchen talking about you with the chefs and other wait staff. “She’s been waiting for an hour for her date. He’s never gonna show up! Poor thing.”

You sigh, leaning against your arms on the table. How are you gonna tell Tara about this? She was so excited to set you up on this date, gushing about how perfect you two would be together if you just gave it a shot. Knowing he never showed up would break her heart - maybe even more than it broke yours.

A familiar voice says your name. When you look up, you’re surprised.

“Zayne? What are you doing here?”

“My shift just ended. I thought this would be a nice place to get dinner before I head home.” He tilts his head toward the empty seat across from you. You nod immediately, just glad for the company after the time you’ve had. Once he sits, he takes a moment to look you up and down. “You look lovely tonight.”

You nervously pick at the corner of your cloth napkin with a polite half-smile. “Ah, thank you. Tara set me up on a date, but…”

He frowns. Before he can say anything, though, the same waitress from before comes over. She seems more upbeat. She must think this is your date, finally showing up after making you wait for so long. “Welcome! Can I get you anything to drink, sir?”

“Just water, thank you,” Zayne answers.

“Of course! Give me a moment and I’ll be back with a second menu for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” You smile reassuringly at her, having clearly startled her from her usual script. “He can borrow mine.”

She smiles and skips off back to the kitchen. Zayne grins slightly as you push the folding menu toward him. “Already know what you want to order?”

You huff a mirthless laugh, looking out the window again to avoid that look in his eyes as you say, “I’ve practically got the whole thing memorized. There’s a ‘Build Your Own Platter’ special on the second page.”

He turns the page over and, sure enough, the highlighted special greets him. “How long have you been waiting?” His voice is soft, like he’s worried about your answer.

You reach over the table for his hand. He raises an eyebrow, but he lets you take it without fuss. You turn his wrist until you can read his watch. “Uhh, almost an hour.” You let him go.

“Isn’t it common practice to leave after no later than 30 minutes have passed if the date doesn’t show up?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t really do this sort of thing.” You look at him again. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. It hasn’t since he got here. He notices right away. “And it started to rain, so…”

“So you thought he may have gotten caught up in the weather.”

“And I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

He gives you a pointed look. “You didn’t think to look at the weather for tonight? Despite knowing you would be going on a date?”

“Shush. I didn’t think about it.”

The waitress sets down a cup of water in front of Zayne. A lemon wedge is neatly tucked onto the rim. “Are you ready to order?”

Zayne gestures for you to order first. You recite the order you’ve had memorized this whole time, and she writes it down on a little pad of paper. Then he orders (not the Build Your Own Platter special), passing the menu to the waitress once she’s finished writing. She holds it to her chest and looks between the two of you. “Will you be paying separately or together?”

“Together-”

“Separately-”

You blink at Zayne, who smiles placatingly in return. “Together. It’ll be my treat.”

She leaves before you can defend paying separately. You shake your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Please. I see it as my duty to ensure you know how a man should treat you on a date.”

Your cheeks flush. You can’t quite meet his eyes as you tease, “You were also technically an hour late, then.”

“Hm,” he agrees. He picks up a card held in a twisted metal stand and holds it out to you. It contains a brief listing of ice cream sundaes, cheesecakes, molten lava cakes and more. “Would dessert make up for my tardiness?”

You smile. It finally reaches your eyes as you take the card from him. “It just might.”

-

As you talk about everything and nothing, the disappointment begins to ebb from your shoulders. Once the food arrives, it disappears entirely. For as long as you waited, the food was definitely worth it.

You forget about the rain, the guy that stood you up, and having to tell Tara what happened. The world seems to shrink to just this restaurant. Just this table.

Zayne may appear to be emotionless and cold to some, but not to you. You know him better than that. You see every slight smile that he looks away to try to hide. You see the playfulness in his eyes as you tease each other. You see him relax into the atmosphere you’ve created. You see the concern that sharpens his eyes when he scolds you for not taking care of yourself. You see… him.

It’s probably just because you two have been going to restaurants together more frequently in the last couple months, you think. Somehow, you both got into the habit of recommending places to each other - sweets shops, diners, cafes, bakeries, and restaurants like this. At first, you’d just tell each other about the place, saying they should visit. But then it became lunch breaks when he needed to be pulled away from work to take care of himself, and dinner when you needed to be convinced to stop working overtime.

It feels natural, sitting across from him and sharing a good meal. You try not to dwell on that thought for too long.

True to his word, Zayne pays for dinner.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promise. “We can get lunch tomorrow. I’ll pay.”

He grins, knowing just how futile it is to argue with you. He has no choice but to agree. Still, he shakes his head slightly. “I never thought I’d be threatened with being treated to lunch.”

He holds the front door open for you, picking up his umbrella from the communal holder. The world seems to grow once more as you look out into the rain. You don’t have anything to protect yourself from it. You didn’t even think to bring a jacket.

Zayne steps halfway out from under the awning, his see-through umbrella open above him as he holds a hand out to you. “Come on.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“You said so yourself that you didn’t bring an umbrella. I’ll drive you home.”

“You really don’t have to. You’ve done so much already!”

He gives you a look. “All I did was chat with you and pay for dinner. Besides,” he takes your hand, gently tugging you under the umbrella with him, “I said I would show you how you should be treated on a date. Bringing you home in the rain falls safely under my duties.”

You sigh, but you don’t argue anymore. You don’t really want to walk through the rain anyway. You hold onto his arm as he leads you to the parking lot. “Should I make this up to you, too?” you tease. “Take you for a drive on my motorcycle?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

You laugh. He smiles at the sound.

-

The drive is quiet, but not unpleasantly so. Rain pats down on the roof and windows of the car, swept away by the windshield wipers. It’s heavier now, beating down in cold sheets. If you’d been walking home, you would’ve been soaked through to the bone just one street from the restaurant.

He pulls up to the curb and gets out first with his umbrella. Then, he rounds the car to your side and opens the door, holding the umbrella over you more than he does himself. A few drops of rain on his coat doesn’t make a difference to him.

You stick close by as he walks you to the door. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

“Of course. Now, get inside before you catch a cold.”

You smile at him and unlock the door with your thumbprint. “Goodnight, Zayne. I had fun.”

“I’m glad to have been a suitable replacement for your date tonight,” he remarks, a teasing edge to his words. He smiles. “Goodnight… I had fun, too.”

Something foreign and extremely familiar flutters in your chest at the look in his eyes. The way they look at you, the softness in his eyes that seems to take away years of exhausting surgeries and heartaches - it almost takes your breath away. The worst part is that you’ve seen him look at you this way before. Several times.

You can’t find anything else to say as you let yourself inside and gently close the door behind you.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the painted wood like it holds all the answers to your swirling thoughts. Your hand is still on the knob. You fear it may be too late when you’ve made your decision.

You swing open the door. Zayne has already walked down the front steps. He’s almost to his car. Your heart lurches as you rush into the rain after him.

The storm hasn’t let up since you arrived. The cold water that attacked his car on the way here now soaks your hair, your clothes, your skin. A shiver runs through you at first, quickly overshadowed by the fear of letting him go.

“Zayne!”

He turns around. That softness from before is replaced with concern as he hurries to meet you halfway to cover you with the umbrella. “Are you trying to get sick?”

“No, I…” God, you feel a bit stupid. But to back out now would be even worse. Your heart sits like a lump in your throat as you say, “It’s common practice to kiss your date when you say goodbye.”

The furrow in his brow eases up. You see his eyes flicker to your mouth briefly. “Is it?” he almost whispers.

You nod. “And if it’s your job to show me how I should be treated on a date…” You’re worried he can hear your heart. It’s beating so hard, pounding in your ears and blocking out the sound of the rain.

Zayne breathes a quiet laugh, but he nods. “You’re right. I apologize for my negligence. Allow me to make it up to you.”

Holding the umbrella steady, he cups your cheek with his free hand. His thumb brushes away a trail of water that comes from the hair sticking to your face. His eyes linger on your lips as he leans down. Even in this lighting, you can see the way his ears burn with blush. You’re certain you’re not doing much better.

His breath ghosting over your mouth is intoxicating, but the gentle press of his lips to yours is addicting. You grab onto his coat with wet fingers, slowly pulling him in closer as you deepen the kiss. He sighs. You think this is heaven.

He pulls away for air, before turning his head to the other side and kissing you again. And again. And again. You’ve far surpassed what’s appropriate for a first date kiss. But, is this really your first date together?

When he finally does pull away, his breath trembles slightly, like he’s overcome by the emotions shifting around in his chest cavity. You look up at him and he has to fight the urge to kiss you again. He huffs a soft laugh as he brushes the stuck strands of hair from your face. “I’d be a poor date if I let you stay in the rain like this any longer.”

You smile fondly. “You’re always worried about me.”

“Mhm.” He kisses your forehead, as though it could possibly release the weight of the love strangling his heart. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

His hand rests on your lower back as he leads to your home once again. There’s a slight skip in both of your steps, a lovestruck sort of eagerness that guides you to your door. You unlock it again, but you turn to him this time, tugging on his jacket again.

“Stay.”

He turns his face away briefly, cheeks flushing. “That’s hardly appropriate for a first date.”

You laugh. “We don’t have to do anything. I just… want you to stay.”

He considers it for a moment. His eyes flicker across your face, searching for signs of an oncoming cold without even realizing it. When they meet yours again, he nods. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44

[robo-writing]

Hello! Love your Logan fics! If I could, could I ask for x-men trilogy Logan finding out what a hurricane shot is?(it’s where the guy takes a shot of alcohol and then a bartender (usually a really pretty woman that’s sitting on top the bar in front of the guy) splashes him with water and slaps him across the face. (really popular in the college towns in Florida) like scott mentions he had a hurricane shot when he was in high school during a senior trip to Florida and Logan asks what the hell that is. And his crush just goes “you don’t know what that is?! You drink booze for a living and you don’t know what that is???!” And precedes to just show him much to Scott laughing his ass off at seeing Logan getting drenched in water and slapped across the face, and Logan just fucking bewildered what the hell just happened and probably a bit horny (he got a pain kink, so getting slapped by his crush is like up his alley)

"The fuck is a hurricane shot?" Both you and scott's ears perk up, him being the first to express his surprise. "You've never heard of a hurricane shot?" "Am I suppose to?" He asks, getting just the slightest bit annoyed at how you two giggle between each other, some kind of secret language between the two of you.

“I’m just surprised is all,” you say, looking at him with mild amusement. “You’re the guy with his name tag on the barstool, so…”

“Real fuckin’ funny,” he huffs. “So what is it?”

You look up at him mischievously. “I think I’d rather just show you.”

Scott’s eyebrows go all the way up, a massive grin on his face. “Yeah, you should let her show you.”

You’re both snickering again and it almost makes him nervous. Almost.

“Sure, date and time?”

“Today, and now,” you say, running to the kitchen sink. You’re filling up a glass of water while Scott suddenly has his phone recording, more and more questions running through his head by the second.

“Okay, here’s your shot,” you say, sliding over a glass of rum. You’re holding a glass of water, looking down at it with barely contained excitement. “Do I have your permission?”

“Permission to what?”

“I can’t say.”

Logan’s feels his eye twitch. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise!” You reply, a cheeky grin spreading across your face. “It’s a yes or no Logan.”

He weights his options for a minute, figures that whatever you two’ve got planned he can kick your asses for it later, and with a shrug says—

“Fuck it, sure.”

You nod in his direction, eyes pointing to the glass, and with no theatrics he downs the entire thing in just one gulp. There’s nothing special about the shot, just the standard burn that accompanies it.

No, what’s special is what comes after.

The same moment the glass leaves his lips, the cup of water you were holding is thrown in his face. Before he can ask what the hell you’re doing, his face is whipped around.

You slapped him—rather hard, in fact. So unexpected he’s forced to stare off into nothing for a while before reality hits him.

He’s stood in shock, Scott laughing in the background while you complain about your sore hand. He’s drenched head to toe, still collecting his thoughts.

“What…was that?” He asks, hand reaching up to rub his cheek.

“That, my good friend, was a hurricane shot,” Scott replies, patting Logan on the back as he goes off to play his captured footage on loop. “Florida’s a wonderful place.”

You follow behind, chasing after Scott with a shout of “Lemme see!” Before the both of you disappear.

Logan’s stood in the kitchen by himself—and of everything that’s just happened to him, he can only conjure up a single thought.

That was really, really, hot.

[dearhargrove]

Reassurance

summary You comfort Evan after he has to deal with his parents over the course of four days.

word count 730

tags fluff, just someone being there for my bb buck, short and sweet

a/n So basically I was watching the Buck Begins episode and died every minute where his parents neglected him and generally every second of that episode :( so expect some more Buck fics to come (Eddie too tho !!)

masterlist

You didn't know but you were probably the sole reason Buck wasn't completely breaking down every day he wakes up and has to deal with the two people that call themselves his parents.

After the first dinner he had felt bad, but he'd felt like he usually does with them. Alone, unwanted and never enough. That day he'd come home to you, quiet and dull.

You hadn't made him talk about it when he didn't start explaining himself, instead you simply wrapped your arms around him and held him close. That's when he'd felt loved. That night he waited until you had fallen asleep before letting himself cry.

What did he expect? For some reason he had hoped they'd changed. Or at least that they would be proud of him. After all, he'd saved a lot of people and does so every day. Instead he is reminded that they hadn't bothered to check on him when he almost died twice - first by being crushed and second because of the blood clots - and then laid in the hospital.

Those were the people supposed to love him no matter what and all he got was constant criticism.

That night you had woken up not long after him because of his missing warmth. With a worried expression you'd found him and once again, held him close. He had melted into your arms, tears starting to fall again as he clutched you close as if scared to lose you.

After reassurance you would gladly give any day you had gone back to bed, your hand on his cheek and caressing his birthmark.

Today you hadn't even known Buck would see them or be confronted by their doings. The last time you'd heard about them was when he explained that he had a brother. That he was only conceived to be a match for a bone marrow transplant.

That night had been harder than the one before. You're quite sure no matter how much you tried to show him that he wasn't just a failed way to save someone you don't think it got completely through to him. And you didn't blame him; you couldn't imagine living with something like that weighing you down.

You're in his kitchen trying one of Bobby's recipes when the door opens and Buck comes in. You could read him like a book; there wasn't a moment you weren't able to tell what he was feeling. But now? You genuinely didn't know.

He was frowning but there's a smile resting on his face and his eyes are red.

“Buck?”

He looks up, seeing you there in his sweater with a knife in your hand as you chop vegetables for a recipe from Bobby he loved, and he breaks. But instead of simply crying he chuckles, too.

“Buck, what's going on?” Your voice is worried and he just shakes his head as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead to yours. You put the knife down and reach up to cup his face and your index finger soothes over his birthmark, something you'd made a habit over the year of being with him.

“I think they're finally accepting me for.. me.” He only says and you sigh but nod. He notices your slight apprehension and quickly adds on, “But I don't want them to. I don't need their acceptance. They don't decide how much I'm worth.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ in surprise but you laugh breathlessly and nod, “Exactly. You're saving lives on the daily, you don't need anyone to tell you how good you are. Not your parents, not your friends, not me.”

He nods along until the last part where he cocks his head and looks at you with his signature half smirk. “I do need you to tell me how good I am, actually.” That makes you smile as well and you sigh, “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

He just shrugs and unlike when he first came in you can see pure happiness and love on his face.

“God, I love you so much, Evan Buckley.”

He grins and surges forward to kiss you passionately, his hands gripping your hips as if you'd slip through his fingers any moment.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 4 - The Ascent

Main Masterlist - Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, soulmates, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, eventual happy ending.

Summary/Warnings: You wait, and Bucky makes a choice.. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: I love writing these fics cause it gives me an amazing excuse to just. Watch CATWS. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5.5k

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Read on A03!

You can feel him. Every single night when you get home, you feel the same song. The one you’ve always had, only when Bucky was close.

Home. Home is near, and you just have to go to it. Have it. Keep it. Let it keep you.

You’re not sure if home wants to keep you.

Because you can always feel Bucky. Somewhere above or around you, every single fucking night. And it’s not just his constant, dormant and strong presence in your mind and body. He’s on the air and in the sky, but never at your side. 

And you don’t know what they told him, about what happened to you. If they showed him the pictures. If Steve’s explained to him that they set you up with a job, and an apartment, and that Hydra wasn’t going to touch you again if they tried. You’re not even sure if Bucky was really even there, the day they rescued you. 

You’d felt him. But you hadn’t seen him. 

Haven’t seen him. 

He hasn’t come to see you. Bucky’s on the TV—his arms folded over his chest and his expression not in the harsh I can’t do anything but stand and follow way, but rather the I don’t want to talk, and I’ve got nothing to say anyways way—but he’s never on your front door. He’s in the wind, but that’s the only feeling of him you get. No hands skimming over your hips, or deep voice saying your name like it’s the only thing that’s ever been real, or fingers playing with your hair as your head rests on his knee. 

He got a haircut. You don’t hate it. It never would’ve happened on your watch, but Bucky wasn’t on your watch, and you’ll have him however you can get him. If that means shorter hair and a new, black arm, you’ll take it without a single fucking thought.

You still love him. You’ll always love him. Even if you never see Bucky again, you don’t know how to stop loving him.

He’d been the first thing you asked about, when they’d cleared you after your rescue.

“Bucky?” It had been all you could say. All you needed to say. Steve and Tony—it was really weird to be on a first-name basis so fast, but this whole thing was weird, so you’d gotten over it quick—had exchanged a look that you didn’t understand, and your arms had started to curve around your stomach.

You hadn’t seen him at all, but he was okay. He’d had to be okay. You would’ve known if he wasn’t, and you’d felt him in the Hydra base, and Steve and Tony were still having a silent conversation, but you just wanted Bucky-

“He’s your old pal, Cap.” Tony had finally muttered, jerking his head towards you. “I can make Nat do it, but it’ll be better coming from you.”

Something had formed a noose around your throat. “What will be better?”

Steve had sighed, shooting you an unreadable look. “Tony, I still think-“

“There’s nothing we can do about it right now. Talk to her before she goes crazy and we need to turn on the chill pill gas.”

“Do not use the chill pill gas-“

“I won’t if you handle this like a big boy.” Tony had shrugged, and given you a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, kid. I looked at your file earlier, by the way. Impressive stuff. Won’t be hard to set you up after this is over. We’ll talk.”

“I…” You’d swallowed, shaking off the impressive stuff compliment from Tony Stark. “I don’t- Where’s Bucky?”

Steve had sighed. Again. Someone needed to help him work on that. 

All you’d gotten was a grimacing smile and shake of his head from Tony, and then he was gone.

“Steve?” You’d whispered, and he’d been rigid in front of you.  “Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s safe.” Steve had said, his tone impossibly even. Words almost rehearsed. “But it’s been… decided, that given the nature of your disappearance and his mental state, it might be best to keep you apart. Indefinitely.”

Indefinitely.

That meant forever, but Steve hadn’t known how to tell you.

You’d understood that. You hadn’t known how to react. You’d just felt numb. Hollow. Stuck in a loop where your brain simply had been unable to comprehend what apart meant. There would be Bucky. There had to be Bucky. That was just how the world worked. He came back. He always came back. 

Bucky was supposed to come back.

“Oh.” You’d whispered, your head still spinning around the words. “Okay.”

“You’re going to be fine.” Steve had muttered, still watching you like he was afraid you’d shatter at any second. “We’ll set you up so you can keep, you know. Having a life. Tony’s already expressed interest in all your research, so I don’t think he was joking when he said he’s hire you, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. And we’ve all volunteered to make sure you’re settled. Get you set up in an apartment, make sure it’s got the proper security. We’ve got some contacts working on overturning your legal death.”

And Steve had kept talking about logistics, and you’d barely been listening.

The thing in your head had been the word apart. Over and over and over.

So maybe home didn’t want you.

But that’s not possible. Every time the heavy, mind crushing thought crosses your head, you can cling to reality and know it’s not true. You can grab all the evidence you’ve spent so long gathering, and know that Bucky has to want you. You’ve dedicated your life to proving that Bucky has to want you. You’ve received awards and gotten paid more than you reasonably should, just because Bucky has to want you, and you need to prove it. 

He was still home. Your heart felt like it had been splintered, but you also knew Bucky. He wouldn’t have done that to you on purpose. He’d gotten worried when you’d been a little sad about a dog dying in a movie. And it wasn’t lovesick denial, like how the shitty therapist you got set up with said it was.

“Have you considered,” she’d hummed, sitting across from you on an ugly, boring fucking chair. “That maybe you romanticized this relationship-“

“No.”

She’s sighed. “I wasn’t finished with the question, you know. And it’s not a good sign that your response was that certain, without any evidence at all-“

“I have evidence.” You’d snapped, folding your arms over your chest. “And Steve told me that he was looking for me. That he turned himself in for help to find me.”

“What if Steve was lying? To preserve your feelings?”

You’d swallowed. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Maybe. I don’t know him. I do know,” the therapist had given you a mockingly pointed look, and you’d wanted to punch her in the face. “That you claim that Bucky loves you, but he’s made no attempt to contact or see you. In your time of need, he wasn’t there. Is that how you treat someone you love?”

“Yes.”

The therapist had sighed your name, but you weren’t going to let Her keep going. You’d simply left, and texted Sam that you wanted that link to his survivors group therapy thing.

And the therapist hadn’t gotten it. No one really got it. They couldn’t. The symptoms, as it were, appeared stupid and irrational to everyone else, but you had proof. You weren’t an idiot. You’d picked up the blood-covered man on the side of the road not to be a Samaritan or out of naivety, but because you had to.

And Bucky had been there. He’s been here.

But you know him. And you know that he’s hiding from you on purpose, but he’s still there, because he always comes back.

You know he’s blaming himself. That he’d refused to even tell you about Hydra, because it would put you in just a little more danger. And you know about all the things they made him do, and that—when he’d been himself the most, before he’d leave and come back in the shell—he’d have nightmares about blood on his hands and choking down his throat.

And he’d let you hold him. But that was before. When some of that blood hadn’t been yours. 

Perceived as yours. As far as you’re concerned, none of this was even close to his fault. And if he’d show himself, you’d grab his face between your hands and tell him that, over and over and over, until he got it. 

But for now, indefinitely meant until you found where he was hiding, or he showed himself. 

You’d wait for him.

That’s how this works. You wait for him, and Bucky comes back.

And you’re still living, even without him. You’ve made friends. You got a cat, small and white and kind of a dramatic little bitch, and you named her Alpine. You don’t really go out, but you didn’t do that before, either. When someone asks you out, you polity turn them down and explain that you do have someone, they’re just solider. And you’re waiting for them to come home from war.

It’s not a lie. 

It’s just a different kind of war than they assume. 

Time continues to pass. Sometimes you’ll let your gaze linger on the sky for a little longer, just so Bucky knows you’re looking for him. You like your job—especially the money, you’ve never had money before, and most of it ends up donated but it’s good to know it’s there—and you like your apartment, and nothing really changes but that’s okay. You don’t need it to change. 

You’ve had enough change for a while. You still have to do the group therapy thing, and you get nightmares about Rumlow fisting a hand in your hair and forcing your jaw open, and you don’t wear swimsuits or tank tops, because you don’t have any desire the explain the Hydra brand on your shoulder.

Tony had offered to fix it. He’d said that, if you wanted, he could make it disappear. 

You’d turned him down. You won’t erase it. Won’t pretend it never happened, because it did, and you’re still standing despite of it. 

Hydra won’t hurt you again. If, somehow, all of Tony and Steve’s measures—along with Bucky’s nightly vigils he thinks you don’t know about—fail, you won’t let Hydra take you. You can shoot a gun now, and Nat taught you how to do the thigh move thing, and you can build a bomb.

You’d gone to the compound, to learn all those things. And you’d felt Bucky there the whole time, even if you’d never seen him.

It was more than enough. To know he was safe, and somewhere that he could exist without pain. 

And time just keeps moving. And you just keep waiting.

There’s a habit you’ve developed, and you know it’s not healthy, and you don’t really fucking care. 

You go to DC a fair amount, for work. And the Smithsonian exhibit about Captain America has been there forever, and it’s been altered since the everything that comes with the passage of time, but never anything you don’t know. There are things that are wrong, parts that Bucky had told you that hadn’t made it into the updated Fall of Hydra and freedom of the Winter Solider bit of the exhibit. Bits about his childhood with Steve the public didn’t get to know about, but you did. 

It’s one of the reasons visiting the exhibit helps. You get to see his face, but you can just google that. It’s mostly just reading over all the information, and being able to fill in a lot of the gaps. It’s even further proof that he existed with you, and you hadn’t just gone fucking insane. You knew about Bucky’s sisters, even though they were never mentioned. You know that this exhibit painted Steve to be a perfect little patriotic angel, but brave and good of heart meant reckless and good of heart. That it wasn’t an ironic twist of fate that Bucky was rescued by Steve. 

Steve had gone looking for Bucky. He’d gotten that mission together to save Bucky, because Bucky was worth saving.

“Ma’am?”

You glance to the side, and find a wide-eyed teenage boy bouncing on his toes. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, watching you carefully. “You been standing here for like, a really long time. And I’ve just been doing my report,” he holds up a notebook and pen, as if to prove their existence. “But you looked a little sad. I just wanted to check.” 

You just stare at him, and he swallows, extending a hand.

“I’m Peter by the way.”

He’s bouncy. A little puppy like. And when you give him a soft smile and your name he relaxes, even as you can see that concern starting to spread across his face. 

You have been here for a while. You’re always here for a while. But nobody’s ever asked you about it. And now you have to come up with a really good reason. 

“I’m just waiting for someone.” You shrug, and the Peter’s eyes widen.

“At a museum? Is he supposed to meet you here?” He pauses. “Or she? Or, is it multiple people? Maybe two people? There’s no reason for me to think it’s a he-“

“It’s a he.” You hum, and Peter relaxes. “And I doubt he’s coming. I just like to wait here.”

“Why?”

This kid is nosy. He’s lucky he looks so earnest, or you’d walk away. “It reminds me of him.”

“Oh. Did you guys… Go to a lot of museums together?” Peter glances at the Bucky exhibit. “Was he a fan of Mr. Barnes?”

You snort at that. “No, I don’t think he was.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.” You answer without a thought. Bucky’s the whole world. “Still am.”

Peter’s silent for a long moment. “How long have you been waiting for him? Your guy?”

“A while.” You shrug, glancing down at his notebook. “Don’t you have a report to be doing?”

“I- Uh, yeah. Are you sure you’re okay? I can wait with you-“

“No.” You let out a long breath, looking back to the exhibit. To Bucky’s face, a little younger than you’ve ever gotten to see it. 

But he’d still look youthful, when he helped you plant your flowers, and frowned at the TV, and laughed like nothing had ever been wrong in the world.

“He probably won’t show up today.” You say, trying not to let your own words break your head. “I’m just here. In case.”

“Oh.” Peter frowns at you. “When do you stop waiting?”

“I don’t.”

Peter’s just a kid, but you also don’t feel like trying to dance around it today. Bucky’s yours. He’s home.

He comes back, and you wait. 

He just has to come back.

“If it helps,” Peter mumbles. “Maybe he wants to come back, but can’t. That could’ve happened, right?”

You shake your head. “He can. And I know he wants to. He just has to be ready.”

“And you’re just gonna… wait?”

You nod, and you can almost feel Peter’s gaze shift from you to the picture of Bucky. He really is handsome. And you’d waited a whole lifetime for him before.

What’s a little while longer.

“Good luck with your report.” You give Peter a small smile, and he smiles back at you, his expression still nervous. 

“Thank you. I’m, uh- I’m sorry for bothering you-“

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” He nods to himself, then starts to back away. “I hope your guy shows up for you!” 

Peter smiles at you one last before he bounces away, and you give him a small wave in return.

You don’t move. That’s part of the waiting. 

And Bucky won’t show up today.

But you hope he does, too.

——————

“Barnes!”

Stark’s shout was coming from behind him, but Bucky didn’t break pace. He didn’t want to talk to Tony right now. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He needed to get on his bike, so he could make it down to the city and continue his creepy ritual. 

If he missed Her, he’d have no way of knowing if She was safe. And Steve had promised She’d be fine, but there was always a fucking chance. A small but real chance that, the one night Bucky didn’t check on Her, Hydra would find her and she wouldn’t come home. And they wouldn’t know She was gone until it was too late. Hydra wasn’t supposed to take prisoners, but they’d take Her. And they’d still know what She meant to Bucky, and this time, he’d lose Her.

His soulmate. 

Peter’s word had been rattling around in Bucky’s head for weeks. Soulmate. Bucky’s soulmate. That was why She was an instinct. Why She was safe. The safest place. They vibrated together—whatever the hell that meant—so She was for Bucky, the same way part of him always wanted to crawl back and be for Her. Be wanted, and cared for, and safe.

Bucky didn’t deserve to be safe. He barely deserved the government’s forgiveness, let alone Her’s. The only star that had been left in the sky, guiding him home whenever he got lost. The wind that turned to blow him where he needed to go, and the sunlight that sometime filtered through his windows in the compound, reminding him that things did get better. She’d made everything better. 

He’d have to live with this, though. Just seeing Her, like the work of art She was. Watching, but never, ever touching. 

“I know you can hear me, terminator!” Stark shouted, and Bucky sped up.

He was faster. If he just got away-

“Friday! Lock the hallway doors!”

“Right away, sir.”

The door locked, seconds before Bucky got to freedom. 

“What the fuck, Stark-“

“Don’t throw a tantrum.” Stark waved him off, panting slightly as he caught up. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you like an adult, Barnes, you’re the one who- Never mind. Not important. Why have you been sending my prodigal child to spy on your girlfriend?”

Bucky blinked. “You’ve got kids?”

“I’ve got the kid. Peter.”

“The spider-boy?”

“He prefers man.” Stark shrugged. “But yes. He’s been stalking your girl, Barnes, and I want to know why.”

Bucky stared at Stark for a long moment, the word processing through his head. His girl. Her. Peter was followed Her. Stalking Her. Maybe keeping tabs on Her for Bucky, but Peter knew Bucky had been watching Her, and maybe this was a trap, and Peter had snitched, and now Bucky was supposed to admit he’d been following Her, but if Stark had something to say about that he better damn say it and move on, because Bucky wasn’t going to be stopping until one of them was dead. Preferably him, as if She died first, he’d plant all those flowers on Her grave then crawl into the coffin at Her side, holding Her until she remembered who She was and came back home, home to Bucky-

“Hey!” Stark snapped his fingers in Bucky’s face. “Answer my question, tin man. Why’s the kid following her around?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky grunted, and Stark sighed.

“Here’s the deal, okay? I know about your little trips. I’ve known about them, because, as I attempted to explain before, I am keeping her safe. But apparently I should stop trying to tell super-soldiers from the 40s to trust technology, cause Cap keeps throwing out his very expensive Starkwatch, and you feel the need to act as a personal body guard to a woman who you refuse to even speak to.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it-“

“No.” Stark pointed a stern finger at him, eyes narrowing. “I will not watch it, because I’m find with the stalking, but I will not let you loop the kid into your crimes. You know, besides the one he’s doing on purpose.”

“I didn’t loop the kid into anything.”

“Then why was he trying to talk to me about-“

“He followed me.” Bucky snapped, taking a firm step forward. “And I told him to drop it. That’s all that fucking happened, Stark, so unlock the doors or I will break them open.”

If Stark was fazed, he didn’t show it. Of course he didn’t. Asshole. “That wasn’t all that happened.” 

“Yes it-“

“Peter told me about your conversation.” Stark snapped, holding Bucky’s gaze. “About the soulmate shit. And that you thought it was bullshit.”

“He fucking what-“

“I just wanted to help!” Peter squeaked, seeming to fucking materialize from the ceiling before dropping down at Stark’s side. “And Mr. Barnes didn’t make me talk to her, Mr. Stark, I did that myself-“

“You talked to her.” Bucky was trying to keep his voice from being a shout, but it was just coming out poisonous. “I told you that was it.”

“But it’s not it-“

“Peter.” Stark stepped forward, and Peter’s mouth snapped shut. “How did you get into this hallway?”

Peter bowed his head, his voice only a mumble. “Clint showed me the vents.”

“And why the fuck did you go after-“

“Barnes.” Stark snapped, his eyes narrowed. “Deep breaths. We’re handling this. Peter, why did you go talk to our lovely, angry ex-assassins soulmate-“

“She’s not-“

“She is.” Stark shrugged. Like the words were fucking nothing, instead of a grenade straight to Bucky’s heart every time they were said, because the universe couldn’t do that to Her. “I’d bet most everything I own that she is. I am more worried about why you,” he glared at Peter. “Felt the need to participate in their sad little pining situation.”

“I just wanted to talk to her,” Peter mumbled, staring at the floor. “I didn’t mean to run into her, I promise, but I was on a field trip, and she was there. Looking at your exhibit!” Peter gave Bucky a wide, almost hopeful smile. “And she said she was waiting for someone! And that she was still a fan of you-“

Stark’s nose wrinkled. “A fan? She collecting little Barnes stickers?”

Peter shook his head. “No, it- It made more sense in context. But she’d said she’d wait for you forever, Mr. Barnes! So that’s what she wants, right? You?”

Bucky couldn’t move. Him. She wanted him. 

The kid could be lying, but he didn’t seem like the type. 

But there was no reason for Her to want Bucky. He’d never done anything for Her. He’d only gotten Her hurt, and failed Her.

Yet She was still waiting for him. 

She’d always been waiting for him. Every time he’d left, Bucky could remember Her waiting for him. And She was beautiful and kind and smart, and could’ve had anyone, but She’d chosen to wait for Bucky. There had been times where he’d be gone for months on end, but still.

She’d be waiting for him.

“Stark.” He grunted. “Let me out. Now.”

“But-“

Stark placed a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder, and the kid shut his mouth. “Friday, open the doors.”

It wasn’t a trap. Stark didn’t do traps like that. He only held Bucky’s gaze, and nodded to the exit.

“Make good choices.”

Bucky grunted, and walked away. 

Choices.

That hadn’t been something he’d had, for so long. And they were fucking hard.

Nobody talks about how fucking hard choices are. 

You have to make all the right ones. For yourself. For everyone else. And there are so many options, and they’re all complicate and simple all at once, and you’re always supposed to just make the right ones. Maybe it was an instinct he’d had before, then lost, but Bucky doesn’t have a goddamn clue which ones are the right ones. He doesn’t have a clue about anything.  

He had a clue about Her. No matter how many times he’d been wiped, Bucky had always had a clue about Her. At first it would just be a breach in the programming, telling him to go. Go to Her. Then it was the flowerbed that some part of his brain had understood to mean if he stood there, he’d be somewhere better. And he’d always be flooded with more and more knowledge of everything when She was lying in his arms, and he was at peace. 

He hadn’t done peace in a while, either. Here—at the compound—Bucky had the choices, but he didn’t have peace.

He missed it. 

Missed Her. 

All the fucking time, Bucky missed Her.

And he could spend another night on the roof, but She was already home. Bucky could feel it, running right along that instinct, that She was here but out of his sight.

He didn’t want Her to be out of his sight. He just wanted Her. And Peter said She was waiting for him. Looking at his exhibit and waiting for him. Just like how, every night, he returned to watch Her. 

And Bucky hated not being in control. He hated not having a choice. 

But he’d never had a choice with Her. It had always just been find Her. Go to Her. Go, go, go, you have to go to Her. First disguised as the program, but deeper. Part of Bucky, instead on just a voice in his head and strings on his body. 

She was deeper.

She was his. 

And before Bucky knew it, he was in the building. At Her doorstep.

Knocking on the door. 

It was a horrible, terrible, god fucking awful idea. His fist had barely left the wood, and Bucky knew it had been a terrible idea.

And it was far too late to turn back. The door swung open, and there She was.

Even more beautiful up close. Still clear. Colorful and made of sharp lines, and a soft, gentle smile. Like She’d been expecting him. And every bit of Her could split the heaviest of fogs, and guide Bucky home. 

To Her. 

“You’re here.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m here.”

“Do you want to come inside?” Her voice was soft too. Every bit of Her had always been soft. Not movable, not weak, but soft.

Like a ton of feathers. Just as heavy as iron. Just as strong. 

But crushing Bucky down softly, easily. 

He’d been fighting for so long. Every time he’d found Her, he’d been fighting something. His body, a target, Hydra, himself. 

And She’d been waiting. 

Bucky might be done fighting. And this—strong, suffocating, clear softness—was maybe the best place to rest. The safest place.

So he nodded, and Her smile grew as she stepped aside. 

“I didn’t know when you’d be… back.” She mumbled, scanning over Her apartment as she led him inside. “It’s a little bit of a mess, but-“

Bucky cut Her off with a grunt. “It’s good.” You’re good. Perfect. I’m home, and I don’t know where to go from here-

“Do you want to sit down?”

She’d always done that a lot. Understood what he needed. Taken care of him, even when he’d really been nothing more than a burden. 

“You- You don’t have to-“

Bucky sat down before She could finish, and her lips twitched slightly. 

There was a soft, rolling squeak, and suddenly something was jumping onto Bucky. He barely had time to brace his body back, before he realized that it wasn’t an attacker, or bomb, or any sort of threat to Her.

It was a cat. A pure white cat, purring on his lap and examining Bucky with big, curious eyes.

“That’s Alpine.” She mumbled, and Bucky glanced up at Her, clearing his throat.

“I, uh. I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“I didn’t.” She shrugged. “Let her smell you.” Bucky nodded, offering his hand, and Alpine had barely smelled it for a second before She was head-butting him, settling further into his lap.

A soft smile grew on Her face. “She likes you.”

“Gesso so.”

“Do you want-“

“I want you.” Bucky muttered, trying not to think too much. Thinking had always been his enemy. And She needed to stop asking what he wanted, because this wasn’t supposed to be about him. He was the one who failed, then left, then stayed away. 

“I-“

“I want to talk, doll.” He looked up at Her, not caring how much of his voice sounded like pleading. “Please, sit.”

She swallowed, and nodded. Dropping right at Bucky’s side, where he could feel the warmth of Her body. He reached out a slow, careful hand, keeping Alpine in his lap and giving Her plenty of time to swat it away.

But She didn’t. She let Bucky trace his thumb over Her cheekbones, then tuck some hair behind Her ears. Let him linger.

“Hi.” She whispered, Her eyes locked on his. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” He murmured, giving Her a tiny and weak, but real, smile. 

She returned it. Like it wasn’t even a thought. “How long are you staying?”

“As long as you’ll have me.” His voice was a rasp, and what if She didn’t want to have him. What if She didn’t want him, and the spider-kid had been gone-

“Bucky?”

He nodded, something starting to sting at his eyes and strangle him, and She took a long breath.

“Why now?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Why- Why now?” She whispered. “I know you’ve been watching me, I just- I need to know why you were gone. And what made you came back. So I- I want you to stay, this time.” She swallowed, and Bucky could feel it in his own throat. “Please stay this time.”

Bucky couldn’t think about how She’d known he was watching Her. He only thought about the tears starting to roll down Her cheeks, and how She’d been waiting. Alpine was strolling away from Bucky to comfort Her, and that should’ve been his problem. Not the damn cat’s.

He never should’ve made Her cry. Ever.

He’d made the wrong choice. So many wrong choices. There was blood on his hands, over his heart, and beaten and painted over his skull. 

He wanted to start making the right choices.

He wanted to be clean.

“I didn’t want to leave you, babydoll.” He kept his voice low and slow, and She made a weak, choked sound. “I- I’m so fucking sorry. I was comin’ to get you, but Hydra got you first. Then I couldn’t find you, and I had to get mixed up in a lot of stuff to find you and- You’ve always deserved better than me, sweet girl. Better than an old man covered in blood, and I was tryin’ to be- I needed to be selfless. Needed to give you a shot at something better, and that meant me staying away. And I’m so fuckin’ sorry for not being there, and makin’ you wait, and- I’m-“ Bucky slid to his knees before Her, wrapping his arms around Her stomach. “I’m sorry. I never shoulda ever left, and I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence, as Bucky stayed on his knees, and She scanned over his face. She could break him. Cast him out, and he’d deserve it, make him repent a little more than just tear and apologies, make him earn it-

“I forgive you.” 

Bucky blinked. “But-“

“I do. I forgive you. But it’s not selfless to leave me, Bucky. And I don’t care who I deserve. And I don’t want better. I want you.” She swallowed, Her eyes going glossy on his. “And I need you to believe me when I say that.”

Believe Her.

That was easy.

She’d always helped him remember, always cared for him, always trusted Bucky not to hurt Her, even when She really shouldn’t have. 

If all Bucky had to do for Her to forgive him was believe Her, that was going to be the easiest thing in the world.

“I believe you.” He muttered, and Her smile is going to make him move mountains. “Thank you.” 

“Can we start over?” She whispered, Her eyes so bright on Bucky’s, and no choice had ever been easier.

“I’d… Like that. Please.”

“Good.” She gave him a small smile, extending out one hand. “Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

Bucky swallowed, taking Her hand slowly. It didn’t vanish. 

This was real.

“James Buchanan Barnes.” His voice was a little hoarse. She didn’t seem to mind. “But you can call me Bucky, doll. What’s, uh- You got a name?”

Her smile grew, She said Her name and Bucky had never heard her last name before. It suited Her well.

Barnes would suit Her better.

But he’d deal with that later. Right now, they were starting over. Bucky was starting over. 

With Her.

And there was no solider programming to breathe through, but there was still the sheer power of Her. And there it was. The calmness and clarity through his whole body. Bucky could feel it.

He was home.

End Note: Are y'all ready for some toothrotting fluff and a-grade smut. They're about to be so happy you have no idea.

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[wordsarelife]

—holidays

pairing: jess mariano x fem!reader

summary: you and jess go iceskating, which you quickly regret

warnings: none, but reader being bad at ice skating lol

note: here it finally is, the first fic of my little christmas calender. i think i will be posting a small masterlist for the upcoming fics later. the fics are going to be named after my favorite melancholic christmas songs. there will be sad fics, but in general the title won't have much to do with the story itself. hope you'll enjoy!!

(ps: let me know if you want to be tagged!)

"i'm absolutely not doing this" jess protests as soon as you point your finger at the ice rink that was specifically build up for the weekends christmas festival taking place in stars hollow.

"oh, yes you are" you grin.

he looks at you with that contemplating look, probably considering weather you'd be angry if he just walked off. but a single second to think gives him all the answers he'll need.

"please" he sighs, hoping for you to give in and let the request slip.

"just say you don't love me" you cross your arms, raking your chin up high with closed eyes. jess doesn't react and you slowly open your right eye to glance at him.

his eyes aren't on you. his gaze wavers over the people on the rink - families, couples, kids - and he seems to be thinking how bad this'll go on a scale of one to ten.

he can't help, but also think about your eyes lighting up and your laugh breaking through the cold air. the decision is made quickly, surprising to you, as he takes your hand and drags you into the direction of the rink.

"wait, really?" you ask, not able to hide the surprise. you had been ready to give him the cold shoulder for a while, before you had ultimately let go of the request.

but now, your eyebrows shoot in the air as you watch him pick up the skates at the little hut next to the rink.

"not a word" he mutters as he holds the pair out for you to take. "and never say i don't love you"

you giggle, as you sit down to change out of your shoes and into the skates. jess is sitting beside you, mirroring your moves as he watches you effortlessly tie the shoes.

you can practically feel the grumble that dares to escape his lips when he has to undo the shoe for a third time after leaving out two holes.

"here" you say, crouching in front of him, "let me"

jess begrudingly accepts your help and even though he doesn't say a word, you notice the little smile on his lips. he's not angry, not really.

the ice rink is not filled to the brim by the time you step on it. there's enough room to try out your skills without getting hurt or hurting someone else in the progress.

you almost slip, jess' quick reaction being the only thing that keeps you on your feet and you send a grateful smile in his direction, as you grip onto the side of the rink, waiting for him to follow you onto the ice.

jess sighs and you can hear a nervous breath escape his lips, before he ultimately follows you. his feet make contact with the ice and to your surprise nothing happens. he standing there, like he's standing on normal ground. no hint of discomfort or a threatening fall.

"what?" you mutter. "how can you—?" you can't even find the words to express what you're thinking.

jess shrugs and your reaction guides him back into his usual cockiness that he just forgot for a short while. "well, seems like i'm a natural"

"you're not a natural" you huff and try to cross your arms, but quickly abort the mission when you dare to lose balance. "you've never even done this before"

"looks like this is my destiny" he clearly enjoys the way his newfound talent seems to be riling you up.

"destiny my ass" you roll your eyes, showing him a sugarcoated smile, "i bet luke's gonna be so proud of his little ice princess"

"don't you dare" jess shakes his head, the smirk leaving his face quicker than you would've thought.

"well, help me then" you gesture your arm in his direction and he takes your hand, slowly, but effortlessly guiding you more into the middle of the rink.

it takes a whole lot of effort for your to keep upright, while jess doesn't seem bothered by the slippy ground beneath him. it's almost scary how balance doesn't seem to be a thing he has to actively work for, not even when you slip and grab onto him for dear life.

“careful” jess mutters, steadying you with both hands. his grip is firm but gentle, and you can’t help but notice the smug grin creeping back onto his face. “you’re going to take us both down if you keep flailing like that.”

“i am not flailing!” you protest, clutching his arm tighter when your foot slides again. “you’re just too stubborn to admit this is pure luck.”

“luck? this is skill, sweetheart” jess twirls you—more of a clumsy pivot, but to him, it’s clearly a full-on figure skating move. he gives you a smirk so self-assured you almost forget how absurd he looks.

jess steadies you once again, before he carefully lets go of you and skates effortlessly forward until he comes to a halt a few steps away from you. "come on" he encourages, "you can do it!"

you roll your eyes, ultimately hating ever even suggesting this whole thing and absolutely ticked off by the way jess is clearly enjoying your discomfort. it's his moment for revenge.

you test the waters, slowly moving forward, but too unsure to really move the rest of your body, so it looks quite weird as you slip over the ice.

jess moves his open arms back and forth. "come little duckling," he almost giggles, "have you never learned how to use your feet?"

"funny" you smile sarcastically, but your confidence is just as fast gone as it had come, when you make a wrong move and lose balance. "ahh!" you cry, closing your eyes.

but before you can imagine yourself hitting the ground in a terrible and embarassing fall, two strong arms grab you, pulling you upwards and against jess' chest.

"didn't think i would let you fall, did you?" his voice is a lot less teasing and gets a bit lost in your hair, as you press your head against him and hold onto him like a lifeline.

"not if you value your life" you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled but sharp enough to make him chuckle.

jess leans back just enough to look down at you, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips, "oh, really? and what’s the punishment for letting you hit the ice? public humiliation? cold shoulder for a week?"

you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a playful glare. "try immediate breakup. single by christmas."

"well that wouldn't be fun now, would it, birdie?" jess smiles. "you would never break up with me, because i'd make it up to you before you'd get the chance"

"sure" you roll your eyes, but grin. "now you're mr. darcy all of a sudden, huh?"

"god, no" jess shakes his head. "more like a jack dawson."

you blink, a little confused. "jack dawson? from titanic?"

"yeah" he says, the smirk on his face growing. "except without the sinking ship and the whole death thing. but i would definitely let you lay on the door"

it sounds stupid and a bit cringe, but you have to smile nonetheless. "i hope you know i would not let you freeze to death" you assure. "even if we both go down with the door"

jess laughs and presses a kiss to your forehead.

"but you can make it up to me right now, without the whole emergency situation"

"yeah?" jess wonders.

"yeah" you nod, "just get me off this thing, please" you almost beg and jess has to smirk again.

"so i guess ice skating goes off the list of things to do for the foreseeable future?" he slings an arm around your waist, slowly guiding you both back to the entry of the rink.

"god, no, it's canceled forever"

jess presses a hand to his chest, feigning betrayal, "but i was born for this!"

you send him a look that clearly says to shut up.

you're just a step away from walking off the rink when your exit gets interrupted by kirk, who enters the ice rink, arms wide, wearing what can only be described as a flawless pair of bright yellow skates that have a questionable amount of glitter on them. you wouldn't call the dark lilac bodysuit he's wearing matching, but his confidence somehow makes it work.

"hey guys!" kirk smiles.

"kirk?" your head follows his movement along the side of the rink. "didn't taylor forbid you from ice skating after that bad injury last year?"

kirk freezes, his arms falling to his sides dramatically as he glares at you. "oh, please" he scoffs, clearly offended. "taylor is not the boss of me. i’m a grown man, okay? i make my own choices."

he gives a little nod as if to emphasize his independence, then promptly tries to glide confidently across the ice… and immediately loses his balance, arms flailing as he crashes into the wall with a loud thud.

"right" jess says, a saracstic expression on his face as he watches kirk try to regain his balance. "a grown man, making his own choices, like a majestic, glitter-covered disaster."

kirk acts like he didn't hear your boyfriend. "well, taylor said i couldn't skate for at least ten months and ten months are over! ha!"

"yeah, you've really shown him" jess rolls his eyes.

jess helps you off the ice, while your eyes stay on kirk, unmoving. "i'm not sure this is such a good idea, kirk. you know, maybe taylor was right—"

kirk completely ignores your worry. "and now my signature move, the glitter glide"

“oh no” you whisper, gripping jess’s arm tighter.

“oh yes” jess deadpans, watching as kirk dramatically flares his arms. he makes a quick tumble forward, surprisingly holding his balance, before he tries a spin. but instead of completing the turn, he only goes halfway, his body jolting and sending him skidding backward at an alarming speed.

"jess!" you call, noticing in which direction kirk is headed.

jess rolls his eyes, but steps into the open side of the entry, effortlessly catching kirk as he glides through the exit.

"enough action for today?" you ask a panic-stricken kirk, who’s now clinging to jess for stability like a shipwrecked sailor.

kirk nods, slowly freeing himself from jess' arms. "will you buy me a snow cone?"

"of course" you nod with a smile.

[cherrys-muses]

— BUT I WILL TRY TO DROWN YOU OUT | e. munson x reader

| warnings; this is a flashback so this is to my ‘truck driver!eddie’ au (this can also just read as a plain eddie fic!), i try to keep this as gn as i can - but sometimes there will be a few slip ups, FATHERS!!!!!!, eddie has a sister, this one is slightly long, mentions of alcohol, abuse, and blood!

| an; i’ve missed writing for him and his little family so so much :( but i wanted to do some more back stories for this au as well!

— special tags; @munsonbee - you always have the most wonderful things to say about this au and i will never be able to thank you enough for showing so much love to this and me :(

— THANKSGIVING | 1985. 

Eddie fears that this was forever. This…sickness that he inherited from his father. The pushing away, the pulling back when things get too hard too quick. 

Or maybe things were good and he had to ruin them just as his father did. 

You had arrived, catching Eddie slightly off guard. Especially from the two trays you carry inside the trailer. He blinked owlishly, which caused Wayne to smack the back of his head in a teasing manner. 

“Go help. I raised you better than that, boy.” 

Eddie was quick to stand then, hopping off the bench where he had sat next to Wayne, jogging up the steps and inside to the warm house. “Uh, what are you doing here?” He wipes the sweat from his palms, watching as you shove something into the stove under the ham that Wayne had been cooking. 

You shrug and turn to the refrigerator now, pushing what looked like a pie inside. You then walk to him, folding your fingers in front of you as you rock on your heels with a shy smile - you look so pretty Eddie short circuits. 

“I wanted to see you,” You nod. “My family always has our thanksgiving meal early. And my mom talked to Wayne before I just popped up.” 

Eddie smiles softly. “You’re welcome here anytime.” 

You nod and step closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders now. “I know. Still - manners and all,”  You move your head side to side. He grins and presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling you close. “Would you want to come stay with me tonight? We're setting up the Christmas tree.” 

He chuckles and you pull away, pouting at him. “Why are you laughing? It’s tradition.” 

“For you. I think it’s ridiculous.” 

Your arms slightly loosen their hold when the words slip out, the playful pout now a frown as you look away from him. “I mean, you don’t have to come,” You shake your head and pull away from him. “I just thought since Wayne has to leave tonight you’d have someone to stay with on the holiday.” 

Eddie shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s just another day.” 

Slightly pursing your lips together, you only nod this time. You turn from him and walk into the kitchen, opening the cabinets. Eddie’s suddenly confused but ignores it, stepping into the kitchen as well. 

“Need help?” 

“No.” You reply shortly, turning towards the table and placing three plates out onto the table. 

“Add another,” Wayne’s voice catches her off guard, looking over at him. “Uh, Alan is coming.” His eyes cut over to Eddie who’s jaw ticks slightly. 

You only nod, walking over and grab another plate, placing it down onto the table along with the others. 

When Alan Munson arrives - Eddie’s honestly surprised - there’s another woman on his arm, and an air of cockiness, cheap cologne, cigarettes and leather. He’s loud - extremely loud. 

The woman next to him - Alison you come to learn - is a pretty brunette with wide eyes, almost like Eddie’s mother’s eyes. 

And even if you were still slightly upset at Eddie for his comment earlier - which was a petty comment - your hand grabs his from under the table, squeezing when you feel his foot bouncing. 

He barely touches any of Wayne’s ham he had cooked - and it was something he looked forward to every year. 

“Don’t waste your food, kid,” Alan slaps his shoulder roughly. Eddie winces slightly, moving closer to you. “Raised you better than that.” 

“You didn’t raise me though,” Eddie quickly retorts. “Wayne did. And I can put it up for later - that’s what we usually do on Thanksgiving. If you would’ve been there, you’d know.” 

Alan’s chewing slowly comes to a stop, brows lifting slightly as he stares at him. “Watch your tone, Edward.” 

“Of course, Alan.” His fork clatters into his plate as he stands, the chair sliding out from under him quickly. You flinch when it hits the wall, the frame rattling. 

The door opens before Alan or Wayne could say anything. Georgia steps in, a bottle of wine in her hand as she lifts it up. “Uncle Wayne! Eds!” Her voice is slightly raspy and her lips pulled into a grin. 

It drops when she sees Alan. 

“You didn’t tell me he was coming.” Her eyes look at Wayne who finally stands. 

“I didn’t think he was going to show up.” 

Georgia looks at him. “Always like you to show up randomly.” 

“My first born,” He looks at Alison who leans into his chest, cheetah print boots pressing into the floor. “Georgia. Just like her mother with that complaining.” 

“Don’t you talk about her like that. Georgia or mom.” Eddie snaps, looking at him. 

“Eddie—” You stand from your chair. Alison stands when Alan stands as well, moving out of his way. 

“I said to watch your tone, son. I’m not foolin’ ‘round,” Eddie’s stomach churns when the smell of beer drifts into his face. He has the right mind to throw up all over Alan’s snake-skin boots. “Or I’ll make you—”

“What? Regret it?” Eddie steps closer to Alan. He notices the smirk that pulls at his lips. “I’m not some kid you can toss around anymore. I hit back now.” 

“Eddie.” Wayne warns him. He knew this is what Alan wanted and he hates that Alan is getting what he wanted. But Eddie is his fathers son. His blood is in his veins - no matter how much he wanted to deny it. 

“Maybe Georgia’s more like me,” Alan nods. “You’re more like Elizabeth. I know that defensive look any—”

Eddie throws the first punch before his mind has time to think about it. He watches as Wayne stumbles a bit, the spikes on his boots clicking slightly. 

Your hand covers your mouth as you watch with wide eyes, your heart beating in your ears. 

Eddie’s anger has multiplied now - it’s burning his fingertips, tingling through his legs. He will not allow a man who never actually knew his mother to talk badly about her. 

There are nights when he prays for forgiveness for killing his mom - not that he actually did - but he knows that she would’ve still been here if it weren’t for him. 

Eddie knows she loved both him and Georgia fiercely. He also knew that she thought having him would maybe fix Alan like he was when Georgia was born. But now, he sees that he didn’t fix it. 

He made it worse. 

He killed his mom. 

And if he could, he'd time-travel back to before she even met Alan and would warn her. Warn her about how evil he was - the epitome of the devil. 

Even if that meant he wouldn’t have a sister. 

Even if that meant he wouldn’t be born. 

He wished that she would’ve been happy. 

He wanted to give his life for hers so she could live again. The only thing she’d be afraid of was bees and not the hand of some man who didn’t even deserve the clothes on his back. 

Alan slowly stands from his hunched position, a small laugh breaking free from his busted lip as he shakes his head. “She never fought back though.” 

Eddie lets out a scream and he feels the tears that had suddenly dropped down his cheeks. His hands grab the collar of his flannel, tossing him to the ground before anyone could stop him. 

There’s a buzzing noise in his ears when his knuckles meet Alan’s face and he can still feel the tears that slip down his cheeks. The punches grow weaker, his bloodied hand dropping to his chest as his shoulders shake with sobs. 

He’s knocked onto his back then, Alan shifting onto his knees. The sound of the buckle makes his eyes squeeze shut. He's six years old again after that one time he accidentally stepped on a single cigarette. 

He can feel the tingling from the metal across his hands again. 

Wayne interferes before the belt could even meet Eddie’s back, shoving Alan into the wall across the room. Eddie stays laying on the ground, shoulders shaking. 

You watch as Alan gets tugged out of the trailer now by Wayne’s hand on the back of his head. Alison follows after them quickly. You look down at Eddie, walking over and kneeling by him as your hand lands on his back. 

He’s quick to pull away from your touch as if you’d burned him. “Don’t touch me,” He seethes. Your own tears had formed, watching Eddie cry on the ground. “Don’t. I don’t need you or your pity.” 

Your heart breaks and you shake your head. “No…No, baby. Don’t—I want…” 

“I want you to leave, now,” He stands from the ground. You’d seen too much. You’d seen how frightening he was and that’s how you’re going to remember him for the rest of your life - that’s what he told himself. “You’re only with me because you took me on as a charity case. That’s it. There’s nothing there.” 

You quickly stand from the ground, shaking your head rapidly as you reach out for him. He steps away, eyes narrowed at you, expression stern. “No…no, I love you. I’m in love with you, Eddie. Please,” Your voice breaks. “Don’t shut me out. You’re shutting me out.” 

“Leave!” His voice makes you flinch and another tear rolls down your cheek as you stare at him. A small noise leaves your throat when you look away, face crumbling as you walk away from him quickly. 

Georgia stands there, wine bottle still in her hands as her eyes remain on Eddie. She wanted to lecture him but she also knows now is not the time. He’s shutting himself down and there would be no way of getting through to him until he cools down. 

Once he knows you're gone, his shaky hands reach for the pack of cigarettes that are on the counter. He walks past Georgia who now sits on the couch by Wayne, walking out into the cool air. 

He stops when he sees Alan, jaw ticking. This is the longest he’s stayed after any type of holiday. He walks down the steps and sits on the last one. He slips the lighter from the pack, lighting the end of the cigarette. 

Inhaling deeply, he blows out the smoke and stares up at the sky. It’s silent between the father and son. 

“I don’t think you’re a good person.” Eddie finally speaks up. 

Alan lets out a small laugh and it causes Eddie’s blood to boil. “And you are?” 

Eddie thinks for a moment, inhaling more smoke, letting it swirl in his chest before blowing it out. “I’m too much like you for that,” He says. Alan stays silent and stares at the back of Eddie’s head. “I almost forgot your voice.” 

“What?” 

“Your voice,” Eddie says. He can’t turn and look at him. “I almost forgot what it sounded like. I was hoping it’d be completely gone from my memories until I could make a new one for you - make you sound more happy. Create different memories than what I have,” 

He looks down at the ground. “Then when you popped up - like you always seem to do when you want or need something - everything came back to me. Just like that time you busted my hands up with the metal of your belt - the same one you’re wearing now,” Wayne looks down at his thighs, clenching his jaw. 

“Just for…accidentally breaking one cigarette. One,” He puts out the rest of his cigarette and stands. “I wish I could forget your voice instead of mom’s. Because hers,” His voice cracks. “Her’s is almost gone. And she can’t just pop up when she wants to, to remind me what it sounds like.” He makes his way back up the steps and towards the door. 

“I did love you all.” 

Eddie stops, eyes closing as he shakes his head. “That wasn’t love. That was you angry at your responsibilities and you didn’t know how to handle them. But that wasn’t our fault, Alan. You could’ve left. Saved us the pain,” He looks at his back now. “We wouldn’t have cared.” 

Alan says nothing else then. Eddie walks inside, shutting and locking the door behind himself and walks past both Wayne and Georgia again to his room. He falls onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling. 

The glow-in-the-dark stars that you’d bought and stuck up on his ceiling lights his room up enough. He stayed silent, his breathing wasn’t as heavy as it was before and his heart had calmed down a significant amount - luckily. 

He feels the bed shift and a shoulder brush against his. 

“I’ve missed you.” Georgia finally says, eyes staring up at the sticky stars. 

“Hm.” Eddie nods, tapping his fingers on his stomach. He doesn’t necessarily believe it - she never calls. Never visit. When she graduated, she left without looking back. 

He didn’t hate her for it. But he didn’t like her for it either. 

She looks over at him. “I do, Eddie,” She nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you with me. But I just…I needed space from here. From everything that reminded me of—”

“Reminded you of dad,” He nods. “I know. I’m sorry I’m so much like him.” 

“Reminded me of mom,” She finishes. He looks over at her. He can make out the quiver of her chin. “From everything that reminded me of her,” Her voice catches in her throat and she sits up, wrapping her hand around her throat, rubbing at the tightness. 

“You remind me so much of her and I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I hate her,” She finally blurts. “I hate her so much for leaving. She wasn’t supposed to leave us. He was,” 

Eddie slowly sits up now, staring at her. He’s never seen her cry. She was always the one who held it in - wiped his tears. Sometimes Georgia envied how easily he could cry. 

“But she’s the one who’s gone. I love her. And I miss her. But I hate her. Everything is so confusing. I-I don’t know…I don’t—” Her chest heaves and hands become shaky as they push through her hair. Eddie pulls her close, hugging her tightly as she had done him so many times as a child. 

His eyes close as his cheek presses into the top of her head. “It’s okay…I know,” He whispers. “I know.” 

It takes a while, but eventually her sobs are reduced to sniffling. She pulls away, wiping at her face and nose - her head pounds. “Sometimes I believe Alan is a good man,” She says. Eddie looks at her quietly. “He’s good when I compare him to his own father. And…and that’s enough for me not to…for me to try and not hate him,” 

Her breath shudders when she inhales and she looks at him. “Dad and I are more alike than I care to admit,” She nods. “And when I feel that pure…rage - that pure anger - I realize how much we are truly alike. And it feels like a sickness that has no cure.” 

Eddie stares at Georgia quietly. She always reminded him of their mom - a gentle, caring person who truly would lie their life down on the line for anyone. 

He always reminded himself of Alan. A man who pushed and pushed and pushed until everyone around them finally realized there’s no sense in keeping close to him. 

But maybe they’re both just like Alan. 

“I’m sorry for not calling.” Georgia looks at him with shame. 

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s okay,” He whispers. “It’s not your fault.” 

Georgia says nothing but she knows it is. She stands from his bed. “Call that girl, okay?” She looks at him as he looks down at his blanket. “Or just go to see her.” 

“What about you?” 

“I’ll still be here for at least three more days until I go back home,” Home. That pained him to hear from her because he wanted somewhere to feel like home. “I want to meet her. But you need to apologize to her.” 

Eddie nods slightly. She walks out of his room but turns and peeks back in. 

“I love you, buttercup.” Georgia sounds just like their mom. 

Eddie looks up, smiling softly when he feels tears pooling in his eyes. He prays he can still remember her voice - even when he’s old and wrinkled. 

“I love you, superstar.” 

Georgia smiles and grips the door frame slightly before stepping into Wayne’s room he’d given up for three days so she could sleep comfortably. 

Eddie stands from his bed, grabbing his warm jacket and slips it on before walking out of his room. He stops when he hears snoring and ticking from the chair. 

Looking over at Wayne - a man who welcomed a teenage girl and a young boy into his home - he smiles softly. He steps over, grabbing an extra throw that was on the couch and places it over his knees. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of his head before stepping outside into the cold. 

—

He wants to back out, wait until tomorrow to visit you. He sees the television playing It’s A Wonderful Life, although the movie is almost over. There’s some Christmas lights already hung around inside. 

His eyes stop on the tree and his heart pulls in his chest. It was too late to join. 

The door opens and he stands up straighter when he notices it’s your mom. “Hi,” He says. He doesn’t know how much you exactly told your parents, but judging from the slight pitiful smile that pulls on her cheeks, you said enough. “Uh…is she—”

“You can come in,” She cuts him off. “It’s cold out and I made my hot chocolate.” 

Eddie peeks in and sees you looking at the door at him, arms crossed over your chest. You nod slightly. He then looks back at your mom with a small smile, stepping in when she steps to the side. 

She shuts the door softly, locking it behind him. “You’re also staying. Roads are icy and it’s starting to get late.” Eddie follows her into the kitchen as you follow behind as well. 

A red cup filled with rich hot chocolate and melted marshmallows is placed in front of him after he sits down at the table, shedding his jacket. You grab it from his hand and hang it up before sitting next to him. She places a plate of warmed pecan pie in front of him as well. 

Your mom grips his shoulder softly, walking out of the kitchen allowing you both to have some space. The main light in the living room turns off, the glow of warm Christmas lights are enough to keep it well lit. 

Eddie takes the first sip of hot chocolate, cheeks and chest warming instantly. The glass almost burns his palms as he lifts it and then puts it down. 

“She still thinks you like pecan.” You finally speak. 

Eddie glances at you before looking down at the pie, letting out a small laugh. “Yeah…I feel bad for saying that I liked it.” 

You smile and reach for the plate, eating it yourself so a slice doesn’t go to waste. 

“I wanted to apologize for what you saw tonight and for what I said,” He looks at you. You stare down at the plate, playing with a pecan that had fallen from the caramelized sugar. “I…when I get angry - too angry - I tend to shut down on everyone and everything. It’s not a good thing, and I do want to work on it,” 

“I should’ve never said that to you,” He shakes his head. You finally look over at him, nodding your head slightly. “I love you. And that scares me because I don’t…I don’t want you to end up regretting it.”  

You place your fork down and stand from your chair holding your hands out. He grips your hands and you pull him from his seat. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him close. 

“I wouldn’t regret it,” You shake your head. “I don’t,” You pull away and cup his cheeks. Your chin dips slightly as you stare up at him. “You’re my best friend, Eds. You’re all I want - I can never see myself with someone else.” 

The laugh he forces out is watery and his brows pinch together as his eyes stare down at the ground, blinking away the tears that blur his vision. 

Pressing a kiss to his lips before the corner of his lips, your arms wrap around his neck once again, pulling him close. He leans into you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as his shoulders shake. 

Your hand rubs at his back while your other tangles into his hair. “It’s okay…It’s okay,” He adjusts his grip onto you, fingers and rings digging into your skin. “I’m here,” You kiss his temple, moving your forehead to his, nodding slightly. His nose brushes against yours as he nods with you. Your hands cup his jaw once again.

“I’m here.”

| please do not copy my work! comments, feedbacks, reblogs, & requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated! ✿

[kendallroydefender]

Cowboy Take Me Away - Chapter 5 (Kayce Dutton x Roy!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary: You’re Y/n Roy the youngest daughter of one of the richest men in America but all that money can’t make you happy and you decide to move to Montana for a while. But what happens when you meet the youngest son of another influential man? (This is mainly a Yellowstone fic you don’t have to watch succession to follow it)

Authors Note: Thanks to everyone who leaves comments and likes!! Love you all! (Would appreciate some reblogs too but only if you want to)

The next weeks nothing happened between you and things went back to the way it was before you had spent the night with each other. Well, Almost. There was something between you. Lingering touches and glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking. But nothing happened between you and Kayce and neither of you spoke about it.

Spending as much time on the ranch and being close to one of the Duttons made it impossible for you not to catch up on some things that were happening on the Yellowstone. Kayce tried his best to shield you from it. You knew they had some trouble with a man called Dan Jenkins and some characters called the Beck brothers had started to come up more and more recently.

”Can’t teach you tomorrow, Tate wants to go fishing.“ Kayce told you one evening after he taught you how to ride

”Oh, okay. I once went fly fishing with my brother when I was a kid.“

He gave you a little smile at that.

”You could tag along.“ he said casually as if he hadn’t just asked you to meet his son. You stall for a second. This is not just a casual hangout, this is different.

”Yeah, sure. I’d like that.“ you smiled ”I don’t think I know how to anymore, though.“

”Doesn’t matter.“ he shrugged ”I can show you.“

So the next day you got up early and drove over to the ranch. You knew Tate had stayed the night at the Yellowstone, Monica had dropped him off yesterday around dinner time.

Soon you saw Kayce leave the house together with his son. You wiped your hands on your jeans, you couldn’t lie you were nervous. You had never met the child of anyone who you were friends with let alone someone you had started to have feelings for. Tate liking you was not unimportant for your relationship with Kayce and how it would progress in the future.

”Mornin‘“ Kayce grinned, he could see that you were nervous but there was no reason to be. He wouldn’t have asked you to come if he thought Tate would have a problem with it.

”Tate, this is y/n. The one I told you about, who’ll come with us.“

"Hi!" Tate said before Kayce could finish, his excitement bubbling over. "Do you work here with my dad?"

"Not really," you said, kneeling slightly to meet his eye. "But he's teaching me how to ride."

"That's cool," Tate said, before adding

"My dad's the best at it. He can teach you anything!"

You chuckled, glancing at Kayce, who was watching you with an expression that made warmth spread in your chest.

Arriving at the river you halted a moment, still amazed by the beauty of Montana. You let out a breath, glancing at Kayce, who was already helping Tate set up his fishing pole.

"Here," Kayce said, kneeling beside his son.

"Remember how I showed you?"

Tate nodded eagerly, his small hands gripping the rod as Kayce adjusted his stance. You watched them for a moment, a small smile playing on your lips. There was something about seeing Kayce like this— patient, focused, completely at ease in his role as a father. It made something warm settle in your chest.

"You wanna try?" Kayce asked, turning his head toward you.

You hesitated. "I mean... sure, but fair warning, I'll probably mess it up."

Tate grinned. "I can show you!" You laughed, handing him the rod. "Alright, little man, teach me your ways."

He mimicked the way Kayce had shown him, explaining each step with an adorable seriousness that had Kayce chuckling under his breath. You followed along as best as you could, casting your line into the water-though it landed awkwardly to the side.

"Well," you said, tilting your head, "that could've gone better."

Tate giggled. "You just gotta practice."

Kayce stepped closer, standing behind you.

"Here, let me help."

You felt him before you saw him, his presence warm against your back as he reached for the rod. His hands covered yours, adjusting your grip, his voice low in your ear. "Loosen your wrist a little... yeah, just like that. Now flick it forward- smoothly, not too hard."

You swallowed, focusing on the water instead of how close he was. With his guidance, your line flung smoothly into the river.

"See?" Kayce murmured. "You got it."

You turned your head slightly, finding him watching you, a small smile tugging at his lips. For a second, it felt like the world had quieted around you. Then Tate let out a shout "I got one!" and the moment was gone.

The morning passed easily after that. You all fished, laughed, and talked. When it was time to head back, you found yourself lingering in the feeling of it - how easy it was, how right it felt.

You had a great day. On the way back Tate was asleep in his seat, head nodding off against the window. Kayce met your eyes in the rearview mirror with a look that made your heart stop for a moment. You really were falling for him and seeing him today in his father role made it even more difficult to keep these feelings away.

At the Ranch you helped Tate carry the equipment to a shed when Monica arrived to pick their son up. You couldn’t help sneaking glances at the woman. You were so curious about her. Who was the woman Kayce was married to? How did she look? What was she like?

Out of the car stepped a dark hair woman and fuck, she was beautiful. She had a natural confidence in the way she carried herself and thick shiny hair. You looked away before she caught you looking. You stayed back by the shed, putting things away, not knowing if they expected you to introduce yourself.

You bit your lip in thought. Kayce and Monica shared a life together. And whatever it is that you two had going on and no matter how much you want it, there’s this small voice that tells you "what if their split is just temporarily?“. It’s not jealousy exactly. It’s quieter, a worry. Because if he would decide that with Monica is where he belongs you couldn’t argue with that. With something that had existed long before you came into the picture.

”Didn’t realize you had company.“ Monica said looking to where you were helping Tate

”Mon.“ Kayce said not wanting a fight

"Kayce, what are you doing?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Bringing her here. Around Tate."

"Monica, it's not like that-"

"It doesn't matter how you're spinning it," she said. "You don't just introduce our son to anyone you're seeing. You know that."

There was a pause, and when Kayce spoke again, his voice was low but firm. "She isn't just anyone, Monica."

Monica's voice dropped too, but there was a bite to it. "You barely know her."

"I know enough," Kayce said. "And l'd never bring her here if I didn't trust her. You know me better than that."

Monica huffed, crossing her arms. "I'm just saying... don't rush this, Kayce. For Tate's sake."

"I'm not rushing anything," he said, his tone even. "I'm thinking about what's right for him. Always."

She studied him silently

”Tate has met Martin so what’s the deal with him meeting a friend?“

”A friend? Really?“

”Yeah.“

”Okay, whatever.“ she seemed annoyed when she walked over to where you were

”Tate, come on. Time to go.“

”Can I stay with grandpa tonight again?“ the boy asked

”No honey, you have school tomorrow.“

Deflated the boy closed the door to the locker that held the fishing stuff.

”Hey, I’m y/n.“ you finally said

She gave you a nod with a thin lipped smile

”Monica.“ she said before she put her arm around Tate and they walked to the car.

”Bye, y/n.“ Tate called over his shoulder and you gave the boy a wave.

”You okay?“ you asked when you walked to Kayce, noticing how his demeanor had changed. He seemed tense now. Your hand on his arm made him snap back out of his thoughts.

”Yeah, I’m, yeah.“ he said and you nodded

”Did I overstep? Because if-“

”No. You were great.“ his hand reached out and caught your wrist

”Tate liked you.“ he gave a soft smile

”And you were great with him.“ you smiled before your heart stopped when he said

”But I knew you would.“

”Well, he’s a great kid.“ you told him honestly before adding with a cheeky tone

”Like his dad.“

He laughed a little then, kicking dust up with his shoe

”Will I see you tomorrow?“ he asked looking up at you

”If you’re not sick of me hanging around here yet.“

He grinned then

”If I was I’d be real bad at showing it.“

You laughed then,

”Taking a girl fishing to scare her off would probably work on some people I knew in New York.“

”But you’re not like them.“ he said with some sincerity in his voice, and you thought back to your conversations at the river after riding where you told him how you felt about the circles your family moved in.

”I guess not.“ you said nudging his boot with yours.

He looked at you for a moment before he said

”Drive safe.“

The drive home was quiet as you replayed the day in your mind.

Kayce had asked you to come with them. He had wanted you there and more importantly he trusted you enough to let you into this part of his life.

It was just fishing you tried to tell yourself but deep down you knew this meant more.

Kayce wasn’t careless, he wasn’t doing things without meaning or thinking them through. If he’d wanted to keep you at armslength he wouldn’t have invited you.

Whatever it was that was happening between you and him was shifting.

You went to the grocery store straight afterwards. Needing some food to make dinner.

Outside the store you saw a man approach you, not thinking anything about it until you heard him say

”Miss Roy?“

You froze for a moment.

”Can I help you?“ you asked, keeping you voice steady even though a slight panic was rising in you. Who was that man? Did your father send him? Was he a paparazzi wanting exclusive pictures of the Roy that left? Just someone who was interested in getting to know your father? Your questions where answered when he started talking again.

”I believe you can. My names Malcolm Beck and you see it’s not everyday that we get someone like you here in Montana. A Roy. Quite the big name, even out here.“ he said

Your stomach dropped but you kept your face neutral. Malcolm Beck, the Beck brothers, you had heard about them in passing when John talked to Kayce. You weren’t really sure what was going on with them but you knew they meant trouble. Kayce kept you away from all of what was going on on the Ranch.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about.“

You told him. The man smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

”No need to play coy. I’ve done my homework.“ he took a step closer ”Heard you’ve been spending quite some time at the Yellowstone. Getting cozy with the Duttons. Tell me what’s a Roy doing with a family like that?“

You clenched your jaw

”That’s none of your business.“

”Oh, but it is.“ he said, his tone sharper now but still smiling

”Dealing with a man like John Dutton you learn to use any tools that are available. Like, say a Roy. Who’s trying to be under the Radar. It’d be a shame if the press back home would find out you were slumming it on a Ranch, wouldn’t it?“

Your blood ran cold. ”What do you want?“

”Smart girl. All I’m suggesting is that we help each other out.“ he smiled again

”Convince John to see reason and you can safe us all a lot of trouble. Including yourself.“

”Yeah, no, I’m not interested.“ you answered firmly

”Think it over. Here’s my card.“ he handed you a small piece of paper ”You’ve got a lot to lose, Miss Roy. But so do they.“ and with that he gave you a nod before walking away. You exhaled deeply thinking ”Shit.“

Taglist: @ganana @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @samiwashere @danadinosaur3

[mynameismckenziemae]

Hi there! I'm the anon who asked about sharing the fic! Here is what I have so far. Thinking I might turn it into a longer fic and I could tag you once I finish it. Like I said I've never really written anything before so I appreciate you letting me share it with you!

“Hey, Bradshaw,” Jake nudged Bradley. “Who’s that?” He tilted his head toward the girl.

Bradley glanced over his shoulder, following Jake’s line of sight. When he spotted you, a knowing grin spread across his face. “Oh, her?” he said, his voice carefully casual.

“Yeah, her.” Jake’s tone was dripping with curiosity—and something more. “She’s gorgeous. You know her?”

Bradley turned fully toward Jake now, feigning thoughtfulness. “Actually, I do. She’s real sweet.” He paused for effect, letting the words sink in before adding with just enough sincerity to be dangerous, “I think you should go talk to her.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly weighing the risks. “You serious?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bradley replied, his voice laced with mock encouragement. “She’s single. And you’re you, right? What could possibly go wrong?” He tipped his glass, hiding the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jake chuckled, straightening his shoulders and adjusting his stance like he was walking into battle. “You’re not wrong, Rooster. I’m irresistible.” He set his beer on the counter and took a deep breath, the picture of confidence. “Wish me luck.”

Bradley raised his glass in a silent toast. “Oh, you’re gonna need it,” he muttered under his breath, watching as Jake strode across the bar like a man on a mission.

As Jake approached, you looked up and met his eyes, your smile widening slightly. Maverick and Penny exchanged a glance, their conversation stalling as they noticed the incoming pilot.

“Hey,” Jake started, his southern drawl turned up to full charm mode. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help noticing you from across the room. I’m Jake.”

Maverick smirked, clearly enjoying the show, but didn’t say a word. Penny raised an eyebrow at Maverick, who simply shrugged, leaving you to handle the situation.

“Nice to meet you, Jake,” you replied, your tone friendly but guarded.

Before Jake could respond, Maverick spoke up, his voice casual but carrying just enough weight to make Jake pause. “Jake, you do know who her father is, right?”

Jake’s grin didn’t falter—much. “No,” he said confidently. “Should I?”

“Probably,” Maverick replied, leaning back with a smirk, “he’s sitting over there.”

Jake’s head snapped to the other side of the bar, where Cyclone was seated, his gaze locked on Jake like a hawk sizing up prey.

Jake turned back to you, his confidence shaken but not broken. “You know,” he said with a sheepish laugh, “I think I might’ve left my beer at the pool table. Don’t go anywhere, though.”

Back at the pool table, Bradley was doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Jake smacked him on the shoulder, muttering, “You’re a real piece of work, Rooster.”

“Worth it,” Bradley managed between laughs. "You retreating already, Bagman?” Bradley teased, his grin wide and smug.

Jake grabbed his beer and took a long sip before setting it down with exaggerated nonchalance. He leaned casually against the pool table, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Retreat?” Jake scoffed, turning his head to glance back in your direction. “Nah, Rooster. I’m just regrouping.”

Bradley’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? And what exactly is the plan now?”

Jake’s smirk widened into something almost wicked as he turned back towards the bar, fixing his collar and brushing his fingers through his hair. “Simple,” he said, his drawl thick and smooth. “I’m going to get her number.”

Bradley barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his drink. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Jake started toward you again, then stopped to look back at Bradley, his smirk now full-blown.

Bradley shook his head, half in disbelief and half in amusement. “This is going to end so badly, and I can’t wait to see it.”

There’s no way you’ve never written before…because this is so SO GOOD! OMG! Seriously, this was very well written.

Please please please tag me if you decide to continue it!

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Intro🔞

Unrequited love can be oh-so painful, especially as a hopeless romantic like Jeon Jungkook. You're supposed to just momentarily soothe his aching heart and take his mind off of things- but something about you just draws him in...

Tags/Warnings: Punk!Jungkook, strangers to lovers, Stereotypes, description of Unrequited love, romance, accidental flirting, some angst, major fluff, smut

Length: 2k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: this was supposed to be an angsty oneshot. Thanks to @euphoricfilter I decided to make it a softer series instead.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook doesn't really know you. 

He knows that you don't like wearing pants, which is why you wear a simple cotton dress tonight despite the weather outside. You layered a sweater over it, and you wear fluffy overknee socks and boots- everything cute, a little oversized, giving you an overall soft appearance. He also knows that you don't really want to be here, that you accompanied a friend but that she went to make out with some boy she had her eyes on the entire night. And he knows your age, your name, and that you have a very nice voice. 

A voice currently whimpering against his ear, as he holds your thighs to keep you propped up against the wall while he thrusts his hips into you. He didn't really think much of it when you suggested this, and he definitely didn't think much of it when he agreed- after all, looks are just looks, down the line, and just because you don't look the part doesn't mean you can't be a little wild. 

What he did not expect was for you to turn out to taste so sweet- the entire ordeal of just a quick fuck feeling like something much more than he's used to. You're supposed to just take his mind off of his long time crush currently probably getting railed in the car outside- and you're doing much more than that. 

It’s like you’re giving him something entirely new to think about. Like you’re someone capable of filling her place in his head. 

Your hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his leather jacket. The warm skin of your thighs, feeling just so good in his hands. And not to mention that clench of your core around his length, making him feel sensitive even despite the condom he wears. 

"What if you just find someone else, too?" You'd wondered at him at the bar earlier, cheek a little squished as you rested your face on one of your hands, looking at him. "She clearly doesn't want you from what I can tell. So stop pining after someone who doesn't see you." You'd boldly stated, throwing the bucket of cold water over his head- shaking him awake, in a way, because no one's really put it out in the open like that to him up until you. It's tough to hear it, but it's the truth- and you're right. 

He needed a distraction. And you seemed to be the perfect opportunity. 

Lucy had always kept him close- dangling him from a string in front of her heart, never letting him reach it- because it had always been closed off, her interest more in what she could gain from him, and not what she could give him as well. She clearly only really kept him close so he could do things for her- help her move, build up furniture, take care of her cat multiple times a week, even buy her things. Jungkook paid for her rent for half a year- simply because he wanted to show her that he was in it with a full and honest heart. 

He wanted her to see him. But just like you said, she doesn't. Because she doesn't want to see him. She doesn't want him. 

"And where would I find someone else?" Jungkook had asked, eyes finding yours as you'd shrugged. 

"Can't promise you a mind-blowing experience-" You'd told him, one of your legs moving forward to playfully kick his boot. "-but I'm right here." 

And right here you are. 

You smell really nice- he realizes that as he rests his head in the crook of your neck, your skin flushed and hot against his lips. He's not sure why he feels almost guilty taking you like this- you seem more like someone who deserves a romantic date night and then a good long slow-fuck in an actual bedroom, not some underground club storage room. You're currently single, and he knows that from you as well, but he's sure that you won't have any trouble finding someone in the near future. 

Though the thought of it makes him a little.. Upset, almost. Jealous? 

"You close?" He growls into your neck, and you simply nod in response, making him chuckle. You seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing, but you're actually kind of cute in this moment. He's, despite his looks, not one to usually do these kinds of things- he's a romantic, even if it's more of an unconventional one. He craves something real and authentic, something that knocks the breath out of his lungs and swallows his heart whole.  

Huh. 

Maybe under different circumstances, you could've been just that for him. He can imagine falling for you if you'd met sooner, or in a different situation- you seem very nice, with a laid back personality added to it. Your pretty face and pretty body is just an added bonus- and he feels a bit disappointed knowing he'll never see you fully nude.

What could you be hiding underneath those clothes? 

For sure something to be worshipped, a body meant to be made love to and not this right now. But you're already at the end, as he bites his lips and pushes you over the edge, your fingers clawing at his leather jacket as you weakly whimper out in pleasure, his own high a lot softer than yours. That doesn't mean it's any less fulfilling- in fact it's a pretty damn good one, drawn out, making the muscles in his thighs stutter a bit as he holds you up for a bit longer, before he slowly sets you back down to your feet.  

You avoid looking at him now. He wonders if you regret it.  

But is that really any of his business? 

"Okay?" He asks, much to his own surprise as he helps you stand, music dull, bass almost the only thing you can both hear as he strips the condom off and finds some tissues to clean himself up- giving some to you as well. You take them silently, and clean yourself up, watching him throw everything into a trash bin nearby. It's only now that you seem to take a look around the small storage room you're both in, before you pull up your underwear, cringing at the odd feeling in your legs. "You good?" Jungkook chuckles- but you still don't look at him, simply nod before you seem to adjust yourself. How do you really feel about this? 

It's none of his business. So why does he feel like it is?  

"Do you.. I don't know, do you want me to drive you home?" He wonders. "If your friend isn't back, I mean." He adds, and you shrug.  

"Yeah." You tell him almost indifferently, before he nods, and leads you back outside, music suddenly loud and clear again. "but.. I think I can see here over there." You mumble, as Jungkook adjusts the back of your clothes for you, something he didn't even notice doing until his hands were already on you. There's something.. odd about you. A strange attraction, almost.  

He's not sure if it's just post-sex-attachment, or if it's genuine interest.  

“She seems awfully... occupied though.” Jungkook chuckles, watching together with you how she pretty much doesn’t seem to care that she’s basically getting undressed by the guy on the dancefloor. “I’ll wait with you at the bar if you’d like.” He suggests, and you shake your head, visibly disappointed.  

“No.” You deny. “Just..” You pull your little bag a little tighter over your shoulder. “..I changed my mind. Take me home, please.” You ask without looking at him, and he nods quietly, a hand on your shoulder leading you outside.  

His car is a little old, but the interior is clean and smells nice. He instantly turns the heat on, making sure you’re comfortable, radio playing quietly in the background while you click your phone into the holder, the navigation app having started to show him the journey to your home. “Oh? We don’t live that far apart.” He notices, as he pulls out of the parking lot in front of the club. “I live near the subway station, where that weird store is. The one where that old lady sells healing crystals and shit like that.” He attempts to smalltalk, and you nod.  

“Yeah, I know that one.” You answer. “My mom used to be friends with the woman that owns the shop..” You shrug.  

“Oh, cool.” He offers. “I don’t really believe in that stuff, but each their own.” He tells you.  

“I don’t believe in it either.” You admit. “But my mom does, so I just.. Pretend I do. I don’t like to fight with her.” You say, looking out the window to see it starting to rain a little.  

“You seem like someone who doesn’t like arguments.” He chuckles. “Which is a compliment, by the way.” He makes sure to underline. “Can I ask why you.. Seem so sad right now?”  

“Sure you can.” You say, before you look back at your hands in your lap. “It���s.. She does it a lot. My friend, I mean.” You admit, before you sigh. “I feel like she’s just.. I don’t know. Like I’m just a placeholder, good enough when there’s no one else around.”  

“Hm, I get what you mean.” He answers. “Some people are shit like that. My mom used to marry and divorce like she was aiming for a world record.” He laughs easily, stopping at a red light. “Some people just can’t be alone. It eats them up- so they take whatever company they can, and love too easily.” Jungkook explains.  

“But where’s the love in that?” You mumble almost too quiet for him to catch, looking out the window again where two children run through the rain after what you believe might be their mother holding a yellow umbrella.  

“For some, that’s love.” He shrugs. “It’s different for anybody. My definition of love probably is different from yours, and that’s fine too.” He offers.  

“I don’t even know.. What it is.” You sigh, defeated in your tone. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.”  

“You’ll know when it happens, trust me.” He tries to lift your mood. “Maybe we can.. I don’t know. Stay in touch, hang around together. I promise I might look like it but I’m not involved in any drug-related drama.” He laughs. “But all you need might just be a good friendgroup, a nice social circle. And I promise my friends are all cool, even though they’re all guys. They’re all in relationships- well, apart from me, but you know why that issue exists.” He chuckles.  

“You shouldn’t let her use you anymore, you know?” You say quietly, as the surrounding area outside the car becomes familiar. “You’re.. Too nice for someone like that.” You say, as he parks in front of the apartment building your phone exclaims is your destination of choice. You reach over to take your phone from the plastic holder, when you notice Jungkook watching you intently, before he speaks.  

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and you look at him with wide eyes, interior lights of his car reflecting in them, making him even more eager to find out how it’ll feel like if you gave him the chance. You shrug, before you nod, visibly confused, while his eyes roam around your face, as if they can’t decide what feature of yours to focus on.  

Everything looks too magical right now. Like some cheesy romantic drama.

He’s not sure if he likes it or not.  

But as his hand reaches out to help angle your face right to place his lips against yours, he’s surely enough made his decision, sweet lipbalm of yours fruity on his tongue as he fails to keep his cool, leaning over further, both of your eyes closed as you get lost in the whole action- though he finally has to break free, the moment enough to cut the spell you both have been under.  

“Well fuck me.” He starts to laugh. “Now I’ll definitely need your number.” he jokes, as he takes out his phone to do just that, your fingers typing in the numbers of your phone, your heart still racing in your chest.

All while his words keep repeating in your head.

'You'll know when it happens, trust me.'

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XVIII: At The End of a Dead-End Street

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev. | read on ao3 | read bee's diary

songs for this chapter: let’s start degeneracy by microwave, love is embarrassing by olivia rodrigo, end of beginning by djo, dead horse by hayley williams, stone by born without bones 

chapter tags: angst, hurt/slight comfort, confrontations, drinking, smoking, just a whole lotta drama! happyISH note to end, but don't get too comfortable!  | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | REMINDER: THIS FIC IS RATED EXPLICIT. 18+ mdni.

a/n: i debated on putting a djo song in this fic for awhile and i think it’s just necessary atp. Also this song works for the theme so, continuity and realism be damned! In this universe steve and joe both exist. Because i said so. 

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, my tumblr and ao3 are the only accounts that feature and contain this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere Reblog to support the author!

taglist (open!): @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r @justalotoffanfiction @bl0ssomanddie @eddiesgirl1944 @longlivedelusion 

--

It’s been almost four days, and you’ve been left on read for three of them. Luckily, Steve and Robin couldn’t hold a grudge after you kicked them out of the bar, so you’ve found yourself over, far too early for their party. 

“So,” You flop down next to Robin on her couch, crossing your legs underneath you. She sips her matcha latte, waiting for you to continue. “How are you doing?” 

“Oh, me? I’m great. My best friend disappeared for like four days with the boy she claims to hate leaving me to wonder if she’s been murdered! But I'm fantastic!”

“Robin. You have my location. I was at home, or working.”

“All alone, I’m sure.” She’s teasing, but you can sense an edge of bitterness.  

“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly mad at me for hanging out with Eddie.” You can’t possibly take upsetting another friend right now. 

“What? No, of course not! I love that you guys are talking again, it makes my life a lot easier knowing you’re hanging out with someone that clearly cares about you. Almost as much as me.” She winks, and you giggle with her. “Who’s mad at you for hanging out with Eddie?”

“Chris was. Or, he was mad at Eddie for hanging out with me. Maybe both? I dunno. Just, not really sure what I’m supposed to do about that.”

“Who says you have to do anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Bee, no matter what you do, someone, somewhere is gonna be unhappy about it. Might as well do what makes you happiest.” She scoots closer, leaning her head on your shoulder. “You hanging out with Eddie means Steve is gonna owe me fifty bucks in about a month’s time. Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

“You made a bet?!” You pull away from her to look her in the eye, to make sure she’s not kidding. 

“Oh, like. In high school. When you stopped talking, I bet you’d be friends again one day. Steve was pretty sure you’d never be able to forgive him.” 

“Does Steve really think I’m that stubborn?”

She shrugs. “There’s a lot he knows that I don’t. I didn’t meet you until our sophomore year, and I didn’t even talk to Steve until we were seniors and he’d graduated. Turns out I still know you better, though.” She grins smugly, and it makes you beam. 

“You are my best friend, Rob. Seriously, never forget that.”

“Couldn’t if I tried. Now, full disclosure, there’s a B side to our bet.”

“Oh?”

“We made an addendum, if you will. When Eddie showed up at Chris’s party.”

“And what was that addendum?” You can feel your face getting hot. 

“When you two start dating.”

You blink at her. “Excuse me? When?”

“We also have money on which of you will initiate the first kiss.”

“Robin!”

“Bee, please. You cannot be that blind!”

This isn’t happening. “I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

She raises her hands in surrender, despite your pleas for her to continue. “Never mind. I’m sorry, that’s not fair. I shouldn’t be making bets on my friend’s personal life.”

“No, you really shouldn’t!” You sip your coffee grumpily, turning back to the New Girl episode you’d started mere minutes earlier. 

“You guys are kinda like Nick and Jess.” Robin muses. 

“Shut. Up. You know what? You don’t even have to worry about it. I told him I didn’t want to be friends anymore.”

Her laugh ceases abruptly, eyes widening as she registers the weight of what you said. “What? Why?”

But before you can answer, Steve comes out of the kitchen, purple and orange paper streamers taped to his fingers. “Hello? Would you two stop yapping and help me with the decorations?” causing you and Robin to burst into giggles. 

—

Steve’s Halloween parties are known in town for being the spot that weekend. If you don’t at least make an appearance, it’s not worth mentioning what you did do. 

You haven’t been to one since high school. You didn’t have the energy, and it wasn’t worth the trouble to pretend. But for some reason, you feel obligated this time. So you dawn the jade green dress a second time since purchasing it, heart feeling heavy in your chest. 

“Dude, you look insanely hot.” Robin gushes, helping you tie the corset. “Eddie’s gonna die.” You frown, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “What, you think because you texted him that he’ll give up on you? You’re funny. And way too naive for your own good.” She knots the ribbons of the corset before stepping back. “Tada!”

You do look insanely hot, you can’t argue that. The dress seems to float as you walk, twirling around you in a way you can only describe as romantic. You’ve dawned a pair of elf ears you’d found at the Spirit Halloween in town, and a pair of strappy sandals you’d thrifted last summer. 

“The problem is I still don’t know how I upset him. I was supposed to be the one throwing a temper tantrum!” It’s silly, you know that, but you’re so tired of being the last one allowed to feel a certain way. “It shouldn’t have even been a big deal.”

“Did you mean it?” Robin asks, adjusting her own costume of Natasha Lyonne's character in But I’m A Cheerleader, complete with fluffy hair secured with a headband. 

It’s a loaded question. “To an extent,” You shrug, gently spreading pink glitter across your cheeks. “I probably could have explained myself a little.”

“Okay, so tell him what you meant. That boy would die for you, whether you wanna believe it or not, I’m sure he’d be willing to listen.”

“Rob, I don’t need that pressure. I don’t owe him anything after the shit he and my brother pulled. The fact that I gave him a chance at all is a feat.” You spin to look at your best friend, who’s already examining you with a pair of sad, bet losing eyes. “I’ll pay you out whatever you lose to Steve, if it will get you to stop pouting at me.” You cross your arms over your chest, and she mirrors you.

“It’s not the money I’m upset about, though that for sure doesn’t alleviate the sting. I was rooting for you guys. I still am! Even if, at least right now, that seems a little delusional. I have faith.” She smiles smugly at you, and before you can retort there’s a knock on her bedroom door.

“Ladies! Party starts in thirty, which means I need your help curating the playlist, like, now!” Steve calls from the other side, and you chuckle. 

“Yes, Mom! Be right there!” You yank the doorknob and step into what you’ve lovingly called the Harrington Haunt. The walls are plastered with cheap store bought decorations: caution tape, sticky window hangings meant to look like bloody hands, things that definitely won’t hold up past tonight. Every flat surface holds a bowl full of a different snack: kettle corn, M&Ms, pretzels, Steve has it all. You make your way over to where he stands, hand on his hip while the other scrolls through his music library for songs appropriate for the evening. He’s dressed like John Lennon, with circular glasses and a black turtleneck. 

“Gimme that.” You quip, snatching his phone from his hand. “Worry not about your playlist curation, Stevie. I’m here to rescue you.” Mostly, you just want to make sure there’s a healthy mix of pop for the locals in with the weird shit you’ll likely sneak in. 

“Thanks, Bee, however will I repay you?” Steve rolls his eyes, but he nudges you to show he’s only kidding, that he does truly appreciate the help.

“Keep Munson far, far away from me tonight, and we’ll call it even.”

Steve frowns, clocking Robin’s look behind you. You don’t bother arguing, you’re sure they’re going to do nothing of the sort. Looks like it will be up to you to maintain sanity tonight, without the help of your matchmaking duo.

–

By 9:30, the apartment is filled with your friends, acquaintances, and people you’ve probably met before but can't place. Music floods through the speakers, one of your personal favorite songs that the general audience seem to be enjoying. So far, you’ve been lucky enough not to see Eddie, unsure at this point if he’s even here. He wouldn’t pass up such a valuable opportunity to sell his product, though, so you assume he’ll be here soon if he hasn’t shown up already.

“Bee?” The question comes from over your shoulder, and you turn around to meet the eyes of none other than Scotty. “Shit, that is you!” Without warning, he pulls you into an unreciprocated hug, pinning your arms to their sides. He’s dressed as a pirate, complete with a stuffed parrot on his shoulder, and a tattered eye patch over his left eye. He smells like booze, and you flinch when he rubs your back. 

“Scott. Hi.” A polite response, but not one that opens the door to further conversation. 

“Listen, since I’ve got you,” He starts, completely disregarding your visible discomfort. “I wanna apologize for standing you up. That was really lame of me, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. I feel horrible.” His voice is even, like he’s rehearsed these lines to spit back at you.

You shake your head. “No big deal, man. I forgive you.” Mostly, you just don’t feel like causing another scene with him.

“You wanna dance?” The song is faster, and you weigh the risk of dancing with him in your head. “Okay, sure. Yeah, let’s dance.” He beams, taking your hand in his and leading you to a space in the den where guests are gyrating, grinding on each other as the rhythm shakes the walls.

He’s a perfect gentleman, surprisingly enough. He doesn’t get on top of you, only holds you by the waist as you turn your back to him, a more PG version of what your fellow party goers are doing. “You look good, by the way. Great costume.”

“Thanks, made it myself.” You smile politely as you sway your hips, doing your best not to grind into him too much, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. “Lovin’ the pirate, too.”

“Ha, thanks. Had the shirt already, figured I would build off that.” 

The conversation doesn’t stray from small talk, much to your relief. When the song ends, he leads you back to the couches, flopping down next to you. You’re still talking when the air around you shifts, someone moving too close into the already crowded space.

“You are fucking unbelievable.” His words raise the hairs on your neck, and Scotty jolts from his seat on the couch. You dare to look up at him, and immediately regret it. His curly locks have disappeared, hidden under a slicked platinum wig. He’s done Spike insane justice, down to the chain around his neck and his nails painted black. He looks hot. You can feel yourself blushing. 

“It doesn’t concern you, man.” Scotty puffs out his chest, attempting to make himself look bigger. “We’re just havin’ a friendly conversation.”

“Yeah, while your girlfriend sits on the other side of the room crying because she thinks you’re cheating on her.” Eddie nods, gesturing to the melancholy girl leaning against the kitchen counter, red solo cup in her grip. Her makeup is running, and you catch her eyes glaring at you before she quickly darts them to the floor. 

“You have a girlfriend?” You look back to Scott. “Why the fuck did you ask me to dance?”

“Yeah, Scotty? Why’d you ask her to dance?” Eddie echos, head tilted with mock curiosity.

“It wasn’t anything like that! I just wanted to, y’know, apologize for that date.”

“Uh huh. Then why is your girl crying like you kicked her puppy?” Eddie challenges, and your heart stings. You’d never wish that kind of pain on someone, much less volunteer to be the cause of it. 

“I- uh,” Scotty stutters.

“Uh, uh, uh. That’s what I thought. Now, get the fuck outta here and go beg for her forgiveness before I smash your face in again.”

Scotty opens his mouth to speak, but catches your eye first and you shake your head. “Trust me, he’s not kidding. I’d go while I still can.”

He gives you a curt wave, scurrying away from Eddie and back to his– probably now ex-girlfriend– leaving Eddie the room to take his spot. 

“What, didn’t get enough of making me miserable at the bar? Gonna ruin my night here, too?”

Eddie only snickers, running his hand through the plastic hair of his wig. “Guess so. Look, I wanna talk to you.”

“Funny, because I really have no desire to speak to you.” Not a true statement, not even close, but he can't know that. “Especially not with so many witnesses.”

“You ashamed of me suddenly?”

“Can’t be ashamed of something I have no involvement with.” You deadpan, staring uncomfortably into his eyes. He skipped the contacts to match Spike’s ice blue eyes, instead looking back with his own chocolate brown ones that always make you softer. 

“Okay, somewhere private then?”

“Not tonight, please. I just wanna have a good time with my friends, I really don’t need you spouting off some bullshit about why I had no right to be upset with you.”

He shakes his head. “Whoa, no, that’s not at all what I was gonna say. You really think I’m that much of an asshole?”

You shrug. “I don’t really think anything. I don’t know you that well, Eddie.”

Your words tug a pout from his lips. “You know me better than anyone else does.”

“Nah, that’s Chris, and believe it or not we don’t share a brain.”

“Chris only knows what I tell him. You know me like the back of your own hand, even if you don’t realize it. You know the things no one else does.”

It makes you angry, the way he’s talking to you. Standing from the couch, you turn back to look at him. “I used to know you, sure. I knew you when we were kids, but you haven’t been that guy in years. This Eddie, the one in front of me, is not the one I called my best friend.” It hurts to say, hurts worse to watch his face fall as he hears you, really listens to what you’re saying. 

“So, that’s it then? You’re just giving up?”

You pretend you can’t hear him, refusing to look back as you walk across the room, the music now a loud buzzing in your brain. 

When Robin catches you by your still sore hand, you flinch. “Hey,” She’s cautious, letting go and watching as you massage your knuckles. “How did that go?” She nods to where Eddie is, sipping his beer on the couch as a girl in a rather revealing nurse costume sits on the arm next to him. 

“About how you’d expect.”

“So, he’s pretending nothing happened?”

You shrug. “He asked to talk somewhere private.”

“And you said no?” 

You nod, and she backhands your arm. “Ow! What was that shit for?”

“You need to talk to him, like, now.”

“Or what, Rob?”

“I don’t know exactly, I just know he’s a lot more fragile than he leads on.”

You look at him again, and the girl has migrated into his lap. “Yeah, he seems really worked up over it.” 

“He’s still a man, Bee. Sometimes they have a funny way of coping with heartbreak.” You can barely hear her, still watching the pair of them, both so beautiful in low light as she whispers something into his ear, making him laugh. Your chest tightens. 

“Yeah, okay, whatever! Can you get me another drink, please?”

“Anything for you, darlin’.” She yanks open the cooler next to her and pulls out a cider, but doesn’t hand it to you yet. “Just, please promise me you aren’t gonna let this ruin your night.”

Sighing, you make a move for the drink but she yanks it out of your reach before you can grab it. “Okay! Fine, I will not let Eddie Munson’s bullshit ruin my night.”

“Good girl,” she hands you the can, “now drink up! I signed us up for karaoke.”

“You what?!”

–

“Alright, my friends!” Steve takes the mic from its stand next to the TV, putting on his best host voice. “We’re about to begin the torture that is late night karaoke. Luckily, it’s Friday night, and most of my neighbors are in this room anyway, so please feel free to suck as badly as you want! First up, we have Robin, who is performing Love Is Embarrassing by Olivia Rodrigo!” With a sweeping gesture, he welcomes Robin to the front of the room and hands the mic off. She stands there, shy suddenly, grasping it in both of her hands as the music starts. Luckily, she’s quick to melt into the music, dancing to the beat until her cue to sing appears on screen behind her. 

To show your support, you sing along with her from the side of the crowd, bopping along with a group of girls that seem far too into Robin’s legs to be paying any attention to her voice. 

She finishes, and receives a polite applause from the people still watching while others run to put their names on the list. A few more people go first, singing their drunk little hearts out to pop anthems, one obscure enough metal song, and Steve’s eerily close version of Djo’s End of Beginning before once again taking the mic to announce the next performer. 

“Now, this one is one of my personal favorites. She doesn’t come to these parties often, but when she does you know you’re in for a treat! Please join me in welcoming my best friend Bee, and her rendition of Dead Horse by Hayley Williams!” He beckons you with his hand to the front, waving you forward like he’s bending the wind. You groan as Robin shakes you by the shoulders, trudging to the front of his living room like you have weights tied to your ankles. Steve presses the button to start the song, and you close your eyes to center yourself. You’re feeling relatively buzzed, safe enough to perform in front of these other drunk people, but when you open your eyes you’re immediately greeted with the one reason you didn’t want to be the center of attention.

Eddie has moved from his spot on the couch, no longer attached to the sexy nurse, now standing in the corner sipping what has to be his fifth beer while Gareth nods to the music beside him. He’s focusing on you, eyes unmoving as you sway along to the intro of the song. You challenge him, forcing yourself to look directly at him as you sing, 

“Every mornin’ I wake up from a dream of you holding me

Underwater.

Is that a dream or a memory?

Held my breath for a decade, dyed my hair blue to match my lips.

Cool of me to try,

Pretty cool, I’m still alive.”

You start to groove, losing yourself in the words of your favorite artist. By the end, you’re full on dancing, having grabbed Robin by the hand and yanking her into your orbit to dance with you, and she does. For three minutes, you’re having fun with your friends, Steve joining you in the “Ya, ya, ya, ya”s at the end of the song. When you finish, you take both of their hands and force them to bow with you, and the room floods with whistles and cheers. When you find the spot where Eddie was standing, Gareth is standing there clapping for you, but his taller friend is nowhere to be found.

“Okay, it looks like we have a new sign up!” Steve brings your attention back to him. He’s holding the sign up sheet that’s just been handed to him. “Oh, you guys are in for it now. Everyone, help me welcome one of the most talented musicians I know up here, and the kid you all wish you were nice to in high school, Eddie Munson!” The applause is scattered, hesitant, and you groan as he takes center floor. He’s removed the wig, his unruly curls tied in a low ponytail on his neck, still decked in the trench coat and combat boots. 

“Thanks, Stevie. No originals tonight, we charge extra for that. Instead, I’d like to sing a cover of one of my favorite songs, and something vastly different from what you’re probably expecting.” The song begins, and you can immediately recognize where this is going. You can’t help but watch, though, despite desperately wishing you’d left the room. 

“You’re cold,

Like a stone,

How did you get that way?

How did you get that way?” 

The song builds, and Eddie grows with it, voice becoming hoarse as the singing becomes more desperate. It’s a song you know, a favorite of yours even, and you don’t remember telling Eddie that. He’s singing to you, and anyone with eyes has noticed the way his eyes bore into you. 

“This is bullshit.” You mumble, not meaning for Robin and Steve to hear, and make your exit onto the back porch while Eddie still sings, 

“There doesn’t have to be a problem

For you to call me, for you to talk to me…”

–

You’re smoking a second cigarette when the screen door slides open behind you. “Got a light?” 

You refuse to turn around, instead thrusting your lighter out behind you for him to take. He does, and you hear it flick a few times before he lights his own cigarette and hands it back to you. “You got some pipes on you. How come I never knew that?” Eddie steps to lean on the railing, and you move just far enough away so his shoulder doesn’t brush yours. “Woulda asked you to sing back up for me years ago.” You can’t help the scoff that comes out in response. “What makes you think I’d want to do that?”

“Nothing, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have tried to convince you. You’re good, Bee. I mean it.”

“Yeah, when I’m drunk, maybe. Only time you’ll ever see me singing for other people.”

He chuckles, taking another drag from his cigarette and ashing it over the ground. “You got a minute to indulge me in conversation? Or are you still avoiding me like I sent your brother to prison?” He has the balls to giggle as he asks it.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

“I’ve been told. Is that a yes?”

“Not really! Why would you wanna talk now? Aren’t you drunk?”

He nods. “Obviously. That’s what it takes to get more than a glare from you. I just wanna apologize for the night at the bar. I know what I said wasn’t cool, I just… figured you could use a break, I guess.”

You take a beat to collect your thoughts the best you can, stalling as you bring the cigarette back up to your lips. Finally, you respond, “You were being a dick.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He tries to meet your eyes, but you stare straight ahead into the night. “What happened to your hand?” He nods at the hand closest to him, bruises yellowing as they heal.

“Punched a wall.”

“The wall deserve it?” He nudges your arm with his. 

“No, it was just all I had available.”

“Right. You picture me instead?”

No. You just needed to feel something physical, instead of the ache in your heart. “Would that shut you up?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no, honestly. Just… needed to distract myself.”

“Bee,” He lowers his voice, like he’s afraid of being overheard. “Please, tell me what’s going on. I wanna help.”

“Eddie, leave it alone. There is nothing you can do to fix the way I feel. It’s been this way for as long as you and Chris have been friends. You guys have been a team since we were kids, since Chris dropped me and took you under his wing in my place because I was just his little sister. You both replaced me with each other, and clearly those years away haven’t changed that. I’m still Chris’s 'little sister,' a nuisance you’re forced to entertain until you just can’t put up with me anymore. Right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Your question is met first with silence, Eddie tossing the butt of his cigarette into the lawn below before he turns his body to face you. “You could not be more wrong.”

“Enlighten me, then! What makes me so repulsive to you that, even after everything, you can’t just be on my side?”

“I am on your side!”

“No, you’re not! You’re hanging out with me out of pity, or fucking guilt. You have no actual desire to be my friend, you want to clean your slate so you and Chris can get back to doing whatever it is you guys do without me.” The cracks in your voice as you speak piss you off, and you have to swat at the tears forming in your eyes before they fall. “I don’t want your pity. I don’t need you walking on eggshells around me because you can’t accept what you did. I have every right to hate you, and I don’t know what it’s gonna take for you to understand that.”

“Just tell me you hate me, then.” 

You force yourself to look at him, meeting his own tear-filled eyes with yours. “I can’t. I don’t know why, but I still want you in my life. Even after everything. I just want you to want that, too.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but takes your hurt hand in his own rough one, thumb stroking calming circles over the space between your thumb and pointer finger. “I don’t know how to do this. I’m not usually the type to fight for someone. I’m used to people leaving. I don’t really… know how to ask you to stay.” He’s talking to your entwined hands, not able to bring his eyes up. “I probably don’t deserve it. But I do know, more than anything, that I want you in my life. However much you’ll allow.”

And how are you supposed to say no to that? He brings your knuckles to his lips, placing a tender kiss on the worst of your bruises. “But, if you say the word, I’ll go. I won’t beg, I won’t make it any harder than it has to be. Just tell me now, to my face, that you don’t want me.”

You don’t. Whether it’s the liquor, the weed, or just pure adrenaline, you’re not sure, but you let it take over, stepping towards Eddie as he releases your hand, and wrap your arms around his neck. He hesitantly places his own on your waist and you fall into his grip, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around you fully, tightly, like he’s scared you’ll disappear. 

“Please don’t. I don’t think I can handle you leaving again. Just give me some time.”

Eddie rubs your back soothingly, and you let the tears fall silently, though he can probably feel your ragged breaths. “‘M not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.” 

–

The rest of the party is spent in better spirits. You converse with old friends over drinks, shouting to accommodate for the loud music still flooding the house. Eddie is practically glued to you, arm around your shoulders as you talk with your hands to someone you used to have class with. 

“So, how long have you guys been dating? I know you were friends in high school, but I didn’t think you were together!” Her name is Suzie, or something. You had biology with her your freshman year, and she remembers Eddie from his general reputation.

“Oh, we’re not together.” You stifle an awkward laugh, and pretend to miss the way Eddie’s face falls the tiniest bit. “Just uh, friends.”

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything. You guys just seem so inseparable.”

“You’d be surprised.” Eddie quips, and maybe-Suzie makes an “Ah,” noise, like she’s been there before. 

“Alright, everyone. That time of night has come,” Steve has taken it upon himself to kick his guests out. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here! It was lovely seeing you all, but get to goin’! Really not in the mood to hear shit from the landlord about cars parked on the lawn. If you do not have a safe ride home, please come talk to me so we can get you set up with an Uber!” He flings his door open, and wishes everyone a good night as they file out. Your old classmate gives you a wave, and makes her own way to the door.

“Be honest, you have any idea who that was?” You turn to ask Eddie.

He shakes his head. “Not a clue. Made me wanna pretend we were dating just to make it interesting.”

You frown at him. “Don’t push it, Munson.”

He raises his hands up in surrender, and you already miss the warmth of his arm around you. “Sorry, sorry. No pushing.” 

“Hey, love birds!” Robin shouts from the living room, and you groan as Eddie beams at her. “Clean up crew starts in fifteen minutes, so get your shit in order before then, yeah?”

“Sir yes sir!” You mock, and Eddie throws his elbow out to salute her. She snorts, rolling her eyes before saying, “It is unbelievable how stupid both of you are.”

You think you know what she’s implying, but one look at Eddie shows he has no clue. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry about it. She just says shit.” You will yourself to move, pushing up from the couch before offering Eddie your hand. “C’mon, let’s go put this disaster back together, huh?”

And he takes your hand, using it as leverage to get off the couch. “Lead the way.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn’t.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You finish your cocktail before you go into the concert hall. Roxie grabs a third and you pass, not wanting to run back and forth to the bathroom. Besides, you don’t really like the way the vodka stirs in your stomach and little behind your eyes.

The band is decent. You don’t know any of the songs and only vaguely heard of the artist they are a tribute to. Still, you enjoy the live show; you focus on their instruments and how they use them. You always wanted to be musical but never had a sense of tone or melody.

By the end of the set, you’re yawning. Your sister is on her fourth drink and you can’t tell if she’s swaying to the music or if it’s more than that. As the rows empty, you shuffle out with the rest of the concert goers. The bright lights of the casino greet your squint and your ears pulse slightly from the noise of the strumming and crashing show.

“Mm, so, what’d’ya say?” Your sister makes almost every word into one, “how do we spend this?”

She fishes out the chip and you give a sheepish frown. You almost forgot about it. You still think you should turn it in. You don’t feel right spending someone else’s money. You do that often enough, much too old to be living off your mom.

“Don’t be boring,” she warns, “jeez. It’s just cards. Odds are, whoever dropped it, would’ve lost it to the house anyway.”

She claps her hand around your shoulder. You pull back the sleeve of your cardigan to check the time. It’s after ten! You haven’t been out that late since... ever.

“I’m not boring,” you cross your arms and shrug her off. “I just... am different than you.”

“Boring,” she repeats. “You can’t spend all day in your room.”

Yes, you can. And you do.

You don’t argue. When she’s like this, it’s only bound to become a scene. There are too many strangers around for that.

“Black jack,” she declares and spins the coin. It slips from her grasp and falls between her feet. She bends over shamelessly in her dress to pluck it up. “Come on, let’s clean up.”

She struts ahead and you shuffle after her, nervously wringing the strap of your purse. Hopefully she loses it quickly and you can just retreat home in defeat. You catch up to her as she reaches the stairs. She giggles as she leans on the railing and you take her other arm, trying to support her wobbly steps.

“Want another drink?” She asks.

“No, think we’re good.”

“We?” She scoffs, “I’m fine.”

“Please, Rox, let’s just find a table,” you peek around as her voice rises a bit louder than you like.

“Pfft, fine, but if I win, I'm getting a drink.”

You nod. Go along to get along. That’s what your mother always told you when it came to your sister. She’s more like your father than she cares to admit.

You get to a table and she sits easily on the high seat of the tall stool. She lays down the single chip and the dealer offers to break it into smaller ones. She nods and shrugs. You envy how smoothly she just breezes through things.

You stand behind her. You don’t want to take up a seat and the stool is too much of a climb for you. You can see it wobbling as you attempt to hitch yourself up with the crossbar. You’re good, you shouldn’t get comfortable.

You listen to the shuffle of cards as your sister murmurs something you can’t make out. You can only hear the low drone of voices as you stand back. You sidle out of the way as a man claims the empty stool beside your sister. He buys in and another hand is dealt. Hasn’t she lost yet?

The man leans into your sister and you grimace. She turns her head to listen to him and she giggles. Your cheeks blaze hotly and you cross your arms and rock. Neither seem to notice you as they get closer and closer.

As the game progresses, you can only really make out what the dealer says; the different numbers that have grumbles coming from other players. You bring your hand up to pick at the button on your cardigan. The man puts his arm around your sister’s back, his hand on her hip as wiggles in her seat coyly. What about Tom?

You peer around awkwardly. Do you stop her? Remind her of the boyfriend that got her the tickets for tonight? You bounce in your flats and pause as you find someone else staring back at you. Or are they? Just as quickly as your eyes meet, the stranger’s eyes flit away and he’s back to chatting with another man. It’s the very same man who gave you the chip. Maybe her forgot you. That’s not a surprise.

You return your attention to your sister. The man has moved his arm between them and your sister squirms. You watch his elbow as he pulls his hand back. He’s touching her leg. She’s wiggling and suddenly, she shoves him away and screeches.

“EH! I got a boyfriend, perv! I said stop.”

Her voice carries along the high ceilings and you cringe. You back up, cowering away as she stands and the stool teeters dangerously. She fists her hand and you think for a moment she might just hit the guy. He scoffs and turns in his seat.

“Babe, just wanted to buy you a drink.”

“Whatever. You fucking creep!” She hollers.

“Ma’am,” the dealer calls from the table, “is there a problem?”

“Y-yeah,” she hiccups, “this dude had his hand up my skirt.”

“She’s drunk,” the man shakes his head, “listen to her.”

“I’m--” your sister’s denial catches in her throat, “doesn’t mean he can just touch me.”

“Ma’am, if you’re drunk, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m fine. I'm not that...” She slides off the stool and stands, grabbing the chips in front of her seat and tossing them across the table. “You’re all a bunch of crooks.”

Her ankles tangle as she spins and she barely gets her balance before she storms away. Her strides are uneven as she bobbles drunkenly. You watch after her with wide eyes before you follow. She leads you into the bathrooms as she growls and grumbles. She slams into a stall and you stand outside.

You wait until she comes out. She’s quieter and her eyes are hazy. She washes her hands and applies a new coat of lip gloss.

“What a bust,” she pouts and rolls her eyes, “one more drink and we’ll go.”

“Maybe we should just leave now.”

“That guy was such a pervert,” she sneers at you, “you saw where his hand was.”

You nod, “yeah, I did...”

“So, you know I wasn’t being dramatic.”

“Yeah, but... everyone heard.”

“Oh fuck off,” she pushes your shoulder and stomps past you.

You feel bad. It’s not that she shouldn’t defend herself. You admire that she can, but she didn’t need to be so obnoxious. You trail after her into the casino. She heads directly for the bar. You hang your head and wait behind her. This time, she doesn’t offer you a drink. She’s mad at you now so it’s the silent treatment.

“Honey,” another man approaches, “how about I get that for you?”

“Huh?” She babbles, “oh, sure, baby, that’s sweet.”

The man offers his card to the bartender and orders a highball. He leans his arm on the tall bar top as he faces your sister. She bats her lashes at him and giggles as she pulls her drink closer.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” He asks.

You blink. It’s like you’re not even there. You watch awkwardly, wishing the floor would swallow you up. Instead, you find an empty stool one seat away.

“Roxie,” she answers as you struggle up onto the seat. “And you, handsome?”

“Sam,” he returns, “what’re you drinking then?”

You notice him touch her glass along the brim but can’t see much else around your sister. She replies and his own drink is served. You shrink down and sigh. She’ll get her free drink and then you can just leave. You hope. You hold your chin as you dread another scene.

“Can I get ya something?” The bartender approaches.

“Er, water, please,” you choke out. He seems disappointed but gets you a glass.

You try not to overhear your sister and that man. It’s awkward and you hate this. It’s not the first time she’s done it either. The few times she’s brought you along, you’ve somehow become a third wheel. It reminds you of when you were kids and your mom forced her to take you with her somewhere. She doesn’t actually want you around, she’s genetically obligated.

“Woah, baby, you okay?” The man raises his voice and your sister’s body slumps. Shoot. No.

You barely get off the stool as the man clings to her drooping body. She giggles wildly as you tweak your ankle and rush over. That man, Sam he called himself, seems somewhat calm given the situation.

“Slow down, babe,” he chortles, “Jesus.”

She’s drunk. You knew she shouldn’t have had another drink. Your eyes meet Sam’s and he squints.

“You know her?”

“My sister,” you murmur.

“Oh, right, well...” he clears his throat and looks around, “you can take care of her then.”

“Wait--” you barely keep her up as she leans on you as she’s almost sideways on the stool.

He’s just leaving you? What the heck? You guess if he can’t get anything out of her, she isn’t worth the effort.

You sniff and struggle to slide your sister down to her feet. She’s heavier than you expect and her height makes her difficult to balance. You glance over as the bartender nears.

“Everything okay?” He asks sternly.

“We’re leaving,” you assure him, “sorry.”

“Five minutes,” he taps his watch face, “or I call security.”

You nod and move your arm around your sister’s back, “please, Rox, gotta work with me.”

She laughs again, “hey, where’d that cute guy go?”

“Please,” you beg again, “don’t...”

“Oh, hi,” she touches your faces and squeezes your cheeks, “baby sister.”

You hate when she’s like this. She’s always been a drinker, ever since high school when her friends would sneak out bottle from their parents’ stash. What was once an act of rebellion as a teen is now concerning as an adult.

“Excuse me, everything okay?” The timbre makes your heart drop and you nearly let go of Roxie as she leans in the other direction.

You look up. Oh god. It’s him. That dark-haired man in his expensive suit.

“I’m just... we’re on our way out--”

“She alright?” He points at your sister.

“Tipsy,” you utter.

“I see,” he pushes his hair back as it slips forward, “can I help?”

“Uh, you don’t--”

Before you can answer, he has your sister’s other arm. He almost lifts her entire weight off of you as he supports her against his shoulder. Your entire body is emblazoned in humiliation. You refuse to look above the floor as you’re certain you must have an audience.

You get your sister across the floor and into a hallway. There's an exit sign ahead but you're all turned around. The man stops you and Roxie.

"Where'd you park?" He asks, "this leads to Lot 5."

"Oh, uh..." you blanch. You hadn't thought of any of that. You slouch under Roxie's weight and try to see around her. "I'm not sure but... I don't drive. She was supposed to."

"Ah," he clucks, "and now she can't."

"Right," you agree glumly, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Why?" He asks.

"I didn't think... I let her--"

"Did you let her drink or did she make that choice knowing she was supposed to get behind a wheel?" He challenges.

"I guess... yeah. Sorry."

"Really, doll, no need to keep going on like that," he dismisses, "well, it's late and I can't in good conscience let you wander out with her like this. Especially if you don't have a way home."

"I could..." you begin. A taxi? You'd have to ask your mom to pay the driver when you get home. "Why would you... care?"

"Well, as the owner of this establishment, it won't look good on me if two pretty girls left and went missing," he chuckles then stops himself, "sorry, that's not funny. I just... we overserved your sister obviously so it's on us."

"Owner?" You gulp. You didn't think this could be any more humiliating.

"Bucky," he reaches around you sister.

You hesitate. You can't shake his hand properly as yours is around your sister so you just sorta grab his hand briefly and squeeze two fingers, retracting with another raze of embarrasment. You barely squeak out your name.

He repeats your name before he continues, "I'll get you two a room so she can sober up."

"What? No. That's... too much."

"It's late," he insists, "here," he pulls Roxie away from you as her head lolls and she snorts. He lifts her against his chest, carrying her easily. "I know a back way, just follow my lead, doll."

"Ummmmm," you drone and he waltzes back the way he came, hardly detered by the drunken body in his arms. You can only kick yourself and scramble after him. This night could not have ended any worse. Well, you guess it could if it went the way he suggested.