#fic appreciation bingo

[flamingwordsinthesky]

So this took a while but I finally finished my entry for this SpideyTorch bingo! Honestly it wasn't one at first but seeing as how I was writing a roommate fic (I know, how original) I decided to throw this into the ring. Anyway I also did a little collage for the fic as well.

So please enjoy this fic about Johnny trying to pretend that everything is okay.

***

When Johnny jolted awake he was surrounded by darkness. For a moment, he couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of steel cutting through his abdomen, screaming crowds at his fall, and the piles of bodies beneath his feet. Johnny rubbed his wet hands on the bed sheets before realizing that it wasn’t blood, it was cold sweat. He breathed heavily as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

The outline of his dresser, the scattered clothes across his bedroom floor that Johnny hadn’t bothered to clean up. Then he looked at the shadow of his outline in the mirror. The moon shone in bathing Johnny in light that showed his thinner figure, his taunt face, the blonde hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. 

How frail he looked in that moment, less strong, barely visible scars hidden in the darkness. 

Johnny flipped the covers over and got out of bed, cleaning up his clothes, and then falling to the floor to do push-ups. For every push-up, he imagined every horrifying image falling out and disappearing into the floor. Not keeping track of how many he can do before his arms begin to shake and he collapses onto the floor. 

Once he gets a second wind, he gets up from the floor and into the rest of the apartment. Silence, just like when he went to bed. Peter was out doing the Spider-Man thing but Johnny stayed behind. Lying and saying he was going to a party. Really he just wanted to be home alone.

Alone to clean, alone to shower, and alone so he could sleep. But that didn’t help the ache that sat in his chest and stomach. The feeling of sharp steel against his skin, a strong punch against his jaw, the way his neck tingles awaiting a sharp pain, and the squirming of bugs underneath his skin. 

Even as he walks around the dark and quiet apartment, apart from the hustle and bustle of the city outside. What used to bring him some comfort brings a sense of the world continuing. Just like it continued without him. 

With that thought, Johnny walks into the living room to see the form of a body sleeping on the couch. Johnny stopped before noticing the webbed lining of red spandex and a discarded mask on the side of the couch. There was a shuffle and a snort before the body moved then stilled again. 

He could have just left Peter to sleep on the couch for the 4th time that week. Johnny had no real reason to linger, but he did. As he walked closer to the couch, Peter’s peaceful face was illuminated by the street lights outside and the moon. 

It always annoyed Johnny how handsome Peter was. Even with a busted lip and a nose that had been broken more than three times, Peter still looked effortlessly handsome and peaceful in his sleep. There was a strand of brown hair that Johnny wished to brush out of his way but his hand stayed at his side. Peter’s breathing was slow and peaceful, his lips parted slightly as he slept.

Johnny put away the thought to kiss those parted, busted lips. 

The sight of the blood on Peter’s lip made Johnny’s fingers twitch with a forgotten feeling.

Johnny went to grab a blanket from the linen closet, haphazardly drape it over Peter’s body and head, then went to take a shower. 

After his shower, he looked to see it just turning to 7:00 am. The usual time he would be getting up. Instead he got his nicest and cleanest black boxers, one of his many aprons, and put them on. 

For breakfast Johnny used the last of their eggs and milk to make simple scrambled eggs with some toast. As he got the pan and ingredients ready, he kept an eye on Peter on the couch, still sleeping, still snoring slightly.

He could have gotten Peter up himself, but where was the fun in that? There was a part of Johnny that enjoyed seeing Peter stumble and fall. The way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips went thin and downturned. Johnny couldn’t help but find it cute. Johnny used to imagine kissing that frown away alone, sometimes he’d just annoy Peter to get him to make that face.

And Johnny found out quickly that getting dressed in his apron and boxers while cooking breakfast was the new annoying thing he could do. Then again Peter never asked Johnny to put on clothes. Even when he shrieked the first time he caught Johnny doing just that. In truth he just didn’t feel like wearing clothes that day. It was muggy and all his clothes felt too heavy to wear. 

Peter made a noise from the other room and Johnny bit down his smile. 

“Mornin’ Sunshine!” Johnny called as he heard a loud yawn. Some smacking of lips. A whispered swear. And then scrambling of feet into the other room. Johnny tried not to laugh.

Peter almost flew out of his bedroom, tie still undone, suit still slightly wrinkled, and spidey suit still visible underneath the suit. Peter tried to brush past Johnny and out the door but instead turned around and ran back to the kitchen table where the food had been just set. 

He looked at Johnny, eyeing him up briefly before sitting down and eating his breakfast.

“What? No ‘Good morning sweetheart?’ not even a morning kiss?” Johnny joked as he sat down at the table. He got a glare from Peter then.

“I don’t kiss people who make me late for work.” Peter said in between a mouthful of eggs. As if Peter would ever kiss him. Johnny rolled his eyes as he began to dig into his own breakfast. Even before Johnny’s coffee was half way empty, Peter was done and wiping the crumbs off his suit.

“You’re not gonna be late. Can’t you just swing your way to work? You did say it’s faster than the subway.”

“I don’t have time for this. I’ll see you later.” Peter said, his eyes avoiding Johnny’s direction. His face looked slightly flush and his lips doing the thin downward turn. Johnny smiled as he sipped his coffee.

“We need milk and eggs.” Johnny yelled at Peter who was out the door the second his plate was in the sink. Not even bothering to clean it up. 

Typical Parker Johnny thought as he continued to eat his breakfast. 

Once Johnny was done, he cleaned up, got dressed, and realized he had nothing to do that day. He didn’t really have anything to do. The Future Foundation was still working out if they should bring back the Fantastic Four.

But even if they did, Johnny still was unsure if he should join. He knew his family would accept him back with open arms. But even then he was two years older, even coming back made him closer in age to all of them. But it still didn’t feel like he was on their level. At least not like it used to be. 

Instead of dwelling on that feeling, Johnny distracted himself with chores. Cleaning the apartment was done within two hours and he started playing video games. Once the games got too repetitive and unengaging. He went out for a walk. 

The city of New York welcomed Johnny back with open arms, but outside a few fans stopping him to get pictures, another store scrambling to get rid of their spidey merch in favor of Johnny’s return, it didn’t feel right. 

He was right back where he started. Just the flashy golden boy of New York City. Another celebrity superhero with more tabloids than Tony Stark. It was almost as if no one seemed to care that he had spent years of his life fighting, surviving, and overthrowing a tyrant. 

Two months for them. He was only gone for two months. It was hard to remind himself about that. 

Johnny returned home without the milk and eggs. Leaving that chore to Peter. He texted Peter quickly and saw that no one had messaged him. Not any of his old buddies, not Wyatt, not even Sue. 

Johnny pulled up Sue’s messages and was tempted to just check in. But her last message was a simple “Good night and stay safe” from the other night. 

He sighed, sent the message to Peter, and shucked his clothes off. 

Johnny crawled into bed, not tired but unwilling to stay awake. He surrounded himself in the blanket as if the room was freezing, despite that having not been an issue for him since the cosmic radiation. He laid there for what felt like hours before Johnny’s eyes grew heavy and he closed them. 

Wishing for a dreamless nap.

In the arena the screaming crowds chant and cheer as Johnny watches another fighter fall to the ground. Burned to a crisp. Johnny remembers the smell of burning flesh and it makes him want to hurl. But he held it in. He’s a champion, he needs to show it. No fear. No mercy. Even if he can never unsee the piles of bodies at his feet. 

He looks up to see the bug tyrant himself, Annihilus, staring down at him, unamused. Johnny flipped him off, a gesture Annihilus learned was rude and snapped his fingers. There was a clanking of chains and rumble steel against steel. Johnny looked behind him as the large metal door slid up to reveal the darkness. Darkness he knew contained Annihilus’ abomination. A creature of arms, legs, stitched together and lumbering. Its shape large and imposing, it was almost like a dragon as its multiple yellow eyes set their sights on Johnny. It’s multiple hands opening like a flower to reveal the skull of a once living lizard like creature that still opened it’s only mouth to growl at Johnny

Johnny backed away as the creature dragged itself out with large claws of alien creatures he couldn’t even begin to explain. Reed always had a better way to describe things than Johnny. He missed Reed so much and his ready explanations for everything. Not this creature that Johnny could barely comprehend just by looking at it.  It had no mouth yet it could still speak. 

Johnny hated when it spoke. 

Because it had no voice of its own. The voices that came out of the creature were various harsh imitations of his friends, family, and past lovers. Johnny could barely think of shooting his fire at it. A large claw slammed close to him and he shouted “FLAME ON!”

He fought the creature, even as it spoke insults with its stolen voices. 

“Worthless brat” Ben’s voice growled out of it. Johnny aimed for one of the creature's eyes.

“Ungrateful!”  Sue’s voice screamed as the creature backed away after having some of their eyes burned out. 

“Useless” Reed’s voice came out like he was so disappointed. That made Johnny falter for a moment before he remember what it was doing. 

More insults emanate from the creature, every person Johnny had ever loved called him worse and worse things before finally his flame flickered out. The creature took its large claws to capture Johnny and bring it to his face. 

The final voice that emanated made Johnny shake, his eyes wide and he wished that the creature would just eat him already.

“You were never worthy of love” Peter’s voice was cold. Johnny knew it was true, but he screamed anyway as the creature tore him apart.

“JOHNNY!” Peter’s shout woke him up as he shot up awake. Johnny tried to find his bearing, feeling his body still intact. No bugs, not gore, no left over blood. Just Johnny’s beating heart and a strong grip on his shoulders. 

As Johnny calmed down, he noticed that Peter was holding him, on his bed, and looking like he found Johnny dead. His brown eyes filled with worry yet relief as he told Johnny to breathe. Comforting him with words of It’s okay. You’re alright. You’re okay. 

But the nightmare’s final words are ringing in his head. It was so perfectly Peter’s voice that it almost scared him. He couldn’t shake how easy it was for him to believe the words of a monster he never fought said to him. 

He can still feel sharp claws digging and tearing his flesh apart. 

“Y’good?” Peter asked as Johnny finally began to breathe again.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m good. Just….a nightmare. That’s all.” Johnny said with a half-hearted smile. 

Peter was silent as he eyed Johnny. Rubbing his shoulders and looking at him with such an intense look. Johnny could not distinguish what he must have been thinking. 

Another moment before Peter responded. 

“You’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately.”

“Great observation, Sherlock.” Johnny said with more bite than intended. Peter let go and Johnny removed himself from the bed to get up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked, his voice unsure and cautious. Johnny simply scoffed at the question.

“Just a nightmare Peter. Nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about? This is the fifth time this week I’ve heard you screaming. You party, come home, then I have to hear you scream late at night.”

“Oh? You sure I wasn’t screaming for a different reason?” Johnny asked with anger, looking at a standing Peter, his tie undone and his dress shirt unbuttoned a little at the top. He must have just gotten home.

“Johnny that’s not funny. I’m worried about you.” Peter said but Johnny’s annoyance didn’t falter.

Peter took a deep breath as he walked over to Johnny’s side of the room. But Johnny didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t feel like sharing a pain Peter could never understand. No one could ever understand what he had to do. If he told Peter everything he did while in the Negative Zone, Peter just might not like him anymore. 

“Johnny.”

“It’s fine. It was just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about.” Johnny reassured Peter, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes.

“Johnny.” Peter’s voice was firm and a hand reached to touch Johnny. 

“It’s fine! How many times do I have to say it? I’m fine! 100 percent! I’m the golden boy of New York City! There’s nothing to worry about!” Johnny’s defensiveness even shocked him for a moment. Peter retracted his hand but didn’t stop looking worried about Johnny. 

He hated how worried Peter looked. 

“Don’t lie to me.” Peter said, his voice a slight wobble to it. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying! I’m fine! What is this? An interrogation? You're gonna ask where I was yesterday at a certain time? I was out! I was having fun! I even made out with a few people! See! I’m the good ol’ Johnny Storm again!” Johnny was flailing his arms and stepped away from Peter. 

“Johnny please. Just tell me what’s going on. What happened? What are these nightmares?” Peter tried to touch him again but Johnny brushed past him.

Peter tried to talk to Johnny as he got dressed, he couldn’t be here. Not right now. He couldn’t stand to see Peter worry about him. It hurt when Sue asked about the nightmares. But he can’t let anyone know. Johnny needed everyone to stop worrying. It's clear they just want things to go back to normal.

Or maybe, he just wants things to go back to normal. 

“Johnny! Stop ignoring me! Tell me what’s going on!” Peter shouted as Johnny started putting his shoes on. 

“There’s nothing to talk about webhead.” Johnny’s voice was firm and devoid of feeling. 

“There’s plenty to talk about!” Peter said as he tried to grab Johnny’s arm but he pulled away.

“I said there’s nothing to talk about. You’re making a big deal out of nothing! I’m fine!” Johnny said as he slammed the door in Peter’s face as he left. Once outside the apartment building, Johnny turned on his flames and flew. 

He flew and flew and flew across the sky of New York City. No destination in mind. He wanted to feel the air and wind rush past him. Ignoring the phantom pains of steel, claws, large hands breaking his neck. So much pain that his skin itched. 

His powers were beginning to fade and soon Johnny landed on the side of a random skyscraper. He didn’t know where he was but the sight of the Baxter Building in the far distance made him huff. He hadn’t seen any of the four in a few days. They text him from time to time. But even they knew to leave him alone.

Yet he didn’t want to be alone. But alone seemed safe, seemed comfy. 

He convinced himself it’s where he needed to be. 

Johnny turned to face away from the building to watch the sun sink into the horizon. He remembers the first time he saw the sun rise when he returned home. He was awake from another nightmare and refused to go back to sleep. So he watched the sunrise alone on top of the Baxter Building. He remembered the tears that fell from his face and the great relief that he could see such a sight. Something he missed desperately for two years. 

That morning Ben made breakfast. Sue helped catch up with what Johnny had missed during the two months. And Reed smiled at him and patted his shoulder as he gave Johnny coffee. 

It was a warm and friendly feeling. 

But the dread never went away. 

The dread that none of it was real, that he would blink and Johnny would wake up back in the Negative Zone, the last few months being nothing more than a peaceful dream for an undying champion. It never came, he was still on Earth, in his home. 

But that dread clings to him, clings to his soul and turns his stomach at the very possibility that none of this was real. 

Thwip. 

Thud

“Johnny?” 

Johnny didn’t turn around. He knew who it was but he didn’t want to see his friend.He didn’t want to see anyone. There were footsteps that crunched against the rooftop before Spider-Man placed himself over the same building edge as Johnny then and there.

The last of the sun’s rays set over the river as the city lights slowly came to life. 

They sat there in silence, listening to the sounds of the city with the lights illuminated underneath them. Car horns and laughing chorus underneath their feet. Johnny let the silence embrace him, Trying to ignore the body heat of Spider-Man close to him. His pinky just inches away from touching Johnny’s own. 

Johnny did take a glance at Spider-Man at his side and saw Peter remove his mask. The other man took a deep breath before exhaling, then glanced at Johnny. Catching his eye for a moment before looking out into the city. 

“When Gwen died, I used to have nightmares about it,” Peter said suddenly “It was like replaying that moment over and over again.” Peter said, solemnly and Johnny gripped the side of the half wall, his hands and fingers getting scratched by gravel.

 “Then the nightmares kept getting worse. Sometimes Gwen would come back, and ask me why I let her die? Why didn’t I try something else?” 

“Pete-”

“I realized, all she was doing was asking questions I ask myself every time I think of her.” Peter said as he leaned forward slightly, “But Gwen, My Gwen, the Gwen I remember? She wouldn’t have done that. I had to remind myself that she wouldn’t have blamed me for what happened. Even if I do from time to time.” 

Silence again. Johnny watched as Peter’s eyes glazed over, as if he was focusing on a memory. He knew Gwen was a touchy subject. Johnny had only seen Gwen from time to time, even tried to hit on her once. She slapped him and walked away and Johnny never met a more beautiful girl. 

He knew then how lucky Peter was to have someone like Gwen in his life. One night Peter had even told Johnny he was going to marry her. 

Then she was gone. 

Then Peter was Spider-Man.

And suddenly it all made sense. 

“It’s funny. I don’t really have those nightmares anymore.” Peter said suddenly to break Johnny out of his own head. “I usually have the usual nightmares. Naked in front of the Avengers. Being late for High School even though I’m almost 30. Y’know. Typical stuff.”

“But the Gwen nightmares?” Johnny asked. 

“I don’t have them as much.” Peter said with a sigh, sitting up straight and looking to the sky. 

 That’s when Johnny felt the groves of Peter’s webbed gloved hand cover then held his hand.

“I know it’s really cheesy to say, but it does get better. Yes, there are somethings in this life that we'll never get over. But we can still find good reasons to stay alive. We have our family, friends, and the people we love.” Peter squeezed Johnny’s hand. “And I just want you to know, I care about you. A lot. So I hate seeing you like this.”

“Peter?” Johnny’s voice cracked out, As Peter leaned in closer, Brown eyes on the verge of tears. Johnny's free hand reacted by holding the side of Peter’s face, his left thumb rubbing against flushed cheek. Peter leaned into his touch and Johnny couldn’t believe this was real.

“I can free up my schedule tomorrow. We can do whatever you want, racing, pick out a car, go visit the Four, you name it. Except maybe going clubbing. You know what? Screw it, we can go clubbing if you want.” Peter rambled with a dopey smile only reserved for Black Cat and when he was talking about Mary Jane Watson. But this one was for Johnny.

“You talk too much,” Johnny said as he leaned in closer. 

“I’ve been told.” Peter retorted as he closed his eyes.

That's when a bomb downtown went off.

Ah. New York. Home of more supervillains than cops. They both let out a large and begrudged sigh. Peter putting on the mask and Johnny summoning his rejuvenated flames. The Human Torch and Spider-Man, together again. Off to fight a criminal and save the people. 

When Peter sent their apartment door flying, Johnny knew Peter was panicking. One lucky stab wound on his side and Peter was acting as if Johnny was dying. It would be amusing if he could get the webslinger to calm down a little. 

As Johnny laid out on the couch and held his side, blood seeped through the fabric of a spare t-shirt Peter had on hand. He watched as Peter disappeared to find the First aid kit. Johnny just rolled his eyes and removed the shirt and used his heat to help close the wound, blood boiling away removed the shirt to take off the top part of his suit before Peter came back in. 

With a first aid kit in hand, Peter started cleaning and taking care of Johnny’s stab wound. All Johnny could do was watch as Peter took his time cleaning, stitching, then bandaging the wound. Yet Johnny couldn’t ignore how Peter was touching him far more than he needed to. His cool hands tracing Johnny’s abs and sides. Johnny almost forgot how to breath as Peter finished the bandaging and looked at him, with sad brown eyes but a relieved smile.

“Good as new.” Johnny joked as Peter laughed slightly. 

“Any other pain I should know about?” Peter asks, his hand still on Johnny’s chest, right where his heart should be. Johnny just hoped that Peter didn’t feel how fast it was going. 

Johnny shook his head.

“You healed me nurse. Maybe you should kiss it better too.” Johnny joked again and Peter simply rolled his eyes. What Johnny had expected was Peter to get up and leave now that he was okay. 

What Peter did shocked him more than the stab wound to his side. Peter leaned up and kissed Johnny’s forehead, then placed his own forehead against Johnny’s. He stayed like that for a moment, long enough to make Johnny forget how to breathe.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Was all Peter said before leaving Johnny’s side. The lack of another’s body heat made Johnny shiver for only a moment. As Peter was about to disappear into his room, Johnny got up from the couch and made a mad dash to Peter. 

Thinking about the -almost- kiss before the fight. How soft Peter looked at him in that moment before the bomb went off. How the feeling of Peter’s lips lingered on Johnny’s skin. Before Peter could say anything, Johnny grabbed Peter’s suit and pulled him for a quick but aggressive kiss. One that Johnny had been holding back for far too long. 

Once Johnny pulled away, Peter looked dazed but there was a smile on his face.  Johnny kept him close as he wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck. 

“Now that’s a thank you I can get used to.” Peter said before kissing Johnny again. Peter kissed Johnny like he missed him, like he cared for him, and almost as if he loved him. But Johnny put that thought away and kissed Peter back with as much devotion as he could. 

“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight” Johnny confessed as Peter held him close and kissed his neck. Soon Peter pulled Johnny into his bedroom, where they stayed the rest of the night. 

In the morning Johnny woke up to Peter, lying next to him, still in his spidey suit, his arms wrapped around Johnny’s naked torso. They’d cuddled most of the night, talking about nothing and simply holding each other until they both fell asleep. It was more than Johnny could ask for, he had no nightmares that night, just a simple dream of riding the coastline in his nicest Impala, with Peter at his side, standing and shouting to the wind. Without a care in the world. 

When he woke up, Peter was still asleep, his face could almost be described as peaceful. Were it not for the slight frown on Peter’s face. Johnny couldn’t help but giggle, actually giggle, at the sight. Only Peter could still look a little mad in his sleep. 

There were strands of brown hair that curled at the ends along Peter’s forehead. So Johnny brushed them gently out of Peter’s face, before leaning up to kiss his cheek. Peter made a noise and moved slightly before pulling in Johnny closer. Close enough that Johnny’s nose was almost touching Peter’s own. 

He leaned up to kiss Peter on his lips, chaste but loving. It was enough to wake Peter who kissed him back. With a simple push Johnny was on his back as Peter continued to kiss Johnny’s face. From his forehead, to his chin, and even his eyelid. Johnny laughed before Peter finally kissed his lips. 

When Peter pulled away, Johnny let out a simple sigh, keeping his eyes closed as graceful fingers traced the outside of Johnny’s face. 

“How’s that for a morning kiss?” Peter asked while letting his fingers comb through Johnny’s hair. 

“Hmm. It’s okay.” Johnny said with a wide grin that made Peter roll his eyes. “Maybe give me another one?” 

So Peter did, better than their first and the ones they shared now. Each kiss feeling like Johnny could float off into space and be at peace. Someone who made him feel safe, and someone who could kiss away the nightmares. It was all Johnny wanted.

[medic-6116]

Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clone Trooper Boil & Numa, Past Clone Trooper Boil/Clone Trooper Waxer Characters: Clone Trooper Boil, Numa Additional Tags: Fluff, Bittersweet Undertones, Boil Deserts, Boil Raises Numa, Passing Down Armor, Sharing Armor, Post-Order 66, 212th Bingo, 212th Appreciation Week Series: Part 5 of Battalion Bingo Summary:

Numa is only thirteen when she decides she wants to start fighting back against the Imperial presence on her homeworld. Now she just has to tell her nerra that.

212th Bingo is hosted by @clonefandomevents​​ Prompt used is Clothes/Armor Sharing (Giving Armor) 212th Appreciation Week is hosted by @212thappreciation Day 5, Paint/Earning paint

[wanderingjedihistorian]

Hiya!! Caster here, so I was wondering, for your 500 fic Bingo, if you haven’t already done an ‘Emperor and His Mandalorian’ prompt, the summary for the first fic in the series says Obi-Wan has been interested in Cody since the first time he saw him in battle, could we maybe see what that battle was? A good dose of pinning Obi-Wan, perhaps someone close to him noticing and commenting on it?

Thanks for the prompt, it was a good one!! I had fun filling it.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Clone Trooper Boil & CC-2224 | Cody & Clone Trooper Waxer Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, CC-2224 | Cody, Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Boil (Star Wars), CC-8826 | Neyo Additional Tags: Alternate Universe- Sith, Alternate Universe- Mandalorian Clones, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Emperor Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sith Anakin Skywalker, Mandalorian CC-2224 | Cody, Battle, infatuation at first sight, BAMF CC-2224 | Cody, Sithywan is Impressed, Anakin teases him for it, Sithywan also likes how Cody looks in the Force Series: Part 1 of The Emperor and His Mandalorian, Part 4 of 500 Fic Bingo, Part 8 of 212th Appreciation Week 2023 Summary: Obi-Wan heard of Al’verde Kote, eldest son of the Mand’alor, from his generals. Not a single one of them had secured a victory when Kote led the Mandalorian forces. Now, now he understood why his generals had all failed.

For @212thappreciation Week Day 5 AU Prompt: Mandalorians

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[hsnlv]

cheating on you…? | y.jw

pairing: boyfriend!jungwon x reader

teaser: he hesitated. then, with great reluctance, he muttered, “you cheated on me.” you stared at him. then, without meaning to, you let out a laugh.

warnings/others: clingy!jungwon😡, mention of cheating!

wc: 1.5k

a/n: another jungwon’s fic is here!! reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! 🎀here’s my masterlist!🎀

you loved jungwon. you really did. but right now? right now, he was testing every ounce of your patience.

“jungwon, i swear—”

“no,” he cut you off, tightening his hold around your waist like a stubborn child. “i’m staying right here.”

you groaned, tilting your head back against your chair. “wonnie, i have a deadline.”

“and i have a girlfriend who is ignoring me,” he countered, pouting dramatically.

you looked at him, unimpressed. “i’m not ignoring you. i’m literally talking to you right now.”

“but you’re not giving me attention.”

you exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. jungwon was never this clingy. sure, he had his moments, but today? today was something else. he had been glued to your side since this morning, following you around like a lost kitten, and now he was practically draped over you, his arms wound around your waist as he refused to let go.

you tried prying his hands off, but he only whined louder. “stop pushing me awayyy,” he drawled, voice muffled against your shoulder. “you’re being so mean today.”

“i’m not being mean,” you huffed. “you’re being impossible.”

he gasped, pulling away to clutch his chest. “me? impossible? is this how you really feel about me?”

you gave him a deadpan look. “jungwon, get off of me.”

“no.”

“jungwon.”

“no.”

“baby, please—”

“no.”

you groaned again, slumping in your chair. “oh my god, why are you like this today?”

he buried his face back into your shoulder, his voice muffled. “because i want to be close to you.”

your brows furrowed. “since when?”

“since forever.”

“that’s a lie.”

“no, it’s not.”

you sighed, placing your laptop on the desk and turning your full attention to him. “okay, what’s going on?”

“nothing.”

“yang jungwon.”

“hm?”

“tell me.”

“there’s nothing to tell.”

you narrowed your eyes. “so you’re just being clingy for no reason?”

he hesitated for a split second before nodding. “yup.”

“you’re lying.”

“no, i’m not.”

“yes, you are.”

“no, i’m not.”

you groaned again, rubbing your temples. “won, baby, if you don’t tell me, i’m going to start assuming the worst.”

his grip on you tightened.

bingo.

you pulled back slightly, eyeing him suspiciously. “jungwon. what happened?”

he pursed his lips, avoiding your gaze. “nothing happened.”

“you’re lying again.”

“no, i’m not.”

“jungwon.”

he whined, flopping against you dramatically. “why can’t you just let me be clingy in peace?”

“because you’re never this clingy,” you pointed out. “which means something happened.”

he groaned, burying his face into your neck. “just drop it.”

“absolutely not.”

“please?”

“nope.”

he let out a long, defeated sigh, and for a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to tell you. but then, in the softest voice, he mumbled, “i had a dream.”

you blinked. “a dream?”

he nodded.

“was it a bad dream?”

he hesitated. then, with great reluctance, he muttered, “you cheated on me.”

you stared at him. then, without meaning to, you let out a laugh.

jungwon immediately pulled away, eyes narrowing. “why are you laughing?”

“because,” you giggled, covering your mouth, “you’re being clingy because of a dream?”

his pout deepened. “it wasn’t just a dream. it felt real.”

you shook your head, still smiling. “wonnie, baby, you know that would never happen, right?”

he huffed. “do i?”

“yes.” you cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his nose. “because i love you. and i would never, ever do that to you.”

he exhaled, his pout softening just a little. “promise?”

you held up your pinky. “pinky promise.”

he hooked his pinky around yours, finally cracking a small smile. “good.”

you grinned. “so does this mean you’re gonna let me finish my assignment now?”

jungwon paused. then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he tackled you onto the bed.

“jungwon!” you squealed, laughing as he wrapped himself around you like an octopus.

“nope,” he hummed, snuggling into your neck. “i’m still recovering from my heartbreak.”

you rolled your eyes but let him hold you anyway, because honestly? you didn’t really mind.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv | 2025

[eevees-hobbies]

Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time!

This is a response to this anon request: Hii can i request wind breaker boys : bofurin and shishitoren with a reader that love to flirt and hard to flustered although they tried to do it back? Thank you

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for being my first Wind Breaker request! I feel like we were on the same wavelength because I was planning on doing a flirt fic/headcanon, but you beat me to it! Unshy and bold is how I like to write my readers, too!

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Characters. Not smut but highly suggestive in some parts. Use of the word slut in the beginning background piece, a brief examination of the word and scenarios in which it’s weaponized. If you’re not into that, feel free to skip that part. But I’ve seen what some of you all are into and seen some of those reblogs—you know who you are, so spare me. You’re also a major flirt. Like, you’re at a 10 on the flirt scale. Go, you! Nothing too explicit, but here’s what we’re working with: mention of panties in Sakura’s. Kaji needs to learn to keep items inside of his mouth…unless? Suo intends to punish you so pick a god and pray. Hiragi needs you to chill out…but say more, please. Umemiya is too shy to ask you to call him Daddy (please call him Daddy). Togame tells you what you’ll be sitting on by the end of the night (also mention of alcohol in his). Nirei is a cute little bean <3. Minors Don’t Interact.

As always, I appreciate comments, reblogs, and likes. Requests are as open as my legs are for Haruka Sakura’s dick.

Word Count: 2.8K

Dividers by Saradika. Story banner by me.

Background: How You Got Here

You’ve always hated the word ‘slut’

It’s not that you wouldn’t personally consider yourself one. Depending on your ideologies, reclaiming the word can feel liberating and you find that to be true for yourself. 

You consider yourself to be naturally flirty, sexy, bold, and charismatic. You can also be a bit of a tease and have slut-like-tendancies in the bedroom, so, sure, a slut. And for the right person or people, if you’re feelin’ nasty, you’re willing to be whatever they want you to be. 

You’ve just grown to hate the word because slut is often used to mischaracterize a woman that men often can’t understand. 

They can’t, or choose not to, understand a woman who is vocal about who she wants and how she wants it. 

They call women sluts who do the chasing.

They call women sluts who fuck on the first date. 

They call women sluts who don’t fuck on the first date. 

The word slut has lost all meaning.

Patriarchy issues aside, this wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t also have a mouth on you. So when some low-life-loser cat calls you from across the street, asking if you got a man and then calling you a slut because you chose not to answer in front of his five loser friends, you turn around and yell, “Sorry, buddy! Experiencing disappointing sexual experiences isn’t on my bingo card for tonight!”

“What the FUCK did you just say to me?”

And contrary to what some may say, you aren’t fucking stupid. You know what happens to women when a man hates them and decides that you’re the object of their rage.

So, you often find yourself running in situations like this. Running until your lungs are about to explode and the only thing keeping you going is adrenaline and the fear that that word—and your mouth—might get you snuffed out. 

You’re looking over your shoulder as your assailants close the distance, painfully aware that this can’t go on for too much longer when you collide with someone’s chest. Strong hands grip your arms, anchoring you in place. 

You look up, expecting to see one of the men from the group but you’re instead taken aback by the stranger in front of you. He seems like the kind of boy you’d let call you a slut—-his close-mouthed smile disarms you, and even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, you’re almost certain he’s someone you can trust. You don’t have too many options right now, anyway!

His tassel earrings swing as he raises his head from looking down at you, and his eyes follow the sound of running feet emerging from the alley. 

“Oh? You look like you could use some help. Stand over there for me?” He tilts his head when asking you the question, but part of you feels like he’s not really asking, so you nod and watch with bated breath as the young man methodically mows down every one of the men. 

Afterward, he turns to you, pristine and perfect, “I can’t let you walk home alone after that.”

“Sure,” you say, taking his outstretched hand. What’s your name? I have to know the name of the person who just saved me.”

“Oh, I guess that’s a fair point. My name is Hayato Suo. It’s nice to meet you despite the circumstances.”

It’s not long after that event that you fall into the protection of the Bofurin & Shishitoren men; your natural charisma quickly gets you in their good graces and earns you a special spot among their ranks. You give off mascot vibes—if mascots were cute and didn’t have gigantic, scary bodies!

Hanging out with them means being yourself without experiencing judgment or retribution. Your laid-back persona and flirting are met with laughs, blushes, and even sometimes flirtation in return. You’ve never felt more at home than with them. 

Haruka Sakura

Flirting with Haruka Sakura is like flirting with a brick wall; either he notices and chooses to ignore the situation as his face turns a crimson red, or he’ll yell at you for being a pervert in public. And both of those reactions are equally cute, so when one day you’re sitting at a booth at Cafe Pothos—-with Sakura, Suo & Nirei—-you decide that this is the perfect environment to get him riled up.

You gently knock your shoe against Sakura’s, which earns you an eyebrow twitch as he continues to shovel food into his mouth. Oblivious as always. 

You do it again to prove that it wasn’t an accidental nudge. Sakura’s eyes shoot up to yours, frantic because this is something you would do. His eyes are met with your innocent smile and subtle shoulder shrug.

As you all continue eating (excluding Suo, who enjoys a cup of tea), you gradually move your foot up his leg until it rests between his thighs. Sakura is trembling like a leaf, eyes darting between the faces of your friends, who could very well notice that you’re trying to get him to play footsie under the table. What if they notice? 

The meal concludes; Suo and Nirei exit the restaurant, and you and Sakura linger for a bit. Part of you hopes that he’ll call out your behavior, but he’s doing his best eye-avoidant routine. As you rise to leave, Sakura stops you, grabbing you by the hem of your sleeve and pushing you into the last booth at the back of the restaurant, where the line of sight is blocked.

Sakura climbs on top of you, your bodies crammed into the leather booths in a way that feels deliciously intimate. His hands are holding your arms at your sides, and his knee settles in between your thighs—and you are now more than ever painfully aware of how high your skirt has bunched up as his knee is dangerously close to brushing up against the seat of your panties. 

“Y-you can’t control yourself in public, can you!?” Sakura practically spits out. He’d sound angry to anyone else, but that’s not what you see in his eyes. 

You look up at him, mesmerized by his vulnerability and the proximity of his well-placed knee. "Do you want me to stop, Haruka?”

He again avoids eye contact with you, but the way he bites his lip gives him away, “No, I-i didn’t say that.”

Akihiko Nirei 

“Have you added anyone else to that book of yours, Nirei?”

Nirei beams at you. You’re one of the few people who takes an interest in the compendium of facts and stats he’s collected about the others. He flips through the pages and starts pointing out information he’s added since you’ve last spoken.

You nod along, taking a genuine interest in what he says; you barely notice your hand moving up to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen out of place. His cheeks tinge pink, and he stutters as he continues to read to you.

After he’s done hyper-fixating, a comfortable silence sits between you.

“What do you have about me?” you say, leaning closer to him. You’re teasing him; you don’t exchange blows like the subjects in his journals, so there’s no practical reason for him to collect information on you. That’s what you think until he reaches into his back pocket and brandishes a small notebook with your name on the front. 

“I-i uh have the basic demographics, but uh…still need the more personal things like your favorite color and food.”

“What about my bra size?”

“B-bra….” The pencil in his hand snaps, and he looks everywhere but at you. “I uh… s-sure! I’ll take that if you’d like me to!”

You laugh; you genuinely find him endearing. “I’m kidding! We haven’t even had our first date yet, Nirei!”

He looks at you, pulling out a new pencil from seemingly nowhere. “Well, once I find out what food you like, I’ll add the anniversary date of our first date here, too.”

Ren Kaji

Flirting with Kaji feels dangerous, but you do you, friend. You, as an individual, and the way compliments flow easily from your lips makes Kaji uncomfortable, and he admittedly doesn’t understand why someone as gorgeous as you gives him the time of day. It isn’t until you somehow become closer that the absence of your flirting with him sets off blaring alarm bells. 

Are you ok? 

Who did this to you?  

Who does he have to kill?!

As you thumb through the vinyl at your local record store, you feel a bump against your shoulder. You look up and see your favorite platinum blond guard dog; his headphones are settled around his neck, heavy metal pouring from the earphones. His piercing gaze is a clear indication that you might be in trouble. Oops. 

“You mad at me or somethin’?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Mad? Why do you think that?”

“You haven’t been pestering me lately, and it feels…odd.”

You can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, even with the round sucker placed snugly in his mouth. 

“Ohhhhhh, no, Kaji! I was giving you a break, but if you insist on flirting, how about-”

“Shut up,” he pulls the sucker out of his mouth and presses it against your lips, watching as you purse your glossed lips and kiss the candy. Neither of you breaks eye contact; an unspoken threat between you dares the other to yield first. His eyes narrow as you poke your tongue out and stroke the sides with intentional, slow licks.

“Tch!” he turns quickly, marching away from you. Despite his back being turned, you can tell by the way his arm raises that he’s now placing that saliva-soaked sucker in his mouth. 

Hayato Suo 

Suo might be one of two people on this list who might be a worthy opponent for you. How do you flirt with someone who is perpetually unbothered? Good question! I see your flirting as back-and-forth quips, playful jabs at one another that get increasingly sexual and oddly specific throughout the day.

If you meet up with the group and one strand of your hair is out of place, Suo chirps, “Bedhead, huh? What were YOU doing last night?”

If you see Suo break a sweat after an intense fight, “Wow, Suo! You really need to work on your stamina. I can imagine a few ways to help with that.”

Sure, it’s all in good fun, but there’s a sexual undertone to it all; between the smiles and sarcastic comments, you’re both participating in your special version of foreplay, and you have never been more turned on. 

Everyone around you thinks you should get a room, and as sunset approaches, you two do exactly that.

“Ready to work on that stamina, Suo?” you chide as you push him against the wall in your apartment. You know you’ll pay for man-handling him later, but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?

His earrings sway back and forth from the force, but he gazes down at you with smoldering ruby-toned eyes. Every smart-mouthed remark you’ve said that day replays in his head, contributing to his desire to make you atone for your brattiness.

“Yes, Y/N and I promise I won’t let you out of bed with your hair a mess like I did this morning.”

Hajime Umemiya

The complexity of Hajime Umemiya should be a case study. You’ve witnessed his laid-back nature as he jokes with friends, and you’ve seen the scary side of him that bubbles over when anyone threatens those he’s closest to. 

You’re truly attracted to both sides, but when it comes to you and the way you tease him, running manicured nails through his gelled hair and scratching gently at his scalp, he’s putty in your hands.

One of your favorite ways to experience Umemiya is meeting him in his element: his garden. It allows you to bond with him, and he often shares information about his life. Somewhere, Sugishita is biting his fist. 

“Big brother,” you whine as you plant okra, “am I doing this right?”

Umemiya’s eyes widen, and he looks at you across the garden. In what feels like seconds, he’s kneeling in front of you, your hands cupped in his own. “Y-you can’t call me that!”

You blink, confused, “you tell everyone to call you that.”

“I don’t want YOU to call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird when someone you…like…calls you big brother. It’s worse than being called a friend!”

You snort, but when you meet his eyes, you quickly straighten. Oh! He’s serious! 

“So, not into me calling you big brother even during our ‘private moments?’ What about ‘Daddy?’ How do you feel about that?”

He laughs loudly—not because he thinks that was especially hilarious—but because you just make him nervous. 

“You can call me Hajime or…’my boyfriend?’ Yeah, let's stick with my boyfriend!”

“Not Daddy?”

“I won’t stop you! Now, how about that okra???”

Toma Hiragi

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

Hiragi’s simultaneously rubbing a knot out of his neck while chastising you. You found yourself in an all too familiar situation, running errands when a drunken man approached you and began to hurl “that word” in your direction when he didn’t find your reaction to his advances to be appropriate: same shit, different day.

As you were looking for an escape route, Hiragi rounded the corner and snatched the man by the collar—it was almost comical to see the drunkard's feet dangle feverishly off the ground. With a scowl and a threat from Hiragi, he was stumbling off.

You sigh, “I don’t mean to be a burden, Hiragi. But something on my forehead must read, ‘fuck with me’ because this is becoming a common occurrence.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbles, “I just find myself worrying about you too much. Might give you my jacket to keep these creeps at bay.” 

Before the last syllable leaves his lips, he’s stuttering and trying to walk the statement back, “I mean uh…or any Bofurin jacket! We have boxes of these somewhere! Not mine, per se.”

You smile, placing a hand on his toned bicep. “I’d love to wear my protector's jacket.”

You need not say more. He removes his oversized jacket and places it over your shoulders. The smell of him and the warmth he left behind makes your heart flutter. You give him your best grin, “you know you’re never getting this back, right?”

“See? A pain in my ass. With a mouth like that, I’m goin’ to have to teach you how to fight.” 

You lean into his arm, “With a mouth like this, you might have to teach me more than how to fight.”

“Jesus.”

Jo Togame 

Jo Togame is the other person on this list who’ll give you a run for your money when trying to flirt. He may seem turtle-adjacent, but his rebuttals to your flirtation attempts are quick. 

You’ve been shooting Togame smoldering glances for the entirety of the night, and even though Shishitoren men surround him, he’ll catch you looking, give you a lopsided grin, and then turn his attention back to the group,

You lick your lips. The draw of his signature sweatpants, black, loose-fitting tee, and Shishitoren jacket is doing something to you. 

And maybe it’s because you’re on your fifth shot of mystery concoction, and the music they’re playing at the house party makes you feel bold and think that what you’re about to do is a good idea. 

With all the courage you can muster, you walk up to Togame. He tilts his head in your direction, but you can see amusement in his jade-colored eyes.

“Took you long enough. Thought you were never gonna get tired of starin’ at me.”

“Dance with me!” you yell over the music. You can feel everyone in the group sizing you up and waiting to hear how Togame responds. 

He puts his beer down and takes your hand. You pull him to the center of the room, where a makeshift dance floor has been constructed. You allow the music to move you before you can talk yourself out of whatever is happening. Togame puts his hand on your waist and allows you to grind against him and to the beat. 

“You like the idea of making me nervous, huh?”

You stand on the tips of your toes to get as close to his ear as possible, “You caught me! Is it working?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No because I know exactly how this night is going to end.”

Your heart picks up a bit as his hands slide down from your waist and rest above your ass.

“How?” You squeak.

“With you grinding just like this on my dick.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he presses his lips against yours, his kiss hot and hungry. 

Your eyes flutter closed, and you agree that this night will likely end how he prophesized.

[softbeej]

Hii! Can I request an Alastor smut fic that reader has a praise kink please?

Thank you😭💖

hehe of course!!!! reqs open!!

Good Little Girl (Alastor x Reader)

You didn’t expect things to go this way when you woke up this morning. Alastor woke you up too early, perching himself beside you on your bed, a mug of steaming hot sweetened tea in hand. Your eyes fluttered open and you smiled at him, albeit confused. 

“Morning, Alastor.” You said groggily, yawning and sitting up. “Everything okay?”

He handed you the tea, and although you did not appreciate being woken up so early, the tea kind of made up for it.

“Right as rain! I just have one small little favor to ask, but it’s nothing really...”

You nodded, urging him to continue as you sipped the lemon honey tea. Though, you already had an idea what it’d be.

“It’s this paperwork, you see...”

Bingo. 

Alastor had a habit of letting paperwork build up until it became unmanageable piles of non discernible pages scattered around the office. He didn’t like doing it, so he never did. Simple as that. Lucky for him, you had a knack of keeping things like this organised and even found monotonous tasks such as this rather therapeutic. 

“No problem, Alastor. I’ll do it all today.”

“Oh, thank you my dear! I’m eternally grateful, I’m sure you already know.” He tousled your already messy hair and stood up, whistling on his way out.

You rubbed your eyes before getting comfy again and going back to sleep.

Oh, are there any better feelings than stamping and stapling that last bit of paperwork? You didn’t think so, not after you’d spent the last three hours in the cramped hotel office. All the paperwork (even the pile he’d shoved under the cupboard) had been completed and filed away alphabetically in heavy ring binder folders. You let out a sigh of relief as you tucked it away neatly on the shelf. This was when Alastor sauntered in.

“Oh my! How tidy! My, I can see the carpet again!”

You smiled, “It’s nothing, Al!”

“Thank you, dear! You really are a good little girl after all, hm?”

Oh. What? Oh?!

Your brain couldn’t even comprehend what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. You just blushed and stuttered as you continued pointing out how the files were organized. This was definitely new. Sure, you’d done favors for Alastor before. He always thanked you, usually by buying you fancy pastries and tea, but never had he called you a good little girl. Your mouth was moving quicker than your brain, finding yourself babbling at the man. 

He raised his eyebrows at you.

“What?” You said.

“Oh, nothing...” He replied in an irringtatingly teasing way, “I just felt your heart rate increase, that’s all. I have an inkling you liked something I said a little bit too much...”

You shook your head, “Pfft, no!”

“Interesting... Because I’m not usually wrong. I think you rather liked being called a good girl, don’t you?”

You shook your head again.

He tutted, “Lying isn’t good girl behavior now, is it?”

You gave in, finally.

“No, Alastor. It’s not.”

“And I think you do want to be a good girl, don’t you?” Alastor asked  condescendingly, now sat on the desk chair.

“I do...”

“Come on then.” He said very matter-of-factly, and patted his thighs.

You did as told, sitting on his lap with your back pressing up against his chest. He wasted no time in snaking his hands up your skirt and thighs, daringly close to the hem of your panties. 

“May I?”

“Yes, please...” You almost whined.

He rubbed you over the panties, “Okay, darling...”

You shivered against him, feeling his claws pushing your panties aside and slowly tease his way inside.

“You’re doing a good job, aren’t you?”

Another weak nod. You craned your neck to nuzzle up into Alastor’s neck, closing your eyes and breathing in his smell; musky and expensive but comforting all the same. You focused on steadying these breaths as he continued to play and toy with you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

“Yeah...” You mewled out breathlessly.

“Then cum, sweetheart, you’ve been so well behaved, I think you deserve it...”

You twitched around his fingers as you came with angelic squeals. All throughout it he mumbled sweet praises, nipping your ear.

As you caught your breath he held you tightly, almost as if he thought you were about to collapse over him. Maybe you were.

When you found your breathing steadying and heart rate returning back to non-heart attack territory, you turned to see Alastor, that everlasting shit eating grin looking a little more proud than usual, he muttered out, “Seems we’ve both learned something new today, hm?”

[bulletswithribbons]

Loving and fearless

TateLangdonxFem!reader // NSFW

Summary: You find out your boyfriend is a mass murderer. He's worried about what you will think of him but he never knew you weren't a good girl from the very start.

Warnings: Smut (obv), unprotected piv, sex with feelings, implied murder...

Word count: 1.7k

a/n: Ok so sorry I took really long to write a new fic I was working on a Part 2 for my Kai one but then thought of this. Had to write it down to satisfy my pookies since I didn't take so long writing it. Basically why it's short.

𝕱𝖚𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖎𝖈 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖚𝖙 ⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚

“Are you scared?” He asks. He wasn’t trying to hide it, nor deny it. He just wanted you to accept it as it is. He was no saint, but so weren’t you. No sugarcoating things for this once at least.

You shook your head slowly, “no.” You said, and it wasn’t a lie. At least yet. You weren’t afraid of him, you knew him better than anyone. Or maybe that’s what you chose to believe. You didn’t want to change anything about him or live in a deluded world of your own thinking of him as someone he isn’t. As fucked-up as it sounds, you liked that psychopathic trait of his.

Tate tilts his head partly to the side, daring you to say that thing you were desperate to.

“I doubt it,” he replied, regret somehow dripping from his tone. You knew he didn’t regret shooting up his school nor all the murders he committed, rather of the way you found out. He had already apologized, what else would you need? Him to get on his knees and beg you to forgive him? He would gladly do that.

“I want you to embrace it,” you finally said, the thought lingering in your head for a while now. You just didn’t know how to express it without sounding like a weirdo. 

“Embrace it?” He repeats after you, confused, a hint of surprise in his voice.

You nod.

“You killed them. There’s nothing you can do about it anymore. You’re troubled Tate. Stop hiding that side and accept it as a part of you. You can’t run away from your past and you being trapped here actually proves my point.” Your tone was comforting, all loving. You were one of the very few –the only one– that actually cared about him in a non-twisted way. He wasn’t ready to lose that. He would never be.

“But would you accept it as a part of me? You want me to go around killing people and then come back to you so you can clean the blood of others from my own hands?” He asks, his voice quavering, a bit shaky and unclear, he was upset and you knew he's on the verge of crying.

And Bingo. There it is. Those poor souls, he doesn’t care about them, but rather what you would think. Nothing matters as long as you’re still there standing by his side. Was it unhealthy? Maybe. But for you it only made your relationship stronger.

“Isn’t that what you would like?” You ask, your hand darting to his face brushing his blonde strands of hair away from his face as you cup his cheek.

A single tear runs down his cheek as he smiles lightly. His dimples looked more adorable than ever. All he ever wanted was to be appreciated. And he is.

The sight of him taking two steps closer to you had your heart speeding up, even though he's your boyfriend you can't help but feel like a silly little girl with a silly little crush. Except it wasn't little, nor silly. His hand grips at your waist as he pulls you to him, getting rid of every inch that separates your bodies. His head tilts slightly before he attacks your face with his lips embracing yours in a hungry lustful open-mouthed kiss.

Your hands quickly find the back of his neck, pulling him even closer and deepening the kiss while his tongue pushes through and fights yours for domination.

He was completely teasing you, or maybe not, maybe he just craved you so bad. His covered erection was tempting your core, begging for release. One of his hands slides down your shirt and cups your boob, squeezing tightly. A soft moan escapes your lips and onto the kiss.

At that time, you thought maybe a somewhat evil spirit took over your boyfriend as he aggressively pinned you against the wall, too impatient to hop on the bed. But you know it was no evil spirit. There was no need to keep on finding why’s to his actions.

He yanks your shorts down to your knees then grips at your thigh lifting it up to his hip, probably to get better access. Meanwhile his other hand unzips his jeans and pulls them down along with his boxers freeing his rock hard dick. Yeah now it's confirmed that it was to gain better access. Tate always gets hard easily, that was a fact you knew. Whether it was a silly little cuddle session or you whispering the randomest topics in his ear. It didn’t bother you, you actually loved it. It enthralled you.

Your arms wrap around his neck while his breath fans against your nape. Each passing second your pussy screams for him to fuck the shit out of you even louder.

His digits found their way to your inner thigh, trailing toward your center. Once they reach your clit, his pointer finger runs up and down the thin soaked fabric of your underwear. He taps on the wet spot a few times, teasing you or maybe to later remember how desperate you were for him inside you. “This is my way of thanking you, y/n.” He whispers in your ear, your body shuddering at the sound of his voice, excitement surging through your entire temple. Every second passing by the atmosphere gets even hotter.

You nod, “mhm.”

His finger curls at the edge of your panties pulling it to the side, baring your pussy to him and the arousal glistening within.

Tate leans over you even closer, capturing your soft skin between his teeth sucking in deep; while he uses a hand to line his cock up to your dripping entrance. His tip caresses your sensitive bundle of nerves. “I’m not waiting any longer,” He mutters under his breath to your ear as he pushes himself deeper into your cunt and slams into you. 

Tate has never ever hidden the fact that he craves you desperately. You loved that he would kill for you but hated how you would too.

You let out a loud moan, if he didn’t know you any better he would’ve thought that was a scream for help. Your hand grabs a fistful of his hair. Your moan made him groan quietly. He loved the sound of you squirming beneath him, and even the sound of your voice when you talk about anything no matter what it was. He couldn’t stop himself, of course not since he couldn’t even wait to hear you screaming his name. Your legs curl around his hips as he thrusted in you deeper, moaning uncontrollably as he feels your tight warm wet walls wrapped around his thick length. “My cock.. Is pure love..” He breathes out. Your eyes hardly widen, Tate isn’t used to dirty talking. Not at all. If anything he was actually nice and making sure you’re ok nearly between every two thrusts. Unless he was jealous or upset with you. But mostly that’s it. Your eyes barely stay wide for 2 seconds before they roll to the back of your head once his tip hit a spot in you that made your moans louder than they already were. “Oh fuck, Tate!” You scream, He slides out slightly then back in forcefully. He didn’t recognize mercy, and your pussy wasn’t getting any of that. His cock pounding into you merciless, unsympathetically, inhumanly. All of the above. Abusing that same specific spot of yours. 

His intense tightening in his chest made him hungry for air as he breathed heavily, humping you remorselessly. Your pussy swallowing every inch of him and lubricating like crazy, your own arousal leaking down your pussy and out to your thighs. Such a slut you are for him. Problem is you were shameless about it.

Your grip on his hair tightens, holding on as hard as you can but making sure not to hurt him. You would never. Soft moans are whispered in your ear as he presses his mouth a little harsher against your skin, his fingers tightening on your thighs. His lips trailing kisses up and down your neck, leaving small bites here and there as he slowly makes his way up to your jaw. His hands slide up your thighs and stop at your clit, rubbing it as if his life depends on it, all the while his hips are pounding into you as fast as they can. You arch your back involuntarily immediately once you feel the contact. He groans softly as he feels your arch into his touch, his fingers going inhumanly faster than before. 

Seeing how it is, it wouldn't be long for you until you came.

Shockwaves of pure pleasure began to ripple throughout your body. Legs trembling and eyes rolling back. Your face was bright red and a wheezing sound came out of your mouth with every inhale. The perfect combination of his fingers stroking your clit and the fast paced abuse on your cunt was enough to make you see stars. He was chasing his own release and you were begging for yours. You knew you were close.. Real close.. “Tate.. Please.. I’m so fucking close..” You whimper, not knowing what exactly you were begging him for. Tate knows your body well enough to know you were close, he speeds up. Judging by his breathing, you can tell he was getting tired. You let out your moans freely as you feel your orgasm crashing down. A complete mess leaking down your thighs. You can’t hold your back arch anymore but it didn't matter, waves of ecstasy and euphoria taking over your body. Tate wasn't done yet, and although your lips were already burning up, you didn't protest. “Hmph..I love you,” He moaned in between thrusts as they were getting erratic, feeling you cum around his cock was enough for him. But that didn’t stop him from abusing your swollen red cunt until he was fully finished. Tate thrusts into you for a moment longer before you feel his ejaculate drowning your pussy breathing heavily, his release splaying across your walls in ropes. Tears had stained your cheeks.

Tate had you still pinned against the wall, with your legs wrapped around his hips and his hands grabbing your thighs. His now softened dick still in your abused pussy. Why isn’t he pulling out yet? This is the first time he lasted this long. Usually he doesn’t stay so long.

His head was resting on your shoulder, nose burried into your neck. His breathing slowed down steadily and went back to normal.

It felt weirdly comforting.. Him being so close, you didn’t even want him to pull out. Your legs still crossed behind your boyfriend’s back.

“You want me to pull out?” He whispers to you lovingly as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face and tugs it behind your ear.

“No, let’s stay this way for a while..” Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close. You can feel him nodding.

[6atals]

[ 성훈 ] 𝜗𝜚 ┈ sunghoon just can’t get enough of you. can’t you get enough of him?

𝓃𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘆!𝓈𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗻 ˖ 𝒻𝗲𝗺!𝓇𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 g. fluff , slightly suggestive , humor , skinship , established relationship. 312wc, 1441Cs ─── ℛ𝙀𝘼𝘿𝒾𝗡𝗚 𝓈𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗙 (coming soon ??) . 𓋜 . intimacy , lover boy sunghoon ⟡ ⋆ not requested! guidelines coming soon!

ℳ𝗶𝗿𝗮’𝘀 𝓃𝗼𝘁𝗲! 🗯️ . . . first fic on here im a little scared to see how this is gonna go but it’s worth a shot! likes and reposts are very appreciated !

the softly dimmed light shined across the living room floor as you walked inside. being exhausted from work wasn’t the best feeling at all. constantly getting yelled at, having coffee spilled onto your work uniform, and spoiled lunch? wasn’t on your bingo card. you slipped off your shoes, sighing in relief and walking to the couch to put your stuff down.

“hoon?” you yelled out.

no answer. that’s weird.

you yelled out again and walked upstairs. “hoonie!”

you giggled as you saw his sleeping form, dark brown hair splayed across his forehead as his mouth slightly open, creating a small “oval” shape. his light snores were heard from the doorframe.

his groggy voice called out to you, “y/n?” he mumbled out, his eyes slowly opening up as he sat up to grab you but you were far away. you walked over to you, sitting down into his lap. his arms immediately caged you in, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort before laying back down and smiling.

“hoonie, i haven’t changed out my clothes yet..” you giggled out as he held you tighter. “doesn’t matter.” sunghoon mumbled. he didn’t care about anything but holding you into his arms until you let it down.

a few seconds later you calmed down inside his arms, you really needed that. work was so stressful and you couldn’t stand to have anything in the way of your boyfriend holding you in his arms. “i love you. okay? don’t let anyone tell you differently.” sunghoon mumbled again, caressing your head as if you were a fragile child.

his hands glided against your waist like a soft feather, slowly caressing your body as if you were a doll. you melted into his arms like puddy and kissed up his neck, not caring about anything worries you had tomorrow, because none of it mattered when you were with him.

“you think i can pick you up baby?” he whispered, but you were already fast asleep in his arms. sunghoon smiled, lifting you up and putting you on your side of the bed before wrapping his arms around you once more.

“goodnight baby.” he whispered once more.

can’t you get enough of him?

do not copy, repost or steal my works.

©6atals est. 2025

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Look, Don't Touch 2

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, stalking, breaking and entering, possible blood and violence, and femcel energy. Tags are not exhaustive and more may be added as the series progresses.

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 get bored of watching and that makes you careless. (dark!reader)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Note: Well, well, well, if it isn’t another bad decision.

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. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like snakes love Woody’s boots. Take care. 💖

Your hands are bound behind you, the belt looped through the bars of the wooden chair. Your stomach bubbles uneasily as you watch Bucky paw through your bag. This isn’t happening. How the fuck did you get here? He wasn’t supposed to show up! 

He throws your bag down as he holds your phone. He nears and turns the screen to face you. He waits and checks it. You don’t use facial recognition, the piece of shit’s too cheap to have that feature. He sighs. 

“What’s your code?” he asks. 

“Fuck off,” you snarl. 

His gloved hand balls and he grits his teeth, “don’t make this–” 

You kick out and your heel meets his crotch, his legs folding as he slips to one knee. He inhales with a gristle as he grips his thigh, barely keeping a hold on your phone. He clears his throat and stands. He slams the phone on the table and stomps out. 

You laugh but not for long. He’s back with duct tape. He tapes your legs to the chair and winds several layers around your waist. You shake your head and curl your lip. 

“Look, dude, it’s really not that deep,” you say, “it’s a grift. I squat. Just when people are out of town. I don’t take nothing and I leave everything as it was–” 

“You’re lying,” he taps your phone as he frowns, “and you can keep playing wise but I will figure you out.” He grins, “bingo.” 

He waves your phone, your wallpaper confirming it’s unlocked. You roll your eyes. 

“You should call the police,” you say. 

“So you can lie your way out of this? No thanks,” he swipes as he puts his hand on his hip and turns away. He stops pacing and brings the phone closer to his face. He grimaces, “you're a sick bitch, aren’t you?” 

He tuts and shows you the image of Steve fucking his one night stand. You laugh. “Me? What about your friend?” 

“I’d say the fact you recorded it is a lot more fucked up than him having a bit of fun,” he snorts, “you’re sly. I saw your equipment.” 

“Thanks,” you say smartly. 

“You’re not making this easy on yourself,” he says. 

“Well, you got your evidence so… police?” you divert. 

“You know what the police do to stalkers? Nothing,” he sneers. 

“Stalker? I told you, I’m a squatter–” 

“Enough with that,” he points at you sharply and goes back to scrolling, “hmm,” he hums then says your name aloud, grinning up at you. 

“So.. if no cops, what are you going to do?” you finally let yourself ask. 

“I know how to handle things internally,” he says, “so don’t you worry.” 

“Are you going to call Steve?” 

“Steve?” he scoffs, “you speak as if you know him. You don’t know shit. And no, got a lot more things more important than you.” He runs his gloved fingers over his stubble as the dimple in his chin deepens, “I gotta do some running around.” 

“I thought you were here to water the plants,” you taunt. 

“The ferns can wait,” he says, “you just sit pretty and I’ll be back soon.” 

He tucks your phone in his jacket and grabs his keys from where he dropped them on the table. He disappears into the hall and you heave. Well, what the fuck do you do now? 

The door snaps shut, the beep of the security system follows, and you’re left in silence. You look around the open dining room, the kitchen visible just through the next doorway. You pull at your hands, the belt digging into your wrists. You wriggle, the chair wobbling, as you try to twist your ankles free. 

You grunt in frustration as helplessness floods your chest. The chair tilts forward and you panic, swing back too hard and tip it over completely. Your head hits the floor above the back and it leaves you dizzy as you blink away stars. 

“Shittttttt!” you yell at the ceiling. 

📷

Bucky finds you on the floor. He does nothing to help as you crane to watch him. He puts down a black bag before he nears. He stands by the legs of the chair and kicks the bottom of the seat with his boot. 

“Bored?” he teases, “restless, maybe?” 

“I need to piss,” you huff, not a full out lie. 

“You can wait,” he leaves you there and you listen to his footfalls in dread. The whisper of the zipper as he stops. The rustle of unseen objects, pages flipping as his sole squeaks. 

‘I saw him again today,’ Bucky begins, ‘but he didn’t see me. He never does. I wonder how. Maybe I’m just that invisible.  

But I see him. I see everything he does. Even when he’s not there, I can’t stop. I think about him all the time. Sometimes I pretend my toys are him. Touching me, though I know he never will–” 

“Stop,” you growl, “now.” 

‘It used to be that I’d imagine anyone. Any man touching me, but now the thought of anyone else disgusts me.’ 

You’re quiet, humiliated. More angry than anything. You want to strangle him. You want to smack the smug look off your face you imagine in tandem with his mocking tone.  

“Stop,” you say again, “you think I don’t know what I am. Obviously, I know. I’m stupid enough to write it down.” 

He laughs and you hear the journal hit the table. He strides around the chair and stands beside you. He watches you, squats to look you in the face. 

“No, I don’t think you realise how fucking sad you are,” he says, “how pathetic.” 

“You think you’re the first to tell me,” you sneer, “I know, asshole. But I never hurt anyone and wasn’t going to start. I just watch–” 

“Break and enter as well, huh?” He smirks, “I mean, you can tell a lot about a person by where they live. Found out a hell of a lot about you, doll.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss. 

“Small place,” he stands, “cramped. Guess a rat like you doesn’t need much. Couple packs of ramen and a bottle of vodka. I had better rations in 1944.” 

“What about Hydra? They feed you well?” you retort. He’s silent. “Hit a soft spot? I’m sure a cyborg like you didn’t need much.” 

He kicks the chair and it jolts you. It’s your turn to laugh. He puts his foot on the crossbar and swings you back up to four feet. You teeter but stay upright, chafing in your bonds. 

“You really are that stupid, aren’t you?” he chides. 

You shrug and glance at the wall, “I really do need to piss.” 

“You think you’re going to get out of this one?” he asks. 

“I just want to go to the–” 

“I’m not worried about you making a run for it, doll,” he leans against the table and slides a thumb in his pocket, “I mean, what do you think is going to happen here? You think I’m gonna give you a lecture and let you walk?” 

“Haven’t thought about it really,” you say flippantly, “guess I assumed you’d revert a little. Clean up the problem the way you used to do when you had that red star stamped on ya–” 

Suddenly, he’s in front of you. His hand is on your throat as he bends to snarl, “shut your fucking mouth or I’m gonna break it.” 

You grin as you choke down air and make a show of clamping your lips together. You raise your brows and he stiffly rescinds his hand. He rounds the chair and tears through the tape before unbuckling the belt. Your arms fall loose but he grabs you by the back of your neck, pinching so you cry out and claw at his hand. 

“I squeeze any tighter and I’ll do some real damage,” he warns as he guides you to your feet, “then you won’t be running anywhere ever again. Got it?” 

“Sure,” you grit out as pain ripples down your spine. 

He grunts and urges you into the front room and down the hall. He enters the bathroom with you and flips up the seat. He releases you and takes a step back, a hand on the counter as he stares. 

“Um, a bit of privacy?” 

“You go now or not at all,” he demands, “so…” 

You exhale sharply and turn, unbuttoning your pants as you focus on the wall. You push your jeans down and sit, a slight pause before you manage to trickle out just a little. Your bladder releases and the pressure relents, leaving you lighter but not relieved. You wipe, pull your jeans up as you stand, and flush. 

He grabs your arm and yanks you back into the hallway. His metal grip makes your muscles burn as he drags you on. You glance across the front room, the doors not that far.  

You push your toe under the carpet so it catches and you stumble, pulling him back with your unexpected falter. “Hey, stay on your f–” 

You stomp his toe and he recoils as he grunts. You spin awkwardly, barely staying up right as you scramble away. You knock over the tall vase by the doorway as you flee. He tackles you from behind and you plummet forward, hitting the floor as he lands on you. You wheeze as your ribs ache beneath his weight. 

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ heavy,” you snarl into the hardwood. 

“And you’re fucking stubborn,” he raps his knuckles on the back of your skull as he pushes off you. He plants his feet on either side of you and lifts you, both hands on your arms as he steadies you, “stupid, too.” 

You scoff as he urges you back down the hall and shoves you through to the dining room. His hand crawls up to your neck and he bends you over the table. You growl and kick out your feet as you pick at his impenetrable grip. 

“Like I said, had some running around to do,” he reaches into his bag with his free hand, “got some things to keep you in line.” 

He circles his fingers around your wrist and a metal cuff expands around it. Then he does the same to the other. He lets go of you and steps back. You straighten as he takes out his phone and taps the screen, your wrists snap together behind you, as if magnetised. You struggle as the force sets you off kilter. 

“Neat little gadget, usually reserved for sinister individuals but they’ll do for you too,” he frames your shoulders and angles you around, urging you back into the chair, “since you want to make this interesting.” 

You scowl and say nothing. He really is annoying. He goes back to his bag and reaches in again. He returns to you and secures another pair of cuffs around your ankles. You try to kick out as he does and he squeezes your leg meanly. You snarl and sit back angrily.  

He pushes a pin into each leg of the chair and stands. He picks up his phone again and your ankles attach to the wooden legs. He rounds you and parts your wrists, pulling them between the bars and letting them snap back together behind them. 

“We’re gonna be here a while and I’m not in the mood to be chasing you around,” he goes to the table and sets his phone down. 

He peels off his jacket and drapes it over another chair. He sits and retrieves the cell, his thumb moving lazily across it as he ignores you. You furrow your brow. There’s no give in the restraints. 

“Not exactly how I wanted to spend my night,” he grumbles as he smirks at you, “not that I had any plans.” 

“No plans? A gem like you? How are the girls not lining up?” you roll your eyes. 

“You’re one to talk, aren’t you?” he scoffs. 

You shrug and sit back. You’re starting to feel the toll of the night; stuck in that chair, pinned under his weight, the knock to your head. You’re tired but you can’t let him see it. 

📷

The smell of food makes your stomach growl. You can’t remember the last time you ate. It’s a bad habit. You eat only when it hurts and it fucking hurts. 

Bucky sits at the table with his paper bag and cup and eagerly peers inside. You try not to stare, instead focusing on your lap. You salivate as your guts knot with temptation. You listen to the rustle of wrappers and Bucky moans as he takes his first bite, chewing loudly. 

You exhale through tight lips. It’s deliberate, you know it. It’s his specialty, isn’t it? Torture? Cruelty? You peek up from beneath your lashes as he scarfs down a mouthful of fries. 

“Oh, you know what,” he sits back and grabs a napkin, wiping his fingertips, “I didn’t even think. I should’ve ordered you some. You must be starving.” 

“I’m fine,” you insist as you drop your gaze and your stomach rumbles loudly. 

“Sounds like it,” he slurps from his cup, “we’re all human, so if you’re hungry, all you gotta do is ask nicely–” 

“Human? You?” you look at his left arm, concealed under his henley and gloves, “sure. I told you, not hungry.” 

“Alright,” he grabs the burger and takes another sloppy bite. You turn your face away and ignore the pangs deep in your gut. “You really should consider a bit of common decency,” he says through a mouthful, “make it easy on yourself.” 

“Why’s that?” you mutter, shoulders sore from the awkward position as you try not to lean back on your arms. 

“I don’t have to be an asshole,” he says. 

“Really? You have more than one mode?” you snip. 

“What do you think’s gonna happen when Steve gets here?” he asks and shoves the last bit of his burger in his mouth. He watches you as he chews. 

“Does it matter? What I think or what happens?” you glower, staring at the faded denim of your jeans. “You saw my apartment, you think I have much to lose?” 

“You’re alive,” he ventures. 

“If that’s what you call it,” you laugh darkly, “so, that’s it? He’s gonna kill me? You lost your spine or something?” 

“You’re pretty self-aware for someone so pathetic,” he remarks as he shovels up more fries. 

“My sole virtue,” you say mockingly, “at least I know what I am.” 

“Do you? Do you really understand how fucked in the head you are?” 

“I should ask you the same,” you counter. 

He laughs and scoops up some more fries, “right, well, these next few days are going to be fun.” 

He stands and cleans up the garbage, shoving it all into the paper bag. He crumples it as he goes into the kitchen and you hear the lid of the bin as he tosses it. The light flicks off as he returns and he nears you. You sit rigidly as he grabs the back of the chair and tilts it back. 

He drags you out of the dining room and into the living room without a word. He shoves the coffee table over with his foot and puts you right in front of the couch. He lets the chair fall to four feet and strides away. 

You watch him as he makes up the couch with a sheet tucked around the cushions, a pillow against the arm, and a blanket on top. He pushes his head to one side than the other, a loud crack releases the tension. He sits and unties his boots, sliding them off as he focuses on the task. 

He strips down to his briefs and undershirt, as if you’re not even there. He settles onto the couch with a sigh, a bit too big for it but unbothered by that fact. He shifts as he plays with his phone and a voice suddenly rises from the speaker. He puts it on the back of the couch and lets it play, some narrative of a forgotten battle. He folds his arms behind his head and sighs. 

“Helps me sleep,” he smirks as he closes his eyes, “might help you too… if you can get comfortable.” 

[mcytblrsource]

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NOVEMBER

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MCYT Prompt Exchange

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The Reason is You Zine [SpiderBit]

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[medic-6116]

Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Clone Trooper Wooley Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Clone Trooper Wooley Additional Tags: Medical Experimentations, Past Medical Experimentations, Nightmares, Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Clone Troopers Have PTSD (Star Wars), Wooley Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Protective CC-2224 | Cody, Parental CC-2224 | Cody, 212th Bingo, 212th Appreciation Week Series: Part 5 of Battalion Bingo Summary:

It had been almost a month since he was reunited with his Commander, his buir, but the nightmares refused to stop.

212th Bingo is hosted by @clonefandomevents​​ Prompts used is Parent Cody AU, De-Age, and Comfort from a Nightmare 212th Appreciation Week is hosted by @212thappreciation Day 1, Comfort

[amethystarachnid]

Hey rose! I hope you're doing alright! I absolutely adore your Tony stark fics!! I hope you'd write one for Steve Rogers or loki. Can you write something with any one of them where their partner (reader) is very emotional, like cries at tv shows and books, can never NOT tear up when any of them say anything romantic or meaningful. And as much as they don't want their partner to cry, they feel really appreciated. Just loads of fluff! Thank you!<3🩵

P.s. ofc feel free to change or add anything you fell like. Appreciate it!

HAPPY TEARS

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: You have always been the sensitive type, crying over movies and every sweet thing Steve did for you, and that's one of the reasons he loves you so much but, at the same it, it gets him worried for your possible reaction to the question that has been in his mind for sometime now.

ᯓ★ Word count: 8K

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing just pure fluff and just like a few words about a passionate night

ᯓ★ As always, since reader's gender isn't specified in the ask I'll write it as fem!reader because I'm a girl and it's what I'm more used to write, but if you want it to be with another gender are sure to specify it in your ask and I'll write it! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, warm and inviting. It greets you before you even open your eyes, a little luxury of the life you’ve built together. Your sleepy mind pieces together the familiar sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen—the soft clink of the coffee pot returning to its base, the gentle scrape of a plate across the counter.

He’s making breakfast.

The thought alone tugs at your heart. After seven years together, Steve Rogers still finds a way to make every morning feel special, no matter how ordinary. You pull the blanket tighter around you and close your eyes for a moment, letting the sound of his hums blend with the noise of the city beyond the window. It’s moments like these, the quiet ones, that remind you just how deeply you’re loved.

By the time you shuffle into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, he’s plating up pancakes. He’s not wearing a shirt, just his gray sweatpants sitting low on his hips, and his blond hair is damp and tousled like he’s already gone for a run. It’s infuriating how good he looks, even at this hour.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, flashing you that boyish smile, the one that makes your stomach flip even now.

You give him a sleepy grin in return, padding toward him on bare feet. His hand automatically finds the small of your back as you lean into him, your cheek pressing against his chest. For a moment, there’s no one else in the world but the two of you.

“You didn’t have to get up so early,” you mumble against his skin, your voice still thick with sleep.

“You were out like a light,” he says, his hand running gently up and down your spine. “Figured I’d let you sleep in a little.” His voice is low, affectionate, and entirely too effective at making your heart melt.

When you pull back, he tips your chin up with one finger, his blue eyes scanning your face like it’s the first time he’s seen you. “Coffee?” he asks, already stepping away to grab your favorite mug from the counter.

You watch him pour the coffee, a soft smile playing on your lips. He’s careful, deliberate, like he’s handling something precious. And you suppose, in his eyes, he is.

As he hands you the mug, his fingers brush yours, sending a spark of warmth through you. The gesture is small but thoughtful, the way so many of his gestures are. Seven years, and he still makes you feel like you’re worth all the time and effort in the world.

The first sip of coffee is heavenly, and you sigh contentedly as you sink into one of the kitchen chairs. Steve sits across from you, his long legs stretching out under the table, and slides a plate of pancakes in your direction. “Banana chocolate chip,” he says. “Thought you might want something sweet today.”

Your eyes go wide. “You made these just for me?”

His laugh is soft and teasing. “Who else would I make them for?”

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, and before you can stop it, tears start to blur your vision.

Steve freezes mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. “Hey,” he says gently, already moving his chair closer to yours. “What’s wrong?” His hand lands lightly on your knee, his thumb stroking small circles there.

You shake your head, letting out a watery laugh. “Nothing’s wrong. I just…” You glance down at the pancakes, overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotions. “You made me pancakes.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, clearly not understanding why that’s enough to turn you into a mess. “And?”

“And you made them the way I like them,” you sniff, wiping at your eyes. “With the chocolate chips on top, not mixed in, because you know I like the crunch.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you look up at him, feeling ridiculous for crying over pancakes. “You’re too good to me.”

His expression softens instantly, a mix of affection and bemusement. He moves his chair even closer, until his knees bump yours. “Sweetheart,” he says, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs catching the stray tears. “It’s just pancakes.”

“No, it’s not,” you insist, your voice a little shaky. “It’s… it’s that you always think of these little things. You always go out of your way to make me happy.” You gesture toward the plate, then to him. “Even after all this time, you still do stuff like this.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then he smiles, leaning in to press his lips softly against your forehead. “I hope you know I don’t do any of this because I feel like I have to,” he murmurs. “I do it because I want to. Because seeing you happy is worth it. Every single time.”

His words are a balm, soothing the tight ache in your chest, and you let out a shaky laugh. “Well, congratulations,” you say, trying for levity. “You made me cry before breakfast again.”

“Again?” he echoes, chuckling softly. “I’m starting to think it’s my superpower.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, even as you swipe at your damp cheeks. “You’d give Tony a run for his money.”

“I’ll let him know,” Steve says with a wink, sliding the plate closer to you. “Now eat your pancakes before they get cold.”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing warmth in his tone makes you reach for your fork. The first bite is everything you expected—soft, sweet, and rich with the perfect balance of flavors. You moan appreciatively, and Steve grins at the sound, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Good?” he asks, resting his chin on one hand as he watches you.

“Good,” you say around a mouthful of pancake, the tension in your chest easing with every bite.

For a while, the two of you eat in companionable silence, the kind that only comes from years of knowing and loving each other. Steve tells you about his run—how Sam gave him grief for being late to their meeting spot, how the park was unusually crowded this morning—and you listen with a soft smile, chiming in occasionally with little jokes or questions.

But even as the conversation flows, you can see the way Steve keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, like he’s still trying to puzzle you out. He’s always been like this, endlessly patient, endlessly curious about the way your mind works.

Finally, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair, studying you. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how sensitive you are.”

You pause mid-bite, your fork hovering just shy of your lips. “Is that a bad thing?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Not at all,” he says quickly, his expression earnest. “I mean it in the best way. You feel everything so deeply, and… I don’t know. It amazes me, I guess. How you can look at something as simple as pancakes and see all the love behind it.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you glance down at your plate. “I don’t mean to make a big deal out of things,” you mumble. “I just… I can’t help it. When you do something sweet, it gets to me.”

He reaches across the table, his hand covering yours. “I don’t want you to help it,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I love that about you. I love that you cry over movies and surprise gifts and little things like pancakes. It reminds me to slow down and appreciate those things too.”

You blink at him, your throat tightening all over again. “You mean that?”

“Every word,” he says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “So, if you feel like crying over pancakes or anything else, go ahead. I’ll be here to catch the tears.”

It’s too much—his words, his presence, the unshakable love in his eyes. Before you can stop yourself, you’re crying again, this time out of sheer gratitude. Steve just laughs softly and moves to your side, pulling you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I love you,” you whisper against his chest, your voice trembling.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of your head. “More than anything.”

Friday nights at the Tower are sacred—a time to unwind, laugh, and for Tony Stark to force his eclectic taste in movies on the rest of the Avengers. Tonight, the team has assembled in the massive home theater, complete with a state-of-the-art sound system, plush recliners, and enough snacks to sustain a small army.

You’re curled up next to Steve on one of the oversized couches, your legs tucked beneath you and your head leaning on his shoulder. His arm is draped casually around you, and he’s absently playing with the ends of your hair as Tony prowls the front of the room, remote in hand, his enthusiasm palpable.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Tony announces, dramatically pointing the remote like it’s a scepter, “tonight’s feature presentation is the cinematic masterpiece, Titanic.”

Groans ripple through the group.

“Tony, again?” Natasha asks, leaning back in her seat with a smirk. “You have a billion-dollar movie collection, and you keep picking this one.”

“It’s called having taste, Romanoff,” Tony retorts, tossing her a packet of Red Vines. “Some of us recognize greatness when we see it. This movie has it all: romance, drama, social commentary, and the single greatest piece of floating debris in cinematic history.”

“It’s a door,” Clint says flatly.

“It’s art,” Tony snaps back, dramatically clutching his chest like he’s been wounded.

Steve chuckles under his breath, squeezing your shoulder gently. “You okay with this one?” he asks, his voice low and warm. “We can always sneak out and watch something else.”

You shake your head, giving him a small, teary smile. “No, it’s fine. I just… I’m probably going to cry.”

“I know,” he says softly, brushing a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay.”

The others are still bickering as the lights dim and the iconic opening notes of James Horner’s score fill the room. You take a deep breath, already bracing yourself. You’ve seen Titanic before—enough times to know that you’re in for an emotional ride—but somehow, the anticipation makes it worse.

It doesn’t take long. By the time Rose boards the ship and gazes out at the ocean, your eyes are already brimming with tears. The sheer scale of the doomed ship, the haunting foreshadowing—it all hits you at once.

“Uh, are you okay?” Bruce whispers from the seat next to you, looking genuinely concerned.

“Yeah,” you manage, your voice thick. “I just… I know what’s going to happen.”

Steve, unfazed, reaches into the bowl of popcorn and pops a kernel into his mouth. “This is normal,” he explains casually to Bruce, his tone as calm as if he were describing the weather. “She gets emotional during movies. It’s just how she is.”

Bruce nods slowly, his brow furrowing like he’s trying to understand. “But… it’s barely started.”

“She’s a big feeler,” Steve says with a shrug, pulling you a little closer as your sniffles grow louder.

“Is someone crying already?” Tony hisses from the front row, twisting around to squint into the dim light. When his eyes land on you, he raises an eyebrow. “We haven’t even hit the iceberg. You know that, right?”

“She knows,” Steve replies evenly, not even looking up from the screen. He grabs a tissue from the box he always keeps nearby during movie nights—specifically for you—and hands it to you without missing a beat.

Tony’s jaw drops. “You brought tissues specifically for this?”

“Of course,” Steve says, as though it’s obvious. “It happens every time.”

The group exchanges looks, equal parts bewildered and amused, but Steve just leans down to kiss the top of your head. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice soothing. “Just let it out.”

“Wow,” Clint says, his tone dripping with mock admiration. “You’re a braver man than I am, Rogers.”

The movie marches on, each scene tugging at your heartstrings with surgical precision. Jack and Rose meet. They fall in love. They dance in third class and spit off the back of the ship. By the time they’re standing on the prow, their arms spread wide as the wind rushes around them, you’re openly sobbing into Steve’s chest.

“Am I supposed to do something?” Bruce whispers, looking helplessly at Steve.

“Nope,” Steve replies, rubbing slow circles on your back. “Just let her cry. She’ll feel better afterward.”

“I’m not sure that’s how crying works,” Bruce mutters, but he stays quiet, occasionally passing you another tissue.

Tony, meanwhile, is watching you with thinly veiled amusement. “I’ve gotta ask,” he says during a quieter moment, “do you cry at every movie, or is this one just special?”

“Not every movie,” Steve says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “But most of them. Especially the ones with tragic endings.”

“That’s an understatement,” Natasha says dryly. “Remember Finding Nemo?”

Clint snorts. “Oh, that was legendary. We weren’t even five minutes in, and she was already bawling over the mom dying.”

Tony looks scandalized. “Finding Nemo? That’s a kids’ movie!”

“And yet…” Clint gestures toward you, now hiccupping softly as Jack and Rose sneak into the cargo hold for their iconic steamy scene.

“She just feels things deeply,” Steve says, his voice laced with affection. “It’s one of the things I love about her.”

Tony groans dramatically, throwing a handful of popcorn in Steve’s direction. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, Rogers. Stop being so disgustingly wholesome.”

“Not my fault you guys don’t bring tissues for your girlfriends,” Steve shoots back, his smirk widening.

By the time the ship hits the iceberg, the mood in the room has shifted. Even Tony has gone quiet, though he’s clearly trying to maintain his composure. You, on the other hand, are a wreck. The sight of the passengers scrambling for lifeboats, the haunting wails of the violinists playing “Nearer My God to Thee”—it’s too much.

Your sobs reach a crescendo as Jack and Rose cling to each other in the freezing water, their breaths ragged and visible in the frigid air. Steve adjusts his hold on you, tucking your head under his chin and murmuring soft reassurances.

“I’ll never let go, Jack!” Rose cries, her voice breaking.

You lose it completely, clutching at Steve’s shirt as though your own heart is breaking. Steve strokes your hair, his voice calm and steady. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”

Tony, meanwhile, is blinking rapidly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “What?” he says defensively when Clint raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s allergies. Big-screen projectors always make my eyes water.”

Natasha snickers. “Sure they do.”

As the credits roll, you’re still hiccupping softly, your face buried in Steve’s chest. He doesn’t seem to mind, his hand moving in a soothing rhythm along your back.

“Okay, that was… intense,” Bruce says, looking around the room like he’s not sure what just happened.

“I’m pretty sure I lost three pounds in tears,” Clint adds, tossing an empty box of tissues onto the table. “Do we have a hydration station somewhere?”

Tony sniffs loudly and stands, stretching his arms overhead. “Well, folks, that’s how you do cinema. Epic. Heartbreaking. Unforgettable.”

“Admit it, you cried,” Natasha says, smirking at him.

“I did no such thing,” Tony replies, looking deeply offended. “Unlike some people…” He gestures dramatically toward you, still snuggled against Steve.

“Hey,” Steve says with a shrug, his tone as casual as ever. “She’s passionate. It’s one of the reasons I love her.”

“You’re an actual saint,” Clint mutters, shaking his head.

You finally lift your head, your cheeks streaked with tears but your eyes shining with gratitude. “Thanks for letting me cry all over you,” you say softly to Steve, your voice still wobbly.

“Anytime,” he replies, his smile warm and unwavering. “You know I’ve got you.”

Tony groans loudly, throwing his hands in the air. “And this,” he says, gesturing wildly at the two of you, “is why I’m never inviting you to movie night again. You two are too cute, and it’s ruining the vibe.”

“Tony, you’re just mad because you cried,” Natasha quips.

“I did not cry!” Tony protests, his voice rising an octave.

Bruce chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “Whatever you say, Tony.”

As the group dissolves into laughter, Steve leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You okay now?” he asks, his voice just for you.

You nod, your heart swelling with love for the man who always makes space for your emotions, no matter how messy they are. “I am,” you whisper. “Thanks to you.”

“Good,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Because we’re definitely sneaking out before Tony picks another three-hour tearjerker.”

You laugh through the last of your sniffles, feeling safe and loved in his arms. As far as you’re concerned, there’s no better way to end a movie night.

After the emotional rollercoaster of Titanic, the Avengers agree on one thing: no more movies that could make you cry. Steve, ever the supportive boyfriend, gently suggests a comedy for the next round, earning nods from everyone in the room. Even Tony, slightly miffed from being accused (rightfully) of shedding a tear during Rose’s tearful farewell to Jack, throws in his agreement.

“Alright, team,” Tony announces, striding to the movie library with a flourish. “Since apparently, I’ve been overly ambitious in my cinematic choices, I’ll keep it light. Comedy. Laughs. Penguins falling over or something. Nobody cries at penguins, right?”

“Right,” you say with an encouraging smile, though your earlier sob session has left your voice hoarse.

Steve wraps an arm around your shoulder, his lips brushing your temple. “You sure you’re up for another movie?”

You nod enthusiastically. “I’m good. Something funny sounds perfect.”

The new movie is a slapstick comedy involving ridiculous pratfalls, a few over-the-top explosions (Tony’s insistence), and a hilarious subplot about a cat that keeps stealing its owner’s Wi-Fi password. It’s everything you need to decompress from the earlier emotional onslaught, and soon the room is filled with the sound of laughter.

Even Steve, who isn’t always in sync with modern humor, is chuckling at the absurd antics on screen. You’re curled up next to him, giggling into his shoulder as a character accidentally sets his kitchen on fire trying to make toast. Across the room, Tony and Clint are reenacting a particularly ridiculous dance scene, complete with exaggerated hip thrusts.

“See?” Tony says triumphantly, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. “This is how you do a movie night. Fun! Light! No tears.”

Natasha arches an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed by his theatrics. “Give it time, Stark. We’re not done yet.”

Hours later, after the comedy has ended and a few rounds of drinks have been poured, Tony somehow stumbles upon a nature documentary titled The Journey of Life. The cover features an adorable penguin waddling across a snowy landscape, and Tony declares it “perfect background noise.”

“This,” he slurs slightly, pointing at the screen, “is what we need. Penguins. Cute, waddling, ice-sliding penguins. No emotions. Just vibes.”

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Bruce asks cautiously, but Tony is already pressing play, plopping down on the couch with a fresh drink in hand.

Steve looks at you, his eyebrow raised in question. “You okay with this?”

“It’s just penguins,” you reply with a shrug, snuggling into his side. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

At first, it’s exactly what Tony promised. The documentary opens with breathtaking shots of snowy mountains and vast, icy plains. The narrator’s soothing British accent describes the challenges of survival in the harsh Antarctic environment as a colony of emperor penguins waddles across the frozen landscape.

“Oh my god, look at them!” you exclaim, your eyes lighting up. “They’re so cute!”

“They’re ridiculous,” Tony says with a chuckle. “Like tiny, overdressed toddlers. I love them.”

Everyone relaxes, lulled by the majestic scenery and the gentle cadence of the narrator’s voice. Even Steve seems to be enjoying himself, his hand absentmindedly stroking your back as you watch the penguins slide on their bellies and huddle together for warmth.

It starts with a single penguin chick—fluffy, wide-eyed, and impossibly adorable. It stumbles away from the group, its tiny feet slipping on the ice as it struggles to keep up with its parents. The narrator explains, in heartbreakingly calm tones, that not every chick survives the journey to the feeding grounds.

“No,” you whisper, your hand flying to your mouth as the camera zooms in on the chick’s desperate waddling. “No, no, no. Someone help him!”

“It’s nature,” Clint says uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. “It happens.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to watch it!” Tony snaps, his earlier bravado evaporating. His face is red, and he’s gripping his whiskey glass a little too tightly.

Steve sighs, pulling you closer as your sniffles begin. “It’s just a documentary, sweetheart. It’s the circle of life.”

“Circle of life my ass,” Tony grumbles, his voice thick. “That chick deserves better.”

As the chick stumbles farther away, your tears begin in earnest. “He’s lost! He’s so little! Steve, he’s not going to make it, is he?”

Steve pats your back, his voice soft but resigned. “Probably not, sweetheart.”

“Why are we watching this?” Tony demands, pointing an accusatory finger at Bruce. “You should’ve stopped me! You’re the smart one!”

“I didn’t know it was going to get sad!” Bruce protests, throwing up his hands. “It’s a documentary about penguins!”

By the time the chick’s fate is sealed (you can’t even bring yourself to look as the narrator solemnly declares that it’s “a tragic but essential part of the ecosystem”), you and Tony are both a mess. You’re clutching Steve’s shirt, sobbing into his chest, while Tony sniffles loudly into his empty glass.

“It’s not fair,” you cry, your voice muffled. “He was just a baby!”

“I know,” Tony says, his voice cracking. “He didn’t even get a chance! He deserved a chance!” He gestures wildly at the screen. “Why didn’t they save him? Someone could’ve—”

“It’s a documentary,” Natasha interrupts dryly, though even she looks mildly uncomfortable. “No one’s interfering.”

“That’s barbaric,” Tony declares, wiping at his eyes. “I’m calling PETA.”

Steve kisses the top of your head, his hand running soothingly along your back. “You want to stop watching?” he offers quietly.

“No,” you hiccup, though you’re clearly still devastated. “I need to see if the others are okay.”

The documentary continues, alternating between moments of lighthearted penguin antics and devastating tragedies. Each time something sad happens, you and Tony are reduced to tears, much to the bemusement of the rest of the team.

By the end of the film, when the surviving penguins finally reach their feeding grounds and triumphantly slide into the water, you and Tony are clinging to each other like war survivors.

“That was horrific,” Tony declares, dabbing at his eyes with a napkin. “Whoever made that documentary is a monster. I need a drink.”

“You’ve had several drinks,” Natasha points out, rolling her eyes.

“Not enough to erase that from my memory,” Tony replies dramatically. He glances at you, his expression softening slightly. “You okay, cry queen?”

You manage a shaky smile. “I think so. That was just… a lot.”

Steve, ever your rock, kisses your temple and pulls you close. “I don’t think we’ll be watching documentaries again anytime soon,” he murmurs.

“Seconded,” Tony says, raising his glass. “To no more emotional devastation disguised as education. Who’s with me?”

“Agreed,” Clint says, shaking his head. “No more penguins. Ever.”

As the team dissolves into laughter and lighthearted teasing, you snuggle deeper into Steve’s arms, feeling safe despite the emotional rollercoaster. No matter how many tears you shed — or how often Tony joins you — you know you’ll always have the world’s most patient boyfriend by your side.

The tower is unusually quiet after the emotional whirlwind of the movie night. The penguins have long since waddled off the screen, the room cleaned up from the chaos of snack wrappers and spilled drinks. You’re asleep now, curled up on the couch with your head resting in Steve’s lap, the faint remnants of tears drying on your cheeks.

The others linger, nursing drinks or settling into the comfortable post-movie quiet. Steve’s hand moves gently over your hair, his touch instinctive and protective as he listens to the idle conversation around him.

“Poor thing,” Natasha says softly, nodding toward you. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone cry so much over a documentary.”

“Speak for yourself,” Clint retorts, jerking a thumb at Tony. “He went through an entire roll of tissues.”

Tony, leaning back in his chair with his drink in hand, glares. “It’s called empathy, Barton. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Empathy,” Natasha repeats dryly, raising an eyebrow. “Or maybe whiskey?”

“A little of column A, a little of column B,” Tony mutters, waving her off. His gaze flicks toward you, then back to Steve. “You’ve got the patience of a saint, Rogers. How do you do it?”

Steve chuckles softly, looking down at you with a fondness so deep it’s almost tangible. “I love her,” he says simply, his voice quiet but steady. “She feels everything so deeply, and yeah, that means a lot of tears, but it’s also what makes her so special. She’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Aww,” Clint says, his tone mocking but not unkind. “Cap’s going all gooey on us.”

Steve shakes his head with a smile, but there’s something thoughtful in his expression, something weighing on him. He glances at the team, then back at you, as if debating whether to say more. Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, he clears his throat.

“There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you all about,” he begins, his voice low. “I want to ask her to marry me.”

The room goes still. Natasha blinks, her eyebrows lifting slightly. Bruce, who’s been quietly sipping his tea, looks up with a small, surprised smile. Tony leans forward, suddenly all ears.

“Well, that’s not shocking,” Clint says, breaking the silence. “You’ve been together, what, seven years? We were wondering when you were going to pop the question.”

Steve nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, it’s been a while. I’ve known for a long time that she’s the one. But…” He hesitates, his eyes dropping to your sleeping form. His hand brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight. “I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” Bruce asks gently.

Steve lets out a soft sigh, his brow furrowing. “Her reaction. She’s so sensitive, and she gets overwhelmed easily. What if I ask and she has a panic attack? Or starts crying so much she can’t even answer me? I just… I don’t want to put her through that.”

Tony snorts. “You’re worried she’s going to cry? Newsflash, Rogers: she cries when you bring her coffee in bed. This is a proposal, man. Of course she’s going to cry.”

“Tony,” Natasha says, shooting him a warning look. “He’s being serious.”

“I am serious,” Tony retorts. “Look, she’s emotional, yeah, but she’s not fragile. She loves you, Rogers. That’s the whole point. She’s not going to freak out because you ask her to marry her—well, not in a bad way, at least.”

Steve looks unconvinced. “I know she loves me,” he says quietly. “But I also know how overwhelming things can be for her. I don’t want to put her in a position where she feels pressured or out of control.”

Natasha tilts her head, studying him with that sharp, analytical gaze of hers. “So don’t make it overwhelming,” she says simply. “You don’t have to plan some elaborate proposal. Just talk to her. Make it quiet, intimate. Something that feels safe.”

“Yeah,” Bruce adds, his tone thoughtful. “She’s not the kind of person who needs a big show, is she? She’d probably appreciate something small, just the two of you.”

Steve nods slowly, his mind working through their words. “You’re right. She doesn’t like big gestures. She always says the little things matter more to her.”

“Exactly,” Natasha says. “So make it one of those little things. Something simple but meaningful.”

Tony, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet for the past minute, suddenly speaks up. “And if she does cry,” he says, his voice unusually soft, “it’s not because she’s scared or upset. It’s because she loves you so much she doesn’t know how else to show it.”

The room falls silent at that, the weight of Tony’s words settling over them. Steve looks around at his teammates—his family—and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Thanks,” he says softly. “I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime,” Natasha replies, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

The apartment is quiet, the kind of warm, serene quiet that feels like a cocoon against the bustling world outside. It’s just the two of you tonight, the city’s hum dimmed by the thick curtains and the steady rhythm of the life you’ve built together. Dinner was simple but perfect—Steve made your favorite meal, and you couldn’t stop laughing when he got flour on his nose halfway through baking the dessert. Now, the dishes are done, the candles still flicker softly on the dining table, and the scent of warm vanilla lingers in the air.

Steve’s been acting a little off all evening. Not in a bad way, but in that telltale way that you’ve come to recognize over the years. He’s quieter than usual, thoughtful, his blue eyes darting to you and away as though he’s trying to solve a puzzle in his head. You’ve asked him twice if everything’s okay, and both times he’s smiled at you and said, “Of course,” before steering the conversation somewhere else.

You’re curled up on the couch now, a blanket draped over your lap as you sip the last of your wine. Steve sits beside you, his arm stretched along the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. His gaze lingers on you, soft and reverent, like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

“Steve,” you say, turning to him with a playful smile. “You’re staring.”

“Am I?” he replies, though he doesn’t look away. His lips curve into that small, lopsided grin you adore, and your heart does its familiar flip-flop in your chest.

“Yes, you are,” you tease, nudging his leg with your foot. “What’s on your mind?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His hand moves to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and deliberate, as though he’s memorizing the shape of you. Then he leans back slightly, his hand slipping into his pocket.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” he says, his voice calm but carrying a weight that makes your stomach flutter.

Your brows knit together as you sit up straighter. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” he says softly, and there’s a flicker of nervousness in his eyes now, a vulnerability that catches you off guard. He shifts, moving from the couch to kneel in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees.

Your heart skips. “Steve—”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. The sight of it steals the breath from your lungs, and you clasp a hand over your mouth as tears instantly pool in your eyes.

“I know how you’re feeling right now,” Steve says gently, his voice steady despite the faint blush creeping up his neck. “And I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay?”

You try—really, you do—but the tears are already spilling over, and a choked laugh escapes you as you press your fingers to your lips. Steve smiles, his thumb brushing over your knee.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of affection. He opens the box, revealing a stunningly simple yet beautiful ring—a delicate gold band with a single, glittering diamond. It’s understated and timeless, just like him, and it’s so perfect you can barely breathe.

“Y/N,” he begins, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve loved you for seven years. From the first moment we met, I knew there was something about you, something I couldn’t let go of. You’ve taught me what it means to live in the present, to love with my whole heart, and to find joy in the little things.”

Your tears are flowing freely now, and you’re shaking your head as though you can’t believe what’s happening. Steve chuckles softly, his own eyes glistening.

“You’ve stood by me through everything,” he continues. “Through battles, through doubts, through all the times I’ve struggled to figure out where I fit in this world. You’ve always been my home, my safe place. And I can’t imagine spending another day without you by my side.”

He pauses, his voice catching slightly, and for a moment, you see a flicker of vulnerability in his expression. “I know how deeply you feel things, and I know this might be overwhelming for you. But I promise, sweetheart, you don’t have to say anything right away. I just need you to know how much I love you.”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. “So, Y/N,” he says, his voice trembling just the tiniest bit. “Will you marry me?”

The question lands like a thunderclap in your chest. You’re crying so hard now that you can barely see him through the blur of your tears. You try to speak, to form words, but they come out in a jumble of half-sobs and gasps.

“Steve—oh my god—I—” You press your hands to your cheeks, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions coursing through you. “I—I don’t—”

Steve waits patiently, his hands still steady on your knees, his expression soft and understanding. “Take your time, sweetheart,” he says quietly.

“I love you,” you finally manage to choke out, your voice trembling. “So much. You don’t even know—I just—”

Steve smiles, the kind of smile that feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I think I have an idea,” he says softly.

You laugh through your tears, shaking your head as you try to pull yourself together. “Yes,” you finally gasp, your voice breaking on the word. “Yes, Steve. Of course, yes.”

His breath leaves him in a rush, and his smile widens into something radiant as he slips the ring from the box and gently slides it onto your finger. It fits perfectly, and you stare at it through your tears, your heart bursting with so much love you think you might actually explode.

“I love you,” Steve says, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls you into his arms. You cling to him, your face buried in his shoulder as you sob into his shirt. He holds you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped securely around your waist.

“I love you too,” you whisper against his neck, your voice muffled and shaky. “So much. I can’t believe this is real.”

“It’s real,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Always.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your tears still streaming but your smile brighter than the stars. “You’re too good to me,” you say, your voice trembling. “I don’t deserve you.”

Steve shakes his head, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “You deserve the world, Y/N,” he says simply. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to give it to you.”

You laugh again, a soft, breathless sound, and Steve leans in to kiss you, his lips gentle but full of promise. It’s the kind of kiss that makes the world fall away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the kind of love that feels eternal.

When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his, your hands cupping his face as you whisper, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Steve’s smile is soft, his eyes shining with unspoken emotion. “Me neither,” he says quietly. “Me neither.”

The morning sun streams through the windows, bathing the room in a golden light that feels impossibly warm and perfect. You stir under the rumpled sheets, the fabric soft against your bare skin, and the memories of the night before come rushing back. It had started tender, Steve’s hands moving over you with a reverence that left you breathless. But the sweetness had given way to something deeper, more passionate—an expression of love so consuming that it had left you both utterly undone.

Beside you, Steve shifts, his arm tightening around your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Good morning, my beautiful bride-to-be,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep and full of affection.

Your heart clenches immediately, and before you can stop yourself, tears well up in your eyes. You press your hands to your face, a choked laugh escaping as you try—and fail—to keep it together.

“Oh no,” Steve says with a chuckle, propping himself up on one elbow. “I didn’t even say anything that emotional this time.”

“You called me your bride-to-be,” you manage to say through your tears, your voice trembling with joy. “How am I supposed to handle that, Steve?”

He laughs softly, his hand brushing over your hair as he pulls you closer. “Sweetheart, if this is how you’re going to react every time I call you that, I’m in trouble. Because I plan on saying it a lot.”

You let out a watery laugh, burying your face in his chest. His skin is warm and familiar, and his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek feels like home. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I don’t mean to cry so much. I’m just… so happy.”

“I know,” he says gently, his fingers trailing soothingly down your back. “And I love you for it.”

After a while, your tears subside, and you lift your head to meet his gaze. His blue eyes are soft and full of love, and the way he’s looking at you makes your breath catch. “Good morning,” you say softly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “My handsome fiancé.”

His grin widens at your words, and he leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet. “I like the sound of that,” he says against your lips. “Fiancé. And soon, husband.”

You feel your cheeks heat, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I can’t believe this is real,” you say quietly, tracing a finger along his jaw. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’ll all be a dream.”

“It’s real,” Steve assures you, his tone steady and full of certainty. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nothing’s ever going to change that.”

The moment stretches between you, filled with a quiet, glowing warmth that feels too perfect to be real. But it is real, and as you lie there in his arms, you can’t imagine anything more perfect.

Eventually, Steve glances at the clock and sighs. “We should probably get up,” he says reluctantly. “The others are going to want to know.”

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. “Do we have to tell them today? Can’t we just stay here a little longer?”

Steve laughs, pulling the blanket off of you just enough to expose your shoulder. “As much as I’d love to keep you all to myself, they’re going to find out eventually. Might as well tell them now before Tony starts making bets.”

You sigh dramatically but can’t help smiling as you roll over to look at him. “Fine,” you say, your tone mock-annoyed. “But if I start crying again, it’s your fault.”

“I’ll take full responsibility,” he promises, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

An hour later, you’re dressed and ready, though your face is still a little puffy from all the happy tears. Steve holds your hand as you step into the elevator, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your skin. You feel nervous for some reason, though you know the team will be thrilled. It’s just that sharing something so personal, so precious, feels a little daunting.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, squeezing your hand. “It’s going to be fine. They love you.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as the elevator doors slide open to reveal the common room. The Avengers are scattered around the space, Tony sprawled on the couch with a cup of coffee, Natasha and Clint engaged in what looks like a very serious game of chess, and Bruce flipping through a book at the kitchen counter. Thor is munching on a Pop-Tart, his expression as cheerful as ever, while Sam lounges in a nearby chair, scrolling through his phone.

Tony is the first to notice you. “Well, well,” he says, setting his coffee down and smirking. “If it isn’t our golden couple. What’s with the glowing faces? Did Rogers finally tell you about his collection of antique baseball cards?”

“Tony,” Natasha says without looking up from the chessboard, her tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Let them talk.”

Steve clears his throat, his hand still firmly holding yours. “Actually,” he begins, glancing at you with a small, encouraging smile. “We have some news.”

At that, everyone looks up, their interest piqued. Clint leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “This should be good.”

You feel your cheeks heat under their collective gaze, but Steve’s presence beside you keeps you grounded. “We’re engaged,” you blurt out, unable to keep the words in any longer. “Steve proposed last night.”

The room erupts. Natasha and Bruce smile warmly, their congratulations genuine and heartfelt. Thor lets out a booming laugh and claps Steve on the back so hard he nearly stumbles. Sam grins, shaking his head as he mutters, “About time.” Clint whistles, looking impressed, while Tony raises his coffee mug in a mock toast.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tony says, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. “Congrats, lovebirds. I guess this means I need to start planning the bachelor party.”

Steve groans, and you laugh despite yourself, leaning into his side as the team continues to shower you with affection and teasing remarks. It’s chaotic and overwhelming, but it’s also full of love, and as you look around the room, you realize just how lucky you are to have this family.

Later, when things have settled down, Steve pulls you aside, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “See?” he says softly, his blue eyes twinkling. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You smile up at him, your heart full to bursting. “No,” you admit. “It wasn’t bad at all.”

He leans down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that makes your knees weak. “I love you, future Mrs. Rogers,” he murmurs, and once again, you find yourself wiping away happy tears.

The day has arrived. Months of planning, fittings, tastings, and a thousand little decisions have all led to this moment, and yet, standing in the bridal suite of the church, you feel like you might burst into tears before you even set foot down the aisle.

You’re wearing the dress you spent weeks obsessing over. It fits like a dream, a shimmering vision of white and lace that flows around you like a fairytale. Natasha, your bridesmaid—and perhaps the most patient person you’ve ever met—stands beside you, hands on your shoulders, trying to keep you from falling apart.

“Y/N,” she says firmly, her green eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “You’ve got to hold it together. You’re going to ruin your makeup if you start crying now.”

“I know, I know,” you say, fanning your face with trembling hands as you try to will away the tears. “It’s just… everything’s so perfect, and I’m so happy, and—oh my god, Nat, what if I trip?”

“You’re not going to trip,” she says, her voice calm but decisive. “You’ve practiced this. You’re wearing sensible heels. You’ve got Tony holding onto you like a lifeline. You’ll be fine.”

At the mention of Tony, you glance toward the door, where he’s pacing just outside. Your “man of honor” had insisted on walking you down the aisle, and though he’d tried to play it cool, you could see the emotion brimming behind his bravado. He’d barely been able to get through the rehearsal without tearing up, and now you’re both in danger of becoming sobbing messes before the ceremony even begins.

“I saw him wiping his eyes earlier,” you say with a sniffle, a hint of a laugh breaking through. “If he cries, I’m done for. I’ll start sobbing right there in the aisle.”

“Then don’t look at him,” Natasha advises, picking up a tissue and dabbing at the corners of your eyes. “Keep your eyes on Steve. That’s the goal, remember? Just make it to him without crying.”

At the mention of Steve, your chest tightens with a rush of love so overwhelming it’s almost too much to bear. You picture him standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for you, his blue eyes soft and full of adoration. The thought is enough to make you inhale sharply, and Natasha quickly steps in, snapping her fingers in front of your face.

“Focus,” she says sternly. “Breathe. You’ve got this.”

You nod, taking a deep, shaky breath as you try to calm yourself. “Okay. Okay, I can do this.”

Natasha gives you a small, approving smile. “That’s my girl.”

The door opens slightly, and Tony pokes his head in, his face immediately softening when he sees you. “Wow,” he says, his voice unusually quiet. “You look… wow.”

“Thanks, Tony,” you say, your voice wavering. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“Don’t you dare,” Natasha warns, pointing a finger at him. “I just got her under control.”

Tony steps into the room, straightening his tie as he tries to compose himself. “Okay, okay, no crying. But seriously, Y/N, you look… breathtaking. Steve’s going to lose it when he sees you.”

The lump in your throat grows, and you press a hand to your mouth, willing yourself not to cry. Tony steps closer, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Hey,” he says softly. “You’re going to be amazing. And if you cry, who cares? It’s your wedding day. You get a free pass.”

You laugh through the tears threatening to spill, nodding as you squeeze his hand back. “Thanks, Tony.”

He grins, his usual bravado creeping back in. “Besides, if anyone’s going to cry, it’s me. I’m already a wreck. You’ll have to carry me down the aisle at this rate.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond. “You two are a mess,” she says, shaking her head. “Come on, it’s time.”

Tony offers his arm, and you take it, your fingers trembling slightly as you hold on. The doors to the bridal suite swing open, and you catch a glimpse of the decorated aisle, lined with flowers and softly glowing candles. The music starts, and your heart pounds in your chest as you take your first step forward.

The church is full of familiar faces, but you barely register them. Your eyes are fixed on the man standing at the end of the aisle, his gaze locked onto yours. Steve looks devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, his expression a mixture of awe and love that makes your knees weak.

As you and Tony make your way down the aisle, you hear him sniffle beside you. “Damn it,” he mutters, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. “I said I wasn’t going to cry.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, your own tears threatening to spill again. But Natasha’s words echo in your mind, and you keep your focus on Steve, drawing strength from the love shining in his eyes.

Finally, you reach the altar, and Tony steps back, giving your hand to Steve with a small, emotional smile. Steve’s hands are warm as they take yours, and his voice is steady as he whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

And that’s it. The tears spill over, and you laugh through them, shaking your head as Steve gently brushes them away with his thumbs. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry.”

“I don’t mind,” he says softly, his voice full of affection. “I love that you feel so much. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

The ceremony begins, and though the tears continue to flow, they’re tears of joy, shared by more than just you and Tony. By the time you say “I do,” the entire room feels wrapped in the warmth of the love you and Steve share, a love that shines brighter than any tears.

we need more soft fics in this sea of smut! (I like smut fics too but like...sometimes I just want something fluffy)

[doki-doki-imagines]

You give them a gift for Valentine's Day

feat. Michael Kaiser, Sae Itoshi, Hyoma Chigiri

author note: as much as I dislike him, it's always thanks to Sae if I find inspo for bllk fics. This is such a hard life. Happy Valentine to you all!!

Michael Kaiser: -"I expected you to be the first today. Why are you late?" He asks mildly annoyed. "Look, now I'm full of chocolates from my fans." He points behind him. You don't see anything, ready to throw your gift at his face already tired of his antics. "Well, if you have already so many, I guess you don't care about mine anymore-" You turn around, not seeing a worried expression now on his face, blonde eyebrow raised. "I guess I'll give them to someone that will appreciate them more." "No-Wait!" Michael is on his knees, one arm hugging your legs to keep you still, the other tugging at your cute sweater. -Bingo. -You go fast and loose a bit more before you finally give him his chocolates. -"Finally-Now wait for me." He runs towards his car, where he pulls out an enormous bouquet of blue roses. "These aren't fake, but perfectly crafted by expert hands." He says with a smirk on his face, blonde strands framing his face as he leans down a bit towards you. "Just the best for the best." -You take the bouquet, and Michael kisses your forehead before ruffling your hair. Your dumbstruck expression makes him laugh. -You have to admit that he makes your heart skip a few beats.

Sae Itoshi: -His cheeks don't turn the same color as his hair, he doesn't stutter. -"Thanks" He says before giving you a brief kiss at the corner of your lips. -He pulls from behind his back a bouquet full of flowers; roses, daisies, irises all in the shades of red and orange. -Sae won't say he expected something from you, but for sure he would have been pretty annoyed if he didn't receive anything. -As always he doesn't show many emotions, but you are used to that. -Sae hopes you'll notice the soft gesture he does: opening doors for you, calling you soft pet names and trying to be nice for more than 10 minutes. -You notice how good-looking he is today. Sae is all dolled up and…is that lipgloss? -The idea of him wanting to make a good impression on you makes you feel warm all over your body. -"Thanks Sae, the flowers are wonderful." A hint of a smile appears on his face. "Just the best for you."

Hyoma Chigiri: -His eyes shine when you give him a cute heart package. -"Wait here!" He says, running up the stairs, you suppose to his room. -When he comes back a small bouquet of freshly picked flowers is in his right hand in the other there is a peluche. -A peluche of your fave character. -You almost scream with joy. Hugging him the instant your eyes meet his gift. -"Hof- I suppose you liked this." He smiles, the kind that reaches his rouge pink eyes. You nod, delivering a big kiss on his left cheek. -Thank God his sister reminded him that today is Valentine day! He has been so busy with blue lock he forgot about it. -But now with you in his arms, so happy and a bit dumb for love, Hyoma is sure he'll never forget about Valentine's Day again.

[navybrat817]

Where We Left Off

Pairing: Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You're in love with your best friend who is determined to make the most of your vacation together. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Light angst, friends reconnecting, unrequited feelings (or so you think), slight feels (it's me), future fun, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning) A/N: New AU called Reconnect because why not? Meet Dreamboat and Butterfly. For @the-slumberparty 's June's Monthly Challenge : Bikini and Beach, and Smut Hub Summer Camp Bingo @sagechanoafterdark: Choose Your Vibes: Summer. Thank you @flordeamatista for the inspiration and pre-reading! ❤️ Any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was a couple of summers ago when you realized you were in love with Bucky Barnes. When you looked back on your friendship, you wondered how it took you so long to realize it. Like how his smile made your heart race whenever he looked your way. Or how you found a solid ground and safe space together, each of you able to confide in the other.

He made you feel safe.

"You're my best friend."

Nothing more.

You stared out the living room window with a sigh, the beach house blanketed by the heavy sound of rain. While it had been bright and sunny just minutes ago, the sky was now dark and misty. You shivered as you wrapped your towel tighter around your wet body, enchanted by the summer storm instead of going to your room to change. It figured you'd buy a new swimsuit for the trip and only get to wear it outside for a minute.

"So much for lounging on the beach."

You smiled softly as you glanced at Bucky beside you, who ran a hand through his long, soaked hair. He hadn't bothered to keep his towel after the two of you rushed back inside, clad in just his blue trunks that matched the shade of his eyes. You scolded yourself for letting your gaze roam along his sun kissed, muscular body.

You didn't have the right to look at him that way.

"Yeah. So much for that," you said, the towel doing little to keep you warm as the air conditioner kicked on. "Maybe our punishment for getting started without everyone?"

Steve, another one of Bucky's best friends, put together a weeklong trip for the gang. So far, you and Bucky were the only two at the beach house. Everyone else wasn't going to be there until the evening. That was why you went for an immediate swim once you picked your room. The storm would likely put the group behind even more and now you were stuck inside with Bucky.

Why had you agreed to show up early?

Why did you have to be alone with him?

Why do I have to love him?

"Maybe," he said with a stretch, drawing attention to his wide chest. "Since it doesn't look like it's slowing down at all, why don't we cuddle on the couch? Catch up a bit?"

"Cuddle?" you scoffed, the sound more bitter than you intended as you turned to face him. "Why would we do that?"

A flicker of hurt passed over his eyes before he blinked it away. "Well, for one, you're cold. I can practically hear your teeth chattering," he replied. He wasn't a fan of being cold either, but he always ran warm. "And two, cuddling never bothered you before."

Your stomach flip-flopped. Bucky was right. He was the only male friend you ever snuggled with. Whenever you had a bad day, he didn't hesitate to throw a heavy arm around you and pull you against his chest. On good days, he found an excuse to keep you plastered by his side. He used to do it so often that most people assumed you were dating.

Wishful thinking.

"I'm sorry," you said, giving him the nicest smile you could manage even though it hurt to do so. "Been awhile since it was just the two of us and even longer than that since we cuddled."

The day it clicked that you saw Bucky as more than a friend was the day he introduced you to Dolores. Everyone called her Dot. The beautiful redhead looked good on his arm and you wondered why it wasn't you in her place. But you put on a brave face and smiled, even as your heart shattered. Because Bucky's happiness meant more than your feelings.

It didn't stop you from crying alone in the darkness where no one else could see.

"That's my fault," he whispered, sliding his fingers into his hair again and tugging harshly on the strands. You noticed he did that when he was upset. "And I'm sorry."

"Friendship goes both ways," you pointed out.

"You never faded out of my life when you dated anyone."

They weren't you, Bucky.

"I guess she was different," you smiled sadly.

The two of you still hung out and messaged each other while he dated Dot, but it was always as a group and the daily messages dwindled to chats here and there. You had the feeling that Dot didn't like you very much. In a way, you didn't fault her for that. Maybe she saw through you and knew you wanted Bucky.

Yet he was the one who broke up with her.

"You're allowed to be mad at me," he said as he took your hand and crossed the room to the couch. "I'd be mad at me."

"Right now, I'm just cold," you said, not wanting to dwell on the past. What good would it do?

He nodded slowly, almost like he was disappointed in your response. "Okay."

You shrieked when he pulled the towel away. It wasn't like he hadn't seen you minutes before in your bikini and you swore his gaze lingered on you long enough to consider it staring, but what was he doing? "What the hell?" you asked, but made no move to cover yourself.

Maybe I want him to see that I'm desirable.

Bucky let out a breath as he looked at you, your shivering having nothing to do with the cold. "You said you were cold, so let me warm you up," he urged, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch before he took a seat. "Please?"

Silence fell over you as you sat down beside him. He wasted no time putting the blanket over you and wrapping his arms around your shaking frame. You breathed in his familiar scent and found yourself fighting off tears, a bittersweet swirl of longing and comfort settling in your chest.

Because he embraced you as if you meant something to him.

"I missed you," he whispered, running a hand along your back.

Your heart clenched, focusing on the rain falling outside in a melancholy rhythm. "I missed you, too."

"But we have each other again."

"I wish that were true," you whispered.

Why did I say that?

His hand stilled, but you were too afraid to look at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Panic bubbled in your chest. You couldn't just blurt out your feelings like this. "I just mean you went from a constant to a fleeting moment in my life," you said, which was the truth. "I don't want things to fizzle after we leave."

Bucky used to be the brightest star in your sky. Then he became the shooting star you missed making a wish upon. But you would forever watch the sky if only to get a glimpse of his bright light.

"I'll make it up to you. I have this whole week to start," he promised, rubbing his chin along the top of your head. "I don't care what Steve has planned. I'm all yours."

You squeezed your eyes shut because you knew you'd cry if you didn't. He wasn't yours. Not really.

"I'm yours, too, Bucky."

I always will be.

Surely Bucky will sweep us off our feet, right? Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[hwaightme]

With you

(masterlist) (taglist)

🫂 pairing: bf!seonghwa x gn!reader 🫂 genre: comfort, healing from hurt, established long-term relationship, fluff 🫂 summary: even when it feels like the world is crashing down, seonghwa was, is and will be with you. 🫂 wordcount: 2.3k total 🫂 warnings/tags: not edited, implied work challenges, clutter, focus, negative self-perception, crying, negative self-talk, catastrophising, physical/mental health, hugs, sharing struggles, unconditional love, supporting loved ones in darkness, feeling overwhelmed, love does not have a limit or price 🫂 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🫂 a/n: this one was in the drafts, and now completed in a flurry, perhaps having waited for its time. hope you find comfort in this, and have love and your safe space. any notes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated. much love.

Sometimes, people said it was “not their day” - much like a sudden downpour. Sometimes, they could even say that it was “not their week” - much like a rainy season. For you, well, for you it was starting to turn into “not your life” - a perpetual cacophony of droplets pelting down and taking you with them. Perhaps when you were a child you did not pay much attention to your habits and your natural pitfalls, but as you entered adulthood and launched yourself headfirst into the corporate workforce to play the role of a diligent office worker earning your share and volunteered to take more and more responsibilities in every aspect of life outside of nine to five, cursed quirks were becoming harder and harder to ignore, or rather, to hide.

And this was exactly why you had found yourself in the darkness of your room, wanting to be abandoned by the world, staring at the ceiling and only seeing your mistakes and what had to be overreactions that were accumulating into a colossus faster than a snowball rolling down a hill. Nothing was right, and every single time, you were the one to blame. You couldn’t even change out of your work clothes into what, in your happier times, you called your favourite pyjamas - maybe it was because you were afraid to ruin them too. A rational thought? No. But it somehow ended up making more sense than the bingo card of emotional rollercoaster-inducing nightmares that kept on being filled out.

You did not want to count the minutes, possibly hours that you spent suspended in your own dread and misery. The time must have been considerable, since you could hear the turning of a key, and the slow opening of the front door to welcome none other than the subject of one of your present flavours of despair. Anticipating disaster, you curled up into a ball on the cold, now messy bed, and tried your best to force any tears away. Sleeves rubbing at wet cheeks and eyes, you did not want your boyfriend to see you like this. Weak, helpless, broken. Worn down into nothing more than the clumsy disappointment with medical bills and chaotic thought processes you actually have been all along. What a tragic ‘big reveal’. Absorbing everything around you and spilling out everything brewing within - you should have trusted those who had told you that you would make anyone and everyone run away. Who would want someone who couldn’t sort out their own messes before making another? Who would be able to stand someone who could barely last a day before ruining a piece of clothing, losing or breaking something, and on the better days almost guaranteeing a stain in the oddest place or some kind of trail of a sloppy existence? How could anyone rely on you when you could not even sort out your own noise?

With a trembling lip, you watched scenarios flash before your sore eyes of how Seonghwa would undoubtedly hate you. And when you heard a sigh travel from the corridor and crash against your eardrums, you knew that at the end of the day, all those people who had been saying the same thing over, and over, and over again to you were right. Until knuckles were starting to turn white you clutched at the material of the throw that had been lying on top of the sheets - without a doubt a protective measure, and here you were, ruining things. Never in anyone’s plans, you were an elephant in a porcelain shop. An elephant who should be put far, far away from anything human. An insensitive crybaby who both physically and mentally represented discord. You couldn’t even-

“Y/N, how many times did I tell you to not leave your shoes at the-”

Here. It. Was. The end. It had to be. It had to be the grand finale to what sliver of happiness you had left in your life. The little bit of festive cheer was already starting to evaporate, you could sense it. Soon, he would utter the words you had imagined many times. Soon, you would be alone and lonely. Soon, you would be where you were supposed to be according to what others established you deserved. You couldn’t breathe, with your back turned to the door, you could only sense your boyfriend’s presence, and catch the hint of a shadow falling over your frail, exhausted form. 

“-Y/N?”

You did not dare answer, no matter how sweet, or how supposedly concerned Seonghwa sounded. He could be coaxing you out of your cave to scold you, or better yet, recite all the words you despised, but had grown used to hearing. The only thing on your mind was the thousand things you managed to ‘achieve’ today. One of them included those shoes.

“Hey… talk to me,” voice more gentle, barely above a whisper, floats across the room and practically caresses your head. You couldn’t move. He would be disappointed even more if you were to do anything. You should pretend you were just a pile of laundry, maybe then it would all stop and you wouldn’t be out here losing buttons, breaking baubles and scratching up perfectly good heels. 

You sensed a dip on the bed. A warm presence. Your boyfriend scooted closer to you until you could feel him leaning over towards you, his chest hovering just above your side. The most impossible feat in the world was to hide yourself from him, but you could not help but try with all your might. A shiver jolted over your body despite you still being in a woollen sweater, resulting in a familiar, loving hand finding purchase on your upper arm. The thumb traced abstract shapes in a soothing motion, and soon enough, you were being turned a little ways backwards. Face to face with fear, you felt the tears that had stalled in a panic threatening to spill over once again.

“Have you… have you been crying?” despite being in the semi-darkness, the glistening trails on your cheeks must have given you away. One peck, another delivered by Seonghwa’s plush lips while a soft hand positioned itself on the side of your face, preventing you from hiding yourself, “...oh baby please, tell me, what happened?” 

Your eyes bore into his, not dissimilar to a deer caught in the headlights, as though you had been spotted committing a crime. While you had been in a relationship with a man who you swore was an angel for a considerable amount of time, so substantial in fact that you had a shared lease under both of your names like proper adults sometimes decided to do, there was one thing that you could not bear to do - burden him with your troubles. You could not allow yourself to complain, instead choosing to bottle up all the miniature disasters into one catastrophic potion, waiting until it bubbles over and only then crawling towards salvation in the form of a long shower where no one could hear you cry. It had to be you who was wrong, anyways. It was always you. Even in things that were meant to be outside of your control, you felt guilty, repeating this to yourself until illusion became fact.

It was always you who had forgotten to take something out to defrost or had not checked the mail again. Always you who had not put some abstract item away, or you did but not in the right place. Always you who had not found the energy or the time to clean something or to water the plants. It was you and your family and your friends who had to untie Gordian knots, and you were the weakling who cried, and cried and cried while others seemed to be able to stand tall and face any challenge. In the inevitable times of a storm, be it your own or another’s you were the thin and hollow piece of straw that was bent in the wind and all the previous beauty crumbled to join the rotting ground. Your inner voice was loud and hurtful, blockading you from believing in anything else except the fact that you could not handle a simple twenty four hours. A tiny piece of news, a tiny little change be it in schedule or tone, a little hurdle all had the capability to ruin you and make you fall, leading you to how you were now. Did you try to manage? Of course you did, always. Was it enough? Never.

“Hug?” There it was. An offer that could never be refused. Perhaps this was the last ever time you would be allowed to come so close to the love of your life. Heart to heart, the delightful, comforting scent of vanilla being the only thing on the senses.

With a quick gesture, Seonghwa encouraged you to roll over completely, and lift yourself so he could wrap his arms around you, as though sheltering you from a storm. His chin nestled into the crook of your neck, and he tightened his embrace until you had no choice but to give into the comfort. Tired body and mind, unwinding at his touch, falling apart only to be rebuilt again, better, brighter, warmer. The long-awaited spring. Legs folded, you wriggled to close whatever space was left between your bodies, grabbing a fistful of his black turtleneck sweater as though to confirm that this wonderful man was real. Indeed, he was. More than real. As real as the kiss he planted on your cheek. As real as the reassurance that poured from his soul without any words uttered. Well, none except:

“Let’s walk through it, okay?”

Your head - fuzzy from the overflowing tears and emotional haze. Your eyes, puffed up and reddened. And even then, Seonghwa was looking at you as though you were the one to hang the moon and the stars. How could you dare disappoint him and bring him down by being such a disaster? You could feel another burst of terror and despair welling up and threatening to spill over, and it appeared that your boyfriend did too, for the speed with which he pressed you impossibly close to himself was beyond your comprehension. It was as if he was trying to squeeze every bit of pain out of you, sorry that you had to feel what you were feeling, sorry that he could not take it away.

“I’m with you, Y/N. I’m always with you…” soft whispers - sharp swords on your dark consciousness, slashing at the demons that had been rearing their ugly heads again and again for however long. You had stopped counting after a couple weeks, pretending that they could be kept under control. Again, how wrong you were.

He was neat. Seonghwa was borderline pedantic at times, but you were convinced that that was the exact reason why the walls of your home had not come down yet. But, if it meant that you would be calmer, and you could see more sunshine in your inner world, he would let you cry into every single sweater, every single shirt, and would never dare let you go. If there was one thing he was infuriated by, was by whatever or whoever had ingrained in you that hiding was the same as powering through.

“I’m done, Seonghwa… I’m so tired…” you sobbed into the warmth of his chest, allowing for everything you had been holding back to flow through and out of you.

“We’re together, so we will make it through. Through everything. Whatever happens, happens so that the future can happen. We will power through it,” he repeated the words like a mantra, aware of the turmoil that he had to combat to get to you, but was going to never give up trying. 

“I feel… so small…”

“We can do it,” he cut you off, planting another velvety peck on your head before rocking gently side to side, running a hand over and over again down your back.

“So… so small…” the words disappeared, swallowed by an indescribable void that came with the onset of fatigue.

“I love you so much, Y/N. You hear me?” How could he? This was a question you would never be able to answer, but you thanked every part of the universe for giving such a blessing to you.

“I- I love you so… so much too…”

“So you and I, right now, we will lie right here, breathe, and then put all of the little pieces in order okay?”

“O-okay.”

“We share everything. Mhm?”

“Everything…”

A silence. Pangs of fatigue and worry about everything under the sun were not yet abating, but were becoming easier to manage as you focused on Seonghwa’s steady breathing, and the rhythmic thrum of his golden heart. You pulled away, admiring every part of him, not wanting to focus on anything else. You drifted into a trance, sinking deeper and deeper into his adoring gaze, unbroken. His hands found yours, thumbs tracing your skin in that same lulling way. You watched his lips as they let another miracle wash over you:

“I am so happy that I am with you.”“Even-”

“Especially. We. Yeah? We. And because we are ‘we’, we will make it through everything.”

The words echoed in your mind as you gave the love of your life a tiny smile. Your person. The one who was always on your team, even when you tried to delude yourself into thinking the opposite. He was here. With you. Through all the downs, through all the ups. When you know what is happening and when you need a little more time to figure things out. You and Seonghwa are here and will be here. Together.

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