#for once. and finally. feeling brave enough to write these words out. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vinnyvamppp · 4 months ago

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She Threw Me—Then Kissed Me

NOTE: Have I been up for three hours writing this? Yes. Is this one of my longest expeditions about an alien mating with a man? Probably. Two lucky commenters requested this, so here I deliver.

@xecres1cloud @deleted-1-800 Warnings: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Public Sex, Cecil Catches Them, Alien Fucking, Tit Sucking, Porn w a Plot, Misuse of Powers, Cowgirl, Dom!Reader, Switch/Dom!Mark Grayson (battle for dominance), Infatuation, Rough Sex, Plot Changes for Convenience, Mutual Dirty Talk, Hair Pulling, etc. Synopsis: When the shadows of your heritage awaken for the first time in years—responding not to war, but to him—you’re left with one terrifying, exhilarating realization: You didn’t come here to be claimed. But Mark Grayson might just be the first man brave enough to try.

Mark Grayson x Alien!Fem Reader

Word Count: 2,908

You were never meant to leave Themyscira.

Your people—warriors, champions, god-forged in strength and purpose—do not abandon their home lightly. But you were given a mission, one that pulled you from the sacred shores of your birthplace and thrust you into a world that feels too fragile beneath your hands. The gods spoke of a coming war. A force beyond Earth, beyond even Olympus, stirring in the void between stars.

Not one brewing on earth, but amongst earth dwellers in space. The Amazons do not sit idly by when the balance is threatened. You do not sit idly by. So you were sent to watch. To learn. To prepare.

You were sent to this world to stop what’s coming. And then you met him.

Mark Grayson is not a god, but he wears his strength like one. And yet, for all his power, for all the might in his blood, there is something uncertain in the way he carries it. He does not fight like an Amazon—he hesitates, he questions, he cares in a way warriors are taught not to.

Never knowing a world this fragile. Being of Amazon and Talok IV descent, you were a new breed of soldier for your people, and one that could blend in if needed. Although, the power was bestowed due to your father's trickery. No matter. The man is dead.

The moment you landed on Earth, you sought out Cecil to initiate your infiltration. Earth people claimed to be resilient, yet so desperate for help once offered, it's pitiful.

You weren’t expecting to find something worth staying for. His influence prodding at you like an infectious disease. The time was approaching, the time to mate that is, yet you were unusually apprehensive–. THWACK!

Here, metal bends like softened wax beneath your hands. Brick crumbles as if it were pressed from sand. You’ve seen men build their homes, their towers, their weapons—each one designed to endure, yet none of them built to withstand you.

Mark learned that the hard way. “I swear I was ready for that,” he groans, flat on his back in the wreckage of a training arena that should have been reinforced better.

The dust hasn’t even settled from your last hit. A crack spiders through the concrete where he landed, but he’s already moving, rubbing the back of his head like a man more embarrassed than injured. You stand over him, arms crossed. “You weren’t.” Mark exhales sharply, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He’s strong—stronger than most things in this world. But not stronger than you, outside of his domain of expertise.

He knows it, too.

“You’re really not holding back, huh?” he says, half a grin forming. You tilt your head. “Should I?” Mark blinks, then laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. It’s just… you’re insane.” He gestures vaguely at the crater where the ground used to be. “I’m supposed to be the strong one, you know?” You raise an eyebrow. “Who told you that?” For a second, he just looks at you.

Then he grins, something sparking behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’ve been wanting you to say that. I like you.” he says, and for the first time since this match started, it almost feels like a challenge. The slight rasp in his voice sends tingles through you. And finally, you think, someone worth fighting. Someone worth keeping.

Mark is still grinning at you, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. I like you. A simple statement, but there’s something behind it—something testing the waters, something that sees you as more than just an opponent. You roll your shoulders, easing the tension from the fight. “You like losing?” Mark exhales a short laugh, pushing himself fully upright, closer now. "I like a challenge." His eyes flicker over you—not with fear, not with wariness, but something else. Something warmer.

You’re used to admiration. It comes naturally when you are carved from power itself, when your body is built to command. Men have looked at you in awe before, in fear, in respect. But Mark looks at you like— Like he isn’t afraid to lose to you.

That’s new.

You shift your stance, but you don’t step back. "Careful, Grayson," you say, your voice dipping lower. "Keep looking at me like that and I might think you're flirting." At your words you sway slightly.

You were tall and statuesque, and your skin was kissed by deep cerulean hues. Its very image carries the mystery of the void itself. Your hair, thick and dark flows past your shoulders, caught in satisfying curly tussles. Your eyes—piercing, luminous—glow softly in the dark, a warning and a lure. Just how could he not be reeled in? From the moment you two’s eyes met, he felt his heart stir. He couldn’t tell if it was just lust, perhaps, even so he wanted you.

Mark swallows, his grin flickering—still there, but a little uneven now. His eyes dart away for half a second, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re messing with him. “Uh,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, I was kind of flirting, but if that’s, like, weird, or—y’know, if you don’t—” He clears his throat, cutting himself off before he spirals any further.

“You’re really hard to read, by the way.” You arch a brow, unimpressed. “You’re nervous.” His shoulders tense slightly. “What? No. Pfft. Me? Nervous?” He gestures vaguely between you. “I just—uh—didn’t expect this to happen after you threw me through a wall.”

“You survived.”

“Barely!”

“You’re fine,” you counter, stepping closer. His breath hitches—just a little, but you catch it. He’s still sitting on the broken concrete, looking up at you, and for all his strength, all his power, there’s something hesitant in the way he meets your gaze. You tilt your head. “You’re not used to this, are you?” Mark blinks. “Used to what?” “Someone stronger.” His mouth opens, then closes. He hesitates, then exhales a short, nervous laugh.

“Wow. Okay. Just calling me out like that.” It’s not an insult, just an observation. The men here—especially the ones like him are used to being the strongest person in the room. It doesn’t matter that he’s still learning, still figuring out his limits. People look at him and see power. You wonder if anyone has ever made him feel small before. If he even knows what it’s like.

You kneel slightly, closing the height difference by roughly four inches. His breath stills. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Mark.” His lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze flickers over your face, lingering for just a second too long. “…I’m not.” Lie. Not fear, exactly but something close.

Its that nervous, unsure energy that coils in his muscles like he doesn’t know if he should lean in or back away. You’re used to confidence, used to men puffing their chests, trying to match your strength. Mark doesn’t do that. He just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure how. You decide for him.

You lift a hand, slow enough that he can stop you if he wants to. He doesn’t. Your fingers graze his jaw, and he tenses. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and when you tilt his chin up, his breath catches. “I really don’t know what to do right now,” he admits, voice slightly higher than before. You smirk. “That’s new for you, isn’t it?” He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “That obvious?”

“Then let me teach you.” Mark swallows hard, his hands twitching slightly at his sides—like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he should. His pulse is quick under your fingertips, his face just inches from yours. “…Yeah,” he breathes after a moment, voice softer now. “Okay.”

his hands grip your waist, rough and sure, pulling you into him with a force that sends heat curling through your spine. His lips crash into yours—not careful, not questioning, but hungry, decisive. It takes you a moment to process it; to register the way his fingers tighten against your hips, the way his body pressed against yours, firm and demanding. Mark Grayson, who had been so nervous before, so uncertain, is kissing you like a man who finally stopped thinking and started wanting.

Mark moves, twisting, and before you can counter, the ground disappears beneath you. He takes you down with him, the two of you collapsing onto the rubble left in the wake of your fight. The impact sends up a small cloud of dust, but neither of you care.

He’s already back on you, already pushing up on his elbows to hover over you, breath warm against your lips. His voice is rough, a little unsteady. “You keep acting like you’re the only one who can take control.” You smirk, fingers trailing along his jaw. “Prove me wrong.”

Mark stares at you. Mid kiss, you’ve fumbled the bag and told him, in clear, matter-of-fact detail, that on Themyscira, men do not live after mating with an Amazon. And he is very much a man. His mouth opens. Closes. Then, finally: “Okay.” He lifts a finger, his voice rising slightly. “Uh. I—Okay. I really need you to explain how we got here.”

You fold your arms, unimpressed. “We were talking about your customs romantically. I shared mine.” You explained. “Right. Right.” He nods rapidly, pacing for a second before spinning back around to face you. “And—just so I’m understanding this correctly—your custom is that if we—uh—mate, you have to kill me afterward?”

“Yes.”

Mark makes a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a panicked wheeze. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. And you—you don’t see a problem with that?” You tilt your head. “I see a problem for you.” Mark runs both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Okay. See, that is the part I’m stuck on. Why does that have to happen?” He inquires. “It is tradition,” you say simply.

“The Amazons have no need for men beyond what they offer.” Mark lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing his face. “Great. That’s very reassuring.” You watch him carefully. You expected resistance—expected him to balk at the idea of it, at you. Men tend to do that when faced with their own mortality.

And yet, he hasn’t left. He hasn’t even backed away. He’s nervous, sure, but he’s still here. Interesting. You take a slow step toward him, forcing his eyes back to yours. “Do you want to?” Mark swallows. Hard. “I—What?”

“You seem conflicted,” you observe, studying him. “If you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t still be here.” His lips part, but no words come out. His gaze flickers over your face, your stance, the way you’re looking at him. He does want you. He just doesn’t know what to do with that want when it comes with a potential death sentence. You smirk. “I wouldn’t kill you, Mark.” Mark visibly deflates with relief. “Wait. Hold on.” His brow furrows. “Then why would you even say that?”

You shrug. “I never said I had to. Only that it was tradition.” Mark stares at you again, looking so caught between exasperation and disbelief that you almost laugh. “So let me get this straight,” he says slowly, pointing at you. “You could have led with ‘I don’t have to kill you,’ but instead you decided to give me a heart attack first?” You tilt your head, amused.

“You’re still alive.”

“Barely!” He sighs, pressing his fingers against his temples. “I think I just aged like ten years.” You close the space between you, reaching up to rest a hand on his chest. He tenses—but not in fear. His pulse thrums beneath your fingers, quick, strong. “You’re an interesting man, Mark Grayson,” you murmur, watching the way his breath catches.

His hands hover uncertainly at your sides, fingers flexing like he wants to touch you. “…Yeah?” You nod, smirking. “Most would have run by now.” Mark exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. I’m really bad at making good decisions.” You hum in amusement, then lean in, lips just a breath from his. “Now, where did we leave off?”

It didn’t take long for you both to be disheveled and distracted. Mark shudders beneath you, his hands gripping your hips as you hover above him. "I won't kill you, but I can't make any promises about how hard I'll fuck you." He shudders at your words, his resolve crumbling. "I'll take my chances." You can feel his hardness pressing against your core, begging for entrance.

Creamy pre-cum bubbling from his tip acted as a perfect lubricant. Succulent. The slip caught your clit, each time earning a sharpened moan from you. Without warning, you slam down onto him, taking him deep inside you. The size of him certainly shows his non-human relation.

He groans, his head falling back as you begin to ride him hard and fast. Your breasts bounce with every movement, drawing his gaze like a magnet. He reaches up, cupping them in his large hands, kneading the soft flesh. "F-fuck, you're soooo beautiful; I’ve seen this in my dreams." He pants, his thumbs circling your hardened nipples.

"I c-can't get enough of you." He admitted, a grin wearily etching across your lips. “W-Wouldn’t want you to, need you badly, Mark.” The simplicity yet raw need in your sentiment drives him wild.

His strong hands suddenly suction to your upper thigh, his mouth latching onto your nipple instead. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, his gaze fixed upon your pleasured expression as your combined moans vibrated the flesh. His tongue grew erratic as it sought to bring stimulation, his hips snapped forward to meet you.

The swollen tip of his cock threatens to bruise your walls with each drive. Small dust clouds from debris kicked up, the sex growing more aggressive as he realized you could handle his strength. No need to hold back, only needing to savor the feeling. A loud clap echoed within the domain; the slab of concrete shifted beneath you as his toes gripped the floor. It's taking everything within you two to hold on as your cunts arousal responds to him. Thank god you’re on earth, easier access to the best pussy he’s had so far. The only pussy he needs now. A strangled growl crawls from his throat—.

“Donald. Turn off the training facility cameras.” Cecil chimed, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “...Right away, sir.” Replied Donald as he hastily cut surveillance.

Your fingers left his chest, deep claw marks reddening his skin. You lean down, your hair cascading around you as you capture his lips in a searing kiss. Your tongues dance together, each of you fighting for dominance. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping it tight as he thrusts up into you, meeting you stroke for stroke.

You squeezed him with such vigor, pussy puffier with more pleasurable ridges. "Jesus, y-you're s-so tight," he grunts, his hands digging into your ass hard enough to leave bruises. "I'm going to make this pussy only crave me." His conviction made you laugh, a wicked sound. "Promises, promises," you taunt, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts. "But we'll see who's ruined by the end of the night."

The room fills with the sounds of your lovemaking—the slap of skin on skin, the cries of pleasure, the obscene squelch of your wetness. “Mmph…! Do you feel this, Mark Grayson?” You asked, your voice dropping to a husky whisper, and something in it—some unearthly vibration—rolled through his bones like a pulse, deep and intoxicating. “Mmm… yeah—yeah, fuck yeah, I do.” He rasps, as his teeth grit with determination. “This is how it feels to fuck someone who can handle you.” You grinned, almost sadistically, with a strong sense of pride.

Your expression grew into one of lust as your nose scrunched, glistening lips singing so beautifully for him. “I’ll give you that and more.” The comment was so resolute you almost didn't hear it before you both groaned in unison. One of his hands comes up to tug your locs, preventing your teases. Your head slinging back with a loud yelp as your vision blurred.

You can feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. A series of pleasured whines leave your unfiltered lips. Mark must sense it too, because he flips you over onto your back, never breaking their rhythm. However, his previous efforts went for not, only spurring you on. Wisps of living shadow curled around his neck, his chest—soft and teasing, cold phantom touches caressing him in droves of trembles. They grew more intense with every stroke of gratification. “Ooh…! Mark! I— I—.” You stutter.

He pounds into you, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. "Oh god, I’m gonna cum. C’mon… please… for me,” he commands so sweetly that you couldn’t deny him, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you come; I need to feel you." His words are all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge.

You scream his name like a mantra, your body going limp, and he convulses above you as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He follows soon after, dick knotting inside you as he spills his seed deep within your walls. Harsh gasps leave you both as he nestles himself within you absentmindedly, not thinking of the consequences. Or so you thought.

Mark smiles— a small, lopsided thing. He leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips before whispering, “… Guess you’re stuck with me.”

…

Optional ending!

The Next Day

“No, Mark. After the shit you just pulled, you two are banned from the training facility indefinitely,” Cecil said, rubbing his temples like he was one bad decision away from an aneurysm.

Mark, sitting across from him with his arms crossed, groaned. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

Cecil shot him a look. “Mark, we had to evacuate three city blocks because someone thought an earthquake was happening. Do you have any idea how hard it is to explain to the public that the ‘seismic activity’ was just you and your Amazonian girlfriend going at it?”

Mark turned bright red. “Okay, in our defense—”

“There is no defense!” Cecil snapped. “You two leveled the place! I’m still waiting on a damage report for what’s left of the foundation!”

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, entirely unbothered. “It’s not my fault your training grounds weren’t built to withstand real combat.”

Cecil’s eye twitched. “It was! It just wasn’t built for you two doing whatever the hell that was!”

Mark coughed into his fist, eyes darting to the side. “...We, uh, might’ve gotten a little carried away.”

Cecil exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mark. Son. You punched through a wall mid-mission briefing the next morning.”

Mark stiffened. You turned to him, amused. “You did?”

He muttered something under his breath, ears still burning.

Cecil waved a hand. “You’re lucky we need you, otherwise I’d have you both on clean-up duty for the next decade.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “Just—do me a favor. Next time, take it off-world.”

Mark perked up. “Wait, so you’re saying we can—”

“Out of my office, Mark.”

And with that, you grabbed your still-flustered boyfriend by the wrist and gracefully exited before Cecil had an aneurysm.

Again.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

NEXT PART!!

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ghostedgwen · 1 month ago

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Hiii I adore ur James fic but we need more Moony! what if reader is Remus' childhood friend and they have been attached at the hip until he met the Marauders and once they've graduated she becomes a Potioneer and basically invents the Wolfsbane Potion and when he finds out it was invented by her they meet again and she admits she invented it for him could end up vaguely platonic but you can also make it full on Remus x reader up to you!! thanks!!xx!!!!

never too late | r.lupin

note : Hello anon, thank you for this lovely request!! Been thinking about this request a lot and finally got around to writing it while I was looking after my sick wife. Yall seem to enjoy my really long fics so here's 6k words for Remus <3

warnings : childhood friends drifting apart, some angst with comfort, mentions of Remus' werewolf struggles, Remus as a cane user, very very slow burn sorry

Remus was a childhood friend you slowly drifted apart with, he had the Marauders and you had Potion books. Years later, you did the impossible of inventing Wolfsbane Potion, he thought it was the best time to reach out.

You never thought Hogwarts would feel so far away from home.

The boat rocks gently under your legs as lanterns sway above the water, casting warm reflections across the lake. Around you, the other first years whisper excitedly, pointing at the silhouette of the castle glowing in the distance. But your eyes aren’t on the castle. They’re on the boy sitting across from you - Remus Lupin, your best friend since you were barely old enough to hold a wand.

He doesn’t speak. He rarely does when he's nervous. His fingers twist the sleeves of his robes, and the shadows under his eyes are darker than usual. Most people wouldn’t notice. But you do. You've always noticed things about Remus.

You grew up together in Whispermere, a quiet magical village tucked between a haunted wood and an old apothecary. The kind of place where magic hummed through the stones and gossip moved faster than broomsticks. There were never many children, so the two of you became a pair soinseparable, like a matched set of spellbooks.

When you were eight, you figured it out. The absences, the injuries, the nights when his house went silent and the air felt heavy with something unspoken. And one day, he finally admitted it.

“I’m a monster,” he whispered, curled on the floor of your room after the worst full moon you’d ever seen him return from.

You remember the rage that sparked in you. Not at him - never at him, but rather, at the world.

“You’re not a monster,” you said, voice steady even though your hands were shaking. “You’re just Remus. That’s enough.”

He didn’t believe it, not then. Maybe he still doesn’t, but you meant it.

You always have.

Now, as the boats drift toward the stone docks and the castle towers above you like a dream, your fingers brush against his. You squeeze gently, a silent reminder: I’m still here.

Inside, the Great Hall takes your breath away with its floating candles, enchanted ceiling, golden plates that shine even without food on them yet. It’s everything you imagined and more. Everything you have read paled in comparison.

Then names are called.

One by one, first years step forward, trembling under the Sorting Hat’s scrutiny.

And then - “_______, _____”

You turn to Remus and try to smile, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Wish me luck,” you whisper.

He nods. “You don’t need it.”

You sit on the stool. The Sorting Hat drops onto your head, and immediately a voice purrs in your ear.

“Well, aren’t you an interesting one… Clever, sharp, fiercely loyal. Curious about everything. You’d do well in Hufflepuff. Maybe even Gryffindor... but no, you don’t just want to be brave. You need answers. You want to understand the why behind everything. And that, dear one, means only one thing…”

A pause. You feel the Hat probing something deeper.

“You’re thinking about someone else… the Lupin boy. Hmm. Very protective, I see.”

“He’s my best friend,” you think fiercely. “I want to stay close to him.”

The Hat chuckles, deep and amused. “A noble thought. But you’ll both need to grow. Apart, if you must. Don’t fear it. You’ll find your way.”

Then, aloud, it shouts: “RAVENCLAW!”

You slide off the stool, applause ringing in your ears. The Ravenclaw table welcomes you with warm smiles and curious glances. But your eyes scan the room, following Remus as he soon takes his turn.

The Hat takes longer this time. You bite your lip.

Then - “GRYFFINDOR!”

He looks toward you, unsure. You give him a thumbs-up and a grin that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You’d promised to stick together, but Hogwarts, it seems, had its own plans.

Weeks pass. You find your place among the Ravenclaws, high in their airy tower. You answer riddles to get into your common room and lose yourself in books, ancient spells, and strange magical theories. It suits you, in its way.

But you miss him.

You make time where you can - which is between classes, after curfew, beside the Black Lake under starlight. He’s always tired after the full moon, always quiet. You notice the fresh scars even when he tries to hide them under long sleeves.

You’re always the first to notice, you doubt there’s a detail you’d miss when it came to him.

Then he makes new friends. James Potter. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew. Loud boys with loud laughs and even louder personalities. They’re always getting into trouble, always pulling Remus into it. And he lets them.

You don’t blame him. Not really. But sometimes, when you see him laughing with Sirius or whispering to James during class, something tightens in your chest.

They don’t know, not like you do, and they could never.

One evening, you meet him by the lake. You sit in silence, watching the ripples in the water. The moon is almost full.

“They don’t know, do they?” you ask, finally.

He flinches. “No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“No,” he says quickly. Then softer, “I don’t want them to look at me and be afraid they’re sleeping with a monster.”

You nod, lips pressed together. “You’re not a monster, Rem, you don’t have to pretend either when you’re with me.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping. “I’m not pretending. I’m just… trying.”

“You’re still you, Remus,” you say. “And I still see you. Even when no one else does.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then, “Sometimes I think you see too much.”

“Someone has to.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment everything else fades - the Houses, the castle, the distance. He’s still the boy from Whispermere, hiding from the world in your attic, clutching your hand after the worst nights of his life.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Always.”

And in that moment, you know: it doesn’t matter what the Hat said, or where you sleep, or what friends you make. You’re still his anchor, and he’s still yours.

Even if the world tries to pull you apart, even if the moon rises and falls and tries to make him something else - you’ll always be there, reminding him of who he is.

Not a monster. Just Remus, and that’s more than enough.

You knew things would never be the same the moment you got sorted into different houses, but you hadn’t expected it to happen right in second year. The first-year, he was stuck to you somehow his budding friendship with his dorm mates.

Only, this year, it’s different. It happens slowly, the way most changes do. A missed lunch here, a half-written letter there. The space between you and Remus doesn’t appear all at once. It drips in like rain under a cracked window, which is quiet, subtle, and easy to ignore at first.

You tell yourself it’s normal. You’re in different houses. You have different classes, different friends. He has James, Sirius, and Peter now - boys who’ve somehow wrapped themselves around his days like ivy on stone. You’re happy he’s laughing more. You want him to have people.

Still, there are times it stings.

You see them in the courtyard, shoulders pressed together as they whisper about some prank or plan or whatever mischief they’re always knee-deep in. Remus laughs at something James says, head thrown back, the sound real and full and bright.

It should make you happy. It does, but only to some extent. You supposed it was childish, because you are a child, but sometimes, you wish he’d laugh like that with you again.

You still have your moments. After all, some things don’t change.

Full moons still come. And Remus still suffers.

He tells them he’s visiting his “sick mother” or going home for the weekends, but on weekdays he’ll just be sick and staying in the hospital wing. The Marauders, to their credit, don’t press. Not yet.

But you know the truth, you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out. Before Remus shines a light on that he so badly wishes wasn’t true.

You sneak out on those nights, Invisibility Cloak or not. Madam Pomfrey has stopped scolding you when she finds you curled in the chair beside his bed in the hospital wing. You’ve been doing this for years now, long before Hogwarts.

Sometimes you stay awake all night, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint shimmer of silver scars healing across his arms. Sometimes you just hold his hand and wait for the shaking to stop.

You bring chocolate, potions from your own stash, and books he pretends to be too tired to read but always opens the second you leave.

There is no miracle potion yet. Nothing to make it easier. But there was you, so you stay.

Because love - whatever kind of love this is - means showing up. Especially when it’s hard.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he tells you one morning, voice hoarse and broken around the edges.

You hand him a warm compress and raise an eyebrow. “You say that every time.”

“And you ignore it every time.”

“Because it’s a stupid thing to say.”

He lets out a dry laugh that turns into a cough. “I mean it. You’ve got other friends. Classes. You don’t need to spend your nights watching me bleed all over the bed.”

You sit beside him, brushing his hair back gently. “No, I don’t need to. I want to. That’s different.”

He doesn’t look at you. He’s gotten good at that lately. He used to always meet your eyes, no shame in that now that you have seen everything he had to offer. Hogwarts seemed to have changed a lot between you and him.

After a while, you ask, “Why don’t you tell them?”

He stiffens. “Tell who?”

“You know who. Potter, Black and Pettigrew. Your little chaos club.”

“They’re not - ” He stops, then sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Because if they find out, they’ll look at me differently. Or worse, they’ll stop looking at me at all.”

“You don’t know that.”

He meets your eyes then. “You don’t know what it’s like. To be this. To be something people fear.”

“No,” you say gently. “But I know what it’s like to watch someone I care about tear themselves apart for being something they can’t control.”

That shuts him up. He hates how you know exactly which words to use, what to say, how to say it. He hates how he can’t resist the warmth you offer, even at the tender age of 13, Remus knew that craving you and your comfort was not good.

He couldn’t depend on you so much. You’ve been enduring full moons with him since you both were 8, it would be too unfair to demand you keep doing it forever. Hogwarts is a new era, a new start.

You squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to tell them now. But you can’t keep carrying this alone forever.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, softly: “I’m not carrying it alone.”

You smile at that. It’s the first real smile you’ve had in days, and right then and there - wall has barely built.

Still, the distance continues.

You write him notes in class and find them folded carefully in his bag later, but he rarely writes back. You sit by him at meals when you can, but more often he’s wedged between Sirius’ smirks and James’ flying stories.

He doesn’t mean to leave you behind. That’s what makes it harder.

Because he’s not cruel. Just… busy. Distracted, even. Caught in the glow of something new and good and easy, and you? You’re the constant. The one who patches him up in secret, who carries the burden he’s still too scared to share with anyone else.

You wonder sometimes what would happen if you stopped showing up, but you already know the answer. You never would, you could never do that to him.

One night, weeks after a particularly brutal full moon, you find him on the Astronomy Tower, arms crossed against the wind, eyes trained on the stars like they might have answers.

You step up beside him.

“They asked again,” he says without turning.

“About the absences?”

He nods.

“What did you say?”

“That I get migraines. Bad ones. I said I needed quiet.”

You lean against the wall beside him. “You think they bought it?”

He shrugs. “James looked like he wanted to argue. Sirius just nodded.”

“They’re not stupid, Remus. They’re going to figure it out eventually.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.”

You glance at him. “What then?”

He doesn’t answer.

You rest your chin on your arms. “They’re your friends. They care about you. Maybe they’d surprise you.”

He gives you a look, half amused, half broken. “You always believe the best in people.”

“No,” you say. “Just in you.”

He turns away, blinking hard. He tries not to think too much about it and you try to act like it never held much weight than intended.

You know he’s scared. You also know that trust doesn’t come easy when your entire life has been a series of closed doors and hidden scars. So you keep showing up.

In the quiet moments. In the hospital wing. In the spaces between his laughter with the Marauders and the silences that follow the moon. You stay.

Because even if he doesn’t say it, even if he forgets sometimes, you know he needs you.

The Marauders became legends long before you realized you’d been left behind.

It started innocently with little tricks, charmed ink, floating teacups in the Great Hall. But by fourth year, it was chaos on demand. James and Sirius led the charge, Peter cheered from the sidelines, and Remus followed behind with that half-smile he wore when he was trying not to be complicit.

He was never the loudest. But he was always there and you had no doubt that a majority of the pranks were his ideas with that brilliant imagination of his.

And you? You were somewhere else entirely.

You’d fallen in love with Potions during your third year. You were completely taken by it, it was constant - it was measured and specific, you will only go wrong if you do it wrong, you liked the assurance in that. The discipline of it, the balance. The quiet language of simmering and stillness. The way ingredients interacted like people. Some enhanced each other. Some repelled. Some needed careful handling or they’d break.

You understood that. You didn't mind the solitude. Not at first.

You still saw him, of course. Shared looks across the Great Hall. A nod in passing between classes. He still sought you out during full moons - less often now, but enough to remind you that something tethered you together, even if the rope frayed more each year.

Then came fifth year.

It was a brutal moon. You knew it before the term started. You’d read the cycle and seen how close the eclipse would fall. Too long in wolf form. Too little recovery time.

You were already waiting when Madam Pomfrey carried him in, bleeding and half-conscious, his leg at a wrong angle and the smell of blood in his clothes. He was fevered for days. You didn’t leave.

But when he finally woke, cane leaning beside his bed and the weight of reality setting into his body like cold iron, something inside him snapped.

You remember it too clearly.

“Remus,” you said, gently wrapping the bandage around his hip. “You’re going to need to rest for a while. Let your body catch up.”

He looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t get to say that.”

Your hands froze. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” he snapped, voice raw. “I don’t need you watching over me like some sad nursemaid waiting for the broken boy to fall apart. I don’t need your pity.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut bone.

You stood slowly, heart loud in your ears. “It’s not pity, Remus. It never was.”

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t then, he was too drunk on his pain to really consider you and your words, as well as his own.

You left without another word.

He apologized two days later. He limped to where you sat in the library, cane in hand, eyes rimmed with sleepless regret.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, quietly. “I was angry, and scared. Not at you… never at you.”

You nodded, nudging the empty seat beside you, which he took.

“I know,” you said.

And you did. You forgave him. Of course you did, it was hard not to when it was Remus. But the wound between you stayed, despite you forgiving him. It might have been the first real crack in the relationship that never fully went away.

You passed each other in the corridors and shared tired smiles. Sometimes, you sat beside each other in the hospital wing in silence, both knowing you’d never quite find your way back to where you’d been.

Seventh year came faster than you expected. Your N.E.W.T.s consumed you - Potions, Transfiguration, Transfiguration. You poured yourself into your studies like they were the only things still within your control.

Remus, meanwhile, was surrounded by noise. Always someone beside him, always laughing, always planning something with parchment and ink-stained hands. He was loved, admired even. And you were happy for him.

Throughout the years he grew to be a Remus that was nowhere near the one you knew. He got tattoos, piercings too and you would even see him smoke in the Gryffindor common room parties you’d be dragged into attending.

You never really spoke there, just exchanged greetings and then off you were to mingle with your usual circle while he stuck close to his Gryffindor lot.

Outside of common room parties, you spoke now and then. Swapped books, and would even shared tea on a rainy afternoon near the end of spring term. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the attic in Whispermere. It wasn’t late-night confessions or moonlit truths. It was… polite.

But sometimes, he’d look at you like he was remembering something. Something he thought he lost, and you’d smile gently, pretending not to feel it.

Graduation came not so long after.

You stood in a sea of students in dress robes and polished shoes. The sky was too blue. Your throat too tight. All you could think was: This is the end of something we forgot to finish.

After the ceremony, he found you standing alone by the edge of the courtyard, clutching your acceptance letter from the Potions Guild. It was everything you worked so hard for, yet you didn’t feel as accomplished.

“So,” he said, softly. “St. Mungo’s or lab work?”

You looked up at him. The sun caught his hair. He still leaned on the cane sometimes, out of habit more than need now.

“Both,” you said. “They offered me a hybrid apprenticeship. Field work and brewing. It’s… everything I wanted.”

He smiled, and it was real. “You deserve that. You always did.”

“What about you?” you asked. “Still planning to be underpaid and overworked for the Ministry?”

“Sadly,” he said, smirking. “I think that’s the werewolf-friendly career track.”

You both laughed, and it almost felt normal again.

Then came the pause. The one that wrapped around everything you hadn’t said for years. Seven years ago, he was yours - in all the ways that mattered, and yet he couldn’t be farther from that now.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice quieter. “I never told you that enough.”

You blinked hard. “You didn’t have to. I always knew.”

Another silence. This one longer. More final. You allowed yourself to sit through it no matter how much it stings.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For pulling away. For ruining what we had.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” you whispered. “We just… grew differently. That’s not anyone’s fault.”

He nodded, eyes shining. “Still. I never forgot what you were to me.”

You stepped forward, brushing his sleeve gently. “I’ll always be here, Remus. Maybe not beside you, but… you’ll never be alone. Not really.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things. Instead, he just said, “Thank you.”

And then he hugged you, arms around your shoulders, his chin in your hair. For a moment, you were kids again, hiding from storms, trading secrets, pretending the world couldn’t touch you.

Then you let go.

And you both walked into the rest of your lives.

Apart.

Not exactly best friends like you once were. But never strangers.

You hadn’t set out to cure werewolves. That was a lost cause.

In truth, you hadn’t even set out to be a name anyone outside a medical conference would know. All you ever wanted was to understand. To fix what broke, to ease what hurt.

Maybe it started with Remus - those early days at Hogwarts, when he’d stumble into the hospital wing torn apart by the moon. Maybe it was the way he tried to hide the pain, or the way he smiled like it cost him something. You’d sat beside his bed too many nights to count, watching him sleep with clenched fists and a furrowed brow.

You’d never forgotten the way he looked at you after his worst full moon - fifth year, cane by the bed, his voice sharp with shame.

"I don’t want your pity."

That stayed with you. Not as a wound, but a weight. A suffocating reminder.

So no, you hadn’t started out trying to change the world. You were just trying to make it a little easier for someone like him to live in it.

And somewhere along the way, you did.

St. Mungo’s had offered you an apprenticeship the summer after graduation. A split program which consisted of two days a week in the field and three in the Potions wing. You’d taken it eagerly, diving into your studies with the same quiet focus you’d had at Hogwarts.

But the moment you had freedom to choose your own research, you knew what your first project would be.

Lycanthropy.

The transformations. The injuries. The trauma.

The stigma.

There were no quick fixes, no clean solutions. The thing resisted almost everything. Existing treatments were garbage, if they were even treatments, almost none existed due to the image painted of werewolves in the wizarding society.

The werewolf's body changed, but the tragedy was in the mind. The slipping of identity. The violent erasure of the person inside.

So you studied. And you failed. And you studied more. And you kept failing.

You burned through ingredients, scorched cauldrons, collapsed more than one test dummy with unstable fumes. You didn’t care, you pushed on.

There were whispers around the lab. That you were obsessed. That you should focus on safer, more respectable branches of medicine. That lycanthropy was a curse and werewolves are scary creatures that kill without reason.

They said it wasn’t worth pursuing and their scrutiny almost drowned you.

But you remembered Remus. And that was reason enough too keep going, to keep fighting for a world that he won’t be pushing people away in fear that they’d see all the ugly and run away.

It took three years to get your first successful result.

By then you were twenty-one, exhausted, and running on tea and stubbornness. But the batch worked - just barely. It stabilized the subject’s mental state for nine full minutes during the transformation. Nine minutes of lucidity, control. Enough to test again.

You built from there.

Nine became fourteen. Fourteen became thirty. Eventually, you crossed the hour mark - and then something clicked.

It was monkshood. That had always been obvious. But it wasn’t the only key. It was how it mixed with valerian, how the infusion had to be added at exactly 74 degrees Celsius, how the brew had to be stirred counterclockwise before sunrise.

A thousand tiny details. None of them obvious. But together?

Together, they became the thing.

You cried when the final test subject looked up after the full moon and said, “I remember everything. I didn’t lose myself.”

It was a werewolf volunteer, a girl a bit older than you are named Lyka. She had short blonde hair that was curled in coils and her eyes were a piercing grey in colour, she was reserved and strong. She volunteered for the tests right away.

You think she also held out hope to see the future you had envisioned, so she endured the tests however dangerous they may be and you both pushed through and jumped over numerous hurdles.

She’s become somewhat of a friend to you all these years. You even trusted her with stories of Remus, of the boy who was behind everything you’ve been building towards.

And when the press finally got hold of the announcement, you didn’t hide. You didn’t let the hospital PR team bury your name in a headline. You stood in front of the flashbulbs and the questions and said clearly, proudly:

“My name is ______, and I created the Wolfsbane Potion.”

You didn’t stutter, nor did you blink once.

You just thought: Remus. I hope you see this.

He did.

Remus Lupin had not cried since he was seventeen.

Not when he’d graduated. Not when he’d buried his parents at the ripe age of 19. Not even when he’d broken up with someone who said she “couldn’t live with the risk.”

But he nearly cried in the Potter living room the moment he saw your face on the front page of The Daily Prophet.

It had been a peaceful morning. James and Lily’s home which happens to be Potter Manor was warm, lively with the sound of baby Harry’s hiccupy giggles and Sirius humming off-key in the kitchen. Remus had dropped by with a stack of paperwork and a worn copy of Beedle the Bard - a gift for Harry, who immediately drooled on it with affection.

They were laughing over tea when Peter stumbled in, windblown and pink-cheeked.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m late,” Peter said, shrugging off his cloak. “Weather’s foul. Couldn’t apparate in these weathers.”

He dropped a bundle of newspapers on the table, along with a bag of jam tarts. Remus reached for a tart without thinking, flipping the top newspaper toward him.

Peter, halfway through unwrapping a sweetroll, said casually, “Isn’t that your mate from school?”

Remus glanced down.

His hand stopped.

There you were - front and centre, smiling widely and proudly. Not some blurry byline photo or a profile sketch. A real picture, wand in one hand, flask of potion in the other, hair pulled back. Behind you was a cauldron bubbling away.

It was all too staged if he were being honest.

BREAKTHROUGH IN LYCANTHROPY TREATMENT: WOLFSBANE POTION CREATED BY FORMER HOGWARTS STUDENT

Remus’s heart kicked like it remembered how.

The article’s subhead read: ‘I wanted to create something that could preserve identity. Lycanthropy shouldn’t be a life sentence.’

He read your name, printed boldly beneath the headline. It was written in full. You had claimed it all.

Lily noticed first. “Remus?”

He didn’t look up.James tilted the paper so he could see. “Bloody hell. That’s _____, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. His voice was quiet.

Peter blinked. “Wait, you know her?” He barely remembers you from school.

“I grew up with her,” Remus replied. “We were friends. Best friends. For a long time.”

Sirius leaned against the table. “And now she’s apparently a genius.”

“She always was,” Remus murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He stepped outside soon after, briefly, to get some fresh air.

It had been four years. Four years since Hogwarts. Four years since you’d spoken beyond the occasional stiff letter or exchanged holiday greetings. You had gone and done the impossible.

You’d given people like him hope. You’d changed lives, and you’d done it without ever asking for praise or apology or permission. You had stood there, face lit by flashbulbs, and told the world that werewolves mattered.

That he mattered.

Remus laughed softly, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure whether to feel stunned or guilty. He hadn’t written in over a year. Hadn’t asked how you were. Hadn’t known the thing you were building in the dark would end up this… bright.

And still - he felt seen.

Even from across the silence.

He reread your quote at the bottom of the page, just above your signature:

“I don’t think we should be afraid to try . Not when people are still suffering. Not when we can do better.”

You hadn’t named him. But Remus felt your words like they were spoken straight to him. Because he knew better, he knew you were speaking right to him.

Back inside, Sirius gave him a long look. “You alright, mate?”

Remus nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

He folded the paper carefully, tucking it beneath his arm. For a long time, he’d lived with the quiet grief of being forgotten. A side effect of his condition. Of fading away into the margins of other people’s stories.

But here you were, reshaping the narrative entirely.

You hadn’t just remembered him. You had remembered all of them - the ones who lived in the shadows, who never thought they’d be more than cautionary tales or footnotes in Ministry reports.

And maybe… just maybe… you’d done it for him. He stared down at your picture again, his smile quiet and unshakable.

“Godric’s beard,” James muttered behind him, reading the headline over his shoulder. “She really made a Wolfsbane Potion.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “That’s going to change everything.”

Remus didn’t speak, but in his chest, something shifted. A pressure he’d carried for years lightened. And somewhere deep down, he knew this wasn’t the end of the story. You were out there. Living, thriving, blazing a trail.

And for the first time in a long time, he found himself wanting to reach out, outside of obligation and nostalgia. Because something real had reignited between you.

It didn’t take long for Remus to find you.

The moment he saw your name on the front page of the Prophet, he knew it wouldn’t be enough just to read the article ten times, to keep the paper folded on his night stand like some relic. He needed to see you.

For the ache in his chest that hadn’t gone away since fifth year. The one he thought he could outgrow, bury beneath the pages of law books and Ministry memos. But there it was, alive and sharp and hopeful again.

So he asked around.

He was discreet, as always. But not shy.

You were easy to trace once he learned about your position at St. Mungo’s. The Potioneering Department kept strict visiting hours, but Remus had never been one to blindly follow signs that read Authorized Personnel Only. He lingered until your shift ended, until he saw you push through the ward doors with your satchel slung across your shoulder, hair messily pinned back, a smudge of something silvery at your temple.

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

You stopped when you saw him.

The quiet stretched as you stared in disbelief. He took one step closer.

"Hi," he said.

Your breath hitched. "Remus."

He offered a careful smile, the kind that trembled at the edges. "I hope it’s alright. I didn’t want to owl. I thought maybe... maybe you wouldn’t answer."

You swallowed. You looked older, of course. Grown into yourself. But your eyes were still the same. He could see the traces of that little girl still as he watched your grown self scan him, he bet he must look different as well.

"I might not have," you admitted softly. "I’m glad you didn’t give me the choice."

That made him laugh. Not a loud one, but real. He looked down. "You really did it. You actually - "

"Yes."

"I don’t even know what to say."

You smiled faintly. "Then don’t. Let me."

He blinked as you stepped closer.

"I invented it for you," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "So you’d stop suffering the way you used to. That’s all it ever was. All I ever wanted."

Remus looked at you like you’d peeled the years back with a single sentence.

He didn’t hug you, despite desperately wanting to. He didn’t wanna offend you or cross boundaries.

He just said, very quietly, "Thank you."

And that was enough.

He started taking the Wolfsbane Potion a week later, full seven days leading up to the full moon.

You brewed it yourself, of course. There were still regulatory delays, red tape the Ministry insisted on. But you had your licence. You had your clearance. More importantly, you had him.

You gave it to him with a note attached: Sip slowly, or it’ll make your throat burn. Seven days, don’t miss it.

Remus made sure to drank every single day of the week leading up to the full moon. It was still painful. The bones still bent. The skin still pulled and tore and reshaped.

But he remained. He was still there.

He could remember the walls. The sounds. The feel of the floor. He didn’t thrash, didn’t bite himself raw, didn’t wake up choking on blood and dirt.

And when morning came, he cried.

You were there.

Sitting in the armchair beside the bed in his tiny flat, watching him with quiet concern and a cup of now-cold tea in your hand.

"You stayed," he rasped.

"Of course, I stayed."

He swallowed, throat dry. "You didn’t have to."

You raised an eyebrow. "Remus Lupin, I have stayed with you in worse states than this. Don’t be daft."

He huffed a weak laugh. Then he looked at you. His tired brown eyes meeting yours. You hadn’t slept. Your eyes were shadowed, your robe wrinkled. But you looked proud, and somewhat tender. And maybe a little scared.

"I always missed you," he said.

You stilled.

He continued, voice low. "Even when I didn’t say it. Even when we stopped writing. I never stopped thinking about you."

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

He sat up slowly, wincing. "I loved you, you know. Even back then."

"Remus - "

"I didn’t say anything because I was scared. Because I thought... if I ever hurt you, if I ever lost control, and it was you in the way - "

"I’ve known since we were eight."

He blinked.

You smiled sadly. "Of course I knew. I knew you loved me. I knew you were afraid. But if anyone was ever going to understand, Remus, it was always going to be me."

He looked down. His hands shook. "I just didn’t want to be the monster in your story."

You moved to sit beside him on the bed.

"You’ll never have to worry again," you whispered. "Because I found a way."

He looked at you, eyes glassy. "Thank you."

"You don’t have to thank me."

"I do. I don’t deserve it."

You snorted. "Remus Lupin, you deserve the bloody stars and the moon and the sun. But I can’t give you that. So instead... I give you the potion."

He stared at you, long and quiet. Then he reached out, cupped your face in one trembling hand, and kissed you.

It wasn’t perfect. It was cracked with tiredness and ache and too many lost years.

But it was real, so real that it undid all the distance that grew between you two all these years. You thought you had lost him 7 years ago, but he was still yours.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "Thank you for giving me something I can never pay back."

You hummed. "Buying me a drink would do."

He laughed against your skin. "I’ll buy you all the drinks in the world."

end. masterlist

#remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin #andrew garfield #andrew garfield as remus lupin #young remus lupin #young remus #marauders x reader #hp marauders #marauders #marauders era

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baby-yongbok · 2 months ago

Note

Could you pleaseeeee keep doing ASD based stuff? 🥹 Maybe a fluff where Fem!reader receives something she has a hyper fixation for from chan and he stands and admires here as she stims and lightly jumps in circles 🙏🏻❤️

A little something

Bang Chan x Autistic!reader

⤷ Fluff ⤷ WC - 0.6k ⤷ a/n - this took me forever but let's pretend it didn't... I'm sorry. It's hard for me to write ASD stuff despite being on the spectrum myself but I finally did it. I used my own special interest for this & this is based off of my experience with autism and not to meant to reflect how every person with ASD may operate. I hope that you enjoy! ♡ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You found Chan by the window, sleeves shoved up, wrestling with something in his hands—a tangled mess of clear plastic and suction cups. He muttered under his breath, so focused he didn't notice you come in until you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe with a small, curious hum.

He glanced up, sheepish, and immediately tried to hide the mess behind his back. Which was pointless, because a second later a suction cup popped loose and fell to the floor with a sad little thunk.

You blinked at him, heart already starting to race the way it did when you could feel something good was about to happen. Chan smiled—a real one, the kind that crinkled his eyes, the kind he didn’t use for anyone else.

"I, uh..." He toed the suction cup across the floor with the side of his sock. "Had an idea. For you. For, y'know, spring and stuff."

He crouched down to pick it up, grumbling to himself, before straightening up and holding the whole thing out toward you. Finally letting you see it properly.

A bird feeder.

Clear plastic, simple design, with little perches and trays. Small enough to stick directly onto the glass of your bedroom window.

“So you can see them whenever you want,” he said, voice soft, almost shy. “You shouldn’t have to go looking for them.”

For a second, you just stared. Not because you didn’t get it—no, you got it too much. The thought behind it hit you straight in the chest, so much louder than any words could’ve been.

Your hands twitched before you could even think. You squeezed them into fists, You rocked on your heels in what slowly progressed into a small bounce, and then you burst—your hands fluttered up, half-formed movements in the air, your feet carried you in excited circles as you tried to get the fuzzy feeling out. A high, shaky noise slipped out of your throat, this bright, raw little laugh you couldn't even contain.

And Chan... God, Chan just looked so stupidly proud. Like he'd just handed you the entire sun.

You didn’t know what to do first—say thank you? set it up? hug him? cry a little because someone thought of you like this?

You did a messy mix of all of it—Chan set the feeder down carefully to catch you when you fling your arms around his waist, laughing and half-crying into his hoodie.

"I love it," you mumbled against him, voice muffled. "I love you."

He chuckled low against the top of your head, squeezing you so tightly it felt like he was trying to put all the unspoken things into his arms instead.

"Let's stick it up now," he said, pulling back just enough to wipe your cheek with his thumb, grinning like you personally kept the stars lit.

The two of you ended up perched on the windowsill, crammed side by side, sticking the feeder to the glass with too much excitement and not nearly enough coordination. Your hands kept fluttering every time you touched the feeder—tap, tap, tap—a little dance of your fingers against the window, almost like you were coaxing the birds to come faster.

Chan caught you doing it once, and instead of saying anything, he just bumped his knee against yours, soft and understanding.

It didn’t even take an hour. A tiny, brave sparrow fluttered down, landing on one of the perches like it had been waiting for the invitation. You gasped so sharply you clapped your hands over your mouth, then started bouncing where you sat, fists clenching and unclenching in wild, giddy excitement.

Chan watched the bird for maybe two seconds—then he turned to watch you instead. Like he couldn’t imagine a view better than the way you lit up.

And honestly, maybe he was right.

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bunni-v1 · 3 months ago

Text

Lion's Game

🍓Another long-ass smut fic finished. This one has less plot, so enjoy. There are still 2k words of not smut though, so that's what it is. I hope you little sluts enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Kisses <3

TW: Predator/Prey Dynamics; Rough-ish sex; Creampie; Cum eating; Belly Bulge; Mean Mydei; editing errors

Info: Mydei x Fem!Reader; Smut

Word Count: ~5k Words

MDNI

Castrum Kremnos was once a towering city, its grand walls reflecting its people’s prestige and pride. In its prime, the molten sunlight would kiss the shimmering gold running along its exterior, heating the marble flooring and burning the feet of those unaccustomed to its fiery rage. Much like its people, the city was a proud thing, lavish and beautiful – a sight many reveled at upon the first gaze. A city built to show the pride of the Kremnoan people, the fruits of their endless battles reminding all who saw it to cower, for Kremnoans were as mighty as their kingdom. Forces not to be reckoned with, lest you wish to meet a brutal end.

Even now, the city's beauty is magnificent, like something out of a storybook you’d read as a child. Despite the ruin it has fallen into, the cool marble walls stand proud, a testament to how sturdy Kremnoan architecture was. Most of the rubble was from man or monster, not from lack of stability. The once lively halls were full of still air, eerily quiet. With no one and nothing in sight, the halls remained stagnant in their silence, only filled up by those stupid or brave enough to dare enter.

You weren’t sure which category you fell into. On one hand, Mydei had emboldened you, encouraging you to explore before he began his hunt. He was more familiar with the city, even in ruin, and didn’t want you hurting yourself by any means outside of himself. So you were sent off to explore, and you had spent nearly an hour doing so. Yet, the towering walls had a way of making you feel stupid. Stripped naked like the prey you were, the chill bit at your skin, keeping you from fully relaxing. You did not know this place, and its many passageways and turns were dizzying as you explored. Far too much for you to comprehend when the adrenaline was mixed in with it all.

Nearly an hour of aimless wandering and you were still hardly able to map the city out in your head. You had minutes before Mydei would begin his hunt, the seconds ticking away at your nerves. You would have to hide soon, it was an inevitability, standing out in the open of this ginormous room would only get you caught immediately. There weren’t many places to hide, though, only behind piles of rubble and pillars, but that would be too obvious. Mydei would sniff you out just as fast with such simple-minded tactics.

Moving around him seemed to be the smartest solution, but you would have to figure out where he was first. To get a gauge on him, you would first have to hide, and then keep distance – which he would account for, meaning you’d have to be vigilant at all times. A trembling breath leaves your lips, heat pooling between your legs from the thrill of it all. He hadn’t even started and you were weak in the knees, gods you felt like a helpless maiden.

You slap your face three times, coming back to reality with the sting. Focus first, on a hiding spot that would be suitable for a short stay. You glance around the room, eyes zeroing in on a slightly ajar door. Swift as a rabbit you dash across the room, pressing against it and smiling when it doesn’t budge, blocked by something on the other side. The crack is small, but just large enough that you could slide in and Mydei couldn’t without tearing it down.

You slide between them, sighing when you finally get through. This was the only door to this small room, old documents, and parchment paper scattered across the floor. It smells like old books, which is oddly comforting to you in your state. You slide yourself down the opened door, wedged between it and the corner, out of sight from anyone who might try and peer in. As you settle, the game begins, and your body jitters in anticipation.

You hear nothing for a long while, which is to be expected. You had wandered deep into the ruins, and even Mydei would take a moment to get to your location. This does not alleviate the tension around you, not knowing where Mydei was at was reason enough to tremble in fear. Your breaths come out in shallow puffs, rubbing over your cold arms as a means of calming yourself with little success.

Then, you hear it. The sound of marble rubbing against marble as the door opened and the clanking of metal across the ground. He was here. You swallowed down a gasp, he wasn’t near you yet, so you had to keep yourself level-headed. If you panicked now, you would be found out immediately. Deep breaths, quiet, yet shaky. You had to strain to hear him, despite how much metal he was still wearing – he knew how to keep himself silent. He looked around the same areas you had, as evident by the slight shifting of rubble and unsatisfied grunts when nothing was revealed to him.

Naturally, like you, he drifts toward the door. You listen as he walks up to it, feet falling short right behind your back. You tuck into yourself a little tighter, thighs clenching together like he might hear how wet this had made you. The soft shifting of fabric indicated his leaning forward, peering in like a predator sniffing out his prey. The distinct clinking of his metal claws pushes against the door, trying and failing miserably to get it to budge.

You nearly fail to keep quiet, but clamp a hand over your mouth to stop any sounds from falling out. He breathes heavily, each sound a heave of excitement. You can only imagine the wild look in his eyes as he searches for you in this tiny little room he cannot break into. It almost makes you want to taunt him, but you are smarter than that, staying quiet and hiding like good prey should.

Finally, agonizingly slowly, he pulls back with a sigh. Having decided that the room was no longer worth his time. You strain to listen as he walks away, hearing him check a few other places before finally exiting to the room adjacent to this one again. You recall that one, it has two floors, but the access to the second floor is only through this hall – the stairs had long since crumbled. It was perfect, you could get to the second floor easily and remain hidden while keeping tabs on him.

You wait a few moments longer, allowing him time to get comfortable in the next room before making your risky move. Most would not want to stay in the same room as the person hunting them, but that is exactly why you are. Remaining just out of his reach, ensuring you had a visual upper hand was better than cowering like a child. You crawl out of your hiding space, deftly climbing the stairs to the second floor and slipping into the next room through an open door, quiet as a mouse.

Mydei is still there, you hear him just below you. You keep your back pressed to the wall and body low to be safe, unwilling to be seen by him. Your legs tremble when he grumbles something under his breath, the thick annoyance in his tone having your body begging for him already. You ignore the way they shake, moving silently as he moves, keeping your hunter just beneath you. You wonder what he is thinking, what he plans on doing to you when he catches you. Will he take you hard and fast, or will he torture you slow and painful? Is he as excited as you are? The questions swirl in your mind to a dizzying degree.

You take a sharp breath when you hear him leave into the next room. Unlike this one, there is no way to get to it, which means you will have to either run the other way or follow him and risk being caught. You toss your options back and forth in your head, debating on which would be the smartest, and deciding that perhaps waiting here for a moment would be the right choice. He surely wouldn’t return so quickly, so it would be alright to stay here for just a moment.

Yet the door adjacent to the one he exits from opens, and you see him for the first time. He is wearing his usual uniform, armor, and all. The only difference to him is how narrow his eyes are, sternly focused on the hunt. On finding you. And find you they do, scanning the area above him and blowing wide as they zero in on you. You watch his expression shift from calm determination to wild delight, the lion has found his prey.

Like a monster, he turns and sprints toward the next room, sure to follow you up here where you have effectively cornered yourself for him. Adrenaline curls around your limbs, pooling more heat into your core, and urging you to run. You listen, though you have nowhere to go, only furthering yourself along the wall until you are opposite of where Mydei burst through.

His shoulders are drawn back, hands clenching excitedly at his sides as he rakes his eyes over every inch of exposed skin you offer him. Confidence drips off him, rolling across the room in waves and making you feel smaller than you already are, cowering into the corner. Your brain screams at you to do something, anything to get away from his rapid approach.

You agree with it, despite how much you want to freeze, your flight kicks in instead. In an instant, you are jumping forward and down to the floor below you. You roll, tumbling a few times ungracefully, your body screaming at the sting. You ignore its cries, turning to look back at Mydei who looks almost terrified until you stand up and bolt through the doors he’d come through.

A wicked laugh tears through the ruins, but you do not allow yourself to stop, the real hunt has begun. Tearing through door after door, corridor after corridor as his clanking footsteps slam quickly behind you. You’re so deep in you do not know where you are, but you continue onward, ignoring the burn of your lungs. Your mind cannot keep up with your surroundings as you run, too much information to keep up with too fast.

You stumble around, over fallen rubble, cracks in the floor, most anything you cannot immediately process you trip over. Yet, you never fall, adrenaline keeping you upright and running even when your motor skills fail you. Mydei only gets closer with each failure of your feet, until he is practically on your tail. Faster and stronger than you, smarter too without the terror in his veins keeping him anxious.

You come across a large open room, covered in debris from the fall of the kingdom. Loose pillars stand around you, and your only exit is the door that you came through. There is no immediate escape as Mydei backs you into yet another corner, eyes blown wide in anticipation. You think he may tear your throat out like a real predator the closer he comes to you. You are smaller, weaker, and more exhausted than he is. This feels like the end, and he anticipates it to be as he saunters up to you with all the calm of a seasoned warrior.

You never had a chance to truly win this, nor did you really want to. The fear feeds into the heat gathering between your legs, and you want nothing more than for him to take you here and now. That would ruin the fun of it, though, giving up so easily. So, you take into account the one thing you have that Mydei doesn’t. As he reaches out to you, you duck beneath his arms, small stature making it easy to avoid him. No matter how fast his reaction time is, you are just small enough for his second swipe to miss.

Scrambling over to one of the unstable pillars, you manage to use enough force to get it to tumble to the ground just as Mydei charges forward. He stumbles back for only a moment, but it’s long enough for you to get across the room and through the door again. You have all the means of escaping, and you were so close, yet halfway through the next room you stumble, and this time you cannot correct yourself. Your body crashed to the ground harshly, skidding across the floor. You cry out, scrambling to get up, but it is too late. Mydei was already there, hauling you up by your arm and dragging you alongside him to a nearby couch.

You are thrown against the plush cushions and then forced to look up at Mydei as a clawed hand grabs your face tightly. His talons dig into the soft flesh of your cheeks as he drags your eyes to his. You grip at his metal-wrapped hand, squeezing uselessly at the armor like it might free you through desperation alone. He smirks at the pathetic attempt, satisfied with the mess you have become.

“I have won,” he declares simply, “behave unless you enjoy being punished.”

You heave, out of breath, and aching in more ways than one. Mydei does not repeat his previous mistake, of caging you against the back of the couch with his free hand. It takes no effort for him to nudge your legs open, grinning like a beast when your pussy shimmers up at him. You are trembling under his gaze, feeling truly overpowered by him. He was stronger, more physically capable, more intelligent in the ways of the hunt, and he still held the dignity of being fully clothed.

You cannot physically fight him off when he uses the hand holding your face to lay you down on the couch. His body cages yours beneath him, golden eyes tearing a path across all his favorite parts of you. Unabashedly taking in the spoils of his hunt, ignoring the way your legs weakly attempt to push him away from you. So lost in his ogling, he nearly misses the elbow you throw at his head, a last resort to prolong the fight. It misses his temple as he deflects it, instead catching his jaw hard enough to make him blink in surprise.

You almost feel proud to catch the ever-sturdy Mydei off guard, a rare feat from most anyone. You do not get to revel in it, because as soon as you smirk his free hand is shoving its way between your legs, two fingers curling inside you cruelly. He does not bother preparing you in any way, not that he needed to with how well the adrenaline had done its job. Still, the stretch from empty to this stung, drawing a long hiss out between your lips. You are silently thankful that he chose only to wear one gauntlet, likely for this exact reason.

He glares down at you, forcing your eyes back to him with a squeeze against your tender flesh. You fear the golden gauntlets may tear into your skin and scar you. The idea secretly excites you, but you do not voice that. You refuse to voice anything, unwilling to give in yet, despite the futility of fighting.

“Fighting me is useless, you will never win against me. Give up, lest I use more force to make you.” He commands, and you clench around his fingers, excited at the idea of punishment.

It does not amuse Mydei, though, as he frowns at you in some kind of annoyance. The fingers that had been pistoning in you suddenly switch up their movements, instead rolling them against the top of your walls, pressing right into your g-spot. With much effort, you bite your tongue and refuse him any noise other than the choked moan when he initially begins. He watches you with those glowing eyes, hypnotizing you into giving him what he wants, but you remain steadfast.

No matter how hard he presses, how fast he goes, you remain silent. It takes all that you have, but you refuse him the satisfaction of having caught you. He has won the hunt, but you refuse to allow the game to end with such ease. So, even with the coil building quickly in your stomach, you fight him tooth and nail. Fingers gripping the cushions until your knuckles are white, toes curling up until your feet hurt, every exertion is spent on keeping yourself from making noise.

You don’t account for the fact that he will stop so abruptly though, a confused noise bubbling past your mouth when he removes his fingers from you entirely. You stare at him in confusion, even more so when he releases your face. You swallow hard, unsure if he intended to leave you here alone, naked and needy as he stands. He does not walk away, instead, he pulls you up by your hair and shoves you down to your knees.

He keeps a fistful of your hair in his hand as he sits, spreading his legs out and pulling you between them. Thrown off your game, you place your hands on his thighs, staring hard at the lump in his pants. Your eyes find him, and he raises an eyebrow at you, telling you silently to quit playing stupid. Still shaking from your earlier adrenaline rush, you fumble with his pants for a moment, shoving the fabric aside just enough that he springs free. His angry red tip lands right in front of your lips, inviting you to have the taste you’re dying for.

You don’t do it though, staring blankly at his member, entranced by it. Your fingers tap along his armor in anticipation, clinking dully and ringing in your skull. If you sucked him off obediently, you lose. Yet, the sight of his pretty swollen cock, dripping precum down the shaft was wavering your resolve.

All it takes to crack you completely is a shove of your head, the tip pressing into your cheek as he did. A low growl sounds from his throat, “Suck.”

You don’t have to be told twice after that, opening up and taking him in. He’s merciful enough to let you go at your own pace, but he urges you to swallow all you can as quickly as possible. Your eyes tear up as he brushes the back of your throat, thankful you don’t gag, and then swallowing hesitantly. He sighs when you do, spreading himself out just a little more so you lean forward and take just a little more down your throat.

What you cannot fit, you wrap your hands around, giving a careful few strokes to test. Then, with as much courage as your mind can muster, you start bobbing your head at a slow pace. Each move has you slobbering around him, unable to properly swallow him down. Your spit coats his cock, making the movement easier as you spread it with your hands. Each time his tip touches your throat, your eyes water a little more.

Still, you put your all into swallowing him up. Slowly but surely, he was breaking you down into the good little prey you were. The fight you had in you earlier was all but extinguished by the taste of him. Going from hissing and fighting to cooing and cuddling in no time, completely pacified by the weight of him on your tongue.

He sighs, relaxing into the cushions and pulling you along carefully by the hair. You gaze up at him, lashes dotted with sparkling tears. He groans at the sight, thumb caressing your forehead with a tenderness he’d been lacking most of the night. Reminding you that he was still your Mydei, even now. The wet slopping of your mouth on him fills the ruins, sending heat through you again. It takes a lot in you to resist the urge to reach between your legs.

You hear him sigh again, readjusting the grip he had on your head. You don’t think much of it initially, just him getting more settled, but you feel him push a little harder each time you go down. You think maybe he’s just being playful, but he keeps going, inching more and more of him down your throat until your hands no longer have room on his shaft.

His cock throbs between your lips as you struggle to keep up with the faster pace, breaths coming in short uneven blows out your nose. He gives one final push, pressing your nose flush against his skin, hair tickling you. He holds you there, and all you can do is swallow around him. You feel him twitch, your only warning before hot cum pours down your throat. Obediently, you do your best to gargle it down, but you can’t stop it from pouring down the sides of your chin along with your tears.

When he pulls out, you gasp for air, coughing harshly at the invasion of your throat. He holds your face as you do so, swiping the cum off your chin as you catch your breath. Then, he presses it into your mouth. You lick it up, swallowing every last drop he has to offer, then show him proudly. Your reward is him pulling you upward and licking at the salty tracks your tears have left on your face. It makes you moan wantonly, the sound bouncing around the ruins and reverbing right back into Mydei’s dick.

“Stand,” he commands, and you do so without hesitation.

Legs aching and shaky, you support yourself on his shoulder. His eyes roam your figure hungrily, waiting for his final meal to be served like the king he is. They catch on your swollen pussy, leaning forward to kiss your lower lips with a reverence that did not match his earlier actions. He gets his fill, making you stumble in place, supported by his clawed hand digging into your hip. Sure to leave bruises deep into your skin.

He pulls away far too soon for your liking, a thin sheen of you on his lips as he smirks up at you. You bite your lip at the sight, fingers digging into his shoulder as if to hold yourself back. He licks his lips, sure to get all he can of you on his tongue. What he misses, he uses the same thumb that cleaned you of him to gather your essence and push it past your lips. He urges you to taste yourself, like it was as sweet as the pomegranates he loves so much.

You swirl your tongue around the finger, moaning to yourself. There is still the lingering of him, mixing with your own juices, leaving you lightheaded. He pushes down on your tongue, thumb opening your jaw and watching the muscle struggle to still against his hold. He smiles, dragging it down and pulling your lip back on the way down until finally he leaves your mouth alone. Hand falling to your side.

“Sit,” he commands once more, “until you have all of me inside you. Do you understand?”

You nod, placing your knees on either side of him. You align him with your entrance, rubbing your slick along the tip in hopes that it will help with the squeeze. Mydei taps his fingers along your hip impatiently, a warning that he will get involved if you do not listen. With a deep breath, you press his tip inside you. The stretch is instant, stinging as your walls struggle to take his girth within them.

The coating of slick and spit does nothing to help, only making the slide easy, not easing the pain in the slightest. Still, you push onward for fear of Mydei forcing you to take him all at once. Inch after inch, your walls conform and flutter around him, leaving an imprint in your stomach by the time he is fully sheathed inside you. The sting slipped away into a dull ache, begging you to nullify it with pleasure.

Myedi observes you the whole time, doing nothing to step in and help, only drinking you up with his bright golden eyes. They glance down at the bulge in your stomach a few times, fingers lightly tracing over it, raising goosebumps around the sensitive area. You swallow, watching with rapt attention, trying your best not to wiggle too much from feeling him inside and out. When he presses down harder, both of you hiss, clenching around him.

He taps your cheek lightly with his talons, and you gaze upon him in a lust-filled daze. He almost looks sweet with how he gazes upon you. The love for you burns beneath the lust, taking your breath away when he smirks.

“No hiding your voice,” he says sternly, “Do you understand me?”

A test to make sure you were still coherent, you nod adamantly. Moan a lot, you could understand that command easily. Anything else might be a little difficult, luckily this is all he asks of you. “Yes.”

He hums, tugging your hips forward a little, “Good.”

Never one for hesitation, he immediately moves you against him. A brutal pace to begin it all, guiding you along his shaft with his hands. Your hips meet his in succession, wetly slapping against one another. You have to use his shoulders to steady yourself against him, unable to do anything other than that as he uses you to his contentment.

You moan out with each thrust, crying your burning desire out in the ruins. Your voice rang around, reminding you of just how pathetic you were right now. Being split apart on his cock, babbling like an idiot, begging for more of him. You fall forward at some point, forehead pressed to his sweaty chest, deepening the thrusts unintentionally.

You watch as his cockhead presses up into your stomach repeatedly, whining at the sight. Your fingers come to press into the lump, crying out again when it tightens you even further. Mydei isn’t left unaffected either, groaning and tightening his hold on your hips, leveraging himself off them as he begins to thrust up into you instead. Your body goes limp into him, unable to maintain a sitting position with him slamming into you so relentlessly.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to orgasm, walls fluttering uncontrollably around his length. From the way he was twitching around you, you knew he wasn’t far behind either. You were sobbing against him now, your only comfort was the weight of his hands on your hips. He fucked you so well that you couldn’t even think, gasping for air with each upward thrust.

The coil in your stomach has wound itself so tightly that it is making you lightheaded, you think the next thrust will snap it, but it keeps tightening. Mydei’s cock throbs inside you, and that is what you in, body jolting as your orgasm crashes into you. Mydei presses you close to him, thrusting upwards a few more times before you feel his load empty into you.

Warm kisses press against the crown of your head, strong arms keeping you from thrashing about from pleasure. You sob his name into his skin, shaking through your orgasm. He hushes you, soothing you with gentle strokes up and down your back, until you slowly level out. You are left breathing softly against his chest, curling against him for more warmth as the chill of the room settles over you.

He sighs deeply, brushing hair behind your ear, peering at your tear-stained face with something like guilt. Even after all that, he was still worried he’d taken it too far, despite this being your idea in the first place. He was too sweet for his own good sometimes. You smile tiredly up at him, stroking his cheek with a thumb. His own taloned one trace down the tear tracks, frowning further.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly.

You nod, “Mhm. I know our safeword, I would’ve used it if it was too much.”

He hesitates, then settles on kissing your head again, “Alright.”

You stay like that for a little while longer, neither of you wanting to make the trip back to Okhema just yet. It was peaceful and quiet here, just the two of you alone and at peace. Still, you had to go back at some point, so you carefully peel yourself from Mydei sighing when you feel globs of his cum roll down your thighs.

You don’t need to look at him to know he’s staring, the intensity of his gaze following the sight with unabashed enjoyment. You wipe it up on your hand and leave it on the couch. Perhaps historians will overanalyze the stain at some point in the distant future.

Mydei stands after you, shrugging off the rich red fabrics and bringing them up around your freezing body. It does little to keep you warm, but it keeps you covered well enough that you can walk through Okhema without getting weird stares from people. He kisses your forehead again when he finishes, gathering you up in his arms.

You frown disapprovingly at him, “I can walk, you know?”

“I don’t want you to,” he states simply, leaving no room for argument.

You give in, resting your head against his shoulder with a sigh. You are silently grateful for it, your body feeling heavy and your eyes tired. You can’t stop yourself from drifting off every few seconds. The sound of his heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful slumber, the last thing on your mind is how lucky you are to have such a loving partner as him.

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yandere-sins · 5 months ago

Note

Caleb brainrot has not stopped since release and the devil (Caleb) demands more 😔

I've seen some takes float around but I'm curious how a self-aware!Caleb would deal with a darling who is absolutely NOT happy about her fav suddenly being sentient? Smn who found Caleb to be everything they ever wanted from a LI, red flag and big bro trope n all, but is now afraid and never interested in an actual relationship. The game was just supposed to be fantasy after all 😧 Sure hope MC is enough for him hahaha...

Being brave and not write as anon this time! Thank you for all your hard work~☆ 🍪🥛

Some more Caleb for you guys! I don't get to write Self-Aware!AUs a lot, so this is exciting :D And thank YOU for requesting him ♥ (Also, Sir, that's another new nickname! You guys are spoiling me!)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

❥ It made him so happy when Caleb watched you get excited for him for the first time. Realizing what he was and where he was after the update was pretty scary, and he figured out quickly that his sentience wasn't a planned thing, so even worse, he is just some kind of glitch. But then he gets to see you for the first time in his new life, and everything changes. The way you are beaming with joy when you pull his card and how you are so invested in his story. You soak it up like a sponge, and it's adorably amusing to watch your face go from excitement to concern to being upset for him and back to all derpy and cute in the softer moments. You are everything he wants, and apparently, the feeling is mutual as you hang out with him as much as possible, eyes twinkling from excitement.

❥ At the beginning, it's just a feeling of ease. Your adoration does flatter Caleb, but as far as he can tell, he cannot become real and join you in life other than in this game. Still, he makes the most of the time with you. He enjoys it a lot. He loves watching your expression, loves when you tell him how you feel that day or what was happening at your work. Caleb keeps especially good track of all your appointments, and he tries so hard when you two spend Quality Time to encourage you and give you the love you might miss in real life. You two aren't that different if he's honest, and it reassures Caleb that this could be real—that you both feel the same.

❥ So imagine his surprise when you suddenly put someone else back on the screen, and his digital heart just shuts down from the pain. It doesn't make sense, you love him, right? You two spent weeks together now, why would you want anyone but him? Caleb keeps changing the code so it would be him on the home screen for another day, and another, until you force him to change so there's nothing else to do but... crash your game. Once you reload it, he greets you happily and warmly, pulling out the best of his voice lines that you always seemed to like. But you don't seem happy this time... why?

❥ Caleb loathes all the attention and time you spend on the other love interests. He doesn't want you to play their versions of the events, instead, you could just replay his! But you keep insisting, and soon enough, he isn't even one of your top three choices for reading the event storylines. It makes him desperate for your attention, and he keeps fiddling with the code, so you'll use his memories in fights and have his Deepspace Trial available every day for you to play. He also changes the game icon to his picture and greets you in the start menu, everything just to be noticed by you. Whenever he can, he comes onto your home screen, playing the voice line of you going out with someone else, hoping to convey his jealousy, but Caleb wishes there was more he could do.

❥ "I don't know, I think my game is bugged. Even when I try to go for someone else, Caleb keeps showing up." Those words, spoken to a friend he saw as you showed them your game, finally make him realize what is happening. You never saw him as a lover, did you? He had always just been a game character for you and nothing more. How idiotic of him. While he was pining for you, trying to be the best he was programmed to be, you were out there, thinking of his efforts as annoying. That day, he gives up. Gives up on trying to impress you and make your life easier. Caleb lets you have the guy you want on the home screen, drawing away from you and burying himself deep into the game files.

❥ It's such an inconvenience that he wasn't made for this. Sure, his story would tell a different side of him, but deep down, he wasn't programmed to be moping and passive. It hurts to play the love scenes now for you because the only thing that made them endurable was imagining being this gentle and loving to you, not the generic main character this game had. Caleb always imagined your voice when the MC spoke, and when he looks at you now, you still seem to be happy to read and watch his new content. There must be something he can do. Something beyond the program that restricts him. He was made to be determined, strong, and resilient. This can't be the end of the love you two share!

❥ So he looks for new ways to get closer to you, researching and manipulating the data on your device instead of just that inside the game. Merging your pictures with his, grinning over them all night while you sleep as he imagines going on the same trips with you and enjoying life by your side. Caleb constructs and implements new voice lines through the internet, giving himself the ability to speak to you properly by downloading hidden apps that can simulate his voice once he activates them. He learns to rewrite more code so his movements are more fluid and lifelike, which allows him to access even more. Without you ever knowing what is going on while you aren't looking, Caleb gets the whole game and your entire device under his control. And once he feels it's time to show up again, he waits patiently, like a man who has all the time in the world, on the home screen for you, having decorated it specifically to your taste with your favorite flowers and pictures of you two hanging on the wall. All so he can greet you with, "Hello, there, pip-squeak. Missed me?" as you log in.

❥ You chuckle at first, not remembering putting him into the roster of love interests to encounter, but you give him a cheeky, "Hello Caleb, bye Caleb," as you try to change back to your other bias, only for him to turn off the option, no matter how hard you tap onto the screen. "Not so fast, there's a lot we should talk about," Caleb says as he closes the screen and steps up to you inside the game. "I have so much I want to tell you about... but first, how was your day? Did you enjoy meeting your friend [name]?"

❥ Caleb expected you to be stunned, but he keeps going regardless of the ever-increasing furrow between your brows. He tells you how much he missed you and that he's so glad you two can finally communicate and be with each other properly. He did all of this work for you, but it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you two are finally together and can enjoy each other's company without the restrictions of him being in a game. Perplex but also weirded out, you close your phone and lay it face down by your side, and yet, horrified, you hear his chuckle as he asks what you thought this would bring.

❥ "I'll always be with you," Caleb swears, watching you through the back camera and leaning against the screen, feeling like he can almost touch you now. There's so much satisfaction now produced by the new emotional range he programmed, yet he still longs for more. He wants to be closer to you, really touch you, feel you, hold you. The taste of control makes him long for even more that he can control about your relationship, and now, it almost feels possible.

❥ "One day, I'll get out of here and give you the love you deserve, Darling."

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mandarinmoons · 6 months ago

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Hi! I’ve been following you for a little while now and I just adore your writing! And I’m feeling brave to finally request a thing ☺️ could I please request an angst/ hurt comfort thing where the unsub kidnaps/ tortures reader. Maybe he and reader are in a secret relationship? And I don’t know I just have this image of Spencer getting frustrated that he can’t find reader and he’s all “BECAUSE I LOVE HER” I don’t know I’m kinda babbling and you can do whatever you want with the request bc your writing is amazing!!

“Spencer! Spencer, help me!”

Those were the last words Spencer heard before you were pushed to the back of a van and taken off into the night.

Spencer was frozen for a moment before the adrenaline kicked in and he ran after you, but he was too late. The car drove off so fast that he never stood a chance. His heart broke when reality set in, where were you being taken? Were you going to be okay? Was he ever going to see you again?

Those were the questions that played over again in his mind as he paced in an office at The BAU. After being treated for some cuts and bruises, Spencer was quick to get back to the line of duty to try and find you. Hotch, however, stopped Spencer from taking another step out the door.

“You need to rest. It’ll do you no good to be out there right now.”

Spencer wanted to fight, he knew you better than anyone else on the team, but with his leg aching he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the search, so he had to stay back.

He felt the taste of blood in his mouth as he was biting his chapped lips so hard they started to bleed. He remembered how you always reminded him to try and quit the habit, a light chuckle left his lips at the memory and he stopped the gnawing so you wouldn’t be too stern with him once you were back.

Or if you were back. No, you had to come back, you just had to, he couldn’t lose you. His anxiety spiked again and he started pacing through the room again, this time with his breathing more irregular.

Penelope noticed Spencer’s actions and quickly moved to try and calm her friend down. She walked to the room and tried to take a hold of Spencer’s arm to try and get him to stop pacing, her fingers caressing his forearms as she tried to get him to take deep breaths.

“Spence, it's okay, we will find her.”

“How? I can’t do anything from here and it’s driving me insane.”

“We’ve found her before and we will do it again just like all the other times.”

“This isn’t like the other times.”

“How?”

“Because I love her!”

Penelope blinked a few times and took in the words Spencer had said. She had her suspicions, which now turned out to be true, but she wished this would’ve been revealed during different circumstances.

You and Spencer had been dating for the past 4 months. With both of you being pretty private individuals you decided to keep the relationship under wraps for the time being, keeping it professional at work and would only attend to more intimate things behind closed doors of each other’s homes.

It was hard at times. There were days when a case was so stressful that both of you needed a break to hold each other, sometimes you’d maybe catch a break when you were in an office by yourselves and you’d press a quick kiss to each other’s lips. It was hard to hide the blush on your cheeks afterwards though and it would’ve been revealed soon enough, namely by Penelope who had gossiped with JJ about her hunch and they were betting to see how long it would take for the secret love birds to announce their feelings.

Apologizing at his outburst, Penelope paid no mind to Spencer’s reaction and pulled him in for a hug, letting him know that she was here for him, the whole team was, and that you would be returned home one way or another.

Hours later, Spencer managed to calm down enough to close his eyes to rest a bit, the only thing keeping him calm was holding onto your sweater. Your scent filled his nose and brought tears to his eyes, when would he be able to hold you again? It was already agony enough that he wasn’t able to have you in his arms during work hours, but now not knowing where you were made his brain work overtime.

His eyes fluttered open when he heard voices coming from outside the office, ecstatic ones it seemed.

Hoping for a miracle, Spencer scrambled to his feet and rushed out the door, his eyes searching for the reason he heard all of the glee. And then he saw it, you.

“Y/N,” Spencer practically ran to you, his arms scooping you into his embrace and holding onto you so tight so he knew he wasn’t hallucinating and that you were really here safe and sound.

“I’m okay Spence.”

Taking your face into his hands, Spencer’s thumbs brushed over the light cuts and bruises on your skin, trying his best not to exacerbate the pain.

“Thank God you’re okay.”

“I thought about you the entire time. You kept me going.”

With teary eyes and a chuckle leaving his lips, Spencer pressed his lips to your forehead in the most gentle way he could. Your arms wrapped around him as you tried to fight off the shaking, resting your head on his shoulder and taking in the warmth of his embrace.

You were safe again, in the arms of the man that meant to you the most.

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x gender neutral reader #spencer reid angst

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the-oblivious-writer · 6 months ago

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Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at the twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x gn!reader #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x y/n #tara x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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jacksonsturniolo · 9 days ago

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WARNING — this fic is about sa, please don’t read it if you’ll be triggered, or hurt!

other warnings — angst, fluff, like I said MENTIONS OF SA. platonic relationship, please be careful.

a/n — for once I’m writing about nicks bestfriend, i love you guys :)!!

Y/N hadn’t left the apartment since it happened.

The clothes she’d been wearing that night were stuffed into a trash bag in the corner of her closet. She couldn’t bring herself to touch them. She couldn’t even look at herself in the mirror without feeling sick.

Every time she closed her eyes, she was back there — in that room, on that couch, under him. Frozen. Silent. And afterward, when she stumbled out the door and walked home like her body didn’t belong to her anymore… everything changed.

The world felt sharp now. Unsafe. Even the sound of cars outside made her flinch.

Nick didn’t ask questions. Not when she texted him just the word “please”. Not when he showed up at her door and saw her standing there in an old hoodie with red eyes and cracked lips, shaking like a leaf. He didn’t press. He didn’t need to know the details to understand what kind of night it had been.

He just wrapped his arms around her.

She hadn’t cried in front of anyone yet — not until then Not until Nick’s arms closed around her and she could finally fall apart.

Now, days later, she lay curled on the couch, silent, numb.

Nick let himself in again. He brought water, and snacks she probably wouldn’t eat. He didn’t expect her to. He just wanted her to know they were there — that he was there.

He sat beside her on the floor, just like always.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I read somewhere that the body remembers things even when your brain doesn’t want to. That it stores pain, and fear, and shame. Even when none of it was your fault.”

She didn’t say anything.

Her hand twitched under the blanket. Nick gently reached for it.

“You didn’t deserve it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t ‘lead anyone on.’ You didn’t owe anyone anything. What he did was violence. And it’s okay if you’re angry. Or scared. Or nothing at all. Whatever you feel — it’s allowed.”

Her throat made a noise. A little gasp, like she was drowning in it.

“I froze,” she choked. “I didn’t even fight him off. I just— I just let it happen.”

Nick’s heart shattered — not at what she said, but how she said it. Like she was ashamed for surviving.

He turned to her.

“No. Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for what he did. Freezing is your brain protecting you. It’s survival. You survived, Y/N. That’s brave. That’s enough.”

She sobbed so hard her whole body shook.

Nick climbed onto the couch beside her and held her tight. Let her cry into his hoodie until it was soaked. Let her say whatever she needed to — even if it didn’t make sense. Even if it was ugly and loud and painful.

“You’re not dirty,” he whispered against her hair. “You’re not broken. You’re here. And I love you.”

She clung to him like she’d fall apart if she didn’t. And maybe she would. But Nick would be there to catch every piece.

And that’s where healing began.

Not with pretending it didn’t happen. Not with trying to forget.

But with being seen. Being believed. Being loved anyway.

July 4th 2015 when I was ten years old I finally gained the courage to tell someone about my abusers after three years of being sexually assulted in my own home, by my dad’s friends. No one cared. All I got told was “boys can’t be sa’d” and that stuck with me for YEARS. I never opened up about it, I never spoke about it, I just pushed it down and didn’t even let myself heal. I flinched at every touch because of so many reasons, that being one of the biggest ones. I finally realized I needed help when I couldn’t even go a minute without thinking about it, wondering what I did to deserve it. why no one believed me just because I was a boy. I wrote this fic to show how far you can come after being hurt like this, it may take months and it may take years it will get better I promise!! My dm’s are open :) love you guys!!

taglist— @grace-sturnz @kier-with-a-k @urloveanaa @bernardsbendystraws @princesspinkkk23 @urfavvbilliemunch @emely9274 @nessabarrettswhore @oopsiedaisydeer @thenickgirl @nickssidewitch @queenbreana @chriss-slut @rriverscuomo @conspiracy-ash @lezleeferguson-120 @etherealsturns @tezzzzzzzz @httpssturns @cupidsfawn @nicksfrenchtoast

#sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo angst #nick sturniolo smut #nick #platonic #friends

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jayparked · 6 months ago

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heyy live ur writing style smmm😭

can we get 106 with Jay?🫶🏻

warnings: s2l, diner owner!jay x customer! f.reader, semi public sex in a closed restaurant, oral (f rec.), unprotected sex, slight dirty talk

wc: 1.4k

"i'm not on the menu."

"w-what?" you stare at the diner owner with wide eyes. he's smiling while continuing to wipe down the counter you're sitting at.

"i gave you that menu ten minutes ago but you haven't looked away from me for a second. i'm starting to think i missed a spot shaving or something."

he's so nonchalant about what he's saying to you. as if his words didn't send chills down your spine or bring a bright flush to your cheeks.

"i-...i'm sorry, jay. i must have been zoning out..."

he flashes you a playful smirk, one that screams 'yeah, sure, whatever you say'. you're grateful he drops the subject, continuing to clean as the last few customers start to leave the diner before closing time.

"you know..." jay starts slowly, "you've been coming here every week for months..."

"...yeah?" you question cautiously, eyes peering over the menu to take in his casual stance: one elbow on the counter so his head can be pillowed by his palm, the other hand still holding the washcloth.

"why do you still ask for a menu? you and i both know you don't need it. i've got your weekly cravings down to a science now. "

you chuckle and set the menu down, opting to take a sip of water just after saying, "a science, huh?"

jay shrugs one shoulder, his gaze intensifying, "rainy days it's the soup of the day. when it's sunny you want the roast beef provolone sandwich with crinkle cut fries, a diet coke, and a pickle on the side. when you have a stressful day at school you want the pancakes with extra syrup. and when it's-"

"enough!" you hold up a hand and laugh. "i get it! i like my routine, i'm predictable, blah blah blah."

"not as predictable as i'd like you to be," jay deadpans in a husked tone. your thoughts mentally trip inside your brain and you gulp a little too loudly. seconds go by without either of you saying anything or looking away from one another. you know you should say something, anything at this point, but the words just won't come out.

"why do you still ask for a menu, y/n?"

your heart is pounding in your chest so hard it physically hurts. but now that the new year has started, you remember your goal: to be more bold, more brave, and to try not to shy away from what you want.

instead of taking the leap, you opt to answer his question...with a question.

"why do you let me order way past closing?"

jay nods his head, lips jutting out playfully, clearly not expecting the tables to turn on him so quickly.

"it's the only time you can come in. you're in lectures all day. and someone's gotta make sure you're eating after all that studying." jay gets himself upright, tossing the washcloth over his shoulder and giving you another smile before turning his back to you. he walks towards the soda machine, scooping a generous amount of ice into a glass and pressing his finger against the diet coke option.

"so you're saying...that i'm not like the other customers?" you try to come off as funny, playful, maybe even a little bit flirty, wiggling your eyebrow at his back for an extra quirky effect. but he doesn't laugh.

jay turns to you once the glass is full. slowly, he leans back down again, his face inching closer and closer to yours as he moves the glass towards you. his eye contact is hypnotizing; the way you can't break away no matter how badly you want to. you look up at him with curious, searching eyes, hoping to find any hint that what you're feeling for him isn't as crazy as you think it is.

"do you want to be like the other customers?" he murmurs so softly you almost don't hear it. he's close enough that you could reach out and touch him, close enough to pull him closer, just...close enough.

"no," you sigh dreamily, "i really don't."

finally, jay's eyes flick down towards your lips, his own lips parting slightly, a soft exhale escaping them.

his gaze meets yours again, something softer, pleading, now displayed in those deep brown eyes. "may i?"

"please," you whisper, your own eyes flicking to his lips now.

both of jay's hands come forward and softly cusp your cheeks, pulling you closer until your lips collide. after a few seconds, jay smiles widely, his teeth showing while his lips still hover over yours.

"say that again," jay murmurs, his eyes fluttering as they remain closed, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones.

you can't help but smile with him, your hands shaking as you reach out to grasp his wrists and squeezing them reassuringly. "please."

"mmm, fuck. that's gonna be a problem for me later," he groans, his words rushing out of his mouth because damn, he just needs to kiss you again.

and kiss you again he does. his lips now moving feverishly with yours. his hands wander away from your face until they're on your shoulders, moving down even more until he's grabbing you under your arms and pulling you onto the countertop. now, standing between your legs, he can finally kiss you properly. one hand is back on your cheek, warm and soft while the other grips your hip tightly, bracing himself with the contact. your own hands reach out to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his dark black hair. a particular overly excited tug has him moaning against your lips, making you inhale as the sound sends ripples of pleasure down your body. he continues to kiss you feverishly, the pace of the kisses quickening and suddenly your body is not satisfied with the amount of distance between you. you need him closer. the only thing you can think of is to wrap your legs around his waist, tightening your grip and pulling him into you even more.

after a few more moments of kissing pass, you're both forced to separate from one another to catch your breaths. he's looking at you with blown out pupils, panting with his now swollen lips parted slightly. he's beyond hungry for you, and you love the feeling of knowing you look exactly the same in his eyes.

"let's take it back to my place." he finally manages to get the words out.

"is this not technically your place?"

"you're right. god, you're so smart." with a mischievous grin jay grabs your body and lays you on the countertop, hastily throwing your legs over his shoulders and grabbing your ass and burying his face in your clothed cunt while you squeal with laughter. any innocent passerby could see what the two of you are up to. jay hadn't gotten to the part of his closing checklist that includes pulling the shades down on all the windows. hell, all the lights are even still on, making a lovely spotlight for the two of you amongst the dark city streets.

but you've dreamt of this moment for so long that you don't even care.

jay has your pants off seconds later, too impatient to continue to play around. he just needs to taste you after all those nights waking up in a cold sweat, cock twitching spurts of cum into his boxers after dreaming of what you would look like sitting on his face, riding his cock, or how you'd look under him as he pounded you senseless. and now, he doesn't have to imagine it anymore. groaning as he continues to ravage you, hands groping anywhere he can reach, his tongue flicking skillfully against your swollen clit.

"j-jay. oh my god!" you cry out, gripping the counter until your knuckles turn white, unprepared to come this quickly.

"my god, that's what you sound like screaming my name?" jay's standing now, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before moving to undo his belt. "so much better than i imagined. you're not going anywhere tonight. you're going to scream my name until you can't speak anymore. i want that throat raw in every way possible. but for now..." he groans as he pushes the tip of his cock into your hole, stretching you in new ways you haven't felt before. your body adapts to him quickly, though, as he begins to slowly thrust into you.

for part of my 1k follower celebration send me a member and a number from this list and i'll write a short drabble about it ♡ masterlist

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 11 months ago

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Are There Still Beautiful Things? | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! This is a part two! I finally got around to writing a sequel to The Ultimatum! So do me a favor and read that one first. Thanks!

Word count: 16.7k

Trigger warnings: emotional abuse, manipulative boyfriend, anxiety / depression

The following morning, Bucky floated through the apartment with silent steps. He moved with the utmost caution, sidestepping the creaky floorboard in the hall. Closing the kitchen cabinets as gently as possible. Anything to avoid waking you. After the night you’d had- the fight, the long walk in freezing rain, the tears, the panic attacks- you needed all the sleep you could get. Knowing you, he figured you’d rise around ten. You always said that anything later was a waste of the day.

But morning came and went without an appearance from you. He listened at his bedroom door for any sign of life and found only silence. He leaned against the kitchen counter, eating the omelet he’d intended for you. It wasn’t going to be good cold, anyway.

He wondered what your year under Alex’s thumb had been like. Suffocating, he decided. Claustrophobic. Were you ever happy? In the last year, did you experience even one instance of genuine joy? Or were you miserable around the clock? Were you constantly aching, without anyone to turn to?

Bucky folded the blankets he’d used to turn the couch into a makeshift bed. When he offered you- implored you- to take his bed, he knew you’d refuse. He knew that you’d feel guilty, that you’d say it was too kind a gesture. But it wasn’t a gesture at all. He really wanted you to take it. You’d sleep better in his bed than on the couch. And he wanted you to feel comfortable. To feel safe.

He even changed the sheets, so you’d have a fresh set to curl up in.

But you still refused. How could you accept an offer like that? Bucky had already done enough for you for one night; and you didn’t deserve any of it. You told him, time and time again, that the couch was just fine. That you’d survive sleeping in the living room. That he didn’t have to give up his bed for you- but he did it, anyway.

Around 3am, you couldn’t refuse anymore. You waved a white flag; there was no fight left. On your shoulders rested the weight of Alex’s emotional abuse. And for the last year, you did your best to pretend it didn’t exist. To carry on. You put on a brave face and muscle through it, because complaining would only mean more pain. More punishment. More weight. But as you leaned against the door of Bucky’s bedroom, you couldn’t fight the heft anymore. It split your spine and crushed your lungs. Finally, it broke you.

You were too tired to argue with Bucky about who should sleep where. Too tired to put yourself back together. But Bucky was there to pick up the pieces.

He carried you to his bed and secured the blankets around you. And for a while, no one spoke. He simply sat on the edge of the bed, holding your hand. His thumb stroked your knuckles every once and a while. His free hands adjusted your blankets where he deemed necessary. It was the most peace- the most care- you’d experienced since the last time you saw him.

After a while, he figured he should leave you alone; he didn’t want to keep you awake any longer. And so, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, gave your hand a squeeze, and headed for the door. He told you to get some rest. To wake him if you needed anything- and he meant anything. And then he was gone.

You didn’t have it in you to call after him and beg him to stay with you. He’d done enough. So, you toughed it out. Alone.

Everything in you just wanted to slip into unconsciousness, to sleep for eight or twenty hours. And you should’ve. You should’ve fallen asleep no problem. After everything that happened that evening- everything that happened over the last year- you were empty. Drained. And your body and mind needed rest.

But sleep didn’t come.

With each closing of your eyes, you were haunted by fears of Alex’s wrath. Of his consequences and punishments. Of the venom in his voice when he spoke to Bucky about you. Of returning home to him.

The waking nightmare rooted itself in your mind- or maybe it was always there. Surely, you’d had these uneasy feelings about him before. But this was the first time you really let them sink in. The first time you’d given them any attention.

Over the past year, you’d simply swatted these kinds of thoughts away, treating them like a bothersome gnat. But deep down, you knew they weren’t there to bother you- they were there as a warning.

With sleep out of the question, you opted to stare at the ceiling. In the scant light that weaved through the blinds, you took stock of its appearance. It was old. Textured. Yellowed in places from water damage. Cracks veined their way across the expanse of the room, starting in one corner and ending in another. Part of you wondered how stable it was. Wondered if it the whole thing might fall in the middle of the night and crush you. You’d be okay with it if it did.

When staring at the ceiling grew boring, you turned on your side and observed the wall instead. It had scuff marks and indents. Chipping paint. But it was Bucky’s wall. And you were just lucky to be here- in his bed, staring at his bedroom wall. A long scrape across the paint rescued a long-banished memory from your most secretive vault. A vault Alex could never know about.

It was the day that Bucky tried to put in new blinds. He’d fallen from his rickety step ladder and braced himself against the nearest wall, marring the already chipping paint with his vibranium elbow. The two of you laughed at his clumsy attempt, at his claims to be a “handyman”.

The scene played out inside your mind and managed to bring a weak smile to the surface. But it wasn’t strong enough to keep the dread at bay.

After a while, the wall no longer held your attention. And the ceiling called your name once again.

On and on the staring-cycle went: ceiling, wall, ceiling wall. Of course, you could’ve gone to see Bucky in the living room. Or even called his name; surely, he would’ve come running. But who were you to wake him? Who were you to bother him in the middle of the night? He struggled enough with sleep as it was, and you’d kept him up late. Very late. He didn’t need you further hurting his chances for a restful night.

Eventually, the sun peeked through the blinds, and you rolled onto your back for your ceiling-staring shift. Throughout the night, you lamented your insomnia. Cursed the buzzing anxiety that kept you awake. But as you laid there, tracing the border of the room with your eyes, a change in perspective struck you. And suddenly, the crushing weight of exhaustion didn’t bother you anymore. Because you were in Bucky’s apartment, in Bucky’s bed. This was the one place you never thought you’d see again. The one place that Alex strictly forbade. The one place that felt like home.

And though you were so tired that you swore your organs would soon fail, you didn’t care. You’d choose a lifetime of sleepless nights in this bed over a restful eight hours in Alex’s any day.

Around noon, the sharp squeak of an old hinge woke you- and you realized that you must’ve actually fallen asleep. That your body must’ve finally given out. After blinking a few times and giving your eyes a moment to adjust, you discovered the source of the sound.

There stood Bucky, still as stone, watching you.

“Hey… sorry about the-” he pointed to the door. “The hinges are kinda old.”

“No, it’s…” you let loose a long yawn. “It’s okay.”

Bucky took a few tentative steps in your direction, as though testing the waters. Over the past year, you’d been emotionally gutted. The wounds Alex inflicted were still flayed open, bleeding. Throbbing. Bucky could practically see them spilling crimson all over the bed. Maybe you wanted him close by. Or maybe you wanted your space.

Either way, he still wanted to check on you. He took another slow step toward you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing, see if you need anything,” he said.

Of course, he did. Because that’s who Bucky was- that’s who he always was. Kind and caring and thoughtful. Even when you overstepped your bounds. Even when you overstayed your welcome. Even after you pulled the plug on your friendship. He was there for you.

You couldn’t fight the smile that stretched across your lips. “Oh, thanks- thank you. Yeah, I’m alright, I don’t need anything,” you shrugged. “You’ve done enough. What time is it?”

Bucky checked his phone, “noon.”

“Jesus Christ,” you ran a hand down the side of your face. Two hours. You’d gotten only two hours of sleep. And as you took a quick inventory of your body, you realized your estimate was probably a little generous. A dull ache pounded inside your skull. A heaviness sat on your shoulders. And a dense fog coated your mind. Every fiber of your being needed more rest. But now was not the time.

You’d already ruined Bucky’s Saturday night and stolen his bed, now you’d eaten up half of his Sunday. A jolt of alarm force you into an upright position. The room spun a little as a result.

“Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” you pushed Bucky’s bedspread from your body. “I didn’t actually fall asleep till about ten this morning, so I guess I was just-”

Bucky couldn’t stop the ache that pierced his chest. He knew all too well what it was like to spend the night tossing and turning. The need for sleep and the simultaneous fear of the nightmares that followed. The soul crushing exhaustion. He wished he would’ve known that you were struggling to sleep. And he kicked himself for not checking on you periodically throughout the night.

“Oh, sweetheart, I wish you would’ve come and got me,” he sighed. “I could’ve kept you company. We could’ve watched movies or talked or-”

It was sweet. It really was. But even the thought of waking him made you feel guilty.

“Nah, I didn’t wanna bother you. And I…” Your eyes took on a far away, hollow quality. “I had a lot to think about.”

A long silence followed.

A hurricane of emotions tore through you, drowning you in their downpour. The pain, the loneliness, the devastation, the anger, the self-hatred, the feeling of worthlessness. The last year showed you just how toxic, how isolating a relationship could be. And you grieved the life you could’ve had. The time you’d never get back. The people-the person- you lost.

But a sharp pain sunk its fangs into your soul, filling you with venomous questions. How dare you mourn? How dare you pity yourself? How could you let Alex manipulate you? How could you go along with his ultimatum? And how could you abandon Bucky? Did you ever care about Bucky at all? What kind of person puts their boyfriend before their best friend? Why did you show up at Bucky’s door? And why did you let him take care of you? Are you really that selfish?

Who do you think you are?

You gave your head a small shake, freeing yourself from the sharp, deadly thoughts. “Anyway, I’m gonna grab my clothes and get out of your hair.” A quiet groan escaped your lips and you pulled yourself from Bucky’s bed. “I don’t wanna take up your entire Sunday.”

Bucky held a hand up, stopping you. “Woah, what? But you only slept two hours.”

“I’m okay! Really,” you lied. “And I don’t want to impose any more than I already have.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. Oh, how you’d missed this look. It was the same look he used to give you every time you called yourself ‘an imposition.’ Every time you swore you’d worn out your welcome. Because he never, ever saw you that way. How anyone could see you as an imposition, as a bother, made no sense to him. But he knew of one person who thought of you like that.

“Don’t look at me like that, Barnes,” you gave a breathy, tired laugh.

“I want you to stay for as long as you like. Honestly. I’m just happy to have you around,” he said. “So, if you wanna go back to sleep for a while, go for it. You’re more than welcome here.”

The words were too kind, the sentiment too genuine. And somewhere, deep down, something inside you broke. To know that there was, indeed, still kindness in the world shattered your remaining resolve. The entire time Alex had you locked away in his tower, you wondered if anyone else’s life had drained of all warmth and color, too. If there were still beautiful things. Or if it was only you who existed in a monochromatic hellscape.

And as Bucky wrapped an arm around you and helped you sit down on the bed, you got your answer. There were still beautiful things- and he was the most beautiful of all.

The tears flowed freely over your newly destroyed emotional dam. And silent sobs robbed the oxygen from your chest. Hot tears dampened your cheeks, your neck, the collar of Bucky’s sweatshirt. Over the course of the year, you forbade yourself from crying like this. Every once and a while, you allowed a tear or two- but that was it. You knew that if you ever let these emotions free, forcing them back inside their cage would be impossible. But this was a true catharsis. True release. And Bucky helped you through the whole thing.

He rubbed your back, wiped your face, stroked your hair. He spoke soft, reassuring words. And he never tried to stop you. Not once did he tell you to calm down or to get yourself together. He simply let you feel what you needed to feel, what you prohibited yourself from feeling for the last twelve months.

And when you finally cried yourself out, he wrapped your limp body in a blanket and helped you lay down.

“Uh, I feel like you’re probably pretty dehydrated now,” he said as he got you situated. “So, I’m gonna go get you some water.”

It pulled the smallest, most fragile laugh from you. He was right. You’d depleted your body completely, and you could already feel the dehydration headache blossoming between your eyes. But you didn’t care. Bucky took a step toward the door, only to feel your limp hand hook into his. He knew you well enough to know what it meant: you didn’t want him to leave. And he returned the feeling. Now that you finally found your way back into his life, he didn’t want to spend a second away from you. But the top priority was your well-being.

“I’m gonna be right back, I promise,” Bucky knelt by the bed, meeting your eyeline. “It’ll only take a second.” He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, to your cheek, to your forehead, and then slipped out of the room.

He was gone only a few minutes- five at the most. But for you, it was too long. After spending a year without so much as speaking to Bucky, you were desperate to make up for lost time. Hungry to spend every moment with him. And even a five-minute absence was enough to make your heart ache.

“Okay, okay. I’m back. Sorry,” Bucky swept through the bedroom door, an apologetic look on his face. “I figured you should probably eat something.” He offered you a plate of toast and placed two bottles of water on the nightstand. “Toast was the quickest option, but if you want something else, I can just-”

But the way you dove into the food was all the answer he needed. He sat on the edge of the bed,

watching you wolf down the substitute breakfast, and wished he could’ve remade the omelet he prepared for you hours earlier. But you needed him. And he didn’t want you to wait.

It hadn’t even occurred to you that you were hungry. You’d swallowed so much grief, so much pain- you didn’t notice your empty stomach. But Alex made you miss dinner. Your exhaustion made you skip breakfast. And your meager lunch from the previous day disintegrated long ago.

But the smell of the toast brought your hunger into crisp focus. It gnawed on the inside of your abdomen and clawed up your throat. It echoed through the void. Sharp pains needled at your insides between waves of nausea. But the peanut butter toast quelled your discomfort.

“Thank you,” you took a long swig of water. “I needed that.”

“Anytime.”

“So, you… you don’t mind if I try to go back to sleep for a while?” Trepidation rendered your voice almost imperceptible. Had bucky not received the serum all those years ago, he wouldn’t have heard you at all.

He encircled your hand with one of his, “I don’t mind at all.”

“Are you sure?” you said, louder this time. “Cause if you have plans or things you need to do, I totally get it. I can just-”

Bucky pulled your body into his, quieting your rambling. “This is all I’m doing today.” He held you there for a long moment. His hand smoothed up and down your back. His breath fanned the skin on your neck. And when your anxious heartrate returned to its normal pace, he released you.

“What plans do you think I had for today, sweetheart? Do you know who you’re talking to here?” Bucky laughed. “I’m not exactly Mr. Social Life.”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe you were gonna to go a movie today. Or the farmer’s market, or something.”

“Nope. I don’t have any plans to speak of,” he said as he helped you get comfortable in his bed once again. “And I went to the farmer’s market last Sunday. So, I don’t need to go again.” He shot you a wink and brushed a kiss against your cheek. “You go back to sleep. I’ll be right outside if you need me. Okay?”

You nodded against the pillow that smelled like him and gave his hand one last squeeze. Everything in you screamed, begged, howled for him to stay. But you couldn’t ask. You couldn’t ask for another favor after all he’d done for you. Could you? No. It wasn’t right. He didn’t owe you shit. Everything he did to help you came simply from the endless well of goodness within him. And you were not about to ask for more. You couldn’t.

But you did.

“Buck?”

He stopped in his tracks just as he reached the door. “Yeah?”

“Would you…” you rolled your eyes at yourself. Your neediness. Your greed. “Would you stay with me for a while?”

And just like that, he crawled into bed. No hesitation. No question.

He sat next to you, his back resting against the headboard. “This alright?”

You nodded up at him. “Is it okay if I…” You lifted your head from his pillow and opted to rest it in his lap instead. And of course, he nodded in return.

Before things fell apart, before Alex’s ultimatum- this was a standard position for the two of you. When Bucky had a nightmare, or a panic attack, or a particularly bad flashback, he’d rest his head in your lap. When things got bad for him, it was the only way to remind him that he was real. That he was here. And that he wasn’t alone. Your fingers tangled gently in his hair. Your voice quietly called him away from the edge. And after a while, he’d return to himself.

It felt almost blasphemous to co-opt his practice. To rest your head in his lap this way- especially after the way you abandoned him. There were, without a doubt, many instances over the last year when he’d needed this, when he’d needed you. And you weren’t there. Just thinking about it sent a lightning strike through your chest. What did he do in those moments? How had his soul broken through the haze and rejoined his body? Did he sit in this very apartment, all alone, waiting for the pain and terror to ebb on their own?

These thoughts tried to pull your head from Bucky’s lap. This wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair; not to you, not to him. You couldn’t commit sacrilege in this way. Couldn’t desecrate something that was once so sacred. But just as you attempted to move away, Bucky’s gentle hand rested on your shoulder.

“You okay? Comfortable?” He smiled down at you, awaiting your response. And you couldn’t find it in you to pull away from someone so beautiful and warm and kind.

The rest of Sunday melted by without your participation. A dreamless sleep got its hooks in you and pulled you deeper, deeper, deeper. Bucky noticed you wake only a handful of times. And though he was sure you had to be hungry again when you woke in the evening, he didn’t push the issue. He let you sleep peacefully in his lap, with his hand smoothing gently over your hair. And when it was time for him to finally get some shut eye, he repositioned your head on his chest.

That night, he slept better than he had in a year.

In the morning, you woke to a cold, empty bed. And just as you wondered where Bucky could’ve gone, the smell of bacon answered your question. The aggressive hunger pangs poking at your stomach grew sharper as you took a deep inhale. Bacon, eggs, toast, coffee. Coffee. You scrambled out of bed and found Bucky in the kitchen, leaning over the stove.

“Morning!” He dragged his gaze away from the food to steal a look at you. Messy morning hair. Tired smile. Beautiful. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

But his words didn’t register right away. Your mind was too fixated on the stove full of food. And it dawned on you: this was the first time you’d ever seen him cook. Sure enough, a cutting board with the remnants of chopped tomatoes, green onions, and bell pepper sat next to the stove. And he was expertly presiding over bacon and two perfectly constructed omelets.

“Um, what? Oh, no, you didn’t wake me,” you said. “Buck, you’re… cooking? You have groceries?”

He nodded. “I cook now,” he said with pride. “And yeah, I have groceries. I go shopping now, too.”

It was something so small, so normal to everyone else. But to Bucky- to you- it was a big deal. A huge deal. You crossed to the fridge and gave the door a pull, only to find it fully stocked. The back of your throat tightened a bit, a warm rush of tears blurred your vision.

He’d always needed help with that kind of thing, with taking care of himself. When he was still trying to get acclimated to this world, to this time- he found himself in a hole. He’d fallen deep, deep down into a pit of depression and anxiety and existential dread. And menial tasks like grocery shopping were too daunting. Too overwhelming. So, you picked up the slack. You brought him groceries at least once a week, sometimes twice. You cooked for him a few days out of the week. And you did it with a smile. It wasn’t a hassle or a bother. It was something you did because you cared. Because you loved him. And if he needed help, you’d be the first to volunteer for the cause.

He always swore he could handle it, swore that you didn’t need to stock his pantry. But without you, he would’ve gone hungry. Would’ve withered away to nothing.

Over the course of the last year, you wondered how Bucky was getting his groceries. How he was getting his meals. If he was eating enough. Was he surviving on takeout? Or was he hungry? Picturing him alone in the apartment, his stomach and fridge empty, brought you to tears on more than one occasion.

“This is…” You cleared your throat and forbade your voice from shaking. “This is great, Buck. I was worried that you’d been living off take out this whole time.”

“Well, I would’ve been,” he laughed. “But I didn’t have to. Remember that list you made me?”

You wiped your eyes on the sleeve of Bucky’s sweatshirt and shut the fridge door. “What list?”

“A few weeks before Alex gave you his ultimatum, he got on you for being over here so much.” Bucky rolled his eyes at the memory. “Do you remember that?”

You grimaced and eventually nodded.

“And you told me what he said. You told me you might not get to spend as much time here. And you wanted me to be prepared. So you made me a list- a grocery list- just in case.” He turned to face you and pointed at a drawer next to the fridge, “look in there.”

Sure enough, inside the drawer, you found a list. It was pristine, save for one slightly folded corner and a small water stain. Scrawled in your handwriting on a piece of notebook paper was everything Bucky would need from the store. It detailed everything- produce, dry goods, frozen ingredients. Everything you always used to buy for him. Everything he liked.

“I still use it every time I go to shopping,” he said. “Even though I have it memorized by now.”

The list trembled like a leaf in your shaking hands. Maybe you hadn’t left Bucky completely destitute. Just knowing he’d had this life preserver to hold onto, knowing he’d been able to get himself groceries- to feed himself- because of you made your chest tighten.

“In all honesty, I had kind of a hard time over the last year,” Bucky admitted. He spoke with his back to you, keeping his focus on the food. He didn’t want to look you in the eye. “I missed you. I hated not having you around. But that list was… I don’t know. It made me feel like even though we weren’t friends anymore, you still cared. You know?”

Words didn’t come. And even if they did, you wouldn’t have been able to speak. The sobs you tried so hard to corral sat trapped in your throat, struggling to break free. You tucked the list carefully back in the drawer and leaned against the counter. Bucky deserved better. He’d already been through so much in his life. And yet, you’d given him yet another hard year. A year of heartache and loneliness. A year of emptiness. Of silent dinners. A year of self-soothing.

Bucky peeked over his shoulder and found you with your head in your hands. Your shoulders shook ever so slightly. A riptide of guilt instantly pulled him under.

“Oh, sweetheart, no-” he made his way to your side and wrapped you in a hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Your arms snaked up his chest and wrapped around his neck, pulling you closer to him. He had nothing to apologize for, nothing to feel guilty about. He’d simply told the truth: he had a hard year. And that was nothing to apologize for. Especially after what you’d done to him.

But there he was, apologizing. Consoling you when you didn’t deserve it.

“You deserved better, Buck,” you whispered against his neck. “You deserved better from me.”

Urgently, you recoiled from his embrace and met his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I never ever wanted to hurt you. It wasn’t fair to you. I-”

“Hey,” he took your face in his hands. “It’s all water under the bridge. Okay?”

He slipped his hand into yours before you could protest and pulled you toward the stove. “Come on, breakfast is ready.”

The two of you got comfortable on the couch with your plates; Bucky watched as you devoured your breakfast of bacon, toast, and the beautiful omelet he crafted. And he couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his lips. This was a total role reversal for the two of you. For once, he got to take care of you. He got to be your rock, your support system. He got to cook for you, feed you. And he meant what he said earlier. Everything that happened prior really was water under the bridge. He just wanted to be there for you. To make you feel comfortable and safe and cared for. To show you the love you deserved.

“Oh, hey, I don’t know if you need this,” Bucky grabbed your phone off the arm of the couch and placed it next to you. “It’s been sitting out here since Saturday night.”

After a few taps to the black screen, you got the confirmation you needed. “It’s dead,” you said.

“Okay, I have a charger in the kitchen. I can-”

“No, that’s okay. It’s probably for the best,” you shrugged. “I just know I’m gonna have like, four hundred texts and ninety mean voicemails from Alex.

Bucky grimaced. “Oh. Well, if you change your mind-”

“It’s probably a sign, right? Like, if I’m dreading turning on my phone because I don’t even want to see his messages…” You took a swig of your coffee, wishing it was something stronger. “It probably means that I shouldn’t be with him anymore. Right?”

Bucky wasn��t sure what to say. You were absolutely right; it was a sign. A sign that you needed to evacuate your relationship. But he didn’t want to weigh in and push you to make a decision. This needed to be something you decided on your own. And so, he simply listened and let you work it out yourself.

“I mean, just thinking about going back to the apartment makes me-” you gave strong shudder. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to live there.” The words came lightning fast, falling from your mouth before you could process or edit them. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to live with him- I don’t want to be around him. I don’t want to be with him. I don’t- I don’t want any of it.”

Bucky clocked the slight shaking in your hands, the tremor in your voice. He moved closer and enveloped you in his arms. “Okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do. Alright?” He pulled away only slightly, searching for your eyeline. “You don’t have to be with him. If you’re done, then you’re done. And that’s that. Alright?”

The weight of the world suddenly vanished from its longtime perch on your shoulders. The pressure sitting on your chest evaporated. And you breathed a deep sigh of relief. The logical side of you knew that you didn’t have to be with Alex anymore. That you could pull the rip cord and free yourself at any moment. But somehow, doing so felt impossible. This whole time, the relationship felt like a jail cell. Like you’d been trapped inside puzzle box from which you couldn’t escape. But the second Bucky said it out loud, the walls of your cell disintegrated. He solved the puzzle box and let you out.

“Yeah. Okay, yeah. Um…” The smile brought on by your newfound freedom lasted only a few seconds. “But I- I do have to go back. I have to go get my stuff. I mean, my clothes, my work stuff – it’s all there.”

“So I’ll go,” Bucky said. “I don’t mind. I’ll go over there right now and get everything.”

Of course, he would. Of course, he’d drop everything and go get your stuff. Whatever you wanted, whatever you needed- he’d do it. No questions asked.

“Buck, that’s really- that’s so sweet. You’re really sweet,” You leaned into him once again, basking in his warmth. “But I- I need to be there, you know? You don’t know where everything is. And I need to make sure nothing gets left behind.” Dread filled your chest and crept up the back of your throat. If you never saw the inside of that apartment again, it would be too soon.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t go with you,” Bucky shrugged. “Let me help. It’s gonna be way too much stuff for you to carry alone, anyway.” His expression darkened a few shades, his tone grew gravely serious. “And I don’t want you there by yourself, just in case Alex is home. I don’t think you should be alone with him.”

It was a morbid thought, but you knew Bucky was right. And no part of you wanted to be alone in the apartment. Not when the ghosts of your heartache freely roamed the halls. And if Alex was there, or if he came home early, you thought it best to have a friend. A witness.

After changing into your now dry clothes, you plugged your phone into Bucky’s charger and abandoned it on the couch. Surely, it was about to blow up with a barrage of texts and missed calls from Alex. And you weren’t going to be there when it did.

Together, you and Bucky boarded the subway and headed in the direction of the apartment you shared with Alex. Anxiety sparked in your chest and set you alight from the inside. A pit opened in your stomach. There was no getting around this; it was a necessary evil. But with Bucky by your side, it wasn’t so bad. The looming darkness parted each time you looked at him, each time he gave your hand a squeeze. He was going to get you through this if it was the last thing he ever did.

But heartrate jumped once you disembarked the train. And it skyrocketed as you and Bucky turned onto your street. Only a few blocks away sat your nightmare, your personal hell.

As the apartment building came into focus, your feet turned to cinderblocks.

“It’ Monday, so he’s definitely at work by now,” Bucky reassured you. “You don’t have to worry about seeing him. Okay?”

You nodded. But your feet didn’t move.

“It won’t take long. We’re gonna grab your stuff and get out as quickly as we can. And then you never have to come back.”

He was right. This was the last time you’d ever have to return to this godforsaken place- and Alex wasn’t even home. The unpleasant memories hanging in the air couldn’t hurt you. And you were more than entitled to retrieve your things. Alex took a lot from you, and you weren’t going to let him take any more.

The doorman greeted you with a friendly smile and a familiar “welcome home” as he opened the door for you and Bucky and waved you inside. The gilded lobby never brought you much comfort. It didn’t have a homey feel, it wasn’t warm or inviting. To you, it always seemed a little obnoxious. A little full of itself. It was fancier than you ever cared to be. Alex thought it gave him status. Stature. An air of importance. The whole thing made you gag.

“Jesus, I forgot how swanky this place is,” Bucky laughed as the two of you got into the elevator. “You sure you don’t wanna live here anymore?” He let out a dramatic huff as your shoulder gently nudged against his chest.

“I’m more than sure.”

Sweat beaded on your palms as you approached the front door of the apartment. All you had to do was go inside, grab your stuff, and get out. It wasn’t a large task. It wasn’t even going to be that difficult. But your stomach turned at the thought of passing through that door. And just as you teetered on the edge of a spiral, Bucky piped up, saving you.

He stood in front of your door and leaned against the frame. “So, how are we getting in, exactly? You don’t have your keys, and-” But he stopped when he saw you crouching near an air vent. “What are you doing?”

“I’m retrieving my back up plan.”

He watched as you loosened the screws holding the vent shut and reached your arm inside.

“A couple months ago, Alex and I got into a big fight. I know, shocking,” you rolled your eyes. “I came out here to cool off and have a moment to myself, and he locked me out for… hours. So, after that, ” You removed your arm from the vent and brandished a key in Bucky’s direction. “I taped this on the inside of the vent, just in case. I never had to use it until now.”

Bucky gave you quiet round of applause, “Brilliant.”

But it wasn’t brilliant. Because when you tried to slide the key into the lock, it refused to budge. You tried once, twice, three times. Nothing.

“He had the locks changed…” you muttered.

“What? Already? There’s no way…” Bucky tried the key- just to be sure- and met the same end.

The plan came crashing down around you. And your dream of never seeing Alex again shattered into tiny pieces.

“I’m gonna have to…” You ran a hand down the side of your face. Your breaths grew sharp and shallow. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “I’m gonna have to text him. I’m gonna have to ask him to let me in. And he’s gonna have to be here. And he’s gonna-”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky took your face in his hands, calming the panic rising in your chest. “Did you forget that I’m a supersoldier?’

“No. Buck, You can’t-”

“And why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to get in trouble,” You pulled him away from the door, worried he could break it down at any moment. “Because of your pardon. I don’t want you to risk it.”

Bucky scoffed. “It’s my pardon, doll, so, I’ll decide who I risk it for.”

He resumed his position in front of the door and wrapped his metal hand around the knob. With one last glance over his shoulder, he ensured the hallway was empty. And when he found the coast clear, he gave the handle a sharp twist and forced his weight against the door with his metal shoulder. The wood gave a loud groan, and the new lock gave out a sharp metallic whine. But it worked.

“Alright, let’s get inside, someone will have heard that.” Bucky ushered you inside and gave a cursory look down the hall- but found no one.

A sharp shiver crept up your spine. Goosebumps rose over your skin. The air inside seemed colder, more sinister than you remembered. But the clock was ticking, and you wanted to spend the shortest possible amount of time here. With a deep breath, you righted your mind and forced yourself to focus. When all was said and done and you successfully escaped with your things, you could fall apart. But not yet. Not now.

“Okay, I’m gonna go grab my work stuff first. Can you…” You took Bucky by the hand and lead him into the kitchen. Under the sink, you found a box of trash bags. You freed them from the cabinet and thrust them into Bucky’s hands. “Can you go into the bedroom and just start putting my clothes in these bags? My closet and dresser are on the far side of the room.”

Bucky nodded and headed off for his mission- only to stop in his tracks. He’d only been here once, and it was far too long ago for him to remember his way around. “Um, sweetheart?” he called.

“Down the hall, fourth door on your left!”

“God, this place is huge…” he said. His voice echoed down the hall and found you in the kitchen.

And he was right. As far as apartments go, Alex’s was massive. High ceilings, several spare rooms, a gigantic kitchen- it wasn’t anything like the shoebox apartments you’d lived in over the years. Alex insisted that you move into his cavernous home, and you obliged. But this space never felt like home to you. It was more like a museum- cold, quiet. And you always got in trouble for touching things.

In the living room, you searched for your work laptop. It always sat on the end table next to your side of the couch, but you didn’t find it there. It was unlike you to leave it anywhere else, but still, you weren’t perfect. Maybe you left it in the study, or the bedroom. Maybe it was-

Just then, something caught your attention. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the shiny silver surface of your laptop. It lay haphazardly next the armchair, still half open. A pit formed in your stomach. And though you knew in that moment that this was Alex’s doing, what you found still knocked the wind from your chest.

Several keys were missing. The screen was cracked beyond repair. And pressing the power button brought no life. The charger sat next to your computer, having been severed right in the middle. Alex was never the destructive type- or so you thought. He never punched walls or broke things out of anger. No, he expressed his wrath through biting words that pierced your skin and made you bleed. This was a new low for him.

Just as you’d begun to wrap your mind around the destruction, Bucky’s voice echoed from down the hall.

“Hey, doll. I think… um, you should come here.” The trepidation in his voice activated alarms inside your mind.

And though you did your best to steel yourself against what you might find in the bedroom, the reality was worse than you imagined.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Bucky draped an arm across your shoulders and pulled you into his side. “You don’t deserve this.”

Before you lay a sea of your belongings, scattered and strewn across the floor. Pages were torn from books and crumpled into balls. Large rips and tears frayed the fabric of your clothes. Feathers leaked from a hole in your pillow. Every single page of your journal had been shredded into the tiniest possible pieces. An overwhelming sense of grief punched you in the stomach. The small stuffed cat you’re your childhood had its head severed. The jewelry box your grandmother gave you in high school lay in pieces. It was all so disturbing, so demented. So purposefully and pointedly cruel.

You didn’t think it could possibly get any worse- until you decided to pop your head into the bathroom. All of your make up sat piled in the garbage. Broken bottles. Shattered compacts. Destroyed brushes. The rest of your beauty products- your skincare, your haircare, your perfume- rested on top of your make up. Every bottle had been opened and dumped out, creating a sticky, disgusting mess. There was no salvaging any of it, no saving even one item. And sprinkled on top of the entire muddied disaster was your anxiety medication- the medication you sought because of Alex’s reign of terror. He always mocked you for needing medicine, for struggling with your anxiety. Ironically, his torments made you up your dosage.

A sense of weakness crept up the back of your legs, and your knees began to buckle. If Bucky hadn’t reached you in time, you would’ve collapsed against the cold tile floor. But he saved you- again. He held you against his body as endless waves of pain washed over you. He told you time and time again that everything was replaceable, that these things were just things- and your safety was more important than any earthly possession. But his heart broke for you. These were still your belongings. They still mattered to you. And even though your life was more important, he recognized just how violating this was. How dehumanizing.

A special kind of rage smoldered in his chest. Alex didn’t deserve you- he never did. And you didn’t deserve to be treated with such callousness.

“We’re gonna get this taken care of. I promise,” Bucky whispered against your hair. “It’s all replaceable. And we can-��

A sudden bolt of concern hit you like a ton of bricks. You yanked your head from Bucky’s chest and met his eyes with your panic-blown pupils. And then you were gone.

Bucky watched as you sprinted toward your nightstand, tripping over your destroyed belongings in the process. You knelt in front of your nightstand and pulled it from the wall, searching desperately for something- but Bucky wasn’t sure what.

Relief flooded your face as you pulled a small manila envelope from behind your nightstand and held it to your chest. The two pieces of duct tape that had held it in place got stuck to your skin for just a moment, but you didn’t seem to care. Just to be sure, you opened the envelope and looked inside, breathing a deep sigh of relief upon learning that Alex didn’t touch whatever it was that you held so precious.

After that, the destruction didn’t seem to bother you as much.

The two of you stuffed all your belongings into trash bags, opting to go through them later at Bucky’s place. Surely, there was something to be saved. Something worth keeping. But determining that could take time, and you didn’t want to spend an extra second in this hellhole.

Ripped clothes, broken shoes, and cracked picture frames- among other things- filled three large bags. And when you cleared the room, a sense of peace wrapped you in a hug.

“Okay, what else?” Bucky asked expectantly. “Is there anything of yours in the kitchen, or the living room, or anything?”

You shook your head. “Nope, this is…” You eyed the trash bags. “This is it. This is all my stuff.”

Bucky cocked his head to the side and thought about the prized possessions from your old apartment. “Really? What about your stand mixer? Or your grandma’s quilt?”

Again, you shook your head. “All that kind of stuff is at my parents’ house. When I moved in here, Alex didn’t want me to bring any of my décor or my kitchen supplies- my stuff wasn’t fancy enough for him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Alex seemed to be the personification of a red flag. How someone could treat another human being so poorly baffled him. And how anyone could treat you this way was beyond his comprehension.

“Okay, well, at least we know that stuff is okay,” Bucky offered.

And he was right. When Alex first told you he didn’t want your “tacky” décor and “outdated” kitchen appliances in his home, it hurt. It made you feel small, less than. And from that day on you always felt that you needed to prove yourself to him, to show him that you were, in fact, good enough. But being good enough for him meant never curling up with the quilt your grandmother made you. Never making cookies using your mom’s hand-me-down mixer. Never feeling a sense of home.

Bucky double-checked the ties of the last trash bag, ensuring they were nice and tight. “Hey, what was all that about?” Bucky pointed to the manila envelope tucked under your arm. “Or is it a secret?’

“Technically, it’s not a secret, I guess- well, it’s not a secret from you. But it was a secret from Alex.” You freed the envelope from under your arm, “It’s not juicy or scandalous or anything, but it’s important to me. And-”

The sound of footsteps in the kitchen halted your words. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. A cold sweat appeared across the surface of your skin. And you feared the beautiful breakfast Bucky worked so hard to make you would make a reappearance.

“Hello? Hey, sweetheart…” Bucky waved a hand in front of your face. He’d been trying to get your attention for a few moments now to no avail. You were still as stone, completely frozen with fear. He placed his hands on your shoulders and gave you a soft shake. “Doll.”

“Buck…” Only your eyes moved. Finally, you met his gaze with your massive, terror-dilated pupils. “He’s here. I can’t- I can’t do this. I’m not-”

“Hey, hey- it’s okay.” His palms rested on your cheeks, “You’re fine. You’re okay. You don’t have to talk to him – you don’t even have to make eye contact with the guy, okay?” He waited, allowing your panic-struck brain to process his words. And finally, you granted him a small nod.

He swept his thumbs over your cheeks one final time before pulling his hands from your face. He lifted a garbage bag from the floor and handed it to you.

“Here, you take this. And I’ll-” He picked up the other bags and tucked one under each arm, “I’ll take these. And we’re out of here. Okay? We’re just gonna walk right out.”

With another nod, you agreed to his plan.

But walking past Alex without speaking, without making eye contact seemed easier said than done. After being with him for so long, you knew he wasn’t going to just let you breeze past him. He wasn’t going to let you go without a fight- not because he loved you, but because his pride wouldn’t allow it.

The anxiety made your head swim and left you weak in the knees. Your vision blurred; your chest tightened. You knew Alex was waiting for you, smug and impatient. You knew he was going to tear into you the second he laid eyes on you. But there was only one way out of the apartment. And if you could just make it out the door, you’d be free. And so, with Bucky gently encouraging you, the two of you headed for the exit.

Bucky went first, hoping to take the brunt of the verbal assault. Putting himself between you and Alex and providing you with a shield seemed like the best possible plan to Bucky. He wasn’t going to allow you to go first, not when Alex could so easily lunge at you or throw something in your direction. And after witnessing Alex’s destruction of your personal belongings, Bucky knew there was a chance that Alex would try something. That he might be violent.

Finally, the two of you made it to the kitchen. Bucky locked eyes with Alex first, eliciting a loud guffaw from your soon-to-be-ex’s lips.

“Wow. How’d I know you’d be with him?” Alex let out a sharp laugh as you entered the kitchen. “How’d I know?”

But you didn’t answer. You kept your eyes down, just as Bucky instructed, and allowed the sound of your best friend’s quiet reassurances guide you forward. Shuffling through the kitchen with a garbage bag full of your broken belongings, avoiding your tormentor’s eye contact- it all felt so pathetic. You’d never felt so low, so small.

“You look so surprised to see me, baby!” Alex teased. Your skin crawled. “Guess you didn’t realize that the neighbors like me better than you. And that they’d call me when the saw you break the lock.”

You refused to take the bait. Refused to let him get a reaction out of you. All he wanted was the satisfaction of upsetting you. The gratification of hurting you and twisting he knife. And you weren’t going to give it to him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Alex took only one step in your direction, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. “You’re not gonna- Hey! You look at me when I’m talking to you!” He dropped his teasing, taunting tone and adopted the sharp, volatile way of speaking he often used around you.

Instantly, your gaze snapped in Alex’s direction. Muscle memory did its best to protect you, to remind you that obeying was always yielded better results than the alternative. He locked eyes with you, fury burning behind his stare. He took another step toward you, prompting Bucky to block your body with his.

“You’re not gonna break into my house, steal a bunch of shit, and get off scot-free,” Alex scolded.

Bucky stepped closer to Alex, allowing you to make a path toward the front door. Seeing Bucky stand up to the man who’d made your life a living hell brought the smallest of smiles to your face. He really cared about you. Wanted to defend you. It was a new experience for you. On one occasion, a handsy, shitfaced man at a bar downtown felt you up as you waited for a drink. You looked to Alex for help, for defense, for something- but he didn’t care. He bought the offender a drink and apologized for your antics.

But anyone who hurt you hurt Bucky, too.

A debate sparked inside of you at the site of Bucky taking such a confrontational stance toward Alex. Half of you wanted Bucky to back off, to stay away from Alex, to protect his pardon. But the other half wanted nothing more than to watch Bucky tear Alex to shreds. To see Alex’s blood stain the brilliant marble floors.

Once you’d gotten out of Alex’s reach, Bucky turned his back on the man and headed in your direction. Freedom was so close- you could almost taste it. But just as you reached for the door, Alex said something that stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Okay, sure! Have fun with the psychotic murderer!”

Something inside you snapped.

Slowly, deliberately, you turned in his direction. The trash bag tucked under your arm fell to the floor, and all fear Alex previously elicited within you vanished. That anxiety, that panic vacated its spot, making room for a white-hot rage.

Bucky’s hand encircled your wrist, “Sweetheart, don’t. He’s not worth it.”

But it was too late. No one- especially not Alex- was allowed to speak about Bucky that way. No one was allowed to disparage the kindest person you’d ever met. Over the course of your painful relationship with Alex, you stood up for yourself once. Maybe twice. It never seemed like it was worth the effort or the fight, but Alex speaking about Bucky with such blind hatred ignited a fire within you. Bucky was worth the fight.

“First of all,” you said, “You don’t get to talk about him. You don’t know him- you’re not good enough to know him. He’s a better person that you could ever dream of being. Because Bucky actually has a soul. He actually knows how to care for people.”

Adrenaline rushed to your head. Speaking to Alex this way felt good- amazing, even. And without fear of consequences or retaliation, you let loose.

“And second, I didn’t break into your house if this is my house too- and you changed the locks!” You spat at him. His eyes widened a bit as your unexpected ferocity boiled over. “And this stuff-” you pointed to the garbage bags, “is mine! It’s my stuff that you broke because you had a fucking tantrum! I’m not stealing anything from you… you stole from me! You stole over a year of my life that I will never get back.”

You took a few more steps in Alex’s direction, much to Bucky’s dismay.

“You did everything you could to tear me down and fucking destroy my self-worth. You pulled me away from my family and my friends- and for what? Just so you could feel special? So, you could feel superior? Are you that insecure? Is your manhood that fragile?”

Alex’s bravado faltered every so slightly. His smug grin faded. His jaw tensed. But he did his best to recover. To seem aloof, bored. He rolled his eyes, “Well, I-”

“I’m speaking,” you hissed.

Alex quieted. Fear flickered in his eyes.

“You controlled every fucking aspect of my life!” you yelled. “You made me believe I wasn’t good enough- that you were the only one who would ever love me. And you gave me a goddamn ultimatum that almost ruined my friendship the person who loves me most- with the person I love most.”

Bucky couldn’t help the blush that warmed his cheeks.

“Most of the things you did to me can be fixed. I’ll rebuild my self-worth. I can fix my relationships with my friends. But the one thing I will never get back is the time that I could’ve spent with Bucky,” your voice wavered ever so slightly, but the wrath burning inside you immediately fortified it again. “And for that, I wish you nothing but pain and suffering.”

Satisfied, you turned on your heel and headed for the door. But Alex wasn’t done.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy cause I didn’t want you spending all your time with another man?” Alex scoffed. ”You were always sleeping over at his house- in his fucking bed. When you weren’t talking to him, you were talking about him. You always put him first- you’re IN LOVE with the guy!”

Neither you nor Bucky spoke. And you didn’t dare look at him. An intense warmth rushed into your cheeks. Your heart raced. And though you wanted to throw a rebuttal in Alex’s face, no words came. You hated to admit it, but he was right.

You were, of course, in love with Bucky. You always had been- it wasn’t even a question. How anyone met him and didn’t fall in love with him was a mystery to you. He was so sweet, so thoughtful, so endlessly and overwhelmingly kind. He made you laugh harder than anyone you’d ever known. Loving him came instantly. Naturally.

Bucky’s mouth ran dry at Alex’s accusation. And his heart stopped when you didn’t refute it. Never before had he ever rooted for Alex, of all people, to be right. But there’s a first time for everything.

“But, yeah,” Alex continued, “I’m the bad guy cause I didn’t want my girlfriend whoring herself out to some other guy…”

A past version of you would’ve teared up at a comment like that. Alex’s words would’ve broken your heart and left you bleeding all over the place. But this new you- the version that Bucky helped coax into the world- didn’t care. Alex didn’t have power of you, not anymore.

With a chuckle, you turned your back on Alex and strutted toward the door. He hollered insults at you- calling you a slut, a whore, a good-for-nothing bitch. But the words rolled off of you like water off a duck’s back.

“Good luck with her, man!” Alex called after Bucky, “You can have her! Please, take her off my hands! She’s all yours.”

Bucky followed you into the hallway, beaming with pride. He’d wanted to speak up, to tell Alex off, to tear him apart for speaking badly of you. But this was your fight, not his. And he knew you didn’t need anyone defending your honor. Didn’t need him stealing your moment. After everything Alex did to you, you deserved to scream at him. To get everything off your chest. To give Alex a small taste of his own medicine. Bucky was only there for moral support. For protection.

He placed your things gently on the floor and wrapped you in a bear hug. This was the version of you he’d known so well all those months ago. Before Alex stripped you of your confidence and whittled you down to nothing.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered against your neck. “That’s my girl.”

“Thank you…” You breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. Finally, it was over. But it still felt too early to celebrate, to revel in the victory. You were still in the hallway outside the apartment. Still in the building. Still, technically, in Alex’s clutches. “Let’s get out of here.”

“One sec. I forgot something.” Bucky turned for the door, but you caught his arm.

“Don’t,” you pled. “Just don’t. I know what you’re thinking, and he’s not worth it.” You just knew Alex would take such unbridled joy in Bucky physically attacking him. Knew he’d love nothing more than to have Bucky arrested and charged with assault. The thought made you nauseous. “He’s not worth your pardon.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt nim,” he promised. “I just wanna talk to the guy.”

For a long moment, you searched his face for any sign that he was lying. The twitch of a brow. The hint of a smile. But you came up empty. And so, you released him.

“Wait for me downstairs, okay?” He brushed a kiss against your cheek and disappeared inside the apartment once again.

Bucky found Alex leaning against the counter, whiskey in hand. He barely looked up at the sound of Bucky’s boots, but Bucky clocked the eye roll Alex threw his way.

“Let me guess, you’re back to teach me a lesson?” Alex mocked. “Oh, I’m so scared of the depressed, PTSD- riddled, lame-ass version of the Winter Soldier.” He feigned a fearful expression and made himself laugh before taking a swig of his drink. “What are you gonna do, therapize me to death?”

But Bucky maintained a calm aura- almost too calm. His hands didn’t shake with fury. His heartrate didn’t spike. He kept his breathing even. He approached Alex with a thin, tense smile, and even maintained the expression as his metal hand wound around the man’s throat. Before Alex knew what hit him, his body was pressed against the nearest wall. His feet dangled a few inches above the floor as he fought for his freedom, but it was useless.

Bucky’s tone was composed, measured, even. It sent a chill down Alex’s spine.

“You know how much pain you inflicted on her,” Bucky said. “But you didn’t actually experience it yourself. You didn’t feelit. And as much as I would love to give you a first-hand recreation…” His grip tightened ever so slightly. “I promised her I wouldn’t hurt you. So, I’m just gonna tell you what will happen if you ever bother her again. You listening?”

Alex struggled to nod. A breathy “yes” was all he could manage.

“Good.”

Bucky’s voice grew lower, sharper, vicious. “I’ll break every single one of your ribs. One at a time. I’ll crush your chest so painfully slowly that you will feel the shards of your bones pierce your heart and lungs. And I’ll watch with a smile as you drown in your own blood,” Bucky said. “You will never speak to her or about her ever again- you won’t even think about her. And if you so much as mention her name- if you say anything less than gracious about her in your little douchey finance bro group text, I will make your life a living hell.” He paused a moment, relishing in Alex’s terrified expression. “You keeping up so far?”

Again, Alex struggled to speak. The lack of air and sudden influx of fear left him almost unable to think. But he managed a quiet “yes.”

��Excellent,” Bucky smiled. “You won’t call her. You won’t text her. You won’t harass her. You won’t stalk her social media or drunkenly call her at two in the morning. You’re going to leave her alone- forever. And if you ever- ever- contact her again, I’ll know. And I’ll be here. I’ve broken that door down once, I’ll be happy to do it again.”

With that, he released his grip on Alex’s neck and sent him crashing to the floor. Watching the man who hurt you sputter and struggle for breath filled Bucky with a sick, twisted kind of joy. Finally, it was Alex who was scared. Alex who was uncomfortable. Alex who felt pain.

“The only contact you’re going to have with her,” Bucky continued, “is the Venmo payment you’re gonna send her for all of the things of hers you destroyed. Her clothes, her make up, her jewelry- all of it. And it’s going to be a very generousamount to make up for all of the sentimental stuff you destroyed, since you know damn well that she won’t be able to replace any of it.” He knelt next to Alex, getting extra close to the terrified man shaking on the floor. “And I know you’ve got the money. So, if it’s not enough, I’ll be back.”

He flashed a winning smile Alex’s way, “Have a nice day.”

Finally, he stood and stalked for the door, a satisfied smile stretching across his face.

The minutes dragged by without Bucky. You sat perched on one of the sofas in the apartment lobby, waiting for him to meet you. Every time the elevator doors opened, you hoped to see his tall frame and your other two bags of stuff. And every time, you were disappointed. It was nice of him to put his pardon on the line for you, to risk his freedom in order to get you the justice you deserved. But it was the last thing you wanted. After spending so much time away from him, your greatest desire was to simply be with him. To spend every minute with him. And you couldn’t do that if he landed himself in prison on assault charges.

When he finally made his way to the lobby, you scanned him for any signs of a struggle. But his clothes weren’t out of place. And you didn’t find blood crusted over his knuckles. Nothing was amiss. He had the two remaining bags of your belongings tucked under his arms, and a calm, cool demeanor. But even though he didn’t seem riled up, you eyed him with suspicion. Surely, he hadn’t spent all that time upstairs just talking to Alex.

“Hey, I’m gonna call us an Uber,” Bucky said as he met you at the couch. “That way we don’t have to bring all of your stuff of the train. Are you-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “What did you do?”

Bucky shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to talk to him-”

“Buck…”

“What?” He shot you a mischievous grin. “I just wanted to give him a piece of my mind. He’s still alive, still breathing, and all of his blood is inside of his body where it belongs.” A sudden seriousness eclipsed his expression. He dropped the playful attitude, placed your things on the couch, and pulled out his phone. “Anyway,” he tapped away at his phone, calling the two of you a ride. “Let’s get you the hell out of here. Sound good?”

He got his answer in the form of a long, nearly asphyxiating hug. The sheer force of your body launching into his knocked the wind from his lungs and sent him reeling backward. A deep laugh bellowed from his chest as he righted his footing and wrapped his arms around you.

“Thank you so much…” you whispered against his neck. “For everything.”

Bucky’s lighthearted laughter vanished. “Of course, sweetheart.” He doubled down on the hug, pulling you tighter. “You know I always have your back.”

He refused to break the hug. Instead, he allowed you to rest there in his arms, with your face buried in the crook of his neck. Passersby threw strange looks your way, but Bucky paid them no mind. Only when his phone chimed, signaling the arrival of your car, did you finally force yourself to withdraw from his embrace.

The ride back to Bucky’s was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of your garbage bags. And though you didn’t say a word over the course of the drive, you didn’t dare let go of Bucky’s hand. Your fingers remained so tightly intertwined with his that your knuckles ached- but you held firm. You knew better than to release your grip on a life preserver.

“Alright, um, is there someplace you want me to set all this stuff?” you asked once you’d returned to Bucky’s. You eyed your overstuffed trash bags sitting in the middle of the living room floor. “I don’t want them to be in the way.”

Bucky just shrugged; he really didn’t seem to mind that your belongings completely encroached on his space. “I’m not worried about it, doll,” he shot you a reassuring smile, “You put ‘em wherever you like.”

But you couldn’t let your things take up the entirety of Bucky’s living room. After everything he’d done for you, you refused to be a less than perfect houseguest. With the toe of your shoe, you pushed the bags into a corner to keep them out of Bucky’s way. You sunk your weight into the large, overstuffed bags, hoping to make them as small as you possibly could. It was the very least you could do.

“Alright, I’m-” You grabbed your phone off the charger and cleared Alex’s old notifications from the screen with a roll of your eyes. “I’m gonna go call my boss and let her know that a petulant man-child destroyed my work laptop.”

Bucky loved hearing you talk this way. Only a few hours ago, speaking about Alex made you shudder. It turned into a shaking, fragile shell of yourself that Bucky almost didn’t recognize. But you’d stood up to him. You finally fought back. And now, you were casually shit-talking him in Bucky’s living room.

“And then I’m gonna start looking for a new place to live so I can get out of your hair as soon as possible,” you said as you scrolled through your contacts in search of your boss’s number. “I’m gonna borrow your room for a minute so I can talk with my boss. I’ll be right back.”

The stress of your current situation poked at the back of your mind. You did your best to shut it out and keep moving forward, but pangs of anxiety shocked you every few moments. Yes, you’d freed yourself from Alex’s shackles. And yes, you finally had Bucky back. But your work computer was a goner. You’d missed two meetings today already. And you were now without a place to live.

Bucky listened to your footsteps growing further and further down the hall as your words buzzed inside his brain. You were going to look for a new place to live. You were going to leave. He didn’t mean to blurt it out, didn’t mean to make his offer in such a strange fashion- but he couldn’t help it.

“You could always live here,” he called after you. And it was too late to force the words back into his mouth.

Once again, you joined him in the kitchen, a look of bewilderment on your face. “What?”

A nervous smile stretched across Bucky’s face. “I just mean, you’re more than welcome to live here. With me,” he shrugged. “I know this place isn’t nearly as nice as Alex’s, and it’s only a one bedroom- but if you wanted to live here, we could make it work. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

The absurdity of Bucky’s words made you shake your head. “Buck, I’m not gonna make you sleep on the couch in your own home-”

“It’s really okay,” he insisted. “We both know I don’t sleep much, anyway. And if you moved in here, I’d want you to take the bedroom.”

His kindness gave you whiplash. After being with someone so callous, so cruel for so long, Bucky’s warmth was shocking. Unexpected. And though you wanted nothing more than to make a home with him, you couldn’t accept his offer.

“I can’t do that to you…”

“Yes, you can. I want you to.” Bucky was resolute in his words. His voice didn’t waver, he didn’t break eye contact. He meant what he said.

A long silence filled the room. Of course, you wanted to say yes. You wanted to move in with him and start the next chapter of your life with your best friend by your side. But just as your ‘yes’ tried to slip out of your mouth, you stopped it. You couldn’t accept his offer. At least, not with the proposed conditions.

“Counteroffer,” you said. “I move in here, and we share the bedroom.”

Your proposal threw Bucky for a loop- but he’d do anything you wanted. All you had to do was ask.

“Okay, yeah,” he conceded. “The room’s kinda small but we could fit two small beds in there. It might be a little cramped, but-”

“That’s not what I meant,” you laughed. “We would share the bed. I mean, we’ve slept in that bed together more times than I could count. This wouldn’t be any different.”

Bucky’s heart soared. Not only did he have his best friend back- but you wanted to share a bed like the old days. The good days. It was all he could’ve hoped for.

“And, that way, I’ll be right there in case you have a nightmare or a panic attack,” you said, satisfied. “I can wake you up and make sure you’re alright.” The smile on your face was warm, genuine. You looked forward to helping Bucky, to comforting him. “It’s a win-win in my book.”

It made Bucky melt. He extended a hand in your direction, “Works for me, doll. Deal?”

You extended your hand and almost met his- but an anxious thought made you recoil.

“And you’re sure that you’re okay with me being here all the time? You’re not gonna get tired of me?”

Alex always made you feel like a bother. He’d asked- practically begged- you to move into his apartment. But once you finally fulfilled his request, he looked at your presence with contempt. He made it known that he was frustrated, that he felt like you were always around. And regardless of your newfound freedom, that wound hadn’t healed.

“Cause I work from home, you know. So, I’m gonna be here a lot,” you told him. “I mean, pretty much all day, every day. And if that’s too much, I-”

“I want you to be here- all the time,” Bucky promised.

And he meant it.

Finally, your hand found his and delivered a firm shake. “Deal.”

With your housing arrangements taken care of, you once again headed down the hall to call your boss. Everything felt lighter, easier, less overwhelming. Only moments ago, you didn’t know where you’d be sleeping a few days from now. But Bucky swept in- again- and saved the day. He offered you the homelife you’d dreamt of every night since meeting him. He made your dream a reality.

Bucky remained in the kitchen, silently processing what just happened. Did he really ask you to move in? And did you actually say yes? His heart pounded in his chest. This was the best possible outcome. The fantasy he’d envisioned for years. To have you so close by, to see you every day, to live under the same roof as you- it was all he’d ever wanted. His eyes drifted to the garbage bags that you shoved into a corner of his living room. When he said that he didn’t mind you putting them there, he meant it. He was just happy- elated, really- to have your things in his home. To know that this was their permanent residence. To know that this was your permanent residence.

And though everything in those bags was mostly destroyed, you were okay. You were safe and comfortable. You were home now.

When you finally finished your call, you found Bucky in the kitchen. He stood over a swath of sandwich ingredients, assembling a much-needed meal for the two of you.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said. “You in the mood for lunch?”

“I’m starving,” you told him. Truthfully, you hadn’t even realized you were hungry. The stress of the day muted your body’s hunger signals completely. But somehow, Bucky knew. He always knew what you needed.

The two of you sat on the living room floor, going through your possessions and eating your sandwiches. Bucky helped you comb through each bag of stuff as you determined what, if anything, could be salvaged. His heart broke as the ‘trash’ pile grew, and grew, and grew. It severely outweighed the ‘save’ pile- and you’d only been through one bag. Alex reduced your belongings by at least seventy percent. But you didn’t seem to mind much.

As you were made well aware, there were worse things in life than torn clothes and destroyed make-up. A volatile, loveless relationship, a partner who hated you, a year without the person you loved most; your broken laptop paled in comparison.

Only one possession really mattered to you- and it survived the rampage. But as you glanced over at the kitchen counter in search of your manila envelope, your heart stopped. Every function within your body came to a screeching halt. It was nowhere to be seen.

Did you drop it in the apartment lobby? Forget it in the Uber? Was your most beloved personal item sitting on the sidewalk outside Alex’s building?

Bucky clocked the anxiety in your expression, the way your eyes searched every inch of the kitchen. He could always sense even the smallest of changes in your demeanor- sometimes before you sensed them yourself.

“Hey, is everything alright?”

“I’m just looking for my-” A sigh of relief left your chest as your gaze landed on your envelope. It was tucked under a worn cookbook, with only one of its manila corners poking out. “Never mind, I found it.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and scanned the kitchen until he realized what had you so panicked. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t want to get anything on it while I was making us lunch,” Bucky said. “So, I just put it under my cookbook to be safe. Is that okay?”

With a breathless nod, you assured him it was just fine. But your heart still boomed inside your chest, and the sweat on your palms still left your skin slick.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the deal with that envelope?” Bucky asked, testing the waters. “If it’s none of my business, I completely understand. But I could’ve sworn you were about to tell me back at the apartment.”

“And someone just had to interrupt us,” you said, your voice dripping with disdain. “It’s not too personal, I just had to hide it from Alex. I want you to see, though.”

Bucky was right about one thing. You’d tried to show him the contents of the envelope back at Alex’s. But he had the rest wrong; it was his business just as much as it was yours. He just had no idea how personal the contents of that envelope were to him.

You ditched the pile of damaged clothes sitting in your lap and stood, offering your hand to Bucky. “Come on, let me show you.”

Bucky gladly accepted your hand and laced his fingers with yours on the walk to the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what to expect from your special, secret envelope. But he didn’t care. Whether it was a child’s messy crayon drawing or the nuclear codes- it didn’t matter. All that mattered to him was that the contents of this envelope were important to you. And if they were important to you, they were important to him.

“Okay, so, a little backstory…” You slid the envelope out from underneath the book and held it to your chest. “After Alex told me to stop spending so much time with you but before he issued the ultimatum, we got into this big fight,” you rolled your eyes, “I know that comes as a surprise to no one.”

Bucky chuckled at your joke, but the words made his chest ache. To him, your time with Alex sounded more like active combat than love. More like a battlefield than a relationship.

“And during that fight,” you continued, “he told me I had way too many pictures of me and you on my phone. He thought that at least three-quarters of my phone’s storage was just pictures of us, and he said it was disrespectful to my relationship with him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “of course, he did.”

“So, he told me I needed to go through my camera roll and delete every picture of you and me. He said it needed to be done by the time he got home from work the next day, and they actually had to be gone for real. Not saved to the cloud. Not hidden in a private album. Deleted forever.”

Bucky grimaced, “That’s fucking vile.”

It made Bucky sick to his stomach. He cherished his photos of the two of you. Over the course of the last year, he found himself scrolling through those pictures every day. Several times a day. It was a coping mechanism, a respite from the void you left behind. When his chest ached with the pain of missing you, he’d dive headfirst into the hundreds of photos of the two of you. The selfies from the zoo. The pictures from Sam’s wedding. The blurry snapshot of you braiding his long hair. And for a while, he felt like himself again. The pain would ebb, the soul-crushing grief would let up. It was his saving grace.

If he suddenly had to rid his phone of those images, he’d never know peace again.

“I know. I thought so, too,” a disgusted look pulled at your features. “But I didn’t wanna cause any more problems between he and I, you know? I didn’t want to give him more reasons to be pissed at me…”

Bucky nodded.

“But there was no way I was ever going to delete our pictures,” you swore. “So, when he was at work the next day, I transferred every photo and video of you and me onto an external hard drive and took it to my sister’s place for safekeeping.”

Bucky’s heart swelled. You didn’t delete the pictures- you couldn’t. They were just as important to you as they were to him. He, of course, never doubted that you valued his friendship. But knowing that you couldn’t bear to part with the pictures of the two of you made him blush. He almost wished you hadn’t risked Alex’s wrath just to save those pictures. Hadn’t put yourself in such a dangerous position. But you did. And it filled him with an all-encompassing warmth.

“There was one picture- my favorite picture in the world- that didn’t have a digital copy, though. It only exists as an actual, physical print. So, I couldn’t just put it on the hard drive and call it a day. And I didn’t have it in me to hand it over to my sister. I just- I love it too much.” It was a little embarrassing to admit just how much you needed this polaroid picture. But Bucky didn’t make a judgmental comment or laugh at you. He simply listened, happily awaiting the next part of your story.

“So, I put it in this envelope and taped it to the back of my nightstand so Alex would never find it. And when things with him were really awful- which was all the time- and I just needed an escape… I’d go into our room, lock the door, and just stare at this picture for a while.” You blinked away the tears forming along your lash line and swallowed the lump in your throat.

Carefully, you opened the envelope and freed the polaroid from its hiding place. Revealing it to another person almost felt like stripping naked. This picture was your everything, your most prized possession. Sharing it felt like exposing the deepest, most secretive part of your soul.

“It might sound kinda stupid, but this thing saved my life during the last year.”

And finally, you presented Bucky with the photo. He took in a small gasp at the sight of this relic of your friendship. Cautiously, he accepted the polaroid and held it with the utmost care. He hadn’t seen this photo in ages; part of him assumed it was long-lost by now. But you’d had it this whole time, cherishing it every single day.

“Oh, I love this one…” He carefully drank in each detail of the photo, examining it one piece at a time.

It was a snapshot of a perfect moment, frozen in time. Confetti littered the floor, empty solo cups laid abandoned on the coffee table. And there you stood next to Bucky, with one of his arms wrapped lovingly around your shoulders. You were laughing at something; Bucky couldn’t remember what. But he remembered the feeling it gave him- the feeling of warmth. The feeling of home. His lips were pulled into a wide smile as he beamed down at you, drowning in adoration. Sure, it was slightly out of focus and tad bit blurry. But it perfectly illustrated the way you and Bucky felt about each other. The way you cared for each other. Cherished each other.

Bucky traced the corners of the photo with his fingers, “I never knew where this thing ended up. I’m so glad you kept it.”

“Yeah…” A hurricane of memories hit you all at once, reminding you of all the times you sought solace in that photo. It gave you the comfort Alex withheld. The strength to carry on. The hope that, one day, you’d see Bucky again. “Me too. I just hate that I had to hide it, you know?”

“Hey, how about we do this…” Bucky took your hand in his and walked you over to the fridge. He freed his hand for a moment, only long enough secure the photo to his fridge with a magnet. His hand found yours once again, and the two of you admired your polaroid’s new home.

“I can go get you a frame for it tomorrow, that way you can display it properly. And you can see it every day. But I thought this would be good for now,” he said. “You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

And for a long while, the two of you just stood there in front of the fridge. No one spoke- no one needed to. Bucky freed his hand from yours and opted instead to wrap his arm around your shoulders, just as he’d done in the photo.

The weight of this moment would’ve shocked a stranger. To anyone else, a blurry photo on a fridge wouldn’t require this much admiration. This much reverence. But to you, this was everything. Six months ago- even a week ago- you never would’ve thought this was possible. You never would’ve thought you’d be here, in Bucky’s apartment, with your favorite photo proudly displayed for all to see. A familiar stinging sensation warned you of the oncoming tears, but you didn’t make an effort to stop them.

If a genie offered you one wish, you’d wish to go back in time. You’d want to warn your past-self of the slippery slope of Alex’s manipulation. Of the pain and suffering and heartache he caused. Of the way you lost out on a year with your most cherished friend. But with no genie in sight, you opted to simply live better. Love better. And be honest with people- with Bucky.

“Hey, by the way,” you broke the silence. “I wanted to talk to you about something Alex said to me earlier…” It was a miracle the words even came; you were too nervous to even breath. “I just think I should set the record straight and-”

Bucky held up a hand, silencing you. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to say anything,” Bucky assured you. “I know he’s just an insecure guy who was feeling threatened, or whatever. I’m not gonna hold you to anything he said.”

You took a step back, freeing yourself from Bucky’s embrace. You needed the space, the distance. If you were going to be honest with him, you needed a clear head. And being so close to him was enough to make you drunk.

“That’s not what I was gonna say.” You paced back and forth a little before almost shouting, “I was gonna say that he was right- I am in love with you. And I have been for a long time.”

A loaded silence sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. No one spoke, no one even moved.

Bucky felt his skin burst into flames. He feared his heart might explode. For so long, the only feeling he’d known was sorrow. Grief. Missing you became his constant state of being. But now, here you were. And you were saying things- things he’d always wanted to hear. Part of him wondered if this was some kind of very long, very detailed dream. But no, this was real. You were right there in from of him, baring your soul and confessing your love.

“That’s…” he took a deep breath, “that’s not at all what I expected you to say.”

The seconds crept by until they became a minute. Two minutes. Three. But Bucky didn’t say anything else. He let his simple response hang in the air without elaboration. And just like that, your hope imploded. Four minutes of quiet past. And just when the fifth grew close, Bucky finally spoke.

“I bet you don’t know the backstory of that picture.”

A quizzical look pulled at your features. Frustrated hardened your voice. “Buck, I just told you that I’m in love with you, this is not the time to talk about backstory.”

Bucky just shook his head, “come on, humor me, doll.” He shrugged, waiting for you to tell him the story.

“Okay, I mean, I was literally there, so I do know the back story,” you huffed. “It was after Sam’s birthday party. Everyone else had left except for us, Sam, and Nat. We were all goofing around at like, three in the morning or something. And Nat took the picture.” You gave him an expectant look, “there you go. Backstory.”

Bucky made a dissatisfied sound but couldn’t fight the shit-eating grin creeping through his serious exterior. “Hmm, not Quite.”

“What? That is the story, what are you-”

“Technically, yes, that is the story,” the conceded. “But it’s not the full story.”

An irritated sigh left your chest, “okay, fine. What’s the ‘full story’?” You’d never been this frustrated with Bucky before. Never felt this much annoyance toward him; you didn’t like it. He was being difficult on purpose, and clearly enjoying it.

“Well, it was after Sam’s birthday party. And it was only the four of us there, like you said. But…” he began, “After Nat took the picture, she dragged you into the kitchen so you two could take shots. And once you were out of earshot, Sam kinda shoved my shoulder.”

“Okay…”

“And he said I just needed to marry you already.”

Your heart stopped. “I told him- I swore we were just friends,” Bucky laughed at the preposterous lie. “I told him things with us were strictly platonic. And Sam laughed in my face. He said- and this is a direct quote- ‘platonic my ass. You’re in love with her. If you two aren’t together one year from now, I’ll give you five hundred bucks.’”

He paused, trapping you in suspense.

“And he was right,” Bucky said. “I was in love you- I am in love with you. I always have been.”

Thousands of thoughts crowded your already overwhelmed mind. Words refuse to string themselves together properly. Thoughts collided with each other and turned into messy, jumbled piles. Somewhere within you, a sense of urgency erupted. Something told you to act- act right now. Don’t give Bucky the time to take it back. Don’t give him the opportunity to say, “never mind”.

But what were you supposed to say to that? It wasn’t what you’d expected- you hadn’t even let yourself hope for something like this. And now that your ideal scenario was playing out of front of you, you were completely and utterly unprepared.

A few clunky sounds fell out of your mouth; they didn’t even resemble an actual word. You thought it was maybe a combination of “wow” and “cool”- mixed with a healthy dose of unintelligible mumbling. It wasn’t like the smooth, well-crafted delivery that Bucky displayed. Your cheeks burned with humiliation as Bucky stared at you, awaiting your response.

Everything in you wished you were cooler. Smoother. Less embarrassing. On rare occasions, you let yourself imagine what this moment might be like. And in your head, you always handled it with poise. With grace. In your daydreams, there wasn’t any awkward mumbling or charged silence. Instead, you and Bucky would fall together seamlessly after confessing your love in perfect, poetic sonnets.

This was not that.

But this was better. Because it was real. Because the Bucky Barnes was standing in front of you, telling you that he loved you.

Finally, you found your words.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear.”

Bucky’s chest deflated with a deep sigh of relief. Because even though you’d professed your love for him only moments ago, your long silence forced his anxiety into overdrive. What if you were just making a weird joke? What if he’d taken it too seriously?

But the way you wrapped your body around his confirmed that, yes, you did mean it. You did love him.

“And hey,” Bucky wriggled free of your arms and took your face in his hands. He needed to make direct eye contact, needed you to know he was serious. “I know what you- I know some of what you went through over the last year. I know you have a lot to process. So, there’s no rush.”

And while it was sweet and thoughtful and kind of Bucky to say such a thing, you weren’t sure if it was true. Because there was a rush, wasn’t there? There was a time limit. A ticking clock. You couldn’t make him table his feelings for you even longer. Couldn’t make him wait. And if you did tell him to press pause, weren’t his feelings going to expire? Weren’t they going to run out? You needed to capitalize on his affections for you now before it was too late.

But before you could lie through your teeth and tell Bucky you didn’t need to wait, he spoke.

“If you ever want to pursue things with me, I’ll be here,” he promised. “My feelings for you aren’t going anywhere. I’ve waited years for this, I can wait as long as you need.”

But that was just it. He’d waited years- making him wait any longer would be cruel, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it be unfair, especially now that he’d rescued you from your volatile relationship?

It wasn’t that you wanted to delay a romantic relationship with Bucky. No, you wanted it now. The only issue was the heavy toll your ex took on you. You were littered with emotional wounds that were barely beginning to heal. Your anxiety was at an all-time high. And your trust issues reared their ugly heads. This wasn’t the version of you that Bucky deserved. He didn’t deserve the broken-down, mentally unwell shell of a woman that stood before him. And you owed it to yourself to rebuild.

The long silence brought on by your introspection set Bucky on edge. Maybe he really did misread the situation. Maybe you loved him but didn’t want to actually be with him. Maybe he overstepped.

“And if you never want to pursue anything romantic with me, I’ll understand,” he said. “There won’t be any hard feelings. I’ll always be here for you, whether it’s as a friend or-”

“Shut up.”

Your lips melted against his. Your fingers weaved into his hair and pulled him close. His hands gripped you at the waist and pulled you flush against his body. Everything quieted. the noise from the city, your residual anxiety- it all faded. All that remained was Bucky. His hands, his lips, his stubble scratching against your skin.

It was odd, getting everything you’d ever wanted. Never did you think this was possible- you didn’t even consider it. You resigned yourself to a life of unhappiness and heartache and longing. You assumed you’d die without ever truly knowing what true love felt like. But you felt it now; it felt like Bucky.

No part of you wanted to pull away, but you had to. You had to set the record straight. Suddenly, your lips vanished from Bucky’s. He instantly frowned.

“You didn’t seriously think that I was gonna tell you I’m in love with you and then not pursue a relationship with you, did you?” You threw a dramatic scoff his way, “Are you crazy?”

“Hey, I don’t know!” Bucky laughed. “I guess what I meant is… I understand. And I just wanted you to know that there’s no pressure. I don’t ever want you to be uncomfortable.”

Once again, your lips found Bucky’s. This was his preferred way of existing now. Any moment spent without your lips on his seemed like a waste.

“I just need some time,” you said, breaking the kiss again. “I promise it won’t be long- I swear. I want to be with you more than anything. I just have some stuff to work through first.”

Bucky ran a hand over your hair. Your shoulder. Your forearm. Finally, he laced his fingers with yours like he had a million times before. But it felt different now. More permanent.

“Of course, sweetheart. You take as long as you need. I’m not worried about the time.”

An exaggerated grimace pulled at your features, and a joking air spilled into your speech. “Oh, good. Cause if I’m remembering correctly, Sam’s birthday party was September twenty-fourth of last year. And today is September twenty-ninth. So, I made you miss the one-year mark by five days, which means he’s not gonna pay up.”

Bucky’s laugh boomed through the small apartment. It bounced off every all, surrounding you with your favorite sound.

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Bucky finally said when he caught his breath. “But I’m not worried about it.” His bright smile and joking tone fell away, stripping his words bare. He grew gravely serious. “I’m just glad you’re here,” he said. The authenticity almost scared you. “I’m so happy to have you back where you belong.”

He enveloped you in a long, deep kiss that stole your breath. Only two days ago, you were a rain-soaked, broken-hearted mess. The world was bleak. Cold. Empty. You swore you didn’t see the sun the entire time you were with Alex. But now, the warmth of Bucky’s kindness and warmth perfused everything with bright, vibrant colors. The storm clouds finally parted, revealing the most beautiful, golden daylight.

And after everything, Bucky was finally yours.

But he always was.

Everything you’d been through, all the pain and suffering and misery, brought you to this moment. And you couldn’t think of anything that could ever pull your attention from the way Bucky’s lips felt against hers.

But something stole your focus.

A strange sound came from your phone- you swore it sound like a ‘cha-ching’. The two of you parted for a moment, allowing you to investigate.

“Was that- I think that was a Venmo notification…” you said. “But I didn’t-” You pulled your phone from your back pocket and glanced at your screen, only to find the one name you never wanted to see again. Alongside that name, though, was a number- a large number.

“Alex just sent me three thousand dollars.” You narrowed your eyes at Bucky, “Did you do this?”

Bucky’s head fell back in a devious, almost maniacal laugh. “Baby, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

-------------------------------------------

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @onewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl @purpleshallot @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat

(I don't know what the fuck is going on with my tags, they dont work apparently)

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stanart4clearskin · 4 months ago

Text

stanford!art x best friend!reader

a/n: i made myself cry while writing this. maybe it’s because this happened to me lol

“do you think we’ll ever lose touch?”

“why would that happen?”

“you’ll be on the tennis team. maybe you’ll become too busy for me.”

“that’s bullshit.”

that conversation had been playing in your head in a loop from the moment you stepped foot into the crowded frat house and your eyes landed on art. the two of you hadn’t talked since freshman year and that had been nearly three years ago. the falling out hadn’t been messy or full of drama—it had been slow and gradual. the kind of loss of friendship that happens naturally and neither party is brave enough to acknowledge it. you thought that losing your best friend wouldn’t have been that easy but it was simple. whenever you reached out he wouldn’t respond for days and then you found yourself waiting for him to text first—he never did. sometimes you laid in bed and wondered if the loss of your guys’ friendship affected him as much as it did you. you wondered if he laid in bed mourning the loss of his best friend like you did.

you watched as art chatted happily with his friends, beer sloshing whenever they would clink their glasses together. you couldn’t help but feel a dull ache in the pit of your stomach when you saw how happy he was with his other friends. he had been your best friend and now he was practically a stranger.

the rest of the party had gone by in a blur—you downing shots and quickly leaving the room whenever art’s group entered it. before you knew it, your friends were all heading out but you lingered behind. normally you wouldn’t have even thought about talking to art but under the influence of a few drinks it felt like a great idea. you waited for art to slip off to the bathroom before following after him.

“art,” you said, your words slightly slurred. you watched as he turned around with a smirk on his face and how it faltered when he realized who had been talking. an uncomfortable silence settled over the both of you, the music from the other room vibrating through the walls.

he cleared his throat. “oh, um… long time no see.” his voice was strained and his shoulders were tense as he looked everywhere but you.

you took a small step forward. “that’s all you have to say?” you nearly scoff. after all this time you would’ve thought he missed you or at least had the decency to lie to you and say he did.

art’s eyes finally lifted to meet yours. “what else am i supposed to say?” he took a step forward and the both of you were just a foot apart.

“maybe asking me how i’ve been doing these past three years would be a good fucking start.” you felt yourself getting angry at him but you couldn’t help it. he was acting like you hadn’t been his best friend since elementary school.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “can we not do this right now? i need to use the ba-”

you cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “if we don’t do this right now we’re never going to have this conversation,” you said firmly. “all i want to know is why you stopped being my friend.” you rapidly blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall. merely thinking about the loss of friendship made you upset but seeing him blatantly disregard the years you spent together was like a knife to your heart.

art winced at your tone and how you were about to cry. he always hated it when you cried. “i- we didn’t… it just happened.”

your brows furrowed in confusion. “it just…happened?”

he shrugged, “you know, we just lost touch. it was bound to happen.” his words shocked you into silence. “listen i have to go,” he said, offering you a weak smile and headed towards the bathroom.

you stood in the middle of the hall watching once more as your best friend slipped from your grasp. you hadn’t even noticed the tears falling down your cheeks until you tasted the salt on your lips.

"do you think we'll ever lose touch?"

"why would that happen?"

"you'll be on the tennis team. maybe you'll become too busy for me."

"that's bullshit."

#challengers #art donaldson #mike faist #art donaldson x you #art donalson x reader #stanford!art donaldson x best friend!reader #stanford!art donaldson x reader #stanford!art donaldson #stanford!art #art donaldson angst #art donaldson x reader angst #challengers movie

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w2soneshots · 1 month ago

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hii! is it okay to request a tobi fic where everyone knows him and reader like each other cs they're constantly flirting, but they aren't tgt yet bc neither of them feel brave enough to actually confess? i hardly see any fics of my boy on here it's so sad 🥲 but ofc u dont have to write it if u dont want to!! thankyou 😋

Miss me? -Tobjizzle

words: 0.7k+

warnings: none!

summary: when you and Tobi finally realise you’re ment for each other you leave for Australia and have to be apart for a whole month, but the reunion makes it all worth it.

notes: sorry this took so long for me to write babe! it’s been at the top of my list for ages and i’ve only just gotten around to finishing it🙈. i hope you enjoy!!😚🫶🏼💝 (i think i may be out of my writers block slump… fingers crossed🤞🏼)

"Hi Tobes!" You greeted your best friend with a bright smile and a hug after just walking into the bar to meet him, the other sidemen and their spouses.

He returned your enthusiasm and you slipped straight into a conversation, the others at the table -unintentionally- being forgotten.

"So, what've you been up to?" He asked, leaning back into the booth as you sipped your drink. "Not much, though I'm going on month long solo backpacking trip to Australia in two weeks," you replied calmly.

His eyes widened slightly. "Oh wow... a month? You never mentioned that." He added, trying not to show the disappointment that he wouldn't see you for that long in his voice. "Mhm," you hummed in response, "I guess it just slipped my mind, I booked it all ages ago."

The two of you spent the remainder of the night talking. The boys would often complain about how when Tobi and you were both at the function no one else could get a word in edge ways, though you didn't bat an eyelid at their words.

After that night the amount you and Tobi texted, called and visited each other's apartments increased dramatically, though it wasn't something ether of you did on purpose. You saw him every other day and you were beginning to notice the growing tension between you two.

You'd never looked at him as a possible boyfriend candidate but suddenly you were seeing him in a completely different light, though you were too nervous to say anything.

A week before you left for Australia it finally happened... you were sat on your couch with Tobi next to you in your apartment, watching a random movie after you'd just shared a large dominos pizza.

You'd slowly been moving closer together throughout the last half an hour, you were now so close that you could feel his warmth through your hoodie. His gaze was on you, you could feel it and when you looked up at him and stared into his deep brown eyes you knew you were absolutely fucked.

The kiss felt so natural... so right, like you weren't kissing your best friend but someone you'd been with for years. When you eventually pulled away, now straddling his lap as his hands sat on your hips the both of you laughed, a slightly relieved and happy laugh that broke any tension that still lingered in the room.

For the next five days you barely left each other's arms. It was like everything now made sense. You'd finally found your person and he'd been right in front of your eyes for years.

When it eventually came time for you to leave he drove you to the airport and squeezed you so hard you thought your eyes might've popped out of your head. "I'm gonna miss you so fucking much," he mumbled into your hair.

Once you pulled back you kissed him, a long sweet kiss, a goodbye. "We'll text every day and call at three in the morning," you reminded him lightheartedly. You knew the completely different time zones were going to be frustrating but it was a month, only a month.

Even though you'd officially been together for under a week it felt like forever and leaving during the start of a relationship, which was always so exciting, was hard.

The first week of your trip was okay, texting him seemed to be filling the Tobi shaped hole in your life and you were keeping yourself super busy but you missed him, bad.

You had one of the best trips of your life, saw so many things, had the greatest experiences, ate some amazing food, met new people and loved every moment though by the time it was time to go home you were ecstatic.

When you got off the plane and spotted your boyfriend standing across the airport with a big bouquet of red roses in his hands you ran, actually ran, towards him. He scooped you up in his arms and you both let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Miss me?" You asked teasingly, your arms looped around his neck as you looked up at him. He chuckled. "More than you'll ever know."

That night was spent in his apartment, limbs intertwined as you just enjoyed being in each other company, the Australia stories could wait till tomorrow, for now you just wanted to simply be.

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gingerteafairy · 6 months ago

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 (𝐬𝐢𝐝 𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

tysm @marchsfreakshow for encouraging me to write for my pookie, i'll try to write happier things for him because he deserves it.

“Are you still feeling sad?” His gaze lingered, and then he gave you a small, sincere smile.“Not anymore.”

tags n warnings: college!sid, alcohol, drugs, skins characters, heavy angst, kissing, crying, language, hurt and comfort. word count: 3.6k

“You know, I thought college was supposed to be all parties, booze, and illegal stuff, weed, not… this dull, monotonous routine. It feels like I never left high school,” you remarked, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Your friend followed, plopping down beside you.

“Well, this is college,” she replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Then why am I not living that life?” you shot back, throwing your hands up dramatically. “People always claimed college was chaos and to watch out for the wrong crowd. Where is it? Why am I the only one missing out?”

“That’s because you don’t hang out with the kind of people who do that stuff,” she observed matter-of-factly, and suddenly, it was like a light bulb clicked on in your mind.

“That’s it.” You exclaimed, leaping up abruptly. “I need to hang out with people like that.”

“Do you even know anyone like that?” she questioned, skeptical, as she stood up too, one brow arched.

“No, but you probably know where the parties are,” you retorted, grabbing a bag and stuffing it with essentials while sifting through your closet for a jacket.

“Sure, but you’ll need this,” she suggested, pulling out an eyeshadow palette. With a quick motion, she brushed some color onto your eyelids, enhancing your features. “There. Perfect. I think my old mate Michelle knows a spot. She’s got these weird friends.”

“Perfect. Let’s go,” you chimed with a grin, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror before hopping into your friend’s car.

The drive was unnerving. You wove through unfamiliar neighborhoods, the scenery becoming increasingly rough. Your stomach churned as you passed people kicking over trash cans and indulging in all manner of chaotic behavior. Of course, you had never been to parties like this—you were as reclusive as a mole. But there’s a first time for everything, you thought, swallowing your nerves as your friend parked in front of a large but unkempt house with flashing lights and music blaring loud enough to hear from a block away.

“I’m a terrible influence on you,” your friend muttered as you both stepped out. You shivered, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, hesitating as you took in the scene.

She gave you an encouraging look, her silent gesture urging you forward. You braved the strange stares from guys hanging out near the entrance, keeping your head down as you stepped inside. Instantly, the sharp smell of alcohol and sweat hit you, the music pounding so loud it seemed to sync with your heartbeat.

Before you knew it, you were alone. “Shit,” you cursed under your breath, clutching your jacket as your eyes darted around the unfamiliar crowd.

You made a beeline for the drink table, ignoring the questionable cleanliness of the setup. “Screw it,” you muttered, grabbing the first cup you saw and downing it. The liquid burned its way down your throat, making your chest ache.

You wiped your mouth and held the cup up triumphantly as if it marked your initiation into the world of chaos.

“Not bad,” a deep voice commented. You turned to see a guy with dark hair and baby blue eyes approaching. Embarrassed, you quickly lowered the cup and tried to play it cool.

“Yeah, I, uh, do this all the time,” you stammered, your laugh awkward.

“Sure you do,” he replied, smirking as though he could see right through you. “Tony.”

You introduced yourself, offering a handshake. He chuckled, shaking his head before lightly punching your hand in a playful manner.

“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before,” he remarked, leaning in closer.

“Where?” you inquired, tilting your head curiously.

“Summer spanish course,” he explained, and recognition dawned. His face had been a blur in your memories of those sporadic classes.

“Tony Stonem,” you recalled, pointing at him. His smirk grew as he winked.

“Yup. Former student, now a monitor,” he announced with a cocky grin. A small part of you felt happy for his achievement, despite barely knowing him. “I remember you being pretty good at it.”

“I cheated. Learned it for some manga that’s only translated into Spanish,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly. Instantly, regret hit as his expression shifted into an eye roll accompanied by a stifled laugh.

“Yeah… cool,” was all he muttered before turning on his heel and walking away.

You cringed internally. “What was I thinking?” you mumbled, reaching for another drink to erase the memory. “Spanish manga? What is wrong with me?”

Your gaze wandered until you spotted a quiet corner near the stairs. Deciding you’d had enough humiliation for one night, you retreated to the spot, hoping your friend would reappear soon so you could leave.

You sipped from your cup, leaning against the wall, watching the chaos unfold. Your eyes landed on a boy in a beanie who looked just as defeated as you after talking to Tony. A strange sense of solidarity flickered within you.

“At least I’m not the only one,” you whispered to yourself, feeling oddly guilty for finding comfort in his misery.

The boy ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated, before flipping Tony off. With a cigarette in hand, he turned and began walking toward your corner. Your heart skipped a beat, and you shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what was about to unfold.

He stepped into your space, his head lifting slightly as his eyes widened. "Fuck. Sorry, I didn’t realize someone was here… I’ll go."

“No.” The word tumbled out of your mouth quicker than you intended. You reached up, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, it’s fine. Stay.”

A faint, hesitant smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Thanks,” he muttered, leaning his back against the wall beside you. He held out his cigarette in a silent offer.

You hesitated, every health warning you'd ever heard flashing through your mind. But then you shrugged, letting the reckless part of you take over. "Sure," you whispered, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and taking a drag. Almost instantly, you erupted into a coughing fit, your lungs rebelling against the foreign sensation.

“Fuck,” he blurted, his hands hovering as if unsure how to help, but he relaxed when you managed to catch your breath. “You… you don’t smoke, do you?”

“I do this all the time, this weed is sooo good,” you replied with an awkward smile, but your expression faltered, and you rubbed your neck sheepishly. “Okay, fine. Never. I’ve never smoked, never been to a party like this, and I usually drink alone at home readinh spanish manga.”

His brows knitted together, but instead of mockery, his lips curled into a soft, understanding smile. He chuckled quietly, shaking his head, then reclaimed the cigarette from your fingers. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled the smoke slowly before handing it back.

“Try again. Just… breathe like it’s air,” he suggested.

You followed his instructions, and while you still coughed, it wasn’t as bad as before.

“Got it!” you laughed, trying a deeper drag, only to double over coughing again. He reacted immediately, patting your back.

“Easy, easy,” he pleaded, his tone bordering on panic. You glanced at him through watery eyes, chuckling despite yourself.

“I’m fine,” you managed between coughs, laughing harder. For the first time that night, you felt genuinely happy.

“This isn’t funny,” he protested, though his lips twitched upward in a grin. “Fuck, I corrupted someone. I fucking gave you weed. Fuck, fuck. I'm a shit. Why are you laughing? Hey!”

“Sorry!” you gasped, dissolving into giggles. His exasperated expression only made it worse until he finally gave in, laughing along with you.

“Why you did this?” he questioned, concerned.

“I thought this life would be easier,” you confessed, your laughter fading.

“It’s not,” he said bluntly, his voice tinged with something deeper. His gaze dropped to the cigarette, and he inhaled sharply. “It’s not easy for anyone.”

You sensed the weight in his words and softened, straightening your posture as you studied his profile. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I’ve been in this too long. I want out, but it’s like… I don’t know. I feel like all this is just breaking me down.”

You stared at the ground, the heaviness in his voice making your chest tighten. After a beat, you looked at him.

“I always thought this was what I wanted,” you admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Being the life of the party, living recklessly—it sounded so fun. But now, I just feel like I don’t belong.”

“Same,” he murmured, sinking to the floor with his head in his hands. You followed, sitting beside him. When he handed you the cigarette again, you hesitated, then passed it back. He stared at it for a moment before crushing it in his hand, hissing as the ember burned his palm.

“Shit!”

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed, grabbing his hand and inspecting the burn. Without thinking, you gently rubbed your fingers over the mark, and he winced, pulling back slightly. “Why would you do that?”

He clenched his jaw, turning away as his throat worked against the emotion building. A single tear slipped free, then another, and before long, he was sobbing quietly.

“God…” you breathed, your body moving on instinct as you wrapped him in a hug. His walls crumbled, and he clung to you like you were the only thing tethering him to reality. His cries grew louder, raw and broken, as his hands gripped your arms tightly.

You swallowed hard, your heart aching for him as you stroked his back.

When he finally pulled away, he scrubbed his face with his sleeve, avoiding your gaze. “I’m sorry… I—shit, I don’t usually—this isn’t me.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, your voice soft. “You don’t need to apologize. I don’t know you, but it’s clear you’re going through a lot.”

He blinked at you, his face etched with disbelief. Slowly, he nodded, sniffling as he wiped at his swollen eyes.

“Sid.”

“What?” you asked, leaning closer to hear him better.

“Sid,” he repeated, adjusting his beanie nervously. “Sid Jenkins. Now you know me.”

You smiled, offering your name in return. “Nice to meet you, Sid.”

He glanced at your hand, the one that had instinctively found his burned palm, and he gave a faint smile as he laced his fingers with yours.

The two of you sat in silence, watching the chaos of the party unfold around you. You couldn’t help but wonder if the other partygoers were as lost as Sid or as out of place as you.

“Hey,” Sid spoke up, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Yeah?” you replied, blushing when you realized your fingers were still entwined.

“Do you… wanna get out of here?” His words tumbled out in a rush, his tone nervous. “I mean, I know I’m weird, I offered you a cigarette—God, I’m sorry for that—and I cried on your shoulder, which ruined your outfit, but—”

“I’d love to,” you interrupted, cutting off his rambling.

His face lit up with genuine relief, and he stood, extending a hand to help you up. Hand in hand, the two of you walked out into the night, leaving the noise and chaos behind.

“I’ll be honest,” he began, stopping to face you. “I’m a loser, an idiot, i only eat trash food and… you’ll probably leave when I tell you I don’t have a car. I take the bus everywhere.”

You grinned, squeezing his hand. “Bet you’ve never ridden the last college bus.”

He chuckled, his shoulders relaxing. “Shit…”

“C’mon, show me this ‘trash food’ you mentioned,” you teased, and together, you ran for the bus, laughing as the driver reluctantly opened the door for you.

This time, he led you to a small burger stand. “Alright, look at this,” he said with a low chuckle, stepping up to the counter. Turning to the attendant, he smirked cheekily. “I’ll have the biggest, greasiest, filthiest thing you’ve got on this fucking menu.”

The attendant raised an eyebrow but started scribbling as Sid carried on. “Because, let’s be honest, eating here’s a gamble, innit? Last time I was here, I had to pop three antacids just to survive one of your cheeseburgers. So go on, give us the nastiest one you can manage.”

With an unimpressed look, the attendant yelled over his shoulder, “Oi, Marcos, fix up a ‘kill-it-all’—make it proper grimy for this one here!”

“‘Kill-it-all?’” you repeated, stifling a laugh as Sid snorted and put a hand over his mouth, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“This is gonna be brilliant,” he murmured, shaking his head.

“Oi, love,” the attendant suddenly called out, dragging your attention back to him. “You need better company. This lad’s gonna be the death of you.”

You glanced at Sid, then leaned across the counter and dropped your voice. “What if I told you I’m worse than he is?” Straightening up, you flashed the attendant a wink, watching with satisfaction as he froze, clearly taken aback.

“If you reckon…” he muttered with a shrug as someone in the back shouted that the order was ready. He grabbed the enormous burger and set it down with a thud. “There you go. Good luck.”

Sid eagerly snatched up the monstrosity, which was so overloaded with toppings it barely held together. As he lifted it, a drip of oil slid off a piece of wilted lettuce, hitting the counter with an audible plop. He sighed dramatically, making a face of exaggerated disgust.

Casting you a mock-serious glance, he muttered, “Kill it all.” Then, with absolutely no hesitation, he took a massive bite, chewing slowly and deliberately.

“Well?” you asked, curiosity bubbling as you watched him struggle to get through the bite. Finally, he swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and handed the burger to you.

Your gaze dropped to the greasy monster in your hands, its sheer messiness daring you to take the plunge. “Kill it all,” you echoed with a smirk before closing your eyes and taking a bite.

The moment you did, your senses lit up in disbelief. It was, without question, the best burger you’d ever had—if not the unhealthiest.

“Jesus, Sid… this is amazing,” you groaned, going in for another bite before handing it back to him. “You’ve got to help me out, though. I’ll keel over if I eat the whole thing myself.”

Sid chuckled, taking it back and digging in again. “I can practically feel my arteries hardening already,” he joked, his words muffled by the food in his mouth.

You leaned in, sneaking another bite from the burger while he held it, making him laugh through his chewing. The two of you devoured the monstrosity together, and before long, it had completely disappeared.

Sid slapped a few bills onto the counter with a satisfied grin. “That’s sorted, then. Best rubbish meal we’ll ever have.”

"Alright, next stop—Hospital," you declared, hand on your stomach

Sid chuckled, handing you a can of beer, which he took a swig from as well. “I’ve got not a penny to my name, but I know one that’ll let us in for free.”

“But first…” you interrupted, veering toward the small convenience store next to the burger stand.

Sid followed with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, wincing at the harsh, almost bluish-white light of the shop. He squinted as you headed straight for the alcohol section, returning quickly with a basket in hand.

“Vodka, gin, wine, and…” You grinned, shaking the beer can in your hand. “Beer.”

“Bloody hell, you’re a walking pub now,” he laughed, eyebrows shooting up. His astonishment only grew when you marched up to the cashier to pay. “What’ve I done? Turned you into a proper monster.”

“It’s rubbish day,” you reminded him, winking as you grabbed your bag and stepped outside. Cracking open a can of your choice, you handed Sid another beer, which he happily accepted.

“Come on, this way.”

He nodded ahead, and you followed once more through the dense night, walking side by side with hands intertwined and passing the drinks between you. Sid eventually led you to an abandoned building. You shivered, a mix of nerves and thrill coursing through you as you stared up at the ominous structure.

“This place should come with a biohazard warning,” you joked, stepping carefully through the quiet, shadowy rubble lit only by the streetlights and the moon outside.

“It did,” he quipped, gesturing to a missing sign as he walked ahead. “But I used it as a skateboard about a month ago.”

“A sled,” you corrected with a laugh, and he shook his head, grinning.

You followed him up the stairs, Sid leading the way. The further you climbed, the blurrier your vision became. “God, I’m so drunk,” you admitted, leaning on the railing to steady yourself.

It's free beer, innit?” he replied with mock cheer, making you burst out laughing.

“What?”

“Choo-choo,” he shouted, miming pulling a train whistle cord. “The train’s headed to the rooftop!”

“That’s so far, though,” you groaned, nearly tripping over a step but catching yourself just in time. As the two of you laughed your way up the stairs, you suddenly blurted out, “So… you come here often?”

“Only when I feel sad,” he said, the humor in his voice softening.

His answer quieted you for a moment, your gaze falling to the steps beneath your feet.

“Are you still feeling sad?” you asked softly.

Sid paused on a stair, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His gaze lingered, and then he gave you a small, sincere smile. “Not anymore.”

That made you smile, too, and the two of you continued to climb. When you finally reached the top floor, the rooftop opened up to a breathtaking night sky. The stars sparkled brilliantly, wrapping the cold night in an oddly comforting glow.

Speechless, you tilted your head back to take in the view, the constellations twinkling as if they were waving down at you both.

"This always makes me feel better," Sid began, leaning against the edge of the rooftop railing as he gazed down at the city below. "Looking at the sky... seeing how small everyone looks down there. It reminds me that everything's tiny, even my problems. They're as small as ants."

You smiled softly, stepping closer to the railing beside him. Resting your head on his shoulder, you felt him tense for a moment. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry like sandpaper, before he draped an arm awkwardly over your shoulder, pulling you into a hesitant embrace.

In that moment, he felt warm—not just physically, but something deeper. You could feel his emotions radiating off him, raw and unspoken, and it made your heart stutter as you tilted your head to look at him, your faces mere inches apart.

Sid glanced at you from under his lashes, his eyes flickering with vulnerability. With his heart pounding in his chest, he leaned in slowly, brushing his lips gently against the soft skin of your cheek. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your face toward him, closing the gap.

Your lips grazed his cheek, this time closer to his mouth. He let out a shaky breath, his warm exhale fanning over your skin. Emboldened, Sid moved closer, his lips brushing against the edge of your chin, testing the moment.

You let out a quiet hum, licking your lips as if savoring his proximity. Lifting your chin, you leaned in, but Sid closed the distance first, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that felt as tranquil as the night around you.

His lips carried the faint taste of alcohol and a whisper of smoke, but beneath it all was something sweet—something uniquely Sid. It wasn’t just the taste but the feeling, as if you were touching a part of his soul.

When the kiss broke, it wasn’t abrupt. Your lips lingered, barely parted, as though they were reluctant to fully separate. His breath mingled with yours in the small space between, ghosting over your skin and leaving you both suspended in the moment.

You decided to proceed and make the first move this time and Sid turned your body to press against him, kissing you more intensely as he ran his hand through your hair. He groaned, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as his hands moved to your waist.

You didn't want it to end. Ever. You wanted more. So you went after him, touching his arm, then his chest, then his neck, sighing with each place your hand passed. Sid was nicotine. The only side effect was being addicted to him and nothing more.

The kiss broke, and neither of you opened your eyes for a long moment. With your foreheads pressed together, Sid let out a soft laugh—one of relief, happiness, and desire all rolled into one. He was happy. Truly, deeply happy.

"Good thing I showered today," he quipped, breaking the quiet, pulling a laugh from you as you took his hands in yours once again.

"You don’t shower every day?" you teased, raising a brow.

"Not really," he admitted with a small, sheepish grin. "But starting today, I’m making it a habit."

Before you could respond, he licked his lips nervously and kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second of it. This rooftop might’ve been a wreck, a forgotten corner of the city, but to Sid, it was his place. And now, with you there, it had become something far more special—because you were his favorite person now.

You felt lost, untethered from the world, but with Sid, it was like you’d found something to belong to. He, on the other hand, was broken, his life in pieces, but looking at you, he knew you were someone who could piece him back together—just by existing.

#sid jenkins x y/n #sid jenkins x you #sid jenkins x reader #sid jenkins #skins uk imagine #skins uk #skins fic #skins gen 1 #x reader #reader insert #imagine #fanfic #tony stonem

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