#i have waited years for him to get this chance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

no-144444 · 2 days ago

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chapter one: twists and turns - ln.4

summary: lando norris was a preppy asshole in secondary school, and you were the girl he despised. years later, you're a hot-shot sports lawyer rewriting the rules of the sport he calls home, and your paths cross, whether you want them to or not.

pairing: lando norris x fem! lawyer! reader

a/n: anything in orange and bold is the past

𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝

Lando stared at his alarm clock, waiting for it to go off in exactly one minute. He loved his off-season, but hated getting back into training. It made everything ten times harder, he was ten times more tired, and he had no more me-time.

Wales was nice, he thought, but after his exhausting day of test after test, all he really wanted was to be back in Monaco and somehow convince Max F to come over. He sat in his hotel room and felt that same pang of loneliness he’d been working his whole life to subdue. That feeling that settled itself deep in his chest and didn’t come out until he was with his friends or his family. He liked being with people, he was a people-person, but he also wanted something deeper. Something fulfilling. He looked out the window, Swansea was pretty beautiful, actually. The water was calm and the moon reflected off it, making it all look a bit more cinematic than it did during the day. His phone buzzed and he reached over his bed to grab it.

Zak B: We need you back in Monaco tomorrow for a pretty exciting meeting 😃. See you there!

He groaned into his pillow. He was getting slightly disillusioned with F1. He had no chance if he didn’t win it this year, and no excuses. He just wanted the season to start already so he could get on with himself and prove that he learnt from everything last year. One chance. One more chance, or McLaren would drop him.

𓆝 𓆟

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he walked into a Law firm, but it wasn’t this. His lawyers were all suit and tie-wearing, stuck up, and slightly pompous. This place seemed pretty fun to be honest. There were notice boards up for ‘trainee-activities’, free seminars on cool shit, and it was in the mountains, overlooking all of Monté-Carlo.

“This way please,” a young woman directed him to a long board room, where half the grid already sat, with a large number of older drivers too, and all the current team principals, with some oldies as well. He sat between Max and Jenson, greeting them both.

“What’s this about?” He turned to Jenson. He just shrugged and smiled.

“Not sure, just got invited, said it was important,” he explained.

Lando looked across the table at Oscar, who had definitely just rolled out of bed. He kicked him under the table, and brought him to full attention.

“Ouch,” Oscar deadpanned, kicking Lando’s foot back. “What?”

Lando smirked, watching Oscar's reaction. “What’s all this about?”

He shrugged. “Andrea just sent me a text.”

Suddenly, another door opened and 4 people stepped out, but he couldn’t really make out who they were, but the room went silent anyway. One of them turned around and looked, smiling at some of the drivers, then turned back and sent more hushed whispers to his colleagues.

Another one turned around, smiling at the group. “You’re almost all here, so I guess we’ll get started,” he announced and all eyes were curiously watching him. “We know we’ve been pretty secretive about what this meeting is about, but trust us, we think you’ll be happy to know that it’s about the rules of F1.”

And then you turned around, and Lando’s world was flipped on its side. His eyes probably shot out of his head like a cartoon character, so much so that Oscar gave him a weird look. But he didn’t look at Oscar, he couldn’t. Not when you were right in front of him for the first time in years.

“I’m Dr. Y/l/n,” you smiled. “This is Mr. Davidson, Ms. Riley, and Ms. Ray, my associates. I’m an expert in sports law, and Mr. Davidson here is my trainee. I’ve worked especially in Rugby and Rally Racing law, as have my three colleagues here, and we are here to speak to you about making the rules of F1, and motorsport in general, a lot more fair for the drivers and governing body,” you explained. “Any questions before we get started?”

Everyone was quiet, and Lando was too busy looking at you to notice the question.

“Great,” you smiled at the table. “I’ll let Mr. Davidson take it away,” you turned to him, and for a split second- Lando swore up and down- he saw him smirk at you. Lando wasn’t listening to the rule changes you all wanted to make, he was too busy watching you shuffle through papers and add notes as Mr.Davidson spoke. He had a scowl plastered on his face from the second that man opened his mouth. Yet, you stood there, laughing at his stupid law puns, helping him out when he got lost, and adding in bits he clearly had forgotten. You’d changed, clearly. Lando could remember doing a group project with you, back in Year 8, you were a fucking dictator. If he spelt one word wrong, misused one comma, you’d find it and berate him. The scowl only deepened.

“And now moving on to why we’re doing this. We asked the FIA about changing to a law-like system, and they were strongly against it, but we went to the owner of F1, Mr. Domenicali, and he agreed this needed to happen. We’re working with the FIA here, so don’t expect everything to turn out just perfect, I’m sure they’ll still be difficult to work with, but we want to get as close to fair as we can. Now, we’re handing out pages of paper to everyone at the table and we want your opinions on the rules right now, write specific rules that need changing and how you’d change them, give us your opinions on the system in place now and how we can fix them, we want as much input as possible,” you smiled to the group as the others handed out pages of paper and pens to everyone. George, of course, began writing a novel on his page. Oscar jotted down some ideas. Jenson wrote about 10 words. Lando just stared at his page. Then wrote:

Call me. XXX XXX XXX

And he held his paper up to be collected like he was in school. He saw how reluctant you were to grab his paper, but you took it anyway.

You were less than impressed to see what he’d written and he could see it on your face. You looked at him for the first time, and all he did was smirk back and wave. You crumpled up his page and handed him a new sheet of paper.

He was happy with himself. He missed this, these secret moments between you two, the ones that made him feel better about himself. He liked how no one saw, and no one noticed. He liked that it was just you and him, and nothing could change that.

𓆝 𓆟

“What’s with you and Dr. Y/l/n?” Oscar mused as they sat in the lobby, waiting to be given their ‘buddy’.

Lando stared back at him. “What do you mean?” Oscar was like… the least socially conscious person he'd ever known, surely he wasn’t being that obvious, right?

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m fucking blind mate?”

Lando shrugged with a hopeful smirk. “Yes?”

“Dude, come on. How do you know her?”

“School,” he relieved. “But it’s not like we were friends. We just… knew each other.”

Oscar nodded, satisfied with his answer. If only he knew how complicated it really was.

ᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺ

“This is Y/n Y/l/n, she’s new in school, please show her around,” the Principal, Ms. Browne smiled at Lando. “Your parents know each other, correct?”

In the loosest sense of the term, Lando thought. He knew who you were, he’d seen you at some parties his parents had dragged him to. You were like every other girl at the school, a prim, proper, prickly, princess. At least, that’s what his brain told him, because he’d literally rather do algebra than show the new girl around the school.

You answered for him. “We do, yes. Thank you Miss.”

You were so polite. So polished. It pissed him off, and he couldn’t even tell why. He rolled his eyes and slid off his chair, mumbling a small “Come on, princess,” as he showed you to the door.

You left the principal’s office behind him, carrying your books. He was short for his age, and he still sounded a bit young for his age, but you didn’t really mind. You knew he was into racing, and your dad followed his career more than he followed your life, so you hated him already. His rudeness and stand-offish behaviour just added fuel to the flames.

“So, you’d you move here?” he asked, though he was clearly uninterested in the answer.

“Work,” you answered simply. He nodded.

“You sing, right?” he asked and you nodded. “What show are you doing?”

“Into the Woods.”

“Have you done it before?” he asked because… well he wanted you to keep talking. He didn’t want some awkward silence he’d have to fill with his own opinions and life, because there wasn’t much there. He wasn’t super into musicals (by any means), but he knew who you were, specifically because his mum was always raving about you to him. You were her friend's daughter, and you were apparently the next Broadway talent. He knew who you were. He knew every show you’d ever been in, mostly because his mum dragged him along when he wasn’t racing.

“Nope,” you shook your head. “But it’s pretty simple.”

He nodded. “Alright, well, this is your dorm block. You have a map, and I am no longer needed. Goodbye,” he said, before walking back across the campus to his own dorm. His friends were much too happy to know how it went, walking the new girl around the school, it would’ve been cool if it were anyone but you.

So he just put their gossip to bed by calling you socially awkward and boring.

ᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺᆺ

“Mr. Norris, you’ll be with Mr. Davidson over here,” Sierra, Oscar’s trainee explained. Mr. Davidson sat opposite him with a smile.

He lifted his hand to shake it. “Call me Liam,” He had a firm handshake, fucking hell. “I’m really excited to be working with you on this. I think you’re a brilliant driver.”

Just then, Lando caught sight of you over his shoulder and again, all his attention went straight to you. Liam stared at him for a second. “Everything alright?” he asked.

Lando nodded, his eyes trained on you as you gathered your things, he noticed the way your shirt clung to your body, the way your hair fell, the way your slacks were tight in all the right places. You were perfect. “Who’s Y/n going with?” he asked, without even thinking.

Liam looked even more confused. “I didn’t you two know each other, small world, eh?” he questioned, chuckling. “And she’s taking the team bosses and some retired drivers. She’ll be at the same amount of races as us though, so you'll get time to catch up-”

“I want her,” he stated, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Her or I’m not doing it.”

Liam’s face fell, and Lando counted it as a personal win. Oscar covered his face with his hands, embarrassed by his teammates' antics. “Umm, I’ll have to go talk to her about that-”

“Go. I’ll wait,” Lando smiled, looking every bit the aggressor he was being. He looked smug.

Liam got up and went into a room (what he assumed to be your office), and a few seconds later came out telling him to go in.

He opened the door and popped his head in. There you were, sitting at a desk behind a large screen, glasses perched dangerously close to falling off your nose. You stopped your vicious typing to look up at him expectantly. “This a good time?” he smirked. You were scowling. You rolled your eyes and went back to your furious typing as he sat down. He looked around your office. Your diplomas on the walls, pictures of you at various events and charity fundraisers, pictures of you and your team (Liam was right beside you in every single one, but he let it slide for a moment). You had a whole life he’d known nothing about. A subtle ache settled itself in his chest as a sort of… guilt blossomed. You had a whole life he knew nothing about, and he had no one to blame but himself-

“What the fuck is your problem?” you demanded, turning your attention to him.

He chuckled. “That wasn’t very professional.”

“Lando,” you groaned, regaining your professionalism. “What do you want from me? I didn’t choose this job, I got chosen for the role. I’m managing a team of more than 50 people alone, while doing my duties to speak to all the team bosses and take some work off the plates of my employees. I cannot possibly also talk to you every few days about your experiences with the FIA and the rules,” you huffed. “You have Liam, he’s a great lawyer, trust me.”

Lando’s mood soured at your casual use of his first name. “Then I won’t do it.”

You sighed. “You’re only doing yourself a disservice by not doing it, but we can’t force you,” you went back to your typing for a moment. “Close the door on your way out and send Liam in, will you?”

Reluctantly, he got up and left you to your typing. He knew you needed his opinion, he was one of the other drivers most heavily penalised last year.

“I’ll wait here,” Lando nodded as Liam went back into your office.

But he made a mistake. He didn’t close the door after him.

“You two know each other?” Liams asked. You sighed.

“Not really, just in passing.” Lie. “He doesn't want to do it, He doesn’t have to.”

“We need his opinion though,” he sighed. “I know he sucks but… we need him.”

“Well I don’t have the time, Liam. I don’t have the time anymore. He’s just trying to rile me up-”

“Maybe I could take the retired drivers off you and you could just do the team bosses and Norris?” Liam offered.

You were silent for a moment. Then groaned. “I really don’t want to.”

Liam chuckled. “Well, we all have to do things we don't want to do, Princess.”

Lando saw red, but listened further.

“I guess you’re right. Tell him I’ll see him in Australia.”

“Alrighty, thanks boss.”

Australia. Right.

𓆝 𓆟

Pole position, shitty weather, and a win anyway. Good weekend.

He brushed you off as the celebrations started, but when he saw you chatting with some of his engineers, gathering information, he knew he should speak to you. He was pulled away by the media before he could, and you ended up sending Sierra to do his post-race breakdown. You’d already felt for Monaco.

Shit.

𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

twists and turns masterlist

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gdinthehouseee · 2 days ago

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One Take, One Chance: KANG DAESUNG x READER

summary: after opening up about his crush on you, you get invited as a guest on daesung's youtube channel. now neither of you can let this real opportunity slip by...

word count: 3829

tags: fluff; flirting, teasing, innuendos, jiyong and youngbae being little shits

ao3 link

Daesung should have known better than to let Ji-yong and Youngbae team up against him.

It started out as a normal Zip Daesung episode—just three old friends gathered around a table, eating delicious food, and reminiscing about their careers. But then, somewhere between bites of grilled meat and playful jabs at each other’s fashion choices, the conversation took a turn.

“So,” Ji-yong leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Who’s your dream guest for this show?”

Daesung hummed, tapping his chin in thought. “Dream guest? That’s tough… I mean, I’d love to have so many people on.”

Youngbae smirked. “Oh, come on. Just one name.”

Daesung hesitated, but then a name slipped out before he could stop himself. Yours. Ji-yong and Youngbae immediately exchanged a look.

“Ohhh?” Ji-yong’s lips curled into a smirk. “That’s your pick?”

Daesung frowned, already regretting speaking. “What? She’d be a fun guest!”

“You think it would be fun?” Youngbae practically cackled, slapping his knee. “You’ve been crushing on her for years.”

Ji-yong gasped dramatically. “Wait—years?”

Daesung turned red instantly. “I never said—”

“Man, don’t even try to deny it!” Youngbae cut in, grinning. “Every time her name comes up, you get all weird. You talk about her performances like she personally invented music. And don’t even get me started on that one time you—”

Daesung lunged forward. “Shut up!”

Ji-yong was laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes, he then moved to nudge Youngbae. “This is amazing. Should I play matchmaker again? You both know I have a good track record.”

“It’s not like that!” Daesung’s protests fell on deaf ears.

Ji-yong held up a hand, cutting him off. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We get it. She’s cool, talented, really good-looking—”

“I hate you both.”

“You won’t for much longer…”

Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the end of it. The internet saw everything—especially your fans. The moment the episode aired, they latched onto it like detectives uncovering a major scandal. Within hours, social media was flooded with reactions, memes, and demands for you to appear on his channel. Fans dissected every second of his flustered reaction, zooming in on the way his ears turned red, looping the moment he choked on thin air, and outright begging you to make it happen.

Your heart sped up and ached at the thought of it, in fact. You have met Daesung a couple times, but only in passing at various awards shows before getting swept away within a minute or two by demanding managers, and even more demanding schedules. So the thought of being able to sit down and talk properly—intentionally—with him? It was everything to you. If only your schedule wasn’t so—

“You’re doing Zip Daesung soon, by the way.”

You paused mid-sip of your drink, finally snapping out of your thoughts, and staring at your agent across the table. “I’m sorry—what?”

She barely looked up from her tablet, scrolling through your upcoming schedule. “They sent the invite. I confirmed.”

You blinked. “You what?”

“They wanted you on. You’re free that day. It’s happening.” She finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Why? You like Daesung, don’t you?”

That was besides the point.

“I just—” You bit your lip, barely stopping the smile threatening to form. “I mean… have you seen what’s been happening online?”

“Oh, I’ve seen it. The clip of him getting teased? Adorable. The fans demanding this episode? Hilarious. And let’s not forget G-Dragon himself declaring the fact that he’s a matchmaker.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“You’re smiling.”

You immediately wiped the grin off your face. “No, I’m not.”

She just snorted. “Sure. Anyway, I already let the show know you’ll be there. They’re excited. Daesung is definitely excited.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re evil.”

“I prefer efficient.” She glanced back at her tablet. “Now, do you want me to send a standard confirmation, or should I let them know you’re looking forward to seeing Daesung blush in person?”

You shot her a look.

She grinned. “I’ll keep it professional. But you are going to have fun with this, right?”

You picked up your drink again, a slow smirk forming. “Oh, absolutely.”

A couple weeks later, the day had finally arrived. You stepped out of the car, adjusting your outfit as you took in the cozy restaurant set up. Warm lighting, carefully arranged cameras, and the familiar hum of production staff moving around filled the space. Everything looked inviting, intimate—perfect for casual conversation over a meal. Perfect for messing with him.

One of the production assistants came out to happily greet you, leading you inside and attaching a lapel microphone to your collar as they informed you how excited the man of the hour was excited to see you. Of course he was. Naturally, you were too. Not that you said anything more than a polite return of the compliment.

The cameras were already rolling when you walked in. Daesung sat at the table, holding up a sleek bottle, mid-sentence in what was clearly a sponsorship plug. His voice was smooth and confident as he looked straight into the camera. “…which is why this is the perfect drink to enjoy with any meal. It’s refreshing, healthy, and, most importantly—”

Then, his eyes landed on you, and everything fell apart.

His grip on the bottle tightened. His words stalled, lips parting slightly like his brain had just short-circuited.

Somewhere off to the side, you heard a quiet whisper. “Oh my God, did you see that?”

Another voice, barely stifling laughter: “He’s doomed.”

You paused for a second, glancing around. The restaurant set was dimly lit for ambiance, and beyond the bright filming lights, you couldn’t quite make out the source of the voices. Probably some staff members who were getting a kick out of his reaction.

You smirked, stepping forward as the cameras captured everything. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt.”

Daesung blinked rapidly, scrambling to recover. “N-No, it’s fine! I was just—uh—finishing up.” He turned back to the camera, clearing his throat like that would somehow fix everything. “Anyway, be sure to check it out. I highly recommend it.”

With extreme focus, he set the bottle down—carefully, like he was afraid even the slightest wrong move would send it flying across the table.

Another whisper floated through the air. “He’s gripping that bottle like it’s a lifeline.”

You resisted the urge to look around again, choosing instead to slide into your seat across from him, resting your chin in your hand. “You sure? You seemed really into that.”

His laugh came out slightly too high-pitched at first, but then something shifted. His shoulders relaxed just a little, and suddenly, there was a glint in his eye.

“I mean,” he mused, tilting his head, “I was into it. But I wasn’t expecting you to be this early.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

Daesung leaned back slightly, a slow smile forming. “Yeah. I thought I had more time to prepare.”

You blinked, caught off guard for the briefest second. You’d come in expecting him to be the flustered one—but now? Now, he was looking at you like you were the one who needed to catch up.

And damn it, that was actually kind of attractive.

Another whisper from the shadows. “Did he just—?”

“Oh, he’s fighting back. This is getting good.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, ignoring the voices as you smirked at Daesung. “Oh, I see how it is. You needed time to brace yourself.”

“Something like that.”

Fine. If that’s how he wanted to play it, you’d just have to turn it up a notch. You leaned in slightly, voice softer. “Well… I hope you like surprises.”

“Oh, I love surprises,” he said smoothly, voice dipping just enough to make it clear he was enjoying himself. “Especially when they walk into the room before I’ve had a chance to properly welcome them.”

“Is that your way of saying you would’ve rolled out the red carpet if I was a little later?”

“No, that’s my way of saying I would’ve had time to mentally prepare before you walked in and completely threw me off.”

“You know, I’m starting to think you wanted to be caught off guard.”

Daesung leaned forward just a little, mirroring your posture. “And why would I do that?”

Your smirk deepened. “Maybe because you like it when I have the upper hand.”

For a split second, you saw something flicker across his face—something dangerously close to intrigue. But before you could claim victory, he exhaled through his nose in a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re quick,” he mused. “But…” He tapped his fingers against the table, eyes flickering over you before locking back onto yours. “I do like a challenge.”

Your breath caught just slightly—not enough for the cameras to notice, but enough for him to see it.

Oh. Oh.

So that’s how he wanted to play it.

Another whisper, nearly choked with laughter. “They’re just flirting at this point.” “Just wait till the food actually gets here.”

You still couldn’t quite see who was whispering, but you had an idea. Not that it mattered. Because right now, Daesung was looking at you like he was enjoying every second of this, and damn it—so were you. Game on. A small pause settled between you, but it wasn’t awkward—it was charged, humming with amusement and something else you weren’t ready to name yet. Daesung’s eyes still held that playful glint, a quiet challenge lingering between the two of you, but before either of you could push it further, the soft clink of dishes being placed on the table shifted the moment.

The restaurant staff had begun setting down the first course, steam rising from the carefully plated dishes. The rich aroma of broth, spices, and grilled meat filled the air, making your stomach tighten in anticipation.

Daesung exhaled through his nose, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he picked up his chopsticks. “Alright, before we accidentally turn this into a staring contest, let’s eat.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Sure, let’s call it accidental.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured toward the dish in front of you. “Do you like this? I asked them to include some of your favorites.”

Your brows raised slightly, pleasantly surprised. “You did?”

He hummed, grabbing a piece of meat and dipping it into sauce. “Of course. I did some research, you know. I couldn’t invite you on and not at least pretend to be a good host.”

There was a teasing edge to his tone, but the thoughtfulness behind it made warmth bloom in your chest.

You picked up your chopsticks, giving him a small smile. “I appreciate it. That’s very…” You paused, tilting your head. “Dare I say—charming of you?”

Daesung chuckled, shaking his head. “You could say that. Or you could just admit you’re impressed.”

“I’m slightly impressed,” you admitted, picking up a bite of food and tasting it. The flavors melted on your tongue, perfectly balanced. “Okay, more than slightly. This is really good.”

He grinned, clearly satisfied. “See? And you doubted me.”

“I never doubted you.” You gestured with your chopsticks. “I just assumed you’d be more focused on trying to make me flustered than actually making sure I enjoyed the meal.”

His laugh came easy this time, smooth and genuine. “Who says I can’t do both?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

The conversation slipped into an easy rhythm as the two of you ate, teasing remarks woven between casual questions about schedules, recent projects, and shared industry experiences. It felt natural—comfortable, despite the bright filming lights and the knowledge that thousands of people would be watching this later. Even the quiet murmurs from the shadows—who you still hadn’t identified—faded into the background as you found yourself getting lost in the push and pull of conversation.

Daesung was witty, effortlessly charming, and heart-warmingly attentive, making sure your plate was never empty and that you were comfortable. While the playful teasing never fully disappeared, there was something undeniably genuine underneath it all. And that? That was even more dangerous than the flirting.

You twirled your chopsticks between your fingers, watching Daesung as he took a bite of food. He was comfortable now, smiling easily as he spoke, completely in his element. The earlier nerves had faded, replaced by his usual warm charisma. Naturally, you had to ruin that.

You set your chopsticks down, leaning forward just enough to make him notice. “You know…” you mused, tilting your head. “I have to admit, I was really looking forward to this.”

Daesung’s chopsticks paused mid-air. He blinked, processing your words before offering an amused smirk. “Oh? My show, or… me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to play along. But then you reached for your drink, casually taking a sip as you let your words sink in.

That’s when you saw it. The slight shift in his expression—the way his fingers tightened around his chopsticks just a little too much, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips like he was suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had gotten.

Got him.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head as he picked up a piece of meat and placed it on your plate. “Eat. You’re getting too confident.”

You let out a soft laugh. “What? I can’t compliment my charming host?”

His jaw tightened for the briefest second, but then he exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “You are dangerous.”

You popped the bite of food into your mouth, chewing with exaggerated innocence. “Oh? I thought you liked a challenge.”

He let out his own breathy laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “I do.”

“You sure?” Your cheeks were almost starting to hurt with how long you’ve been smiling. “Seems to me like you could have used that mental preparation.”

As much as you enjoyed getting under his skin, there was something equally enjoyable about watching him find his rhythm again. He wasn’t flustered so much as he was enjoying this—meeting you beat for beat, letting the conversation slip into a smooth back-and-forth that neither of you had to think too hard about. A natural rhythm. A comfortable challenge.

Daesung picked up another piece of food and placed it on your plate, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “Eat. I’d rather not lose to you on an empty stomach.”

You let out a soft chuckle, picking up the bite he’d given you. “Fair enough. Wouldn’t want you to tap out too early.”

His grin widened. “Oh, don’t worry. I never tap out early.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Daesung’s smile faltered for just a second. A single second of realization.

Then—

A sharp, choked sound came from somewhere off-camera. A full-bodied laugh followed, then a chair scraped against the floor as someone collapsed with laughter.

Daesung instantly straightened in his seat and frantically waved his hands, his ears turning bright red as his brain clearly scrambled for a way out. “No, no, wait! That is not what I meant! I just meant—I meant that I—I don’t give up easily! Like—I keep going! I mean, not like that! Not that I wouldn’t—wait, no, that’s not—”

The more he talked, the deeper he sank, and the moment he clamped his mouth shut, realizing the hole he’d dug for himself—

A loud, dramatic sigh.

“Alright, that’s enough,” a voice announced, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps.

Before Daesung—or you—could react, two figures emerged from the shadows, stepping into the frame like they owned the place. Ji-yong and Youngbae. Cackling. Absolutely delighted.

The crew lost it.

“Sorry, we couldn’t let this continue,” Ji-yong said, slapping a hand onto Daesung’s shoulder while grinning ear to ear.

“Yeah,” Youngbae added, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “He was drowning. We had to step in.”

Daesung let out a very real groan, dropping his head into his hands. “Oh my—”

You, meanwhile, just sat back and watched, thoroughly entertained. “So that’s where those whispers were coming from.”

Ji-yong smirked, winking. “You’re welcome.”

Daesung shot them a look. “I hate both of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Youngbae jumped in.

Ji-yong leaned in, elbowing Daesung. “So. You never tap out, huh?”

Oh, this was the best decision you’d ever made.

What was once a standard episode of Zip Daesung had quickly unraveled into something much less structured—and far more chaotic.

Ji-yong and Youngbae made themselves comfortable, as if they’d been invited rather than having quite literally crashed the shoot. Youngbae, in true older-brother fashion, took it upon himself to steal bites of Daesung’s food, nodding in faux approval as if he were a judge on a cooking show. Ji-yong, on the other hand, leaned forward with his chin in his palm, shooting you knowing glances every time Daesung so much as looked in your direction.

Daesung, to his credit, tried to regain control of the show.

Tried.

But every time he attempted to steer the conversation back to the meal, the questions, anything remotely professional, one of his so-called friends would derail it entirely.

“Oh, let’s talk about your crush,” Ji-yong had said at one point, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You know, the one you definitely don’t have.”

“Yeah, how’s that working out for you, buddy?” Youngbae added, far too pleased with himself.

Daesung nearly knocked over his drink.

“I mean… they do have a point.” You noted.

Daesung gave up.

He slumped back in his chair, sighing so deeply you thought he might just melt into the floor. “This is my own show. I invited you. And yet, here I am, suffering.”

Ji-yong patted his back. “Yeah, but it’s great content.”

By the time the meal neared its end, the restaurant was filled with laughter, empty dishes, and a camera crew that had long since given up on maintaining any sort of structure. What had started as a playful, casual interview had turned into a full-fledged comedy special. Eventually, the director called it a wrap.

Daesung exhaled, slumping forward onto the table.

You chuckled, stretching slightly. “That was fun.”

“For you, maybe,” Daesung muttered, glaring at his so-called friends. “I just lost all credibility.”

Ji-yong smirked. “Oh, you never had any to begin with.”

Youngbae stood, stretching with a grin. “Alright, we’ll get out of your hair now. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

Daesung’s jaw clenched. “That’s literally not helpful.”

Ji-yong just winked before the two of them disappeared into the background, still chuckling to themselves.

As the crew packed up, Daesung rubbed his temples, exhaling deeply. “I am never letting them anywhere near my show again.”

“I don’t know… I think they added a nice touch.”

“Of course you do.”

With the cameras off and the crew packing up, the once-buzzing atmosphere simmered into something quieter, more intimate. The overhead lights were dimmer now, casting a warm glow over the table where you and Daesung still sat.

And yet, for all the teasing and easy banter, something in him had shifted. He was quieter. Fidgeting. Stealing glances at you, then looking away just as quickly. You noticed, of course. How could you not? The normally playful and effortlessly charming Daesung was suddenly hesitant, almost unsure—like something was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. You waited, giving him the space to speak. But the words never came.

Instead, he exhaled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… I guess I should walk you out.”

You tilted your head slightly but didn’t push. “Alright.”

The two of you stood, gathering your things as the last bits of the production crew wrapped up. A few of them shot you knowing looks—they had clearly been hoping for something more to happen on camera—but they said nothing as you made your way toward the exit.

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped outside. The streets were quieter now, the neon signs of Seoul humming softly against the darkness. You turned slightly toward him, offering a small smile.

“Well, thanks for having me,” you said, keeping your tone light. “Even if your show got completely hijacked.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that was… something.”

A beat of silence passed.

For a moment, it seemed like that was it—that he was just going to let you leave. That the teasing, the lingering glances, the undeniable tension had all been in your head. And then—

“Wait.”

His voice was quieter now, less sure, but there was urgency in it.

You turned back just as he took a step closer, rubbing his hands together like he was working up the nerve for something.

“I—” He exhaled sharply, then met your gaze, determination flickering behind his warm eyes. “Would you… wanna make a real date out of this?”

Your breath caught.

For the first time tonight, the teasing stopped. Your mind blanked for a split second, heart skipping an unsteady beat. A real date?

You searched his expression, almost in disbelief. He noticed it immediately—the way your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag, the way your lips parted like you weren’t quite sure you’d heard him right. The way your usual playful, effortless confidence wavered just a little. Just like that, his entire demeanor softened.

He let out a quiet chuckle, stepping just a bit closer. “What?” His voice was warm, teasing, but gentle. “Did I break you?”

You blinked, snapping out of it. “I—” You cleared your throat, shaking your head. “No. Just… I thought maybe after tonight you’d—”

You stopped yourself, suddenly feeling ridiculous for even saying it.

“What? Change my mind?” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Please. You think I went through all that just to let you get away?”

You stared at him, still thrown, and that was when he really saw it—genuine nerves flickering across your face, the disbelief that he actually wanted this for real. Wanted you.

Something in him melted. Then, just as quickly, his signature grin returned.

“Wow.” He let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “You were so smooth five minutes ago. Where’d all that confidence go?”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, shut up—”

“No, no, I liked that!” He grinned, pointing at you. “Should I make you nervous more often? You’re kinda cute like this.”

“I hate you.”

“Still wanna go on a date with me, though?”

“Unfortunately.”

Daesung laughed, bright and full, and you rolled your eyes before finally letting your own grin slip through.

“Alright,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, still watching you with something undeniably fond in his gaze. “Then let’s go.”

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#kang daesung x reader #daesung x reader #kang daesung #daesung #bigbang x reader #bigbang #fluff #ao3 link #ao3 writer #fic writer

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godmadeaterribleerror · 1 day ago

Text

A Long, Long Time

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (p in v, fingering), light angst, fluff, humor, action, no use of y/n, friends to lovers, post-TFATWS, past Steve Rodgers/Reader, truth serums.

Summary: The truth doesn't hurt. It's not freeing, either. It just sits in your chest, until it's pried out, and you're looking it the eyes with nowhere to run, and Bucky knows you love him.

But he's not running either.

Author's Note: I love making scenarios. I love making Bucky feel loved. Kevin Feige I'm in your walls.

Word Count: 9.2k

You’ve never been good at fighting for things.

It’s not because you’re weak, or don’t care, or don’t have anything to fight for, it’s just not what you do.

Fighting for things means that you’ve already lost them. That you had something, and you weren’t smart or good enough to keep it, and you’d lost it. Failed. Had a chance to do it right and destroyed it, held something in the palm of your hand and crushed it to pieces.

It’s not logical, or reasonable, but it’s what you do. You’d tried to explain it to Steve once, and he’d frowned at you like you were insane.

“If you had it, doesn’t that mean it was worth fighting to have?”

You’d shaken your head, turning your fork between your hands with a long sigh. “No, it means I had it, then… I guess dropped it. If it was worth having, I wouldn’t have dropped it.”

“What if you didn’t drop it?” Steve had raised his brows, and you’d stabbed your fork into your food, almost chewing right through your cheek.

“But I did.”

“How about if it’s indestructible?”

You’d given him a flat look. “Anything can be destructible if you’re destructive enough.”

“Then what if someone knocked it out of your hands-”

“I feel like you’re getting too caught up on the metaphor,” You’d mumbled, and Steve had shrugged.

“It’s just not making sense. You’re saying you had it. If you love something, you fight for it. To keep it.”

You’d hummed. “I thought if you loved something, you let it go?”

“That’s a loose rule. You can’t be letting everything you love go, or else you’ll end up alone.”

Maybe you’d just never loved something. Maybe whatever you’d been told to read as love was wrong, or you’re just defective and not capable of the raw, tear-the-world apart love that Steve had been talking about. And everything falls through your fingers because it can sense that, and fighting for it would be holding it hostage.

“You’re not going to fix me in one conversation, Steven.” You’d muttered, kicking his shin under the table. “Eat your pancakes.”

Steve had sighed, but listened.

Then, years later, he’d gone back in time to Peggy, and you hadn’t bothered to stop him.

You hadn’t loved him, but it had been the closest thing you’d ever had to something. More than just a body for warmth, more than just flat word for the sake of speaking, more than just company for the prayer of not being stranded. For a very long, long time you’d been certain that Steve had been your shot. That you’d missed it because you had horrible aim and sand for bullets, and now you were alone just like he’d warned you’d be.

And you’d been wrong. You’d been so horribly, impossibly wrong, because you’d been right. All the wires and nerves had gotten tangled and crossed in your body, and you’d been right about the wrong thing, and you’d ended up so lost that the sky had gone black until one star blinked at you, and guided you home.

You’d never loved Steve. He’d never been your shot.

And when love had hit you—really, truly fucking hit you—it hadn’t been like the train or comet or blow to the gut people had always told you it would be.

It had been clear. The world had gotten sharper, and colors had been more vibrant, and you’d known.

You’d never been in love before.

You were in love now.

In half a second, you’d fallen into it, and you’d never be able to crawl back out. You didn’t know how to fight for it, but you could wait for it. You could lie here like you were in a grave and wait for flowers to bloom above you, and then maybe he’d pick them and know you’d grown them for him.

Because Bucky doesn’t know that you love him. You don’t know how to tell him, either, because every other time you’ve said it suddenly seems like at lie, and no words are big enough anymore.

And Sam had fucked it. One day you’re going to shove him into the ocean or something, because he’d found you after the Blip and told Bucky you were the girl. The one that Steve had found in a crowd and kept, who was smarter and kinder than someone named Sharon, who they’d been supposed to find and take care of, but gotten sidetracked.

That would’ve been like a noose on your heart, in you’d really heard that part of Sam’s sentence. That Steve had told him to find you and look after you, but then left anyway, only for Sam to completely forget.

But you hadn’t heard him.

You’d been staring at Bucky, and the world had been clear, and you hadn’t been sure if it was a ringing in your ears or some sort of fucked up, heavenly choir.

Maybe it had been adrenaline, in that first moment. You’d told yourself, over and over, that maybe it had just been the rush of meeting him, because Steve had told you so much already.

But then you’d followed them back to New York, and it had been love. It had been long, heavy love that was stronger than anything you’d ever felt, and made you do stupid, pathetic things to just keep yourself in Bucky’s orbit. It started with being whatever he and Sam asked you to be, because you didn’t feel expendable, but you wanted to be irreplaceable. You’d made yourself so useful in every way possible. With research and computers and undercover work where you got to hang off Bucky’s arm and smile at him, and he’d smile back like he loved you, and it was just the job but fuck, it was like a drug.

Being in love had made you smarter, as the months passed. You could do stitches and relocate joints, fly a plane and read in two new languages, and an average hacking job but an outstanding acting one. Your cooking has gotten better, mostly making different kinds of eggs, because it’s something you do with Bucky once a week, and you can play the piano, because he’d mentioned he liked it once.

You were going to rot away here. Loving Bucky in silence and never saying anything, and it would be a soft and gentle death because Bucky does like you. You’re friends, and he’s called you important to him and yelled at you for being reckless, but not wanting you to die isn’t the same pure, wrathful love you feel for him.

But you’re the girl. Steve’s girl. That was left behind and fell into Bucky’s care. That he keeps around for you—some unknown shift had occurred, and you know you’re not being allowed to remain in Bucky’s orbit because Steve asked him to keep you there—but as a friend.

You can be a friend. You can be whatever the fuck Bucky needs you to be, just as long as you’re allowed to stay here.

And being his friend is easy. Doing things for him is easier. Loving him, even in numbing silence, is the simplest thing in the world.

“This is so fucking stupid.” Bucky had grumbled last week, glowering at his paper, and Sam had shrugged.

“I think it’s fun.”

Bucky had shot him a glare. “We’re using glitter gel pens, Sam, you know this is stupid.”

“I happen to like glitter gel pens.” Sam had shot you a grin across the table as he said your name, and you’d narrowed your eyes in a silent warning he’d completely ignored. “Do you think it’s stupid?”

“The pens or the lists?”

Sam’s grin had grown. “Lists?”

You’d shrugged, dropping your gaze to your own blank sheet of paper. “They’re kinda dumb, but I’m still going to do it.”

“See, Buck?” Sam had raised his brows at Bucky’s scowl, then turned back to you. “How about the pens?”

“I like them.” You’d spun yours between your fingers, trying not the feel Bucky’s gaze over your skin. “But I like glitter, and Bucky doesn’t-“

“I like glitter.” He’d grunted, scowling at his own pen. “But it doesn’t belong in pens. It’s impractical.”

Sam had rolled his eyes. “They can write, man, that’s all they gotta do.”

“Yeah, Buck. You have no whimsy.”

You’d smiled at him, and he’d returned it, but it had been the only smile he’d offered for the rest of the day.

But the point hadn’t been to get him to smile. It had been to make him do the lists, because his therapist said it was important, and if he didn’t, he’d be in violation of his pardon conditions again. It had taken a very long, tense afternoon to get it done, but he’d handed his list to his therapist the next day, and you’d kept your crumbled in your jacket pocket since.

And you still weren’t fighting for things.

You think it’s how you ended up here. In this warehouse, your head spinning and everything a little too bright.

You can’t really remember, and this might just be an incredibly odd dream. Your tongue feels loose in your mouth, your skin has an odd buzzing feel over it, and this couch is made of what’s probably velvet, and you’re pretty sure Spiderman is standing right next to you, holding your list.

Your list. He’s reading your list. No one’s supposed to read that list, and you almost broken Sam’s hand for trying, and you know Sam-

“What the- fuck-“

Spiderman looks up at you right as you topple off the couch, his eyes widening his suit.

“Oh, shoot, sorry, ma’am-“

He pulls you back up to your feet, this list still in his hands, and you’d try to grab it but your whole body feels like jelly and mist. Nothing in you but your thoughts, floating around and narrowing in on the list, why does Spiderman have your list-

“What-“ You groan as he sets you back on the couch, closing your eyes to try and ward off the bile rising up your throat. “Why- What is- What happened?”

“Um,” Spiderman’s voice cracks slightly, sounding almost uncertain. “You were poking around where civilians shouldn’t be, miss- And I was looking in the same lab-“

You frown, keeping your eyes squeezed shut. “Lab?”

“Yeah, uh, one of the secret evil government ones-“

“Fuck.”

It’s coming back in small, hazy pieces.

Bucky told you that you didn’t need to do this, but you’d done it anyway. You weren’t recognizable, and you were careful and smart, so you’d be in and out before Sam and Bucky realized you’d gone and the building’s security realized you weren’t there for a meeting.

Something had happened. You’d gotten the evidence you needed, and there had been vial or canister, and you’d knocked it over because your phone had started ringing, and it had been Bucky. You’d think you’d declined the call, or just let it ring to voicemail, but he’d sent you a very angry text seconds later.

He’d noticed you were gone faster than you thought he would. He’d worked out what you were doing, and he was coming to grab you because you were being stupid, and when he’d called you a second time, you’d-

You’d thrown your phone in panic. It had broken the canister. And everything had gone black.

“Do you, uh,” Spiderman clears his throat from somewhere in front of you. “You look like you remember what happened?”

You give a half-nod, letting out a long breath. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my warehouse.”

You open your eyes at that, and Spiderman shakes his head.

“It’s a safe warehouse. Really safe. The safest. You collapsed, ma’am. I couldn’t just, uh- leave you on the floor? Alone? But-“ He looks down to your list, then back to you with an expression that’s somehow nervous through the mask. “May I please ask you a question?”

You can’t really go anywhere. And he’s already read your list, so there’s not much to lose.

“Sure.”

“Does the Bucky from your list have a metal arm? Because it’s not a- uh- I’ve only met one guy named Bucky, and he tried to punch me because we were doing this big fight at an airport, and he had a metal arm, and he’s not- uh- he seemed alright, but it was super complicated, and if this,” he points to your list, his voice growing higher and higher by the second. “Is the Bucky I know, then- uh- Is it?”

“Yeah,“ you let out a long, breath, and something is cloudy over your skull. Your Bucky does have a metal arm. “It is.”

“Oh, okay.” Spiderman blinks at you, then the list. “You, uh- You guys seem close, then. That’s cool.”

For a second, you want to lie. Just say you’re not that close, just co-workers, and Spiderman doesn’t need to be thinking about Bucky because it’s really, totally nothing.

But you can’t lie. The words just die at the top of your chest, and you can’t even bite your tongue and swallow the truth, or you’ll choke on your own spit.

“It’s- I- I love him.”

You’ve never said that aloud before. Not even to the mirror. But Spiderman just shrugs like it’s nothing, and then gestures to your list.

“Yeah, I uh- I worked that out, ma’am. He’s on here like ten times.” Spiderman’s eyes narrow on the paper. “Upstate, where you can see the stars. Bucky’s ass and arms. Candles. My blue vase. The color blue in general. The color brown, too. Bucky’s hair when he actually uses his fucking conditioner. Bucky’s eyes. Bucky when he’s sleepy and his Brooklyn accent slips. Cotton Candy ice cream.” Spiderman looks up at you with a nod. “Oh, that stuff is really good, there’s a place in Queens that makes it, and it tastes like- well, cotton candy-“

“That’s nice.” You mumble. “Can you please- just- I already know what the list says-“

“Right, of course, sorry.” Spiderman pauses, bouncing slightly on his feet. “It’s a nice list though.”

You sigh. “I know. That was the point.”

“To make a nice list?”

“Yep.”

Spiderman sounds like he’s frowning. “That’s- uh- Why? I mean, you don’t have to tell-“

“It was for Bucky’s therapy. He had to make a list of all the good things in his life, so Sam and I did it with him.”

You didn’t want to tell Spiderman that. He’d even been about to say you didn’t have to, but you did. He asked, and if you don’t say the truth, it feels as if all the oxygen will burn up in your lungs.

That can’t be good.

“Hey, kid?” He sounds like a kid. And if he’s not, he doesn’t correct you. He only nods and takes a step closer, waiting for you to continue. “Do you know what I gassed myself with.”

“Um.” Spiderman swallows. “No? But I have a guess-“

“Is your guess truth gas? Because my guess is truth gas.”

“Yeah, it is. I mean, that’s my guess too. You’ve, uh, you’ve been really honest. Not that you’re not an honest person, I don’t know you, but I’ve asked a lot of personal questions-“

You give him a flat look. “You could stop doing that, you know.”

“Uh- Yeah. Sorry. I will.” Spiderman glances over his shoulder, then back to your list. “He’s gonna be looking for you, right? Mr. Barnes?”

“Probably.” You mumble, and Spiderman’s eyes widen.

“Are you guys, like, together-“

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh.” Spiderman gives you what’s likely meant to be an apologetic expression, “Sorry, that was another personal question. But, uh, if you’re not together, why-“

“We’re friends. And he was-“ You let out a breath through your teeth, and maybe you should just ask Spiderman to put tape over your mouth before this gets worse. “Not happy I was in the lab. And he has to protect me. He promised Steve.”

“You knew Captain Rogers? That’s so-“

“We were fuckbuddies.”

Spiderman’s eyes widen again. “Oh. Good- Good for you.”

He gives you a weak thumbs up, and you manage to pull your arms over your body into a tight hug.

“Do you, uh- Do you want me to call Mr. Barnes for you-“

“Yes, please.”

You list off Bucky’s number, and when he picks up in only seconds, you think you can hear him shouting at Spiderman through the phone.

If you were lucky, you’d convince Spiderman to knock you out again. To eliminate the truth serum problem by force, and make it so you don’t have to look Bucky in the eyes when he arrives. But you suggest it, get shot down, and don’t push it further.

And when Bucky bursts into the warehouse—Sam right on his heels and looking far too amused for the situation—you really wish you’d fought harder. Fought at all.

You can’t do this. You can’t listen to Bucky snap at Spiderman for being an idiot and kidnapping you, and watch Sam’s eyes light up when Spiderman explains the whole truth gas thing.

“So anything we ask her, she’s gonna have to tell us the truth?”

Bucky’s jaw twitches as he glances at you. “Truth gas isn’t real. It’s just the aftereffects being knocked out-“

“It’s real, Mr. Barnes-“

“Only one way to find out.” Sam cuts off Spiderman with a wide grin, saying your name in a mockingly casual tone. “What was the best thing you and Cap ever did in bed?”

“Sam-“

Bucky looks like he’s going to throw Sam into the wall, but he’s too late.

“Face-sitting.” When this is over, you’re going to shoot Sam yourself. “I liked the beard a lot.”

Sam’s grin looks like it’s going to start glowing. “Damn, good for you girl. You know, if you like beards-“

“Sam.” Bucky’s voice has dropped to almost a growl, and he’s not looking at you anymore. “Go start the car.”

There’s a long moment where they seem to be having a silent conversation—Sam wearing a shit eating grin and jerking his head in your direction, Bucky looking like he’s one brief moment away from strangling Sam with his bare hands—but before you can figure out what’s happening, Spiderman’s tapping on your shoulder.

You manage to angle your head to frown at him, and he’s holding your gaze in the silence, pointing to your list in his hands, then Bucky.

“Does he know you-“

“No.” You cut off the kid’s whisper before he can finish the sentence, because Bucky will fucking hear him. “Don’t say it.”

“Don’t-“ Spiderman pauses, then nods frantically. “Oh, yeah, sorry- Just- This is yours.”

He shoves the list back into your jacket, right as Sam walks outside with a dramatic sigh, and Bucky turns back to you, his expression unreadable.

“You weren’t supposed to go in alone.” He grunts, and you swallow.

“I know.” You give him a small, nervous smile. “Sorry.”

“I- No, you’re not.”

“I am.” You insist, somehow managing to lean forward as he approaches, and something strange flashes over Bucky’s eyes. “I can’t lie, Buck, I really am sorry, I- I didn’t want to freak you out, I promise-“

Bucky shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Alright. I got you. Hold on.”

You blink at him. “Hold-“

Bucky hauls you over his shoulder without another warning, and you can barely hear Spiderman’s shouted goodbyes and last apologies over the drum of your heart.

“Bucky-“

“Not now.” He grunts, squeezing your thigh with a hand, and that’s not fair. Your body goes molten from it, and he doesn’t know that, and if he asks why you’re suddenly breathing so heavy you’ll have to tell him that you can feel an ache in your core, it’s all his fault.

Bucky doesn’t seem all that interested in talking, though. There are no lectures about being insane and getting yourself drugged. No snaps or grumbles about not telling him where you were going.

He won’t even look you in the eyes, and it’s a million times worse. He just sets you flat on your back in the car and moves to the passenger’s seat, and Sam’s sympathetic look only makes you taste more bile.

Maybe this was a straw on something you hadn’t thought could break, and he’s going to tell you that you’re done. That if you can’t listen, you’re not allowed in the field anymore, and that’s not his fucking call to make but you know Sam won’t stand against him. You work with Bucky the most, and if he says he doesn’t want you anymore, you’re out.

He’ll still be your friend, but you’ll see him less. No more long train rides or later nights in hotels where you can watch him sleep like a fucking creep, imagining he’s holding you to his chest instead of a pillow. And without you there he’ll meet someone, and she’ll become his world, and you’ll be left with this glass over your heart that only becomes stained with color when Bucky looks at you. You’ll be stranded again, and Bucky will be guiding someone else home, and that grave you’ve dug for yourself will bloom a million times until you’re buried under it, and Bucky never removes the dirt from your lungs.

“So.” Sam breaks the silence, and maybe if you bite off your tongue you can save yourself from what’s coming. “Truth gas, huh?”

“Yeah.” You mumble, feeling the flush heat your face, and Sam hums.

“How’s it feel?”

You pause, but only to find the right word. “Fuzzy. Like- Drunk, but paralyzed and also kind of high.”

“Damn, that sounds nice-“

“It’s not.”

“Sam.” Bucky mutters, and you wish you could see him. If his arms are crossed, if he’s scowling, if he looks revolted by the sight of you. “I’ll crash the fucking car.”

“No, you won’t. Hey,” Sam drawls your name, and you can hear his grin. “You remember Singapore?”

“Yeah, I remember the country-“

“You remember the mission we did there, during the Avenger’s break-up era?”

You swallow. “Yes.”

“You remember how you and Cap vanished for like, an hour?”

“Sam.” You let out a long breath, and try your fucking hardest to dodge this. “You know I do-“

“What did you guys get up to?”

“Sam.” Bucky growls, but it’s—again—too late.

“I made him get food with me.”

“See, Buck,” Sam says, and you can see him gesturing in your periphery. “It’s not that bad-“

You cut him off, and you can’t stop yourself. “Then we had sex. I gave him a blowjob.”

There’s a long heavy silence, and you think they’re doing the silent conversation again. You can feel your every nerve, alight in your body, and if Bucky doesn’t kick you out you might just run away anyways. He can’t want to hear about it. Steve was like his brother, you’re talking about how you used to fuck his brother, and edging dangerously close to a worse conversation where Bucky tells Sam to shut up, and you agree, and when Sam asks why you’re siding with Bucky, you say it’s because you love him-

Sam says your name again, and whatever silent threats Bucky had given him didn’t seem to be sticking. “What would you do if Steve came back?”

“Nothing.”

That’s an easy one. Sam’s asked you that a million times before, and he seems to be convinced that whenever you say nothing, it’s a lie. That you’ve been hiding how you’d break down in tears and throw yourself into his arms, declaring that your love is undying when it’s never even existed at all, sobbing until Steve forgives you for not asking him to stay.

You’re pretty sure that Sam thinks that, if you’d asked Steve to stay, he would’ve. And you don’t really care either way, because he hadn’t stayed. He’d made his choice, and it had maybe left you hollow for a few months, but now you know that what had been a small bullet wound with Steve was really nothing at all.

It would be a gash through a vital organ, if it had been love. It would’ve been your spine out of your body and your brain leaking out of your mouth, your skin flayed by the loss.

Because Steve had only been a compass. You could make another one, or find another one, and it only guided you north. If he came back, you’d only offer him a hug and a smile, because he’d still be your friend but there was nothing more to do.

Not when your heart wasn’t screeching for him. Not when you had a home, and a way back to it that you might be about to lose, and why isn’t Bucky saying anything-

“Why’s that?” Sam drawls your name, and something twists in your gut. He sounds too casual, as if he’d expected that answer. “Thought you were Steve’s girl-“

“We had sex, Sam, we weren’t soulmates-“

The fuckface doesn’t drop. You hope Bucky stabs him. “But you loved him, right?”

“I never loved Steve, he was just-“ You’re going to fuck vomit. “He was my friend, and the sex was good, really good, but it wasn’t love.”

There’s another silence, and maybe if you do vomit, you’ll choke on it and pass out.

“Told you, Buck.” Sam mutters, and you frown into the air.

“What did you tell him-“

Sam cuts you off with a chuckle. “Tell ‘er, man, what have you got to lose-“

“Sam.” Bucky grunts, and you can hear his glower. “If you don’t drop it, now-“

“Jesus, hold onto your ass. Here, how about-“

“I’m fucking serious-“

“So am I.” Sam cuts off Bucky’s hiss, humming your name like nothing is wrong in the world at all. “How do you know you didn’t love Steve?”

“It wasn’t what love feels like.” You mumble, and maybe you can talk around this. Answer the questions truthfully, without saying the thing.

“Interesting. And what does love feel like?”

“Good.”

“What’s good.”

“Love.”

You swear you could hear Bucky snort, or at least cough.

“Alright, smartass.” Sam mutters, and you can hear him tapping on the wheel. “You ever been in love?”

Fuck. “Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Once.” You’re going to throttle him. Drown him. Take Bucky up on that crash the car thing, because Bucky will be fine, but maybe you and Sam will die and then you can fucking murder his ghost-

“Anyone we know?” Sam’s voice is far too casual. He knows. You don’t know how, but the shithead knows.

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Sam chuckles to himself, and Bucky better punch him now, before it’s too late-

“Yes.” You mutter, pressing on your eyelids until you can see little spiraling patterns. “Sam-“

“Who?”

You try to swallow it. You really fucking try to choke on it, to just let it kill you, to bury yourself before this can ruin everything, and Bucky won’t even be your friend anymore-

But you have no powers. No extraordinary will or resolve or healing factor, to flush the gas out of your system at will or bite down that immovable fact.

It’s more than truth. It’s a tenant, a law, something as simple as cold air will sink and time will keep moving.

You will. You just will. You’ll always fucking do it, and there’s no world ending disaster to save your from say that you simply do and have and will love-

“Bucky.”

You think it’s a mercy, how the gas is fogging over your brain. You hear something slam into something else, but the car keeps moving, and a tight silence hangs over the rest of the ride that you allow yourself not to feel. You just keep your eyes closed and pretend nothing happened at all, because you’ve broken it, and you’re done.

It has to be done. Bucky knows, and he said nothing in return. You don’t have to worry about it, because this is going to kill you, but you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Bucky isn’t saying anything, and even Sam has stopped talking, and you’re going to fucking wither and fall away into nothing but you’ll be fucking fine. Bucky doesn’t owe you anything. Just because you love him like the water loves the moon and bees love flowers and trees love birds doesn’t mean he has to give you anything in return.

To him you’ve just been his friend, and loving Bucky might be clarity for you, but for him it’s probably strange. You’re Steve’s girl that got left behind. You’re the little shadow that he’d already been planning on surgically removing from his wake, and you loving him shouldn’t make that different. He’s not going to just love you because you love him. If anything he might think you’re trying to twist his will, make him feel guilty for planning to push you away, force him to let you cling to him a little while longer out of obligation.

The same obligation that has him carrying you inside, when you finally park the car.

He must think you’re asleep. Must not want to wake you and force that conversation, with how he’s holding you in your arms like you’re a damsel or princess, and not just another piece of luggage.

You’re greedy. You won’t pretend to wake up, because you’re greedy, and you want this for just one more second. To let your face press into Bucky’s chest, to smell the coffee on his shirt, and amber of that old cologne he wears when he thinks he doesn’t have mission to do.

You’d ruined that. You’d made him grab you from a warehouse, made him carry you inside, and you don’t know why he’s setting you on your bed with such care when you fucked everything-

This isn’t your bed, it smells like that cologne, and a piney shampoo, and the blankets are thinner than yours.

“I know you’re awake.” Bucky’s voice is low, from somewhere across the room, and you really wish you could sit up. “I’m goin’ out with Sam to check out the lab, make sure nothing else got fucked on your trip. I-“ He pauses, and you can hear a slightly shuffling before he speaks again. “Don’t move. Please. I’ll be back.”

You couldn’t move if you wanted to. The gas is still running through your system, and when the door closes behind Bucky, exhaustion slams into your chest.

It’s not sleep exhaustion. It’s drifting in and out consciousness, the light of the room seeming to shift as you roll around Bucky’s bed—this has to be Bucky’s bed, and you don’t really want to think about that too hard right now—ending up with your face buried in his pillow. You think you can, at some point, hear people moving around near you, but it’s nothing. The world, right now, is just you, in Bucky’s bed, breathing an imprint of him in as your limbs start to grow heavy, and motion returns to your body.

But you stay in Bucky’s bed. You don’t have the strength to move. Physically, at first, but then that’s just an excuse.

You don’t want to move. You won’t fight to convince Bucky to let you stay, but you also won’t fight to set yourself free before he kicks you to the curb.

So you just wait. And you’re tired enough that you don’t hear him come in.

You yelp as a big, cool hand presses to your brow, and your eyes shoot open to find Bucky already watching you.

“Lab is fine.” He mutters. “And Sam’s out. He’s walkin’ it off.”

You don’t respond, and Bucky’s throat bobs slightly.

“I didn’t beat him not. Not go for recovery and shit, but I did yell at him a lot. And he’s sorry. He’ll be bringin’ you cake later, to show it.”

Another beat of silence, and Bucky won’t stop looking at you.

“Ice cream cake.” He grunts. “You had a fever, for a minute. Think the cold will help.” He switches hands, frowning as he scans over your face. “You feelin’ better?”

You let out a long breath, and you can’t do this. You can ride it out, but you can’t do it.

Bucky grunts your name when you don’t answer, his brow furrowing slightly. “I need you to tell me you’re feelin’ better.”

You just blink at him, and give a tiny, weak nod.

“Are you gonna talk to me?” His voice sounds strained, and you can’t fucking do this- “I- You don’t need to explain, I just want you to stop ignoring me-“

“You were ignoring me first.” You mumble, and you sound like you’re whining. This is horrible, and if Bucky wasn’t going to toss you away before, he will now. “You wouldn’t look at me.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “I’m looking at you now, doll.”

“Bucky-“

“Is the truth gas gone?:

You blink at him. “I- Maybe, yeah-“

“Tell me a lie, then.” His tone is urgent, and maybe the gas isn’t gone. Maybe you just finally fell into full sleep, and this is a dream.

“Um…” You blink at him, your voice barely a rasp. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Shit, how about- Who ate my dumplings?”

“Sam.” You whisper, and Bucky frowns.

“He said you did it, so that’s a lie-“

That manages to pull a weak smile out of you. “And you trust him?”

“I-“ Bucky runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. “You’re right. What about this. What color are my sheets?”

You frown. “You can see them, Buck, they’re blue-“

“I know, you just gotta lie. Say they’re pink.”

“They’re pink?”

“Thank fuck.” Bucky lets out a long breath, watching you carefully as he continues. “No interrupting me until I’m done, got it?”

“Bucky-“

“Got it?”

His tone isn’t harsh, but it’s sharp. Almost desperate.

You can’t fight.

All you can do is nod, and whisper, “Okay.”

“Good.” He braces his shoulders, the same movement as when he’s prepping for a fight, his eyes never leave yours as he speaks. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I thought- Shit, I was sure I’d fuck something up. Ask why you snuck off on that mission, and you’d say because you didn’t trust me to do it, then I’d ask why, and you’d- goddamn it-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, his word almost pushed through his teeth. “I didn’t want to hear it, doll. I didn’t want you to tell me what I knew, cause then it would be real, and I’d have to live with that. You’re, I never even hoped for it, cause that’s just not how this is supposed to work, and he might have left but he’d have to come back- I woulda always come back for you, wouldn’t have left you in the first place but the kid’s always been a punk, might’ve taken him a second- But you- Wait-“

Bucky reaches into his pocket, and you shouldn’t have agreed not to interrupt him. You’re only half-following what he’s saying, and he’s pulling out your fucking list, and maybe if you can’t fight it’s time to run-

Before you can move, Bucky’s hand lands on your thigh, holding you in place as he scans over the list. Like he’d been ready for you to go.

Gripping you so tight, he might not want you to leave.

“I don’t think my accent slips that much.” He says, and you swallow. “And I try to use the conditioner, but sometimes I’m in rush.”

You swallow. “Bucky-“

“And that vase is shit.” He puts down the list, looking back to you with a heavy caution in his eyes. “I only made it cause Sam threatened to hide my arm, if I didn’t do that stupid fucking pottery class with him. Not nearly as good as that sunset painting you got in your room.”

“I-“ You take a heavy breath, forcing the words out, slow and neutral. “It’s a nice painting.”

“Sam mentioned Steve made it for you.”

“He did.” You mumble. “During the Blip.”

“But you don’t love it.”

You shake your head, and Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“Really is a horrible vase.”

You only shrug.

“Shit-“ Bucky sighs, glancing to his nightstand. “Can I show you something?”

You nod—words are really too much, too dangerous—and Bucky opens the side drawer, pulling out his own crumpled paper, almost identical to yours, and places it in your hands.

He doesn’t have to tell you to read it. Your eyes are scanning over the paper before you can stop them, and you’re not going to choke on vomit or spit or words.

You’re going to choke on your heart, right in your throat and trying to find a way out of your body. Maybe to blind you, before you can see too much and this all becomes hopelessly reality.

You’d tried not to think about what Bucky’s good things list contained. If you made even a single appearance. It always hurt too much, because what if you didn’t. What if he was apathetic of your presence—not hate, you would know if Bucky hated you—and you’d have strangle your own love a little further, bury it even deeper, wander after him a little more aimlessly, because what was home for you wasn’t anything for him-

“Sam tried to steal this, before I gave it to my shrink.” Bucky mutters. “He’s been trying to convince me to stop making assumptions about you and Steve for months, and his methods started to get out of line few weeks back. This,” Bucky taps the paper, still clenched in your hands. “Was his idea, not the doctors. He’s gonna be so fuckin’ annoying now, swear to god if he hired the spiderkid I’ll rip off his wings and toss him off the roof-“

“Bucky.” You whisper, and you’re worried you’re going to tear the already worn paper. “Do you mean this?”

He nods before the last word is even fully out of your mouth. “Never meant anythin’ more. Didn’t think you’d ever even see it. Or read it.”

You can tell that. His handwriting is rushed, and scratchy, and the words are almost illegible. The header says Good Things - JBB, in big letters, and everything else you have to squint to read.

Bucky likes Sam, but there’s an added note of sometimes in the margins. He likes YouTube, and that has a note as well, explaining there are a bunch of videos about how to upkeep his bike and fuck with the stereo of Sam’s car so it only connects to your phone.

All his items have little notes added on. Bucky likes the flowers in the park, because they make you smile when he puts them in the vase he made you. He likes peppermint ice cream because you always steal some of it, and then give him some of yours. He likes eggs because you make them for him, and the piano because you play it, and Russian because you can read it now, and sometimes you’ll pass notes like teenagers just to piss Sam off, and that makes him laugh.

And Bucky likes you.

That one is underlined five times, and crossed out, and moved to very bottom of the page with a different header.

Best Things - JBB.

You look up at him with wide eyes, and he looks guarded. Worried.

“You need to say it first.” He mutters, scanning over you carefully. “Because you want to say it. You need to- Shit,” Bucky sits a little taller, his voice hoarse as he says your name. ”You need to want this.”

You can hear the missing word.

Bucky.

You have to want Bucky.

And you’ve never fought for anything in your life. You’ve been like a chemical, reacting in a chain without any desire or thought to build yourself into anything more. It’s never mattered what you’ve wanted before, not with anyone. Steve finds you, then leaves you, then Sam finds you, then Bucky finds you, and you burst and bounce off of all of them without a thought because that’s what you do.

You don’t fight for things.

But you’d never been in love before either, and it’s moving you faster and with more fire than the truth gas had. You love Bucky, so this isn’t blood spilt in his name or a bullet bruising your organs to protect him. No plans or strategies or broken bones, because this isn’t something that can be broken. You dropped it but it’s still fully intact and filled with something better than you’ve ever had before, so you do more than fight for it.

You’ll spit and bite and snarl to keep it in your hands. You’ll build something out of roses around it until nothing can take it, and then you’ll still defend it with everything you have, because to you it will still be clear and delicate and more resilient than the ocean.

And when you finally speak, there’s something strong to your voice that hadn’t been there before, because you want Bucky to hear it. To never doubt that, at the end of the day, you want him.

It’s clear. And the words flow out of you even easier than when you’d had no choice.

“I love you.” You push up onto your knees until you’re barely a breath away, your body still only steadied by his hand on your thigh. “You. James Barnes. Nobody else. Ever.”

“That’s good.” He mutters, his free hand reaching to cup your face. “Shit, that’s- Are you-“

“I’m sure,” you offer him a small smile. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Bucky.”

His lips twitch slightly, and you’ve never seen his eyes so dark. You can fucking feel it. Across your skin and in your gut, right into your vein and more electric than a storm. If you bother to think back, he’s looked at you like this countless times, but it’s as if one last veil has been lifted, and it’s really written all over his face before he can say it.

“I love you, too.” Bucky says your name in a soft voice than you’ve ever heard, his hand squeezing on your thigh, and you’re gone. Flying and falling and growing into him, up to him, over him.

You’re almost fully pressed over him.

He doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He pauses, raising his brows like he’s expecting you to flinch away.

You can’t have that.

Your hands fist in his shirt in half a second, and you yank him down into until you’re certain he feels it the same way you do. That this going to be immovable. You’ll mold into Bucky and climb on to his lap and open your mouth when he groans and presses his tongue on your lower lip, but that will only ever be for him. Your love for him will only ever fucking build, until it’s bursting through the atmosphere and coating everything, and you’re never lost again.

The kiss deepens from long and slow to almost frantic. You can taste whatever fruit and coffee he’d been having while you were knocked out, and you can feel his every muscle ripping when he pulls you tighter to his chest, and you need him. More. All of it. You can bite at his lips and moan at his tongue down your throat, half claw your way up his body and grind down onto his leg, but you need more-

Bucky grunts your name, pulling back with his hands planted on your hips, and at some point you’d managed to straddle his thigh.

He’s not letting you move, as he scans over your open, flushed features, and you can’t stop the whine that leave your lips.

“Jesus, baby-“

You let out another weak sound as the ache between your legs becomes painful, and drop your brow to his. “Fuck- Bucky, you can’t just say that-“

He frowns at you, brow furrowing slightly. “What are you- you mean baby?”

“God-“ You whack his arm, trying to roll your hips against him, but you barely even manage to squirm. “You’re such an asshole-“

“Yeah, ‘m sorry, ba- pretty girl.” He’s trying to help you, but pretty girl is worse, and you start to kiss over his jaw just have something.

Biting and nipping along the line of his scruff, moving your hands under his shirt to trace over his stomach, and abdomen, and-

“Shit-“ Bucky knocks your hand away with a grunt, the metal hand starting to rub firm circles on your waist. “I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman, doll, get you on a date first-“

“Date later.” You mutter, moving one hand back up to tug at his hair. “Want this, Bucky, I- I’ve been- Fuck-“ You yank at his hair again as Bucky growls, attaching his lips to your neck and sucking, wet a long line over your collar bone as he starts to guide your hips back along his thigh. “God, that feels so good-“

“I know, baby.” He smirks against your skin when you moan, and you bury your face in his shoulder. “But we’re goin’ on that date later, alright?”

“Yeah, yes please, just-” you nod desperately, tugging at Bucky’s shirt. “Off, please-“

He leans back for a second, pulling his own shirt over his head before ripping yours off, diving his head to kiss along the line of your breasts and he holds you steady on his thigh.

You’re going to fly out of your skin. Somewhere in the dizzying, building high of Bucky’s mouth anywhere he can get it, and your arms wrapped around his neck as you grind onto his thigh, he lifts you up for half a second and rips your jeans off, right before guiding you right back to where he’s decided you belong.

Riding his thigh with your cunt forming a dark spot on his jeans, your moans muffled in his chest or swallowed by long, heavy and bruising kisses.

And you’re close. You’re so close, and you can feel his cock straining right where your clit keeps bumping, and he’s started to lick and bite at nipples, and god, he’s so fucking good-

“Think you can cum like this, baby?” Bucky’s words vibrate through your whole body, and you moan against his lips. “I can help you, if you need a little more, all you have to do-“

“Please.” You whisper, squirming in his hold as he starts to kneed at your skin. “Fuck, Bucky, please, more-“

He silences you with another rough, almost branding kiss—as if he’s trying to push himself into your body, when he’s already been there for what may be forever—and grabs your leg, swinging it over until you’re fully sat on his lap, your bare pussy exposed to the air.

Bucky pushes a finger into your cunt without warning, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing harsh, firm circles until your gasping into his open mouth and yanking at his hair, every other strangled sound just another plea for more.

He gives it. Two fingers, pumping in and out of you, and it feels so good, you’re going to light on fire and burn because his thumb is just pressing down on your clit as his fingers crook at rub on the sensitive point inside of you, and he’s so fucking good-

Something white-hot and tight snaps in your core, your pussy starts to spasm and make wet sounds you’d never heard before, and you cum on Bucky’s hand with a high, relieved gasp of his name in his ear, yanking on his hair one last time. Bucky’s groan rolls through your whole body until a small, softer orgasm leaves you shaking in his arms, and when you pulls back, he’s watch you with an open, reverent expression.

Bucky pulls his hand out of your still quivering pussy, his gaze fixed on the wet mess you left all over his fingers, and you almost apologize before you see the expression on his face.

It’s hunger. And when his eyes drop only slightly to his own pants, you can see a large, wet stain around his crotch.

You swallow, looking back up to meet Bucky’s stare, and somehow the love on his face is clearer than before. Almost ardorous, and he’s licking his fingers clean without breaking your stare, and fuck, he’s already pressing right into your inner thigh again-

“You came in your pants.” You whisper, and Bucky shrugs.

“You squirted.” He glances down to his hand, then your parted lips, and his eyes flash slightly. “Can you open for me, babydoll?”

That one’s dangerous. You might do anything Bucky asks, if says it in that low, devout voice and calls you babydoll.

He groans as you obey, wrapping your lips around those same fingers that had been inside of you and sucking, moaning and licking around him, trying to show him what you’ll do for him if he lets you fall to your knees for him, touch him, taste him instead of your own release-

“God, you’re perfect.” Bucky mutters under his breath, and you start to grind down onto his already hard dick, steadying yourself with your fingers dug into his chest. “You want- Shit- I think you want more-”

You cut him off with a moan and a nod, and that’s all it takes.

It’s almost impossible, how fast Bucky has you tossed backwards on this bed, towering over your naked body for only half a second as he rips his own jeans off, right before falling forward and kissing you until you’re dizzy and melted into the mattress, scraping at his back for more because you can feel his cock, free and big and pressed right onto your stomach-

Bucky rises up with wide eyes, his attention flicking to the nightstand. “I- Uh- Wasn’t expectin’ to do this anything soon-“

“Are you clean?” You trace your hand over Bucky’s jawline until his eyes fall back to yours. “Because I’m on the pill, and the last guy was a virgin.”

Bucky blinks at you for a second, then snorts, dropping his brow to yours.

“You think you’re funny, doll.” He mutters, kissing slowly along your neck. “But I’m clean, and if you’re sayin’ what I think you are, you’re gonna be feeling me in that sweet pussy for a month.”

You swallow, a smooth shiver moving up your spine. “Promise?”

“Fuck- Are you-“

“Stop asking if I’m sure, Bucky-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Bucky slams his cock into you, and your back arches off the bed.

He must have somehow grown from seconds before, because fuck, he’s big. Splitting you open and filling you up until you’re already seeing faint stars, big. Driving you out of your mind just by sitting inside of you without friction, and that thought enters your head and now all you can think about is Bucky moving-

“I’ve got you, baby.” He mutters in your ear, and you must have said that aloud, because he starts to fuck you.

Really, properly fuck you until you can’t really tell where Bucky’s stopping and you’re beginning. Pounding into your cunt, with his skin slapping against yours and a big, rough, warm hand pulling and flicking at your nipples as his mouth attacks your skin, and fuck-

“Bucky-“ You gasp, your words morphing into a whine as he slams into that already raw, abused spot inside of you. “Fuck- I-“

“I know, baby,” He kisses over your face, never breaking pace as he soothes you. “Think you can come again, pretty girl? Gimme once more, before I fill your- Shit- Fill you up like you-“

Bucky groans your name as you squeeze around him, and any deceptively soft words turn in animalistic glowers as he drills into you.

You’re not sure when you cum. If it’s when Bucky starts to repeat that he loves you, over and over in your ear, his movements growing unmeasured and desperate as his cock stared to slam into your pelvis. It might have been when the metal hand found its way to pinching and rubbing your clit, or when Bucky angled your hips up and started to drill into you at an impossibly deep angle.

But you know that you don’t think you’ll ever fully come down from this high. That even as Bucky paints your cunt white with his own release and a roar of you name, you’re still floating, and everything is just a blur of salt and blue and pine and Bucky and good. He’s leaking down your thighs, but remaining buried inside of you as you both take long, ragged breaths, and he’s good. Warm and sprawled over you, strong and caging you in his arms like you’re a work of art or diamond, all yours and good.

“You promised me a date,” you mumble in his ear, and he chuckled, turning his head to kiss your cheek.

“I did, didn’t I. You think Sam’ll notice if we got out tomorrow night?”

You roll your eyes. “I think Sam is lucky he’s not getting poisoned after that shit.”

“You want me to poison him, doll, just say the word-“

“No-“

“How about head trauma. I can give him head trauma-“

You giggle, running your fingers through Bucky’s hair until you swear you can hear him fucking purring. “Don’t give Sam head trauma. It would make you sad.”

“Shut up.” Bucky grumbles, squeezing you a little tighter. “You never said yes to dinner.”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” You hum, leaning back to smile at him, and there’s the ardor again.

You’ve never felt anyone’s pure attention do that to you before him. Make everything in you soft and feral all at once, because it will only make you bloom but you’re certain now that you’d rip the fabric of time and space apart to keep it.

“I love you.” You whisper, and Bucky’s grin splits his face.

Those grins are rare. Teeth and joy and light and all Bucky, more priceless every rare metal and magic in the world.

But they’ve never been rare for you. He’s almost always offered them to you like they were nothing, and if loving Bucky was clarity, admitting it is omnipresence.

You’re everything, and everywhere, and you love him, and you don’t know how you’d never seen that he loves you back. It’s been written in crude but deep words, everywhere you could ever look.

“I love you, too.” Bucky brushes a little hair out of your face, his eyes almost sparklingly like stars on yours. “Think it’s okay if I show you, a lot, for a long time?”

Your smile hurts your cheeks, and you think the light in your body could outshine the sun.

“Yeah, it’s- please.” You lean up to press your lips to Bucky’s in a soft, slow kiss. “Please do that.”

He smirks, nodding as he tangles his hand in your hair.

“Whatever my girl wants, I’ll get her.”

“Good.” You whisper. “Cause I’m yours.”

And this is it.

You’re home.

End Note: Sam Wilson and his silly fuckeries. Biggest little brother energy in the world.

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issues4him · 2 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/issues4him/778743145868476416/i-love-your-blue-collar-rafe-and-sahm-reader

What is blue collar rafes job?? Is he in construction or what exactly

Also does he eventually have his own company or what?? I know he is all about being his family’s provider and letting reader stay home with the babies so I feel like he eventually makes a good living for his family and is successful

anon, my beloved, you read my mind!! you know he’s the kind of guy that takes a ton of pride in his work, comes home covered in sawdust and sweat, and still kisses you like he’s not exhausted.

here’s blue collar!rafe’s job description:

rafe’s job title was lead framing foreman. he was already working construction jobs by 17, started part-time during high school. he didn’t go to college—he went straight to the job site. that’s 6+ years of experience by the time he was 23. he wanted to move up fast—especially with a family. he asked for more responsibility, more hours, more chances. guys like rafe work 10-hour days and stay late to prove themselves. that kind of work ethic gets noticed & rewarded.

by 21, he was running crews. by 23, the younger guys were calling him “boss” without even meaning to. and by 26? he was already getting frustrated & burnt out. not because he didn’t like work—he loved it—but because he hated answering to people who didn’t care the way he did.

he’d come home grumbling about being told to cut corners. or about the guys higher up taking credit. or about gary not ordering the right wood again. you’d watch him shake his head at the dinner table, hunter in his lap, wren eating everything on her plate (that girl eats so much), emmett asking if he could help on the site someday. and you knew—he was ready.

you were the one who mentioned it first. “why don’t you just start your own company?”

rafe looked up like you’d read his mind. he didn’t say anything for a minute—just blinked, then smirked and rubbed the back of his neck. “been thinkin’ ‘bout it. just not sure if it’s the right time, i guess.”

you grinned. “we’ve never waited for the ‘right’ time, rafe. we had a baby at nineteen and still made a damn life, didn’t we?” he kissed you right then and there—forever grateful for your support.

a few months later, he filed the paperwork to officially start his business—CAMERON & SON’S

because even though emmett was only six and hunter was only two, rafe was already planning to teach them everything. he pictured the logo on a truck, the name on signs, the boys working beside him one day. wren bringing lunch to the site with you. hunter hammering nails into scrap wood at five years old. he converted the garage out back into a workshop and office space. bought his first work trailer. you helped him design a little business card that made him weirdly emotional the first time he held it. he didn’t need much. just his tools, his name, and you standing beside him, grinning because you always believed in him first.

when rafe landed his first solo job you made a damn cake. with the company name written in icing. he blushed. the kids clapped. maverick barked. and rafe—your hard-working, sweaty, built-like-a-house husband—cried a little in the garage that night.

because this was it. his name. his company. his dream. and he built it for all of you.

#blue collar!rafe #blue collar!rafe x sahm!reader #rafe cameron #anon

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luveline · 13 hours ago

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HEY JADE I HOPE UR DOING WELL ILY

im curious to hear ur thoughts on what an interaction between zombie!au steve and reader would look like had the apocalypse not happened. would she fly completely under his radar like in high school or would he be interested in getting to know her?? we know she knew who he was pre-apocalypse but does she really care? i keep thinking about what would happen if she walked into family video one day and if he would hit on her or not lmao

hi I love you! zombie au (ish) | fem, 1.3k

Voices force Steve’s attention.

“I’ll be five minutes!”

“Two minutes or I’m driving off without you!”

Steve’s more familiar with the second one. Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson and his creaky shit van idling on the curb outside of the store. That sheds some light on the first voice —one of the club members. Or, honorary club members? When Steve decides to be kind and drive Dustin home in the winter after his games, you can be seen occasionally sitting on stoops waiting for Eddie to finish.

Who knew The Freak could get a girlfriend? That makes Steve being single even sadder.

You say something else. Eddie laughs. “Do you want popcorn or not?” you quip.

“Why, are you paying for it?”

“Not for you I’m not.”

“You got a minute and counting.”

“If you drive off without me, you can forget about Friday night.”

Steve angles his head to watch you through the open door. Summer heat has made a mess of Munson’s hair where he’s leaning toward the open door. You’re holding the car door, in a light chequered dress with bows on the shoulders and the cutest pair of socks and buckled shoes. How the fuck does Eddie get a girl like that? Also, Steve’s been wondering, where the fuck did you come from? Clearly you went to Hawkins High, and when Robin told him that he swore he could remember you, but there’s nothing in his head. It’s like Robin all over again, in the same homeroom for two years and he didn’t know she was awesome until the summer after high school ended.

“Can you just go get your fucking movie so we can go?”

You’re still glaring when you turn around, but you’re quiet as you edge into Family Video. “Jerk,” you mouth to yourself, taking a quick cut to the slasher moves at the back. You don’t spend much time browsing, Steve can see from the back that it’s Day of the Dead. You emerge and head to the blockbusters.

You catch Steve watching at the desk.

He knows he doesn’t have a chance, you already have a boyfriend, so all he says is, “Let me know if you need any help.”

You smile weakly and turn back.

Maybe he wasn’t nice to you. He can’t remember, is the thing. He was such a jerk, Tommy and Carol were such jerks.

He’s not a miserable person, but he does hate himself more often than not. It’s easier because he actually has friends who love him. Robin might give him shit every day, but she’s the first person to teach him what being loved feels like, and it makes him better. He’s less cruel, less quick to anger, less selfish. But Steve knows he isn’t completely kind or patient in turn. He’s a fuck up. He’s nearly twenty three working for $4.50 in an hour with no degree and no prospects and—

“Hey,” you say, setting three tapes down on the desk.

“Hey.” He clears his throat. “Is this everything?”

You look vaguely embarrassed to ask, “Do you guys still do the bags of popcorn, do you know?”

“Sure, they’re by the window, let me just–”

“That’s okay, I’ll get it.”

You speed walk for the popcorn. Steve finds himself with a weirdly dry mouth as you reach for one, swallowing hard as you make your way back. It’s just the one bag of popcorn after all. Eddie must’ve really pissed you off.

Steve rings up your movies. The barcode on Pretty in Pink won’t work. He opens the window and starts to type it in with his keyboard.

Outside, someone lays on the horn for three long beeps.

“I’m real sorry about him,” you say, letting out a breathy, nearly-timid laugh.

“Is he always like that?”

“Every day of his life.”

Steve works in customer service. He has mastered the art of the polite smile. “I don’t think you should put up with it. Nice girl like you,” he says lightly.

“That’s what friends are for, right?” you say with chagrin.

Steve glances over your shoulder. Just friends? Who the fuck would put up with Eddie voluntarily? Steve understands that love isn’t a choice, but if you’re not even kissing to soften the blow of things, you’re just crazy.

He slides your tapes back to you. “How long did you want them for, just the one night?”

“Two, please.”

“Awesome, can I have a phone number and address?”

You give them.

Steve uses his employee discount and doesn’t really know why as he clicks it out. “It’s four dollars when you’re ready.”

You take the swing purse from your hip and clip it open, pulling out a ten dollar bill. “He’s not totally mean,” you say, “I know he seems rude. But that’s just his character.”

“Sure.”

You offer him the ten dollars, shifting around on your shoes, eyes over his shoulder toward the back. You seem a little put off by him. He really must’ve been mean to you. Maybe he laughed when Carol called you names. Maybe he ignored you as he put himself in Nancy Wheeler’s path.

“Steve?”

He looks up in surprise, still counting your change out. It should be easy, except he doesn’t have a five dollar bill in the register, and he had three one dollars, so he’s counting quarters he’ll have to apologise for. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

He pauses. “I’m good. Why?”

You gesture to your eye. “You have a cut. Did you get hurt?”

“This? This is nothing. I threw Robin, you know Robin? Robin Buckley? She’s going to college, she actually already left, but I threw her a surprise going away party. When everybody yelled ’surprise’ she sort of panicked and her ring caught me.” He chews his lip. “Yeah, I’m fine though.”

“Oh, shit. Eddie’s going to do this internship thing in Michigan at the end of the week, I hope he doesn’t get me with his rings when I give him his goodbye present.”

“Lot of rings.”

“Right? He’ll blind me.”

Steve startles both of you when he laughs heartily, grabbing the remainder of your change and shutting the register tightly. “Can’t let that happen.”

“So we both find ourselves without best friends for the autumn,” you say, holding out your hand for your change. “Maybe if you’re bored, you can call me. We can go to the movies or something.”

“You’re serious?”

“How else do you make friends?” you ask. “If you don’t wanna be my friend that’s fine, I’m putting you on the spot, just don’t call me, but my number’s in there.”

“And when you come back to return the movies, and I still haven’t called, that won’t be awkward at all,” he says wryly, teasingly, enjoying the way your face has changed. He wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re flirting, but your smile is something else.

“So… call me?” you ask quietly, grabbing your movies, your popcorn, and waiting for an answer.

Steve thinks that sounds more like a date being planned than a burgeoning friendship, and his grin probably shows that. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll call you. We’ll go to the movies.”

You’re decidedly quick as you escape the store, rushing down off the curb and upto Eddie’s van. You open the door and climb in fast, Steve only hears a snippet of your conversation as Eddie turns the engine back on.

“What the hell?”

“What?”

“I fucking knew you had a crush on that jerk! Look at your face!”

“Shut up, can we go?” you hiss. “This is why I didn’t get you any popcorn.”

“This is why you can't come to Michigan.”

Steve presses the back of his hand to his cheek as the van leaves the parking lot. He’s hot as a burning hearth. Probably red as one too. God, who are you? Where have you been this entire time? You might’ve just saved Steve’s life. (Or, his social life.)

—

I was curious and maybe this is like an au of the au and it’s not as cute as I wanted it to be but I think they’d accidentally trap themselves in the friends box for a while trying to survive being without their best friends together and Steve still falls slowly, I was gonna make this a bit longer but I thought I won’t bother unless it’s something people really want cos there’s a few requests I wanna do soon!! thank you for requesting

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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luvhughes43 · 3 days ago

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i go back to you everytime | quinn hughes

[luvhughes43 masterlist☁️]

note: again... something in my drafts from last year. this was supposed to be an au that i never got around to starting / posting. this is insta edits + fic

summary: quinn hughes and his ex, singer yn, cant seem to stay away from each other.

ynoffical

liked by _quinnhughes, arianagrande, madisonbeer, and 3.7M others

ynoffical smallll break in london

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trevorzegras can u hook a friend up with some tickets?

ynoffical to my show? no

user08 STAY STRONG MOTHER STAY STRONG

user11 what?

user08 quinn just posted wimbledon on his story and i dont wanna take ANY chances of a reunion

user32 theyre so cute together tho

user08 i just dont want yn to hide away again like when they were dating idk! i like when she feeds us

user56 its been less than a week and im already missing tour

liked by ynoffical

"quinn, we can't do this," you say, kissing your ex boyfriends lips as he backs you further into your hotel room.

he pulls away from you, trailing his lips from your mouth to your chin, then attaching himself to your neck. you moan from the pleasure, pulling his now overgrown hair with your long fingers. it felt like things used to. like you wern't in paris touring and instead were cooped up in quinn's apartment in vancouver.

"what's stopping us?" he breathes out, moving to your ear lobe where he presses light kisses to your skin. you shiver.

you sigh, wanting nothing more than to sink into the feeling of him. but you cant, we cant. last time you accepted this you got your heart broken because at the end of the day, quinn would never be ready to live a life with you and the visibility your career brought.

while he continues his demonstrations on your neck and beyond, you imagine what truly having quinn hughes would be like. his blushes when the cameras start flashing, him waiting for you backstage after your shows... countless dinners in different countries and cities while youre on tour and hes playing hockey. you want it all so bad, it makes your body ache.

"because you don't want all of me," you whisper, closing your eyes so you dont have to see quinns reaction. he'll try to scoff, or worse, try and deny your words.

"baby-"

"i'm not your baby," you say firmly, resolve building as you push quinn away from you and drop down onto your bed. youre staring up at him now, and you can tell that he's contemplating his next words carefully.

"we dont have to have this conversation again. you know what i want" quinn says, and you lay down on your back and cover your face with your hands. he doesn't get it.

"you don't want me. if you did, we wouldnt be in this mess in the first place"

the bed dips beside you. "i want to commit to you"

you sigh again, "you just broke up with your girlfriend,"

"i thought you wanted me to do that?" he tries to joke, referring to one of your most recent songs - break up with your girlfriend, im bored. you let my hands drop to your side, turning your head so you can look at quinn who's already looking at you.

"it's not funny"

"i'm sorry."

you stare at each other in silence for a minute.

"i hate you," you mumble, shocking quinn as you sit up and swing one of your legs over his lap, effectively straddling him. he sits up quickly, and his hands immediately find their place your my waist. he squeezes, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

"i love you," he whispers.

"shut up.." you whisper back, placing your lips over his as you resume what you started a long... long time ago.

ynoffical

liked by sabrinacarpenter, sukiwaterhouse, and 3.2M others

ynoffical annddd the honeymoon tour is back! see you tomorrow night paris 🌙

"fuck, you looked so hot in your little outfit tonight" quinn groaned.

"which one?" you smirk but its quickly replaced by a gasp as quinn pull your hips flush against his.

"the black one? the pink one? youre so sexy in all of them. i'm almost jealous that your fans get to see you wear them every night"

"mm well they don't get to see me in all the little - ahh, that you do" you gasp again as your legs hit the edge of the bed. quinn pushes you down onto it, and you watch as he quickly pulls off his shirt and starts undoing his belt.

"i need you so bad" you whimper, completely missing this feeling. you quickly pull your top off, and watch as it slides across the hotel room floor.

when quinns just in his boxes, he moves over to you and directs you to move up in bed which you easily do. "i missed you" quinn says, slinking across the bed as he settles beside you. sitting up, you trace one of your fingertips over his defined arm.

you lean in to kiss him, and your lips meet in a passionate embrace. it feels like home, and summer, and quinn.

"i missed you too," you breathe heavily when you pull apart. you feel so consumed by him, and yet it's never enough.

you start kissing again, and touching again, and you jump through every loop and obstacle that youve ever had to face with quinn and then mentally burn them all to the ground. because really, what's love without pain and suffering? you dont know.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes blurb #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #nhl fic

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livinghalfway · 1 day ago

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Younger Years Pt. 8

Masterlist

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence. Word Count: 1817

“I can’t believe you stopped me from running after Danyal, Father! I pray that you do not regret that decision later on for that could have been our one chance to get Danyal!” Damian growled out as he marched into the manor.

Bruce gave a great sigh as he followed his youngest inside, “Damian, I know you think that you saw Danyal, but we need to confirm what actually happened."

"You saw what happened! You saw Danyal!"

"I saw you attempting to chase after another boy." Bruce is worried for his son. It just seems very coincidental that Damian would see his brother, in the building dedicated to said brother, after telling the family about his existence. "And I think you believe you saw Danyal in that boy."

"Did you see his face?" Damian demands from his father.

"No."

"Then what you think is irrelevant to me." He states as he makes his way towards the cave. With or without his father's help Damian will be finding the boy he saw today. That was Danyal, he knows it.

That thought is painful though because that means his brother purposely didn't want to seek him out after all these years. Damian supposes he can't really blame Danyal for that though, not after what their last moments together were. He just needs one chance to try and explain things.

Upon entering the cave he sees Steph and Cass training with one another on the mats, and Tim already occupying the computer.

"Drake, pull up all the security cameras for the planetarium building based around the two o'clock showing; outside and inside cameras!" Damian commands as he comes to stand by Tim's side.

Tim, despite his clear annoyance at being interrupted, does as requested and asks, "Want to share with the class what I'm supposed to be looking for?"

"Be a detective and use your eyes, Drake. You'll see it." Damian himself is watching the screen like a hawk as he waits for Danyal to show himself on any of the cameras. His brother was luckily wearing a bright red hat so identifying him in the crowd should be easy. He finds the hat before his brother though. Pointing to the screen he says, "Follow his path."

"Oof, what did this kid do to make you want to hunt him down?" Steph, who is also now also with them along with Cass, asks amused as she too tracks the boy on screen.

"Not him. He's going to lead me to Danyal though." The silence that follows after is deafening as all eyes snap to him. The security feed was even paused which means Damian couldn't just ignore everyone's reaction. "We are losing valuable time to find him! Continue the video, Drake!"

Instead of doing as he says Damian watches as Tim looks towards Bruce for direction on what he should do. At this he sends a glare towards his father, daring him to say anything that doesn't comply with what he wants right now.

Damian understands that what he's asking for here is concerning his family; claiming that he saw his twin. Now is not the time to be questioning him though, Danyal could already be gone by the time he finished explaining everything. He just needs them to see his brother for themselves on the security tape.

"Press play, Tim." Bruce says with a slight defeated tone to his voice. With that the video finally continues, all of them once again zoning in on the individual in the red hat. Watching as he talks with a goth girl, both of them pointing as they approach the planetarium, another figure.

… a blur?

Red hat and Goth girl come to stand on either side of the blurry figure, standing in front of the dedication plaque, before the figure grabs onto the other two as they all rush inside. Switching from the outside to the inside cameras they continue to follow the trio.

The third person has to be Danyal, but why is the camera distorting his image? Before Damian can voice this himself though Steph is already speaking, "Is the blurry guy supposed to be Danyal? Why can we not see him clearly?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Tim ponders as he continues to analyze the feed. "I'm sending a copy of this to Babs, she'll want to know how and why the cameras aren't picking him up. Regardless of if this is Danyal or not."

"It is Danyal!" Damian insists, not liking that Tim was doubting him.

"We'll see."

Before he can snap back at Tim a gentle hand grips his shoulder. Looking up he sees Cass looking at him with a semi-serious face. "That is Danyal?"

"Yes." He replies instantly, because he knows that who he saw today is his brother; scars don't lie.

Cass's face smooths as a soft smile grows, "We'll bring brother home." It felt good to have the most competent member of this family on his side.

Speeding through the tape they finally reach the end of the show where it was announced that Damian and Bruce would be answering some questions. In that moment they all watch as the blurry figure, Danyal, takes the red hat and throws it on his own head while lowering himself in his seat; hiding.

Pretty soon the interview comes to an end, Damian and his father were quick to make their way out of the building — he had to get out, his answers were far more emotional than he originally wanted — as Alfred was only moments away with the car.

Danyal on the other hand stayed in his seat until after a minute or so before jumping up, and running towards the door. Leaving his companions behind.

Switching the camera again it shows Bruce talking on the phone with Damian standing a good few feet away from him. The next thing to happen is the doors flying open, and Danyal's blurry form heading straight towards Damian. He'd almost think his brother ran into him on purpose if it wasn't for the fact that, even with the blur, Danyal is clearly looking behind himself as he moves forward.

Their first meeting after so many years had been nothing, but a mistake on Danyal's part. He obviously never planned to run into him, to let Damian know that he was even alive, Damian thinks as he watches his brother break away and sprint down the street. All of this could have been solved already if his father hadn't stopped him from doing so.

Even without having to demand it, Tim continues to track his brother through the cameras until eventually the trail comes to an end with all of them looking at the entrance of a dark alley.

“Drake, is there any way he could have left that alley without the camera’s seeing him?” Damian asks as he mentally plans out the fastest route to the alley his twin hid in. He wishes that he could see Danyal, but the angle of the camera makes that impossible.

“Not unless the kid can turn invisible.”

"Then he is currently in the alley now, and I'm going to him." Damian plainly states before rushing to get his Robin suit on. He's getting his brother back now.

He would have already been halfway dressed by now if his father hadn't stopped him, "I'm going with you then. We still don't know if that is actually Danyal, chum. Somehow his presence is interfering with the cameras, and we can't assume that this whole thing isn't some kind of trap."

"Think what you will Father, either way we will be going at once!" That is all he has left to say on the matter, and steps past the hand blocking him.

He hears Bruce sigh before speaking to the others around the computer, "Tim, watch the cameras and let us know if anything changes. You two be prepared on stand-by for backup."

It doesn't take long after that before both Batman and Robin are racing down the streets in the Batmobile towards the alley. His heart pounding in his chest the closer they get; this reunion can only end badly in his mind. The best he can hope for right now is that Danyal will hear him out.

They're about half way there when suddenly the car's comms are crackling to life by Tim's frantic voice, "A van stopped in front of the alley with four armed individuals in white suits. Two are entering while the others appear to be guarding the exit. Orphan and Spoiler are heading in that direction now."

Robin feels the car accelerate at those words as Batman barks back, "Anything identifiers for who they are?"

"G.I.W. is written on the side of the van. I'm running it through the system now for any hits. It should only- bright white light flash from inside the alley! Some type of fight has probably started."

“ETA ten minutes. Update on the situation as needed.”

Ten minutes.

Ten minutes before he reaches Danyal, and saves him from whoever dared attack his brother. He can only hope that he's not too late to do so.

Nine

Eight

Seven

“Movement from the alley, three individuals exiting. They … they have Danyal, he's currently incapacitated and being loaded in the van. You’re going to need to step on it, these guys aren’t waiting around any longer!"

Batman visibly tightens his hands on the steering wheel, knowing that he’s not going to be able to make it there in time to stop them from leaving, as he growls out, “Keep track of them.”

“I’ll do my best, but they’re on a direct path towards Crime Alley. If they truly enter it I’m going to lose them.”

“Hm, Robin and I will continue our pursuit. Orphan and Spoiler, you two investigate the alley for anything left behind.”

“On it, B.” Spoiler states.

In the end there was no way for them to catch up in time before the van disappeared into Crime Alley. Every camera in the surrounding area was going to be heavily monitored from this point forward for when the van eventually went out again though.

When Orphan and Spoiler returned to the cave the only thing they had was a red cap that contained two different hair samples. One belonged to the boy they saw in the security feed, whose identity was later confirmed to be Tucker Foley, The other showed DNA matching Bruce as the father and Damian as a twin; no signs of cloning found anywhere no matter how hard they searched for it.

With Tucker Foley’s identity found it wasn’t hard to link Samantha Manson to the goth girl that was with him. That is when they found a boy resembling Damian that was said to be the third in this trio of friends.

They found Daniel Fenton.

#dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #danny phantom #batfam #damian and danny are twins #danyal al ghul #dc x dp au #damian wayne

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lazysoulwriter · 1 day ago

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summer love - rafe cameron.

----

The summer in Outer Banks always felt the same—humid air, salty breeze, and the ever-present hum of a party somewhere nearby. It wasn’t home, not really. Just a temporary escape, a break from college, and a chance to spend time with your dad. But for the past few years, summer had also meant Rafe Cameron.

It wasn’t a relationship, not officially. There were no labels, no promises—just an unspoken understanding that whenever you were in town, you were his, and he was yours. A summer romance, fleeting yet intense, burning hot under the Southern sun. Maybe the secret to keeping it alive was never talking about what happened once you left.

Tonight was no different.

You only agreed to come to this party because you knew he’d be here. Your friend, Erin, had dragged you along, insisting you needed to get out more and have fun, but your idea of fun wasn’t standing around in someone’s overpriced backyard, listening to drunk laughter and watching entitled Kooks pretend they ruled the world.

Still, you had a purpose tonight.

And there he was.

Rafe Cameron, standing in the middle of a group of girls who all looked the same—long blonde hair, perfect tans, designer swimsuits masquerading as party outfits. He was talking, grinning, and whatever he said must have been hilarious because they all laughed in sync, flipping their hair like it was rehearsed.

Your stomach tightened.

You shouldn’t care. He wasn’t your boyfriend. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting.

So, you walked past him deliberately, your dark waves falling over your shoulders, your dress hugging your body in all the right places. You weren’t like them, and you knew he saw it, too. The air shifted the moment you entered his peripheral vision.

You didn’t stop. You didn’t look.

But then, you heard him.

"Sorry, my girlfriend just got here."

And before you could even process those words, footsteps followed—hurried, desperate.

Rafe’s hand found your wrist, tugging you back, spinning you into his chest. The familiar scent of his cologne and cigarette smoke hit you instantly, mingling with the ocean breeze. His arms wrapped around you tightly, in a way that felt entirely different from the cold, cocky Rafe Cameron the rest of the world knew.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your hair. “You could’ve at least said hi.”

His voice was lower, softer—like he only spoke this way for you.

You melted for half a second before pulling back, raising an eyebrow. “Your girlfriend?”

A smirk played at his lips. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, but his grip around your waist only tightened, pulling you closer.

“You didn’t text,” you accused.

“Didn’t know if you wanted me to,” he admitted, his fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. “But I was hoping.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his forehead pressed against yours, and suddenly, the party faded—the noise, the flashing lights, the lingering eyes. None of it mattered. It never did when Rafe was looking at you like this, like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second you left last summer.

“I missed you,” he admitted, voice rough, honest.

You let out a breath. “You’re such a liar.”

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “You always say that, but here you are. Back in my arms, just like always.”

And he was right.

You hated how easy it was, how natural it felt to fit against him like this, his hands on your hips, his lips ghosting over yours like he was memorizing them all over again.

His voice dropped lower. “Been thinking about you all year, baby.”

“Yeah?” you teased, pretending not to be affected, even though your heart was racing.

His lips finally met yours, and just like that, it was as if no time had passed. The kiss was slow at first, careful, like he was savoring every second. But then it deepened, his fingers tangling in your hair, his body pressing against yours as if he could pull you into him entirely.

You could feel his desperation—the hunger behind his touch, the silent way he was telling you he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

----

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wordsofelie · 2 days ago

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🔭Saturn

part of my observatory event, requested by @stellar-haikyuu <3

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

summary: you’ve finally found a rival who meets your standards. too bad the man is the most infuriating, stupid and annoying person on earth.

content warnings: high school setting, hurt/comfort, sports / academic rivals, swearing, reader kinda has an inferiority complex

words count: 1.4k

It started as a game. A silly, stupid, little game.

At least, that’s what you told yourself at first.

You’ve always been rather—competitive. Ever since you were a kid, you chased after every first place, every gold medal, every record waiting to be broken. Higher grades, longer races in PE, and everything else that would make you better. And then, you found volleyball—a sport that only fed that hunger, made the desire to win burn even brighter.

But before, no one had ever truly met your standards.

That is, until you met him.

Kuroo Tetsurou.

You became classmates in your first year of high school. You didn’t pay much attention to him on your first day (he seemed like the perfect depiction of a teenage boy—messy-haired, slouched over his desk, probably more interested in making dirty jokes than studying). But when the first chemistry grades came, your jaw dropped—that bastard had a better score than you. Maybe it was chance, you tried to tell yourself at first, but the semester passed, and his grades only improved.

“Need something?” is the first thing he ever asked you.

You didn’t realise you were staring at the paper in his hands until his voice reached your ears.

“I don’t,” you quickly regained your composure, clearing your throat and lifting up your chin.

His mouth turned into a side smirk. Infuriating. “Cause I can tutor you if you want.”

That motherfucker, is the only way you could describe Kuroo at this moment. You gripped your pen like it was his throat. Your hands clenched so hard your nails dug into your palms.

Still, you forced a smile in return, “I’ll pass thanks.”

“Too bad. I’ve got the annals from last year’s exam at home. I could’ve lent them to you. Or maybe they’d be too hard for you to understand.” He rested his chin in his palm calmy, looking almost bored.

Oh, you were going to kill him.

“Don’t bother, I fear I might smash your face with the book.”

His eyes widened in surprise, but his laid-back attitude came back just as fast.

“You can try, but I don’t think you can reach me. I’ve seen you play, I jump higher than you, you know.”

“Wow. Real mature-”

You were convinced the game could have gone on for hours, but unfortunately—or fortunately—the bell rang, and the class got dismissed.

You remember watching him getting up. If you didn’t just get belittled by him maybe you could have given credit to his looks. Tall, athletic, confident. That’s what Kuroo was like in your eyes. If he didn’t have a shitty personality and a stupid hairstyle you think that maybe he could have been less unbearable. But as you got out of the classroom, you only wanted to prove him wrong and dethrone him.

Your first-ever interaction transformed into a declaration of war. And the war lasted all high school. Because, obviously, Kuroo wasn’t just good in chemistry—maths, physics, PE. Teachers loved him, praised him, classmates laughed with him. He was perfect in everything. And what made your blood boil in your veins was how effortless he made everything look. You sacrificed so much to be where you were, gave so much passion and time into school that you couldn’t stand the sight of him acting like it was easy.

And he played volleyball, which gave you even more reason to compare yourself to him.

It got worse when you both became captains of your team. You started comparing scores and blocks and victories.

At first, you liked the unspoken rule between you—the constant back and forth, the rivalry that kept you both on edge whether it was for school or volleyball.

Then, it became an obsession.

You started waking up earlier to go for a run, going to bed later to study for exams. You did everything you could and still—he was better.

You remember seeing Kuroo once on the sidelines at one of your practice matches, grinning at you with hands on his hips. “You’re looking a little slow today, Captain.”

You shot him a glare.

“Why are you even here Kuroo?” You spat once the game was over. “You’re not gonna get any girls with that haircut, you know.”

“Making fun of my hair again? You’re getting a little repetitive these days.” He chuckled. Gosh, you hated this laugh. “Besides, there’s only one girl I want attention from.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away, but deep down, your heart was pounding fast. You hated how good he was. You hated that he pushed you to be better. And more than anything—you hated how much he could control your emotions, making you sad and angry and frustrated just by being close to you.

The Inter-High qualifications arrived too fast, but you were ready.

Your team had trained relentlessly. You’d pushed yourself harder than ever, and now, it was time to prove that you could do this. That you could win.

You made it to the semi-finals. You were so close.

And then—you lost.

You didn't even make it to the finals, let alone Nationals. Your dream shattered in front of you, a cruel joke the universe had played at your expense.

You shook hands with the winning team, congratulated them like a good athlete should. Then you headed to the locker room, collapsing onto the bench; your throat was tight and your eyes burnt.

You didn't hear the door opening.

And a few seconds later, you knew he was here.

You hated him. Kuroo Tetsurou.

You hated him from the bottom of your heart.

And that hatred only grew bigger now that he was standing there, hands in his pockets, ready to make fun of your loss.

“I’m not in the mood for your teasing, Kuroo.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “I’m not here to tease.”

You finally looked up. His usual smirk was nowhere to be found, you almost missed it. Your eyes immediately stared at the floor again. “I just-” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t deserve this.”

You scoffed, bitter. “Yeah? Tell that to the scoreboard.”

Kuroo took a step closer. “I know how much this meant to you.”

Your jaw tightened. You couldn't look at him. If you did, you’d break. And you didn't want to break in front of him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of always winning?”

Kuroo blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You’re always ahead. Always. You beat me in volleyball. You beat me in grades. You beat me at everything. It’s exhausting.” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. “I’ve spent years trying to keep up with you. And now-” You laughed, but it was humourless. “Now, you get to go to Nationals while I sit at home and watch.”

Kuroo frowned. He opened his mouth—you saw it from the corner of your eyes. “I never—”

“You never what?” you snapped. “Never tried to one-up me? Never enjoyed being better than me? Cause I’m way behind you, aren’t I?”

“That’s not-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I never wanted to beat you.”

“Bullshit. Every time we got a grade, you asked to see mine. You came to every practice game, telling me I could do more. You stayed late after school just to show me how your receives were better than mine. At tournament, you came in the frontline just to see me lose and-”

Kuroo shook his head. “It’s not that-” He hesitated. “You inspire me.”

Your heart stopped beating for a second, or two. “What?”

“You’re the best opponent I’ve ever had,” he admitted. “And yeah, I like pushing you, but not because I want to humiliate you. I just-” He rubbed the back of his neck. For the first time in the three years you had known him, he looked nervous. “I like seeing you play. I like watching you get better.”

You stared at him. This—this wasn't how your conversations usually went. Kuroo was supposed to be smug, sarcastic, insufferable. Not… this.

Not kind.

“I don’t need your pity,” you finally muttered as you looked away.

Kuroo stepped closer again and knelt down in front of you. “It’s not pity.”

“Then what is it?” The words quieted one after the other.

He seemed to be looking for the right words. But then—

“I’m going to miss you.”

You froze and your heart stuttered, and you hated that it did. (Or maybe the feeling wasn’t so bad, maybe you didn’t hate it, maybe you could get used to it.)

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked. You tried to sound annoyed instead of breathless, but your voice betrayed you.

Kuroo grinned—soft, for once. “It means I don’t want this to be the end of our game. Even in uni, even when we’re old and can’t play volleyball anymore, I want you to remain my best opponent.”

You stared at him. He was serious.

“You’re an idiot.”

He chuckled. “Maybe.”

A few seconds passed before he spoke again. With his usual smirk and his stupid bed hair, he asked: “Need something?”

And then—because you were exhausted, because you’d lost everything that day, because you didn't have the energy to fight anymore—you let yourself leaned into him, just a little.

His arms were warm as they wrapped around you.

Tears started falling from your eyes, your muscles eased. Everything hurt and softened at the same time.

He was right. Maybe this wasn't the end of the game.

Maybe it was just a new round.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this <33

thank you so so much to @keishuii for beta-reading it, you’re the best!!

#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x y/n #hq kuroo #kuroo haikyuu #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo hq #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo tetsurō #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 days ago

Text

take a shot. 🥃

bucky barnes x reader (x steve rogers)

You, Buck, Steve. The three best friends that anyone could have. But when one ran late to a hangout, the other decided to take his fuckin' shot.

masterlist

You did not think super soldiers could get drunk.

In theory, they should not.

Even a gallon of tequila would burn fast and quick with their inhuman metabolism, the effects of the alcohol rendered moot.

And so, as you sat cross-legged on the beloved carpet in your barely furnished living room, you found yourself wondering if Bucky was only putting it on, or if he was well and properly shitfaced.

Hell, how many shots had he downed? Twenty? Thirty? Were you even still on the fourth bottle?

If he was drunk, then you might as well have been near-comatose. But you held yourself up pretty well. Much to your surprise. Granted, you've only had a mere 4 shots to Buck's potential 44 but... hell. Credit has to be given where it's due.

"So, yeah, yeah..." you slurred. "That's how that went. Story of my fucking life, eh, Buck?"

"What did you say again? Wha... Good luck on—"

"The date! I told Steve, 'Good luck on your date.' You know, because I'm such a good friend. The best."

"And then he...?"

"Then... then he smiled, you know, that soft and unassuming Steve smile?" Your voice became wistful and full of wanting, and Bucky could only hum in response. He had seen that smile hundreds of times, and never in a million years did he ever think his heart would sink at the thought of it.

But it did. Because he was jealous. Why couldn't you speak of his smile in the same way?

Probably because his was much rarer, something that springs unexpectedly. Bucky was not known for being a ray of sunshine, not at all. But he smiled around you, and not the polite lip-quirk kind — full smiles, all stretched, blue eyes crinkling.

Maybe you just didn't notice. Or, who was he kidding? Maybe you did, and just didn't like him enough to admire him the way you do Steve.

Bucky had to remind himself to tune in as you rambled on, your melodic voice breaking through his pathetic introspection.

"Then he said that he actually got dressed up all nice for me... I couldn't believe it, Buck, me! We went on our first official date that night, and the rest is history."

You beamed at him, awaiting something, anything. He should be happy for his two best friends. He should playfully clap you on the shoulder, prompting that adorable nose scrunch that you do.

Instead he said, "You know something, darling? Sometimes I wish it was me you wanted."

Bucky blanched. He must have died, bombs going off and eviscerating the state of New York, because there can't have been any chance of those words flying out his mouth in this lifetime.

His pounding heart proved him wrong. Along with the warmth surging in his system as you gazed at him wide-eyed, your lips softly parted in surprise.

"Darling, I —"

"Bucky, I — "

Super soldiers can get drunk, in some sense of the word, only if they allow it. The amount that would have a normal human punching well above a 0.40% BAC, might just be enough to make someone like Bucky slightly tipsy.

If he let it. And so he did.

He moved quickly, before he could even contemplate the stupidity of his actions.

Then Bucky felt you, your somewhat chapped lips soft against his. Motionless at first, until he pushed his tongue past your teeth, and melded it with your own.

He knew what was coming, who was coming.

Steve had been held up, racing across the city. Bucky could already hear his sure stomps climbing up the old stairwell of your apartment building.

Yet Bucky didn't stop. How could he?

"Wait, Bucky, we can't — "

"Uh-uh," he chided you, smirking. "Just kiss me. Please. It's all I ask."

His blood rushed down, down, awakening a part of Bucky that may just be too much for polite society. That graceless, careless casanova who would gladly rip the skirt off of his best friend's girlfriend. That very dame who he also happened to be in love with.

When Bucky kissed you again, his ears picked up Steve's steady heartbeat down the hallway. The keys to his motorbike jingling in his pocket. The sweet smell emanating from a bouquet of peonies he brought you.

All those heightened senses, and not a single one saved Bucky from falling for you.

Or from what came next.

"What. The. Shit."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #mcu #captain america #sebastian stan #chris evans

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kashimos-hajime · 3 days ago

Text

—drawing straws | s.r.

summary: "maybe it’s because i dated so many people that i’m jaded."

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

a/n: sorry for the delayyyy academic hatred still going strong! | part of the undateable series

masterlist

They draw lots on who has to walk you home. Between Atsumu, Osamu, Suna, and Ginjima. Kosaku’s left with his girlfriend, and you sit on the steps to the gym, watching as Aran sighs, mixing up the straws behind his back.

“Sorry,” the ace calls over to you, and you shrug, holding your bag to your chest. “It was Atsumu’s idea.”

“’S not my fault we stayed so late this time,” the boy grumbles, throwing a pinned glare at Suna. You rest your chin on your forearms, peeking at him. He stands with his back to you, sports jacket half-falling out of his duffel bag, and he adjusts the strap on his shoulder as Aran orders them to close their eyes.

“Alright. Take your pick.”

They pick their straws as you stand, brushing off your skirt and walking over to them, peeking between Atsumu and Suna. The boys open their eyes, and Gin’s jaw drops as they compare straws. His is the shortest.

You meet his eyes. He smiles nervously. You press your lips together in a thin smile.

“Sorry, Gin.”

“It’s okay.” He runs his thumbs along the undersides of his backpack straps. “We should get going.”

“Okay.” You brace yourself, though, ignoring the sinking feeling you had. It makes you realize you had hoped it’d be someone else. Out of the group of four, you had a two in four chance to draw someone you were close to. Aran pats your head, wishing you a goodnight before heading to where Kita waits, staring at the trees, and you follow his gaze.

As if feeling your stare, the captain waits, and he offers a smile. Lifts a hand to wave. It's all the invite you need. You walk towards him instead, ignoring the second years speaking amongst themselves.

“Do you have a lot of homework?” Kita asks politely. “I apologize for running practice so late today.”

“It’s okay.” You wave it away, smiling. “I’m used to it now.”

“If you ever need a day off, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

You open your mouth but Aran slings an arm around your shoulder, grinning. “Our hard working manager taking a day off? Doesn’t sound like her.” You shrug his arm off, rolling your eyes. Aran's voice twinges with faux pain. “Ouch. Fine, if you want us gone, we should get going anyway. Shinsuke and I have a biology quiz tomorrow to study for.”

“Mhm. Okay.” They depart as your classmates catch up, and you turn to Gin again. A faint flush colours his cheeks, even through the darkening dusk light shadowing their faces. A pang of sympathy swells, and you tug at your shirt absently. “Now that they’re gone, you don’t have to walk with me. I won’t tell Aran.”

“What?” Osamu objects. “No. I’ll walk with you if Gin doesn’t wanna.”

“It’s late,” you argue.

“You’re a girl, kuri-kuri,” Atsumu retorts.

“So, what? I’ve walked that way a hundred times before.”

“I really don’t mind,” Ginjima insists.

“We drew straws for a reason,” agrees Osamu.

“Seriously, guys—”

“I can walk her.” Everyone goes silent. Looks to the figure standing just a small distance farther out in their circle. Suna stands there, swiping through his phone, and when no one answers, he looks up with a small frown. “It’s on my way. All of you live in the other direction.”

You frown. Osamu’s hand hovers near yours, and you turn to look at him. He arches an eyebrow in silent question.

“Okay,” you say aloud, turning to meet his gaze. His eyes catch the moonlight. It reminds you of a silver coin spinning through the air. A game of chance. You wonder if you flipped a coin on whether or not Suna will bring up the fact that you rejected him when you’re left alone with him, what you would hope the answer would be. Surprise flickers through his face. You reach to adjust his jacket so that it won't fall out of his bag. His stare is heavy and hot against your wrist, but you ignore it. Ignore the way your throat dries. The way your heart pounds. “Let’s go, then.”

The walk along the road is done in dead silence. The air prickles against your arms, awkward and heavy in your chest, and you stare dolefully at the set of Suna’s shoulders as he walks half a step in front of you. Words bumble around in your mouth, a pathetic attempt of stringing some sort of conversation starter trying to pull itself out of your mouth, but you clutch your bag strap tighter and stop yourself.

It would be entirely embarrassing if he had no idea what you were talking about. Or didn’t care. And knowing Suna, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about a lot of things.

How can he not care about that? You wonder, bewildered. If I asked someone out, I would agonize over their answer no matter what it was.

“Where do you live anyway?”

You start, blinking. Suna hasn’t turned back, but his voice nearly shocked you half to death. “Awaji Island,” you answer.

“Awaji Island?”

You nod. “I take the bus and train home almost every day.”

Bewildered, Suna’s eyebrows shoot up. “Why do you live there and go to school here?”

“Because I used to live in Nishinomiya, but I had to go back to Awaji Island with my family to take care of my grandfather. I grew up there, so it’s not too bad, and it’s a really pretty place, but with volleyball practices, and you know, not to complain about anything, but—”

“It’s why you’re so time-conscious.”

“Mhm. I don’t want to miss a train and have to call someone to come get me.”

“Why don’t you ever stay at the Miya’s place? You seem close enough with ‘em.”

“Osamu offered,” you admit, “but I don’t want to bother them. We used to be closer when we were kids, but now, it just feels weird sometimes.” He nods, and you look down at the asphalt beneath your feet. The silence again. A root of frustration crawls across your chest. If he wanted to talk, he never had trouble making you do so. You're also more than aware forcing the conversation is more painful than the quiet, but this... this unwavering silence digs underneath your skin. Like Suna expects you to speak and entertain him, and you're his little puppet doing it anyway, except he hasn't ever said anything like that. Never done anything to suggest it. Guilt replaces your every fibre. Suna isn't the guys you've dated. You don't need to conform to what he wants.

At length: “Atsumu and I used to be closer, you know. Can you believe that?”

“I thought he pissed you off.”

“He does. But I was friends with him first.” You inhale, your chest strangely tight and it feels so painful you think you might choke. It surprises you, that feeling that attacks you on this late night with a boy who is barely a friend. A boy who asked you out.

You immediately snap your mouth shut, letting that ache fester in your chest instead.

“You’re better friends with Osamu.”

“Atsumu and I had a fight,” you inform. “And neither of us ever got over it.”

“What could you have fought over as children that you still hold a grudge over?” Suna snorts, arching an eyebrow.

“I don’t hold a grudge,” you reply. “Everything just changed. Doesn’t that just happen?” You glance at him. “One day, someone decides something feels awkward, and talking about it is hard, so we just don’t.”

“Is that supposed to be about me?”

“You asked me out, and I’ve been ignoring you. You tell me.” Stopping, you wait until he stops too and stare at him. When pale green eyes meet yours, you feel a shiver shoot down your spine and heat rush to your head, but you stand your ground. “Is it awkward for you?”

“We’re in the same homeroom. Every day, you've always said good morning to me, but since last Wednesday, suddenly I’m a stranger.” He hums thoughtfully. “Or, maybe it’s more like I don’t exist.” You chew on your cheek, looking away with a knotted brow and Suna’s voice is laced with amusement when he speaks. “I asked you out and you said no. I’m already over it. Seems like you’re having trouble, though.”

"I... I am not." You completely are. He turns back around, walking further down the street, and you clench your jaw, dissatisfied. "Suna, wait. I wasn't done asking you questions."

"Is this a job interview?"

No, you think stubbornly. The answer felt hollow, practiced. That's all. You can't let that go. “Suna Rintarou.”

“I don’t want to be here anymore than you do,” he complains, but you cut him off, stopping in a circle of streetlight.

“Was it a dare?” His footsteps pause. You don’t dare look at him, and hug yourself tightly, refusing to move. The squirming in your heart makes you feel a little nauseous, and you try to ignore it, but the more you try, the more you feel it. That nagging that something’s wrong. You never ignore your gut, and it is screaming at you that everything about Suna is trying to trick you. You don’t know why, but you can’t shut up around him, and that’s trouble. It’s a warning siren deafening your thoughts. “Asking me out. Was it a dare?”

A beat. “It wasn’t a dare,” he says slowly.

“Then why?”

“Why did I ask you out?”

“Yes. You don’t… you don’t do that. You’ve never asked anyone out before, and you’ve never said yes to anyone who asked you out. A lot of girls have. I know they have.” Your eyes meet his. Your heart starts skidding when you notice his expression. One eyebrow arched, chin slightly tilted. He looks so… unamused. It irritates you, makes you want to scream. You’re an idiot. Why would you even tell him that? To prove that you’re just as obsessed with drama as everyone else? “If you start saying something about how school gossip is petty, and boring, and entirely untrue, I know, but—”

“You’re beautiful.”

Your jaw snaps shut.

His hands slide into his pockets, and he shrugs.

“I asked because you’re beautiful, and I wanted to.”

“There are other pretty girls,” you argue weakly. Jisun, and Mina, and Chiya from Class 5, and Izumi, who Suna had rejected right in front of you months back.

“Pretty, sure,” he agrees, but does not elaborate further, and you frown. The corner of his lip curves up. “Look. You need to get on that train. I want to go home. We don’t have to talk about this anymore.”

“But—”

“Unless you want to go out with me.”

Your protest dies, and you open and close your mouth repeatedly like some broken animatronic. Suna breaks out into an amused smile, eyes squinting with the smugness of the devil, and you pull your lips into a tight line, looking away.

“I’m just kidding.”

But his voice is softer, warmer. You peek at him under your eyelashes, and the way he watches you, the way his eyebrows and lips move into an incredibly fond expression, makes your face heat up.

“C’mon,” he murmurs in that same quiet voice. “Let’s go.”

He waits for you to catch up, and when they walk, their elbows keep brushing. You try not to stare, but you can’t help it. Whatever he’s thinking isn’t privy to you, but either way, you wish you knew.

You lean in. “You know what they call me, right?”

“It’s a stupid nickname,” he answers, waving a hand lazily. “No one’s ‘undateable.’”

“Says the boy who’s never had a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, says the boy who doesn’t want one, either.”

“You don’t?” Cocking your head, you try to gauge his expression but as he faces forward, it’s infuriatingly placid. “Why not?”

“Because I have school, and volleyball. I don’t have time.” He shrugs. “And I just don’t want one.”

“I see.”

“How about you?”

"Hm?"

“Why do you date so many people?”

You flinch. “Because I want to.”

“Sure.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“And,” you continue, “because I just… I don’t know. I just want it. Love, that is. I want to be loved the way girls are in books and movies and shows. Is that so bad?”

“Maybe not,” he says. “But considering your pool is a bunch of high school boys, I’d say your standards are a little too high.”

You nod. It had been something of a conclusion you’d drawn yourself. Either way, swearing off dating had been the right choice. The peace you’ve had since has been unparalleled.

“That’s why I don’t want a boyfriend right now,” you find yourself telling him. “I’m sorry I rejected you so harshly.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Why would I not mean it?”

“I don’t know. Because people never say what they mean.”

“Don’t you sound a little jaded for someone who dates so many people?”

“Maybe it’s because I dated so many people that I’m jaded,” you tease. He scoffs, but he’s smiling again, and you internally cheer. You count it as a win. “But you think so?”

“Think your romanticism is warranted?” he asks. “No. I think it’s stupid. But you’ll find someone who has that same stupid idea because they want the same kind of love. Because that’s who they are.” Finally, his gaze meets yours. “Not because they want to date the hot girl.”

When they reach the train station, Suna pats your head. Through the station, the announcement of the incoming trains warns you of your time slipping away.

“Don’t miss the train,” he tells you. “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay. See you.”

He nods, before turning and beginning to walk the way the two of them came. You frown, calling after him.

“I thought you said this was on your way.”

Suna glances over his shoulder. “Get home safe.”

A half-hearted wave. He doesn’t look back.

Your shoulders fall, and your lips part as the realization sinks in. Looking down at your wallet, you clutch the leather tighter in your fists before spinning around and running down the steps to do as he ordered, shoes tapping on the tile.

Suna Rintarou is dashed from your mind as you slip between the doors of the train, catching your breath.

Wait…

But if he doesn’t want a girlfriend… why did he…

You let out a groan of frustration, finding a seat on the train and resting your head against the window. You just can’t understand him.

#fic: the undateable #suna rintarou #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou x you #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n #my writing

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aryadelvich · 23 hours ago

Text

My brother’s best friend - Luigi Mangione

Summary : Luigi is the best friend of your brother. He’s always so nice, so polite and everything. You start to feel something for him but he’s older than you and you think that he would never look at you in that way.

If you want to read more of my work here’s an Updated Masterlist

"No, get lost, Yn! You’re not playing with us. Go away, you fat cow!" your brother yells, eyes glued to the screen.

Luigi sits next to him, giving you a sad look.

"Hey, that’s not cool. Don’t talk to your sister like that," Luigi says, standing up for you.

"What? She’s fat, it’s just the truth," your brother shrugs.

Tears sting your eyes. You can’t help it—you’re just a little girl who wants her big brother to accept her. But he’s horrible to you.

"I’m telling Mom!" you threaten.

Your brother immediately jumps up, making you flinch.

"Do that, and I’ll kill you."

Luigi stands too, stepping between you.

"You shouldn’t hit your little sister. She’s not as strong as you."

"She’s not weak. Look at her, she’s bigger than me."

Luigi glances at you and sees the fear in your eyes. He quickly distracts your brother, making him refocus on the game, then turns to you.

"Hey, Yn, why don’t we go play something else in the living room?" he suggests, trying to make you feel better.

"Thanks, Luigi."

You wipe your tears quickly, a small smile forming on your face.

Luigi is your brother’s best friend, four years older than you. And he’s so much kinder. You wish he were your brother instead of that jerk.

Years pass, and Luigi keeps growing up—just like you. You start noticing him more, the way he’s becoming not just a man, but a good one. He’s getting more handsome, inside and out, while your brother is going in the opposite direction, sinking into a messed-up life. Luigi, on the other hand, is successful, and you can’t help but compare them.

A part of you sometimes wishes you had never met Luigi—he set the bar too high, and now, everything else seems dull. You’ve tried to convince yourself that he must have a darker side, that he’s fake, manipulative, anything to bring him down from the pedestal your mind has put him on. But deep down, you know the truth: he’s the kindest person you’ve ever met.

Every time he comes over, your heart races. You’ve grown up. He has too. And he’s no longer just "your brother’s best friend." He’s a presence that makes you feel safe… and maybe something more.

But he starts visiting less and less. University keeps him busy. Meanwhile, you’re still in high school, stuck at home. Years later, when you move away for college, you find yourself thinking about him more than you should. What if you ran into him by chance? But no—that’s impossible. He’s at the University of Pennsylvania. You’re at Stanford. Then, one day, you walk into class—and there he is. Standing at the front, in the professor’s place. Your heart stops. Then starts pounding. Your cheeks burn. You can’t think, can’t speak. When he notices you, he smiles. That same, warm smile. Everyone on campus is talking about him. About how attractive he is. After class, students crowd around him. You wait your turn.

"Mister," one of the girls calls.

"You can call me Luigi," he replies, stealing quick glances at you, checking if you’re still there.

"You know everyone calls you ‘Daddy’ here?" she teases.

You can’t help but laugh.

Luigi hears you and smiles, but his confusion is obvious.

"Why do they call me that?" he asks, completely clueless.

The girl blushes, suddenly unsure how to explain. He has no idea how much attention he gets.

Soon, everyone leaves, and it’s just the two of you. He walks up and rests a hand on your shoulder.

And there it is again—your heart racing.

"How are you? Classes not too hard?" he asks.

"I’m fine. I didn’t know you were teaching here."

"Your brother didn’t tell you? I help out sometimes."

"My brother tells me nothing," you admit.

"He’s an idiot."

"Yeah, no argument there. Honestly, I don’t even get why you’re still friends with him."

"Honestly?" He tilts his head, thinking. "I guess it’s just habit. We grew up together, share the same friends… but I won’t lie, he’s changed. And not for the better."

You nod, your heart still pounding.

"He’s always been like that. You’re just not around to keep him in check anymore."

Luigi gives you a guilty smile. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I always asked about you, and he’d say you were fine. I had no idea he was still acting like that."

He watches you closely, as if trying to read your thoughts. You look away, fighting back unexpected tears. You’re not even sure why they’re there. Maybe because Luigi is so… good. And it makes you realize how rare that is.

"Are you coming to the party tonight?" you ask, changing the subject.

"Isn’t it just for students?"

"I think they’ll let you in the second they see your face."

He chuckles, a bit shy. "I don’t think so. Are you going?"

"Yeah, no way I’m missing it."

"Oh? Is it that good?"

"I just need to blow off some steam after exams."

His smile grows. You check your phone. You need to go or you’ll be late.

"Sorry, I gotta run. See you later!"

"Wait—give me your number," he says quickly.

And just like that, your heart skips again.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure."

You exchange numbers.

"Take care, okay?" he says gently.

Take care?

The party is in full swing. Music is blasting, drinks are flowing, and everyone is going wild.

And you… you’re in the middle of the chaos. You’ve lost track of how many drinks you’ve had. Everything is spinning, but who cares? Tonight is about letting go. Laughter erupts as you climb onto a chair, holding a brightly colored cocktail in your hand.

"To freedom!" you shout before downing it in one go, earning cheers from the crowd.

And that’s when you see him.

Luigi.

Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. He’s looking right at you—and he does not look amused. You squint at him, a playful smirk forming on your lips.

"What’s wrong, Professor? You here to lecture me about alcohol?"

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps looking at you.

And for some reason, that sends a chill down your spine.

You hop down from the chair with a laugh, but you stumble slightly. Before you can fall, a strong hand grabs your arm.

"What, are you gonna babysit me now?" you tease, reaching for your drink again. But before you can grab it, Luigi takes it and dumps it in the sink.

"Exactly."

You raise an eyebrow.

"You’re joking."

"Your parents would kill me if I let you drink yourself sick."

And he means it.

For the rest of the night, he’s there. Just a few steps away, watching. When a guy gets too close, Luigi magically appears behind you, staring him down until he backs off. When you try to grab another drink, he takes it first.

"You’re annoying, Luigi," you groan, cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

"Your liver will thank me later."

And he just keeps looking out for you.

But eventually, it all becomes too much. The noise, the drinks, the everything.

Your stomach twists, nausea hitting hard.

"Shit…" you mumble, pressing a hand to your mouth.

Luigi is there in an instant. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the crowd, away from the music, away from the chaos.

You don’t even fight it.

He gets you in a room, pushes the door open, and sits you on the bed.

You take a deep breath, but the nausea won’t go away.

"Shit, I think I'm gonna—"

You sprint to the bathroom, barely making it in time before you hunch over the toilet.

And Luigi is still there.

Without a word, he crouches beside you, gently pulling your hair back so it doesn’t fall into your face. His hand rubs slow, soothing circles on your back as you empty everything you drank.

It’s humiliating. But in that moment, you feel too awful to care. When it finally stops, you stay there, exhausted. Luigi hands you a tissue, and you take it weakly.

"Why are you doing this?" you murmur, voice hoarse.

"Because you’re like a little sister to me. I have to look out for you."

"I don’t want to be your sister…"

You close your eyes for a second, drained. And in your hazy state, half-conscious, you feel something. A warm, steady hand lifting you gently. Luigi holds you firmly as you both walk down the street. Well… he walks normally. You, on the other hand, stumble like a baby penguin on ice.

"Damn, Yn, you’re really out of it," he sighs, tightening his grip around your shoulders to keep you from collapsing.

You let out a small laugh. The problem is… he doesn’t even know where he’s going.

"Where do you live again?" he asks.

You frown, as if it’s the hardest question in the world.

"Uhh… somewhere."

Luigi closes his eyes briefly, clearly regretting every decision that led him here. "Great. Okay, I’m taking you to my place."

A few minutes—and many frustrated sighs from Luigi—later, you arrive at his apartment. He helps you take off your shoes before guiding you to his room.

"Alright, bed. Now," he orders.

You dramatically flop onto the mattress with a sigh. "You take such good care of me."

He crosses his arms. "Yeah, yeah. Sleep now."

But you don’t want to sleep. You stare at him for a moment, then a slow, playful smile spreads across your lips.

"Luigi…"

Immediately, he’s suspicious. "What?"

You bat your lashes dramatically. "Kiss me."

He blinks, completely caught off guard. "What?"

You roll your eyes. "Kiss me. On the lips. Right now."

"No, Yn, I’m not kissing you."

Your face falls, suddenly offended.

"Why? Is it because I’m ugly?"

He drags a hand down his face, visibly regretting this whole night. "Yn, you’re drunk. That’s why I’m not kissing you."

You pout. "Lame excuse."

With a sigh, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. You blink. Your heart stumbles. And, weirdly enough, so does his. And without thinking, the words slip out:

"I love you too much."

Silence.

Luigi freezes, eyes locked on yours.

And you… you just keep talking, no filter, fueled by alcohol and raw emotion.

"Since forever. Since I was a kid. When I was little, I wanted you to be my brother because you were a thousand times better than him. But then I grew up and realized the last thing I wanted was for you to be my brother."

He says nothing. Just looks at you.

You let out a quiet laugh, your eyes shining. "You know what’s crazy? I always thought that if I ever got the courage to tell you, I’d be scared. But right now, I don’t care. I want you, Luigi. I want you by my side."

Luigi finally opens his mouth… but no words come out.

So you just finish with:

"There. It’s said. Now I’m going to sleep. Good night, Luigi."

And, before he can say anything, you turn your head against the pillow and close your eyes.

Luigi stays sitting there, completely stunned.

The first thing you feel the next morning is a killer headache.

"Ugh…" you groan, rolling onto your side.

Your eyes flutter open and… wait. This isn’t your room. You bolt upright—huge mistake. Your head immediately protests.

"Ow, fuck…"

That’s when the door opens. Luigi walks in, holding a cup of tea, looking way too awake for your comfort.

"Oh, you’re up." He sets the cup on the nightstand. "Here. You’re gonna need this."

You stare at him, still half-dazed.

Then, flashes from last night hit you.

The party. The drinking. Luigi bringing you home.

… Luigi kissing your cheek.

… Luigi hearing your whole emotional confession.

Your face turns bright red in an instant.

He sees your expression and, of course, he smirks.

"Ah, I see the memories are coming back."

You grab a pillow and press it over your face. "Tell me I didn’t say what I think I said."

He leans against the wall, clearly enjoying this. "Hmmm… That depends. What do you think you said?"

You groan in frustration. "Luigi…"

He chuckles softly, then sits on the edge of the bed.

"Yn. Relax. I’m not gonna make fun of you."

You peek out from behind the pillow, cheeks still burning. "So… you want to talk about it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You open your mouth… then close it.

Do you?

Or do you just want to teleport to another dimension and never deal with this again?

"… Maybe?"

He smiles, shakes his head, then hands you the cup of tea.

"Say what you really mean," you push, wanting to rip the Band-Aid off.

He exhales through his nose, looking at you carefully.

"You were completely wasted, Yn. What you said… it doesn’t count. Don’t worry, I didn’t take it seriously."

You don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. And as you internally crash from ten stories high, his eyes stay on you, reading every tiny reaction. But you recover quickly, forcing a smile.

"Good. I was just talking nonsense anyway. You know how drunk people are."

He nods, looking understanding. But for some reason… something in his gaze lingers.

•••Summer Break•••

You never thought you’d see Luigi again so soon, let alone in your childhood home.

When your brother mentioned that their friend group was throwing a party to celebrate Luigi’s return and his degree, you just shrugged. It made sense. He was the golden boy—the one who had made it, the guy everything seemed to fall into place for. A prestigious degree, international job offers, and that natural charisma that was both frustrating and captivating.

But what you didn’t expect was how your brother would react.

Since Luigi had come back, your brother had been more irritable, colder. And tonight, as the party buzzed through the house, you could see the tension in his jaw as he watched Luigi laugh with their friends.

You came with Jackson, your boyfriend of a few months. It was a simple relationship, easy, something that felt good. But something felt… off.

That something was Luigi.

Since you arrived, he hadn’t stopped looking at you. Not with the usual warmth and kindness. No. Tonight, his gaze was dark, sharp.

And locked onto Jackson.

Sitting on the couch, you chatted with some friends while Jackson, his arm draped over your shoulders, told a story. Luigi, leaning against the wall a few feet away, held a beer in his hand but wasn’t drinking. He was watching.

When Jackson pressed a kiss to your temple, you saw Luigi’s jaw clench.

You didn’t have time to dwell on it because your brother, who had been watching too, suddenly let out a bitter laugh.

"You see that, Luigi? Even my sister has a boyfriend now."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. A brief silence fell before one of his friends let out an awkward laugh, trying to lighten the mood. You felt Jackson tense beside you.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" you asked, crossing your arms.

Your brother shrugged and took a sip of his beer.

"Nothing. Just funny, that’s all."

Luigi set his bottle down on the table and met your brother’s gaze.

"Do you have to be an asshole every time you open your mouth?"

Your brother turned to him, his smirk vanishing.

"Oh, I see. Mr. Perfect wants to lecture me now?"

You could feel this was about to go downhill.

"It’s not about lecturing. It’s about respect," Luigi replied, his voice steady.

Your brother scoffed, but there was a bitterness in his laughter.

"You’ve always been the favorite, huh? The perfect guy, the one who succeeds at everything, the one everyone looks up to."

Luigi sighed.

"Not my fault you haven’t done shit with your life."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Your brother’s fists clenched, ready to swing. Jackson, clearly uncomfortable, stood up.

"I think we should go," he said, glancing at you.

But before you could move, Luigi spoke again, eyes still on your brother.

"You can go, Jackson. Yn is staying."

Your eyes widened.

"Excuse me?"

Jackson turned to him, just as stunned.

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

Luigi didn’t answer, but his expression said everything. Jackson looked at you, waiting for you to say something. Why did Luigi want you to stay?

You felt everyone’s eyes on you. The tension was thick, like the whole room was holding its breath. Jackson was expecting you to take his side. Your brother was still fuming. And Luigi… Luigi was staring at you with an intensity that made your stomach twist. He only wanted you to have a good night. His gaze softened, almost apologetic. You slipped your hand into Jackson’s.

"I’m going with him," you said calmly, though your heart pounded in your chest.

Luigi raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Your brother, however, let out a short laugh.

"Of course. So now you’re just one of those girls who falls for the first guy who gives them attention?"

You felt Jackson stiffen beside you.

"Dude, you’ve got serious issues," Jackson shot back.

"No," your brother sneered, pointing at you. "She’s the problem. Always looking for approval, always trying to prove something…"

His voice dripped with resentment.

"You think I’m the one desperate for validation?" you snapped, your anger rising. "Since when do you care what I do with my life?"

"Since you started bringing your boyfriend here like this is some kind of brothel," he grumbled.

The audacity. Especially coming from him, with all the girls he’d brought home over the years—girls your parents never said a word about. They always had his back. You opened your mouth to fire back, but another voice cut in.

"She’s not the one trying to prove something. You are."

Luigi.

His voice was calm but firm, his eyes locked onto your brother’s like ice.

"It pisses you off, doesn’t it?" Luigi continued. "Seeing your little sister move forward while you’re stuck in the same place."

Your brother’s fists clenched tighter.

"Shut up."

"You’re jealous of her. But instead of admitting it, you take it out on her."

"I said SHUT UP!"

Your brother grabbed a bottle from the table and hurled it violently against the wall. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, making everyone jump. A heavy silence settled over the room. Your breathing was uneven. Beside you, Jackson pulled you slightly backward. Luigi, however, didn’t move. He stared at your brother with unnerving calm.

“You need help, man.”

Your brother said nothing. He was trembling with rage, his breathing erratic. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The tension lingered. No one moved.

You realized your hand was trembling slightly in Jackson’s. Luigi finally turned his head toward you.

“Come on, I’ll take your room” he said simply.

Jackson frowned.

“She’s going home with me,” he cut in.

“She’ll decide,” Luigi replied flatly.

You met Luigi’s gaze. Something about him had shifted. That look in his eyes… it wasn’t just control or possessiveness. It was something else. You swallowed, uncertain.

“Yn?” Jackson asked softly.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head.

“I’m done,” you muttered before turning away. “Jackson, you can go home. I’m going to my room.”

“No, Yn, I’ll stay with you. You need someone right now.”

Luigi watched the exchange, feeling jealousy creep into his chest, sharper and stronger by the second.

“That’s really nice of you, Jackson, but I’d rather be alone.”

Without another word, you left the living room, not sparing a glance behind you. The tension still hung thick in the air. Your heart was pounding—anger, confusion, something else you couldn’t name. Once inside your room, you shut the door and collapsed onto your bed.

Then—footsteps outside.

You stiffened. A hesitation. Then a soft knock.

“Jackson, I don’t want to talk!”

“…Yn.”

Luigi’s voice. Low, almost hesitant. But when it was Luigi, it felt different. You sat up and opened the door just enough to meet his gaze. He studied you, searching for something in your expression. You took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

He blinked, surprised.

“Sorry for what?”

You shrugged, struggling to put words to everything weighing on you.

“For tonight, for my brother, for… everything.”

He let out a tired, lopsided smile.

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, dropping your gaze for a moment.

“You should go back to the party,” you said quietly.

“Not happening. I sent everyone home.”

You sighed. “This was supposed to be a good night for you. I’m sorry, Luigi, really.”

“If you really want me to accept your apology, let me in. I want to talk. It is my party, after all.”

You hesitated. But deep down, you wanted him to stay.

It had become a habit—Luigi was always the one who managed to lift your spirits when you were upset.

You stepped aside, letting him in. He glanced around your room, then turned back to you.

“What do you want, Luigi?”

He took a breath before meeting your eyes.

“Just to talk.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He smirked slightly, but his gaze was serious.

“I’ve finally decided to tell you the truth.”

You sat back down on your bed, and he followed suit.

“What truth?”

“I never really liked your brother.”

You blinked, stunned.

“What? But… you two were always hanging out.”

He shrugged.

“Because it was the only way to keep an eye on you.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“Your brother has always been… complicated. He was never really kind to you. I was there to balance it out, to make sure he didn’t push you down too much.”

Silence filled the room.

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you was shocked, but another part… relieved.

“So… this whole time, you were here for me?” you whispered.

He nodded without hesitation.

“And now, I’m starting to think I should still be watching over you.”

Your brows furrowed.

“What?”

His gaze darkened slightly.

“Jackson.”

You scoffed.

“What about Jackson?”

He leaned back on your bed, too serious for your liking.

“Tell me everything. How long have you been together? What does he do? Any bad habits? Does he treat you right? Does he smoke ?

You gaped at him.

“Wait—are you interrogating me?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Obviously. I need to make sure he’s trustworthy.”

You let out a short, incredulous laugh.

“Luigi, you’re not my dad.”

He smirked slightly.

“No. But I’ve spent years looking out for you. You really think I’m just going to let you be with some guy without asking questions?”

You studied him, unsure. He was half-joking—but only half.

“He’s… nice,” you said cautiously.

“That’s it? Just nice? Come on, Yn, I need more details.”

“I’m not in the mood, Luigi.”

Luigi glanced around your room, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips.

"It feels weird being here..." he murmured. "It reminds me of something. One of your many crazy schemes."

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He let out a small laugh.

"Oh yeah? Then let me refresh your memory..."

He sat up slightly, amusement flickering across his face.

"You were dead set on becoming the president of the debate club. You had an amazing speech prepared, you worked like crazy... but they made you vice president instead because you were too young."

You rolled your eyes.

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me of that humiliation."

He kept going, ignoring your pout.

"But instead of accepting defeat like a normal person, you came to me with the most ridiculous plan."

You tried to hide a smile.

"You mean a brilliant plan."

Luigi rolled his eyes.

"I’d call it a full-on betrayal."

You shrugged, feigning innocence.

"It was just a political strategy."

He shook his head, amused.

"A political strategy where you had me seduce the club president so she’d resign."

You burst out laughing.

"Hey, it’s not my fault she was terrible at the job! I just sped up the inevitable."

Luigi pointed at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"The worst part is that you dragged me into it."

You raised an eyebrow.

"And do you regret it?"

He pretended to think.

"Honestly? No. It was fun watching how far you’d go to get what you wanted."

You grinned, proud.

"See? When I want something, I always get it."

His expression shifted slightly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself. You watched him, intrigued.

"What?"

He shook his head and smiled.

"Nothing. Just... you're incredible."

You lowered your head, trying to hide the blush creeping onto your cheeks.

"Are you drunk?" you asked, just to be sure he was himself.

"I only had one drink. I'm completely sober. And I meant what I said."

Luigi held your gaze for a moment, a soft smile on his lips.

"Come here." He opened his arms.

You blinked, surprised.

"Huh?"

"Come on, before I change my mind."

You chuckled lightly, but your heart was pounding. Then, you moved closer, feeling his warmth, his steady breath. You rested your head against his neck, and he wrapped his arms around you. His embrace was warm, comforting. The familiar scent of him instantly calmed your tense muscles. You closed your eyes, soaking in the moment.

"Thank you, Luigi..." you murmured against his chest.

He didn’t answer right away, but you felt his chin rest briefly on top of your head. And somehow, that simple gesture was enough to quiet all the chaos in your mind. When he finally pulled away, you almost protested. But then he stood up and walked toward your bedroom door. You raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

He locked the door and twirled the key between his fingers.

"I'm staying with you. All night."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"What? Why?"

He gave you a look, as if the answer was obvious.

"Because I know you'll overthink everything and not sleep. And I told you, I'm here."

He walked back to the bed and settled beside you without hesitation. You shifted to make room, still uncertain, but he simply draped an arm around you and pulled you close—like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was.

Maybe that was just Luigi. A constant presence. A safe place.

Without thinking, you nestled your face against his chest and whispered,

"I could stay like this all night..."

He chuckled softly.

"Then stay."

"You know I have a boyfriend," you reminded him.

"There's nothing ambiguous about this. We're just friends."

Nothing ambiguous, apparently.

"You know I'm better than him."

"Oh, sure, Luigi. If that makes you feel better."

"Come on, admit it. I know you think it deep down."

"He's my boyfriend. I would never say that."

"And yet, you're in my arms."

"Not for long if you keep talking."

You stayed like that for a good ten minutes. But sleep wouldn't come—Luigi’s presence was far too distracting.

You hesitated for a moment before fully turning to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. His hazel eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw something there you had never noticed before. Something that made your stomach twist in a way it never had before.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, his lips were on yours, and everything else disappeared.

The kiss was soft, hesitant—like he was afraid you'd pull away.

And that’s exactly what you did.

"Luigi, what are you doing?"

He didn’t answer right away, his face turning red, clearly embarrassed.

"I really hope you're not doing this just because you feel sorry for me," you said, searching his expression.

"What? No. I'm doing it because I want to," he justified.

"Do you… Do you have feelings for me?" you asked, needing to understand what had changed so suddenly.

"When I saw you with Jackson, I felt so jealous... I don’t know why. I’ve never seen you with another guy before."

"Luigi..."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

He started to pull away, but you grabbed his wrist and kissed him back. He froze, surprised.

But when you pressed closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours. Your senses were overwhelmed—his taste, the feel of his body against yours, the way his hands cupped your face like you were something precious.

"Yn," he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"

"This is all I’ve ever wanted, Luigi. Since I was thirteen."

You felt his smile against your lips.

"What about Jackson? And your brother?" he murmured between kisses.

"I don’t care”you answered instantly, pulling him closer. And then you kissed him again.

#luigi mangione #luigi my beloved #free luigi #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione x yn #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione request #luigi #luigi mangione college #luigi mangione fluff #luigi nicholas mangione #luigi mangione thoughts #lulu

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thisapplepielife · 11 hours ago

Text

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiesongfics.

we left our hearts on our sleeves (and the clothes all over the floor)

Steddie Bingo Prompt: Souvenir | Steddie Song Fics March Prompt: Free Space (Hotel Key by Old Dominion) | Word Count: 2000 | Rating: E | CW: Explicit Sex, Open Lavender Marriage, Recreational Weed/Alcohol Use | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Old Friends, Reconnecting, One-Night Stand, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending

Also on ao3.

Eddie tugs on the collar of Steve's dress shirt, yanking him back into his body. Hotel key for a place down some street he can't even pronounce, burning a hole in his pocket. A chance meeting, a blast from the past that he never thought he'd see again. Steve Harrington. All grown up. Sitting at Eddie's regular bar, tie hanging loose around his neck.

Being sure it was him didn't even cross Eddie's mind, he just walked up behind him, and covered his eyes, leaning against his back. He'd recognize Steve anywhere, even with the years between them.

"Guess who?" Eddie had asked, leaning close to Steve's face.

Steve had laughed, open and bright, like he knew.

He did.

And now Eddie's hand shakes as he slides the key into the heavy lock, with Steve draped over his back, breathing down his neck. Lips brushing against his skin.

He's gonna have a one night stand with Steve Harrington.

Goddamn. Holy shit.

It's the laughing, the kissing, the wandering hands that are really doing it for Eddie. He's had hookups before, but this feels familiar, even if they've never done this before. Not together.

Steve's on his knees, forearms braced on the bed as Eddie slams into him, over and over. Thrusts knocking his hip bones against Steve's ass. And Steve takes him, moaning, clawing at the sheets, and it's the hottest fucking thing Eddie's ever experienced.

He's fucking Steve Harrington.

Twenty-year-old him, stumbling through the woods of the Upside Down scared to death, could have never fathomed this turn of events.

Good things come to those who wait, he guesses.

He reaches around and fists Steve's leaking cock. He's big, thick, and Eddie definitely wants to reverse their positions before Steve slips away for another dozen years.

"Harder," Steve demands, pushing back against Eddie, and fucking hell, Eddie will give it to him harder.

Controlled, firm thrusts. Not faster, he didn't ask for faster, he asked for harder, and Steve's hanging his head. Making a low, pornographic sound that Eddie prays will never stop rattling around in his brain.

He's keeping it, a souvenir, definitive proof the wild interlude in his otherwise rather mundane life actually happened.

Steve Harrington. Under him. Fuckin' A.

Eddie doesn't even want to blink, doesn't want to miss a moment of this. And he doesn't. He stays in the goddamn zone until Steve comes, clenching down on Eddie's cock, painting the sheets, and Eddie's fist.

Only then does Eddie stop holding out, giving one more hard thrust as he buries himself to the hilt, coming as he squeezes Steve's hip with his free hand.

Flopping onto the bed, avoiding the wet spot, Steve's chest is heaving. Eddie takes his hand into his own. Thumbing at the ring on his left hand. Steve hasn't said he's married, and Eddie isn't going to ask. Not his business.

"Robin," Steve says, "I'm married to Robin. But, you know, not like that."

"You're her beard?" Eddie asks, and Steve just shrugs against the pillow, shifting his hips. His cock is big, even soft, nestled against his thigh. Eddie wants it in his mouth, his ass, everywhere.

He wants to make sure neither of them can walk by morning. If they aren't crawling out of here, they didn't do it right.

"I guess? We're each other's? I don't know. It felt like the thing to do. I wanted to get married, and she wanted to stop having people look at her like there was something wrong with her. And my unused college fund was converted into a trust that wouldn't kick in until I was married, or fifty. So, we had more than one reason."

"Fifty, goddamn," Eddie says, that's a hell of a collar for his folks to put on him. They really must have been mad at him for not going to college, not following his father into the family business. Unless he has, now? He was in a suit.

"Kids?" Eddie asks, and Steve shakes his head. "She knows about you doing this?" Eddie follows up, waving their joined hands in the air.

Steve nods.

"She is not in charge of anything below my belt," Steve laughs, "that's a direct quote."

Eddie laughs. Steve married Robin in some sort of lavender marriage, and now he's the one that gets to fuck him tonight. He wasn't looking for love anyway. Win-win.

"I just have to be discreet. Nothing to raise eyebrows around town. So, business trips. You know?"

And Eddie nods. He isn't expecting anything more from him, this alone was above and beyond his wildest dreams.

"You being safe out there?" Eddie asks, "Staying out of the bathhouses and stuff?"

"Yeah," Steve says, nodding, "I mostly pick up women. It's easier, you know?"

Eddie knows, in theory. That's just not what butters his bread.

"But sometimes I just wanna get fucked. Lucky that I stumbled across you," Steve says with a smile, "It was nice to really let loose with a trusted old friend."

An old friend. He's old friends with Steve Harrington. That seems crazy, but it's true. They lived through their Vecna ordeal, and then just drifted away. But that summer of '86, they were friends. Real, true friends.

If he could stay in touch now, reconnecting with both him and Robin, that'd be pretty awesome. He's missed them.

"Pray tell, what does Steve Harrington do for a living?"

"Insurance. I sell insurance," Steve says, and Eddie grins.

Steve Harrington sells insurance. What's this world coming to?

Eddie feels warm and loose. They're working their way through the mini bar. Shots, a joint passed back and forth, and expensive mini bar snacks they're devouring after sharing the half ounce they were smoking from. Now, he's staring at Steve Harrington sitting in the middle of the bed, legs crossed, stoned, half-drunk, with a big ol' grin on his face. Eddie's t-shirt is the only stitch of clothes he has on.

Eddie's shirtless, standing at the foot of the bed, just watching him eating overpriced Pringles, and looking fucking gorgeous.

This is the best night Eddie's had in a long fucking time.

Eddie puts the do not disturb sign on the door, and turns and grins.

They might not have forever, but they have tonight.

It's three in the afternoon, and Eddie rolls closer to Steve. Check-out was technically noon, but they've slept through it, comfortable and warm together in this bed that Eddie isn't ready to leave.

Steve's on his back, and Eddie slings his leg over Steve's bare hips, grinding down on his thighs. Steve's big hands come up and grip his hips, his eyes still closed, but a smile is pulling at the corners of his lips.

Eddie toys with Steve's chest hair that is somehow thicker, even more impressive than it was back when they were just kids.

It's gorgeous. Steve's gorgeous.

Eddie wants it all. If this is all they get, he's gonna enjoy every second.

He wraps his hand around Steve's half-hard dick, and strokes him as he clenches his thighs, pulling himself upwards. Reaching for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, and he slicks up his own fingers, pushing two inside himself. Getting himself ready as he lazily strokes Steve to full hardness underneath him.

Steve's arms are tucked behind his head, and he looks confident, cocky. Satisfied.

He looks happy.

"Are you happy?" Eddie asks, and Steve's smile blooms. A mischievous, toothy grin that Eddie hasn't seen since they were sneaking cigarettes, and yeah, a little weed, behind Robin's back during that summer when they were supposed to be resting. Healing.

"I've got no complaints at the moment," Steve answers.

Eddie meant in life, all of life, but he'll take it. He's making Steve happy right now, and that sends a wave of want through him as he brushes against his own prostate.

He whines, closing his eyes, tilting his head backwards.

"You gonna do that without me?" Steve asks, teasing, and Eddie shakes his head. He's ready. Fuck. He's more than ready.

He extracts his fingers, and has Steve open a condom with his unslick fingers. Then Eddie slides it on Steve's cock, then sinks down on him with a groan. He's so fucking full.

If Steve's happy, Eddie's elated.

"Goddamn, Eddie," Steve says, hand reaching up to brush Eddie's hair out of his face. It's soft, tender, and the warm sunlight casting a glow around the rented room makes it feel magical.

Eddie works himself up and down, enjoying the view of Steve below him in the glow of this afternoon delight.

He laughs, and Steve cocks an eyebrow, amused.

"Rubbin' sticks and stones together make the sparks ignite," he sings, and Steve's stomach ripples with laughter. Delighted. Hips coming up off the bed, driving himself deeper into Eddie.

Eddie moans.

"Best afternoon delight I've had in years," Steve teases.

The thought of loving him is an exciting jolt, but one Eddie knows he'll have to tamp down. Bury deep.

They've got this.

And this is good.

With the sun setting, Steve picks up the room key off the table, and slides it into his pocket. Eddie grins, he's totally fine with Steve keeping that as a souvenir of their night together. He wishes he'd thought of it first.

Eddie scrawls his number on a sheet of hotel stationary, and puts it on top of Steve's jacket. No pressure. But if he doesn't want to lose touch again, the ball can be in his court.

He knows they can't re-open this door. Physically and metaphorically. But they were friends first, and he'd love to be able to say that again. Steve still presses him into the door, while they're on this side of it, locked in their bubble, and kisses him.

"This was fun," he says when he pulls back.

"Definitely," Eddie agrees, and he wants to throw out the offer that he's always available for a repeat performance, but he doesn't want to make Steve let him down gently.

"It was good to see you," Steve says, and wraps him up in a warm hug that Eddie greedily accepts.

"Tell the wife hi," Eddie teases as they pull apart. Steve grins, promises he will, and then he's gone.

Three months later, Steve is sitting in the same bar, but he's turned towards the room, as if he's waiting. For someone, or something.

Eddie grins, and hell, maybe Steve was.

He steps up next to him, and looks down, "Hey, stranger."

Steve smiles, reaching out to let his fingers graze Eddie's thigh. Then he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a familiar hotel key. Different room number, though.

Eddie's about to make a comment, when Robin slides onto the open stool next to Steve.

"Buckley!" he shouts, a little too loud before wrapping her up in a hug she's fighting more than reciprocating. But she's laughing.

"Get off me," she says, and he does. But he stands there grinning at her. Maybe Steve was waiting for her, not Eddie. But he had the hotel key, so now Eddie's just confused.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

"Accompanying my husband to meet up with his boyfriend," she snarks, in a hushed whisper.

Eddie's not, they're not, but maybe. They've talked a few times. But he had no idea Steve was coming back to town. It was never mentioned.

Steve's grinning, and like, goddamn. Fuck yes. Game on.

"If you steal a second key as another souvenir we may get real famous on the behind the desk do not rent to bulletin board," Eddie teases, and Steve giggles, reaching forward, slipping the offered key into Eddie's back pocket.

"Totally worth it," Steve says, grinning.

They'll just find another hotel, next time. Or Steve can just come home with Eddie if they're actually doing this, with Robin's blessing, apparently.

Because Eddie already knows, looking in Steve's eyes, there's gonna be a next time.

And more.

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