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certifiedskywalker · 4 years ago

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Trouble Doubled - Bucky Barnes

Even after everything, you’re still the person who Bucky Barnes runs to when things go bad. Only now, he brings Sam who fails to hide his grin when he sees how James melts under your touch.

WARNINGS: Blood, stitches, and TFATWS possible spoilers (I think I was vague enough)

“Ouch! That’s going to hurt in the morning!”

“Ha, it hurts now, actually,” Sam grumbled.

You pressed your lips together to stifle the grin that threatened to spill over them. Unable to help yourself, you glanced at Bucky in the hopes he too was biting back a grin. Stood by the door, slightly shrouded in shadow, you could make out the half smile that played on his lips. Though, his expression quickly melted into a grimace as Sam groaned. Reality quickly crashed back down on your shoulders and you turned back to the man laid on the table.

“You’re not going to like this.” Before Sam could ask what ‘this’ was, you began to palpate his wound. He flinched away from your reach at first, but then settled in the discomfort.

“Mm, yeah, no, that doesn’t feel good, Doc.”

“Not a doctor,” you said, still pressing lightly into the bruised flesh. “And I have to make sure you didn’t crack a rib. Otherwise, you’ll need a doctor.”

“Gotta work on your bedside manner,” Sam said as he winced. You pulled your hands away with a sigh and he met your eyes. “Bad?”

“In the grand scheme of things, no. Just try not to throw yourself off a building for the next few days. Think you guys can manage that?”

“Maybe. Harder to fly without jumping first.” Sam groaned once more as he sat up and the pain seemed to convince him to heed your warning. “We’ll try, Doc.”

You rolled your eyes at him before turning to look at Bucky. Still tucked in the darker corner of the room, he seemed small. His brows were knitted tightly together by worry and you imagined that, if he met your gaze, you would see concern in his eyes. Pushed forward by your own worry, you strode over to him. At your growing closeness, Bucky lifted his eyes to yours.

“Your turn.”

“I’m fine, Y/N.”

Despite his protest, Bucky did not lock himself in place. Instead, he gave in and let you lead him by the arm, over to the table. Sam eyed him with a wide grin as Bucky landed in the same spot he had sat in only moments ago. He mouthed something to the century-old soldier that you caught, but could not make out.

“What happened to taking it easy? You told me after, you know, that you would ease into things.” You gestured to the rags you had used to clean Sam’s more minor wounds; the fabric pieces were now dyed a reddish pink from blood. “That doesn’t seem like easing into it.”

“You didn’t see the other guy,” Sam quipped.

“I like to think you didn’t leave any of him left,” you fired back as you pinched Bucky’s chin between your forefinger and thumb. “Look at me.”

Bucky did as you told him to and met your gaze. You took a sharp breath in at the sight of him, at how his pupils blew out slightly as you studied his reaction. All at once, the air around you grew thick. This close, you could smell the sweat and ash on his skin, along with hints of whatever air freshener he had in his apartment.

Was it coconut? Sandalwood? You couldn’t parse out which as you found yourself lost in the blues of Bucky’s eyes. The sound of Sam clearing his throat shook you from your haze.

“No signs of a concussion.”

“Really?” Sam asked, grin still plastered on his face. You raised a brow at him in question before you turned back to Bucky.

“Why? Did you hit your head?”

“No,” he said, clearly tired of Sam’s commentary, “but if I did, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Super soldier or not, a head wound is a head wound. Can you?” You gestured to his jacket and, with a sigh, Bucky pulled it off his shoulders.

“How do you two know each other again?” Sam asked, glancing around the room. “And why are we in an abandoned building.”

“Hard to trace us back here. Didn’t want to lead them to Y/N’s place,” Bucky said, tossing his jacket to the side. He winced as he did, and then you saw the blood.

“Barnes!"

With reaching hands, you peeled back the crimson-soaked material of his shirt. Your movement revealed a long gash along his side that, with each breath, sent dribbles of blood to his hip. Sam made a sound of surprise and mild disgust at the sight. You were inclined to agree with another shout, but you were too caught up in how to stop the bleeding.

“Lay back,” you ordered, pressing Bucky’s shoulder. He yielded and you pushed his shirt up to expose the entire length of the wound. “Why didn't you show this to me earlier?!”

“It’s not that bad.”

"You're bleeding," you huffed, "which is pretty indicative of bad, if you ask me. Sam?"

"This is not my battle,” he raised his hands and shook his head. “I know better than to intrude on a lover’s quarrel.”

Neither you nor Bucky spoke up to correct him. In your mind, you came up with a quick excuse: Bucky was bleeding and you needed to focus on stopping it. Sam’s comment could be corrected later. Though, when Bucky didn’t speak up, you felt your chest tighten. As you worked on dressing the gash, you glanced up at him and found his blue eyes trained on you. He was dwelling on your silence too.

You pulled yourself out of the whirlpool of his gaze and reached over his body towards your medical supplies. As you stretched, your chest pressed lightly against Bucky’s, but you swallowed hard and refocused.

“Sorry, need to sow you up.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but he did avert his gaze. He found some spot in the ceiling to stare at instead of you. His distraction allowed you to work without the prickling temptation to sneak glances at his features; for the most part. It was only when Sam moved to stand over at your side you did you look up from Bucky’s wound.

“What?”

“Nothing, just wondering how many times you’ve done this before.”

A bitter laugh slipped past your lips at his reply. “Too many times to count. If it’s not an Avenger, it’s a masked savior from Hell’s Kitchen. Someone always needs stitched up.”

“But James here is your favorite patient?”

“Sam.”

Bucky’s tone set you on edge. It was warning, cold, and unlike the teasing you had grown fond of. Sam, knowing better than to piss him off, backed away from the table. You looked from him to Bucky and back again. When Bucky did not dare to meet your gaze, you felt a lump form in your throat. Tension weighed down your tongue, stopped you from saying a word or asking a question, despite your want to.

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you be, old man. I’ll check with Torres, see if he has anything.”

Bucky’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling above you. He was quiet, like the first time you met, and distant. His gaze seemed far away, as if he were looking through the ceiling of this hideaway. After you heard the door of the room close behind Sam, you went back to work on Bucky’s side in silence.

Carefully, you sowed the gash and tried to keep your hands steady. Every other jab with the needle made Bucky wince. You flinched at his sharp intake of breath and mumbled an apology before you went on to the next stitch. Five apologies later, the bleeding slowed and you gently pressed a crisp, white bandage to safeguard your handiwork.

Immediately after you secured the gauze, Bucky moved to sit up. Before he could, you pressed on his shoulders again and pinned him in place. Though, you knew you couldn’t have pinned him if he hadn’t let you. Your upper body strength was nothing compared to his, you both knew that.

“Don’t move,” you said softly, “you’ll ruin my work.”

“It’s gonna be hard not to.” Bucky met your gaze and, in the dim light of the room, his eyes looked dark, almost sad. Something in his face, perhaps the dull, yet familiar laughter lines around his mouth or the bags under his eyes, alleviated the tension that had silenced before.

“You told me you wouldn’t. That you would take it easy and focus on making amends.”

Bucky closed his eyes at the disappoint that laced your tone. “I tried. I wanted to, Hell, I need to, but I can’t. I never could.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky began to sit up from the table top, “I’m a soldier. I need the fight.”

You watched as he moved, as your hands slipped from his shoulders and fell back to your sides. He pulled his shirt down over his freshly bandaged wound. When he was covered, Bucky looked back up to you, saw your frown and frowned too.

“Soldiers get to come home,” you pointed out, arms crossed over your chest.

“If they’re lucky. I’ve never been lucky.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at that. He was right. Bucky told you his story once before, after a therapy session left him feeling a bit more dry than high. He told you that he couldn’t tell you everything, that he wouldn’t. He didn’t have to, but you still hoped for him.

“Luck can change.”

Bucky scoffed as he pushed himself to his feet. Now, at his full height, he towered slightly over you. Despite his looming figure, Bucky did not scare you. Even when he told you his story, what he had done, Bucky did not scare you.

“Yeah, well, luck, or fate, or whatever, brought me to you and here we are,” he gestured to the dusty dwelling around you. You looked around with a careful eye before you playfully shrugged.

“I’ve been in worse dives.” Bucky chuckled, a unforced sound that rose up from his chest against his will. “Really, I have.”

“I don’t doubt it. But we put you in danger, asking for your help here. I put you in danger.”

“Oh, are you serious?” You threw your hands up in the air, “there’s always going to be danger in this world. Aliens, war, bad luck.”

“I wanted to keep you safe,” he pressed, taking a step towards you.

You could smell the perfume of the air freshener again, how it clung to his clothes. It distracted you, threw you into thoughts of what his apartment looked like, if he would ever share that part of him with you or if he would keep it locked away with his full story. You bit your tongue to keep yourself from asking, from wasting your breath on a question he wouldn’t answer. His words would have to be enough for you and, as if on cue, Bucky echoed his sentiment.

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“How noble, wanting to keep me safe, Barnes. Just me?”

Silence was your immediate answer. Silence and Bucky’s full attention. You didn’t miss how his eyes flickered down from yours to your lips then back again.

“Just you.”

In the quiet that followed Bucky’s statement, you became frighteningly aware of your heartbeat again. It wasn’t pounding like before, but it felt loud, like it was pressing against your ribcage, begging to leap out and into Bucky’s arms. As if propelled by it, you found yourself leaning in towards his warmth just as he seemed to shrink away.

Before he was out of reach, you lifted your hands to his face and cupped his jaw. Stubble prickled your fingers and palm, though you were far too enraptured to care.

“Then stay alive,” you said softly, “change your luck and come home.”

In your mind, you did not picture Bucky’s home as his mystery apartment. Instead, you saw only this moment captured by some invisible third party. You saw home as just the two of you and the image made you heart beat a bit faster.

“I’ll try.”

“Good.”

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, stewed in the new, easier tension between you. But then your resolve broke and you lips broke into a smile. Bucky mirrored your expression, a lopsided grin resting comfortably along his features. His eyes fell to the floor between you before he looked back into your face.

“Can...can I kiss y-”

“Yes, Barnes, please.”

Without wasting another second, Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. Your hands slipped from his jaw to the back of his head where your fingers tangled in the soft strands of his brown hair. One of his hands found your waist and pulled you close to him, while the other cupped your jaw. In sync, his mouth moved against yours and everything around you melted away.

No more wonderings or mystery. It was only you and Bucky, come danger, trouble, or bad luck; and Sam who lingered outside the door.

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h0tchner · 3 years ago

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Any Age, Any Day, Anywhere (Part 1) - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: WRITTEN FOR AN ANON REQUEST: "ok hi so u already wrote a jealous reader and was wondering whats your take on jealous hotch? i mostly see him in fics as possessive and yeah being the leader type i would think he could also be possessive but i also think that he would just be sad like ya know he doubts himself as we saw in some episodes and i think he would need assurance and a lot of convincing that u only love him but if you’ve given that to him then thats the time he would be possessive and god i would love to imagine a possessive and feral aaron hotchner"

word count: 3.5k

includes: kissing, so much freaking adorable fluff, talk of body insecurities, insecure!hotch, protective!hotch, wifey reader, super brief mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, confrontation with a drunk asshole (derek & hotch are all over it tho dw), party at papa rossi's!, smut to come in next chapter...

rating: 18+ (technically there is no smut in this part, but there are adult themes such as drinking, kissing, etc.).

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! This is part one of a two-part fic! The next part will be pure filth, so keep your eyes peeled for some feral hotch content... ALSO! PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y��all! - rivka💞

“Aaron! Can you come here for a sec?” you call out to your husband from the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath as you try (and fail) for the third time to zip up the back of your black cocktail dress.

“Sure, I just need a minute,” he replies from the bedroom closet, securing the last opalescent button on the arm of his white dress shirt. He looks at himself in the closet mirror, zeroing in at the bags under his eyes and the sprinkling of grey in his stubble. He looks… tired. Tired and old. And he hates it.

Even though Aaron is only in his late-40s, he has lived lifetimes; years of working as Unit Chief of the BAU will do that to a man. Every horror he’s seen and every person he’s lost has weighed on his body and mind. In the past few months, amidst work changes and a new baby, he’s been exhausted and in fear that he’s letting himself go. Of course, being the stoic man that he is, he’s done his absolute best to hide these feelings from you. Tonight, however, he doesn’t know if he can. It’ll be your first night out together as a couple since welcoming baby girl Hotchner to the family four months ago. With no pressing family or work distractions, he just knows that you’ll be able to sense his apprehensions. It’s only a matter of when.

Taking in a breath, he turns a little to the side, frowning at his profile. Aaron winces a little at his “dad bod,” but quickly recovers from the discomfort, milliseconds after it flashes across his face.

“Aaron Hotchner get your handsome butt in here and help me zip my dress! We’re gonna be late,” you exclaim, trying one last time to reach the zipper before giving up and crossing your arms in defeat. You lean back lightly against the countertop facing the door, letting the fabric slip off your shoulders, and wait for your husband to rescue you from the hell that is this dress.

At the sound of your voice, Aaron snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head lightly, as if to physically erase the intrusive thoughts, and clears his throat. Grabbing his suit jacket off the hanger, he flicks off the closet light and closes the door behind him.

Languidly, he meanders from the closet toward the bathroom. He drags his feet a little longer than he normally would, still feeling off and a little bit shy about his appearance.

“Aaron,” you sing, “I’m waiting for –,” your jaw drops mid-sentence when Aaron appears in the doorway.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, eyes widening at the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crossing over to you, searching your face for any ounce of reprieve.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reply, standing from your leaning position to meet him, holding out your hands.

He takes them in his own, cocking his head slightly, his soft hazel eyes boring into yours.

You shift forward, moving up on your toes to peck his soft pink lips.

He sighs into the kiss, feeling the warmth of your lips against his own. It feels so good that it almost makes him forget about how he is feeling… almost. But the dark thoughts come back, and he pulls away from you a bit, reluctantly.

Aaron clears his throat.

“You called me?” He questions, but it sounds more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you give his hands a squeeze. “I needed you to zip up my dress, but now,” you lean in again, “I kinda want you to rip it off me.” You offer him a sultry smirk, moving your hands up to rest on his broad chest. He moves his hands to settle on your hips.

You lick your lips and let your eyes rake over his body, taking in every ounce of his sexy frame. The way his crisp, white dress shirt hugs his solid body makes you go weak in the knees. His strong, toned legs in those black dress pants? Yes please. His soft black hair and salt and pepper stubble on his face are practically begging to be touched. He looks good. Damn good.

“You look…” you pause, tapping a finger lightly against his pectoral, searching for the right word, “…delicious.”

Aaron blushes lightly at your ogling, offering you a sad smile as he squeezes his eyes shut out of embarrassment.

You sense the falter in his demeanor, knowing that there’s something else nagging at him far beyond his usual flustering when you vocalize your attraction to him.

“Honey,” you implore, looping your hands around his neck to bring his forehead down to touch yours. “What’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, swallowing, rubbing soft circles into your sides.

“It’s something,” you counter, carding a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck. You scratch lightly at his scalp, waiting for him to speak. You’ve learned that the best thing to do when Aaron gets in a mood is to give him some time to gather his thoughts. Keeping him close, physically, is a way to show him some comfort without pressuring him to speak. It encourages him, without words, that your arms are a safe place.

“I don’t…” he starts, and then stops himself. His dark eyebrows furrow and his mouth presses into a thin line.

“Mhm?” you question, fingers still tangled in his thick, black locks.

He pulls his forehead away from yours and locks eyes with you. You let your hands be still now, a silent gesture to show him that you’re listening.

He takes in a breath.

“I don’t look the way I used to,” he says quietly, shifting his eyes away from yours.

“What do you mean,” you urge him to continue.

“I mean, I don’t look like I did five years ago. Two years ago. Four months ago. I mean, I was practically a different man when we first met. I was younger, fitter…” he trails off, visibly upset.

“Yes, Aaron, you were,” you agree, keeping your tone temperate.

His eyes snap to yours, confused. It’s clear that was not what he was expecting you to say.

“You were a different man,” you continue gently, resuming your pacifying touch in his hair, “and I was a different woman.”

Aaron lets out a huff.

“Do you love me any less now than you did five years ago?” You ask him.

“Of course not,” he’s quick to answer.

“Why is that?” You prod.

“You’re gorgeous, inside and out. You’re funny, smart, loving…” he begins, but you interrupt him before he can go on.

“And,” you butt in, “if I were to go completely grey, gain thirty pounds, and only wear a potato sack to work every day would you love me any less?”

Aaron huffs again, but this time he’s fighting a smile. He’s starting to catch on. You watch as a spark of levity returns to his eyes. He holds you a little tighter.

“No. There’s nothing you could do or say to make me love you any less,” he grumbles in annoyance, but his upturned lip and matching eyebrow tell a different story.

“Ditto, baby,” you smile up at him. “I love you at any age, any day, anywhere, and there is nothing in the world that can make me change my mind.”

He dips down then, capturing you in a kiss, grinning against your lips.

You giggle as Aaron works his way down your jawline and neck, gasping as he kisses the soft skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder, thick fingers gripping the sides of your hips. He moves his lips back up to your earlobe, nipping at it lightly as you let out another soft gasp.

“You always know the right thing to say,” he whispers into your ear, pressing another kiss right underneath it.

“Aaron, I know I said I wanted you to take this dress off me,” you say breathlessly as Aaron nips at your shoulder again, “but Rossi will kill us if we don’t show up tonight. Plus, I really want the chance to show off my super sexy FBI husband. It’s been far too long.”

He lets out a low groan into your skin and gives your hips a squeeze, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” you snort, eliciting a chuckle from your husband as you turn around in his arms to let him zip you up.

He takes his time, letting his fingers brush lightly over your spine as he draws the zipper over your back. When he’s done and the clasp is latched, he kisses one shoulder lightly, and then the other.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning back against his warm body.

“No, honey,” he kisses the top of your head, “thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________

By the time you and Aaron arrive at Rossi’s mansion, the party is already in full swing. Judging by the number of cars in the makeshift parking lot on his spacious front lawn, there must be at least fifty, maybe even a hundred people here.

Despite the bustle of the evening, it doesn’t take long for you two to find Emily, Penelope, and Derek in the living room, drinks in hand, snacking on some very expensive looking food.

“Hey, look! It’s the Hotchners!” Emily cheers, teetering on the arm of the leather couch, wine glass in hand.

“Hello beautiful BAU power-couple!” Penelope chimes in from the seat next to her, cuddled up into Derek’s side.

You laugh and let go of Aaron’s hand, walking over to greet your friends.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you, look at you!” Derek chimes in, eyeing you up and down before standing to shake Aaron’s hand.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at him as you give Emily a big hug.

“And you don’t look bad yourself, boss man!” Derek adds.

You shoot your husband an ‘I told you so’ look over your shoulder, before untangling your arms from Emily and giving Penelope an equally enthusiastic squeeze.

“It’s good to see you all,” Aaron smiles lightly, all dimples in the low light. He steps in to give Emily and Penelope soft hugs.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Derek says to Aaron, clapping him on the back.

“White?” Aaron looks to you, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes please,” you respond, “thank you.”

“Be back soon,” he smiles easily, kissing your cheek, making your heart ache.

Aaron and Derek turn and exit the room together.

Penelope drunkenly pats the seat next to her, and you plop down on the couch.

“We’ve missed you like this!” Emily exclaims, gesturing between the three of you and around the room. “I can’t believe we’ve had to wait nine whole months plusanother four just to have a drink with our best friend again.”

You laugh at her, tilting your head back lightly. “Well, you guys got a beautiful little niece out of it, doesn’t that make up for all the wild girl’s nights I missed?”

Emily sighs, dramatically, “I guess so,” she jests.

“Oh, for sure.” Penelope adds. “You look freaking gorgeous, by the way. I mean, I would have never guessed you were creating a tiny human in that body only a few months ago!”

You blush lightly at her words, “You flatter me far too much, Pen. I owe this,” you gesture down at your figure, “all to Spanx!”

“Amen!” Emily toasts. You raise an imaginary glass to theirs and pretend to clink, taking a swig of invisible liquid.

“Are J.J. and Will here?” You ask them after they’ve had a few more sips of their wine.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily nods, “they’re around somewhere.”

You take a moment and look around the room, taking in all the sights and the sounds of the party. You see some faces you recognize from around the bureau, but others you don’t. Just as you’re about to turn back to your friends, someone catches your eye. One face stands out from the crowd: he’s a young, suave-looking man in a sharp navy suit. Sandy hair perfectly gelled, shiny brown loafers, and bright blue eyes looking right at you. In another life you would have been exhilarated by his attention, apparent charm, and good looks, but now? Now, you’re married to the love of your life with an amazing stepson and a wonderful baby girl. His wolfish gaze means absolutely nothing to you. You simply flash him a curt smile and turn back to Emily and Penelope without a second thought.

You and your friends resume your chatter, waiting for the men to return with more drinks... only they don’t. Perhaps its “new mother anxiety” talking, but the longer your husband is gone, the more you start to grow concerned. A few more minutes pass of antics, laughter, and catching up until the nagging voice in the back of your head turns into an all-out scream. All you know is that you’re suddenly feeling very overwhelmed need to be with Aaron. So, you announce to your friends that you’re going to hunt down Derek and your husband.

You stand from the couch and smooth out the skirt of your dress with the promise to be back in a few minutes.

You walk out of the living room and into the grand foyer, following the same route as Aaron had earlier. Your black kitten heels click on the marble flooring, the skirt of your dress swishing lightly as you walk with purpose towards the kitchen. You’re so concentrated on reaching your destination that you don’t realize the man who had been watching you in the living room was now hot at your heels, following you through the house. It’s only when a hand reaches out and jerks your arm backward that you stop, startled, just past the grand staircase, turning face to face with him.

“You’re not an easy woman to get alone,” he smirks, reeking of alcohol, still gripping your arm, tight. Up close he is decidedly not as handsome as the low light of the living room made him seem. In fact, he seems… creepy. Really, really, really, creepy.

“Can I help you?” You blink at him, pulling your arm out of his vice grip.

“You sure can, baby,” he steps closer to you, voice oozing with sleaze. You gag at the liquor on his breath.

Moving away, you scowl at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What’s say you and I head upstairs for a little while? I’m dying to get my hands on your body.” He jerks his head toward the staircase, reaching out to grab your arm again.

You’re fuming at this point, ready give him a piece of your mind when a stern voice beats you to it.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Aaron articulates, approaching you both with Derek not far behind.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your husband glares at the drunken man vengefully, coming to stand by your side. Aaron pulls you into him, roughly, hand tight around your waist. The anger radiating off your husband is equally terrifying and HOT.

“Take a walk, man,” Derek adds in, coming to stand next to the drunken asshole. The man looks from you, to Aaron, then over to Derek, and finally back at you.

“Whatever,” the man grumbles, putting his hands up, “she’s not worth it anyway. Not pretty enough for the hassle. I just thought she looked like an easy lay.”

“That’s enough,” Aaron snaps, seething. “Leave now, before I make you,” your husband growls. He angles his body forward so you’re slightly behind him. A shiver passes through you at his fierce protectiveness.

“Fine, I’m going to get another drink,” the man utters.

“No,” Aaron interjects, “the party. Leave the party or I’ll have you removed.”

“What’s your problem?” The creepy man retorts, this time, more confrontationally.

“My problem?” Aaron says, angrily. You feel his entire body tense at the accusation.

“Hotch,” Derek warns, “I’ll take care of it. You guys go enjoy yourselves. Forget about him.”

“Come on, Aaron,” you tug on his suit jacket lightly, eyes pleading… but Aaron doesn’t budge from his spot. He only holds you tighter as he continues to stare down the man as Derek ushers him away and towards the front door. He doesn’t falter until they are out of sight.

“Aaron?” You repeat.

He looks down at you, finally, blinking away the fury until all that’s left is an all-consuming love. He releases you from his protective hold, and you face him.

“I’m okay,” you assure him in earnest, letting out a shaky breath.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“Aaron, it’s okay, really,” you bite your lip, shifting your eyes away from his.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaron kisses your forehead, and then the top of your head. “So, so beautiful, and I’m so sorry.”

“Aaron, can we just go home?” You ask.

“Sure,” he kisses your head one last time before weaving his fingers between yours and guiding you gently toward the back exit.

_____________________________________________________________

The car ride home is quiet. The only sounds are the occasional click of the turn signal, and the hum of the wheels on the road. Aaron is still upset, and so are you, but you’re also… something else. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. You feel guilty for ruining the evening, guilty that you FEEL guilty for something you had no control over, hungry, tired, and… horny? Oh, and guilty for feeling horny.

It isn’t helping that one of Aaron’s hands is planted firmly on your thigh. He lifts it only to adjust the air conditioning or to scratch his nose, but otherwise it remains on you the whole way home. When he pulls into the driveway of your shared house, and shuts the car off, he still doesn’t move it.

“Honey?” You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed. You take in the strong features of his profile, noting the prominence of his nose and the way his eyelashes rest on his high cheekbones.

“I almost punched him.” Aaron whispers, opening his eyes to look over at you sheepishly.

“You what,” you exhale, mouth slightly agape.

“That guy,” he continues, bringing his left hand up to pinch his nose. “I almost punched him for saying that about you.”

You snort, amused by his confession.

Your husband lets out a short laugh, squeezing your thigh as he does.

“I would’ve liked to see that.” You’re grinning now and so is he.

He flashes his eyes at you and laughs again, this time less anxiously. You join him, feeling the tension dissipate with every passing moment.

“My big, bad FBI man decking a barely-legal drunk dickhead for making a move on his wife? Where can I get my tickets?” You joke.

As you say the words “his wife,” Aaron’s breath hitches in his throat. His hand on your thigh presses down instinctively. Neither of his reactions go unnoticed.

You lay a hand over his where it rests on your leg.

“You know, Aaron,” you begin.

He looks over at you, jaw tight, but this time it isn’t from anger.

“This is the first time we’ve had the house all to ourselves in months,” you pull his hand off you and bring it up to your lips. You press a kiss to his palm, and then to his wrist.

“This… is true,” he breathes out, studying you, taking you in.

“So, I’m just wondering:” you grin, linking your fingers with his, “are you going to carry your wife into our house, Aaron? Or do I have to walk myself?”

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fangirl--writes · 3 years ago

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Purpose. Pre-Spray Jeremiah Valeska x Reader

ENCHANTED PROMPT: “Plan a private picnic by the fires glow.”

RQ by anon. There was no specification other than Jeremiah Valeska so I chose Pre-Spray Jeremiah Valeska.

This was super fun to write, thank you so much anon!

Word Count: 1550

Check out this post If you’d like to request one of the other prompts.

A quick rasp at the door caused you to look up from your book. Wordlessly you sighed dropping your marker on your page.

It was just getting good too….

You gave a longing look back at your book before you adjusted your sweater and headed to the door.

“Yes?” Your tired gaze settled on the stoic form of your boyfriend’s assistant.

Ecco. Her blue eyes were deep as she swept your form with a quick nod.

Your lazy afternoon gone in a matter of seconds.

“Come with me please.”

Your brows arched as you stiffened,“Is Jeremi- “

“Mister Wilde, is fine.” Her voice was firm.” I have been instructed to come collect you at his request.”

A soft whine bubbled from your chest as you grabbed your shoes, slipping them on before reaching for your keys. Ecco’s eyes never leaving you as you locked the door. Her hand fell to your back as she guided you to the car, your mind racing with all matter of worry.

Is he okay?

Did something happen-

Jeremiah always informed you ahead of time if he was sending his proxy

Always.

His assistant remained steadfast and silent as she drove you the hidden paths to Jeremiah’s bunker deep in the outskirts of Gotham. Your hands twisted the seat belt in knots as you stared out the tinted window; the city skyline getting smaller and smaller in the rear view. Time seemed to drag as the car headed into the darkness; the soft glow of the headlights illuminating the rugged path ahead of you.

Please be okay... Please be okay.

Your knuckles were white as the car finally eked to a stop, you had to force yourself to still as the blonde came around to open your door. She led you through the familiar path to the cylinder block square nestled into the ground, with a soft click the door opened. Your chest was tight as the grey walls were bathed in a crisp glowing light. In an instant you threw yourself down the hall, the tense energy that bubbled in your chest burst as you sprinted leaving Ecco behind.

“Jeremiah-

Jeremiah…please answer me.”

Your voice grew more desperate with every scream. There was no sign of your red headed engineer-

Images of him collapsed somewhere down one of the many twisting halls flooded your mind; his body limp, lifeless on the cold concrete. The soles of your sneakers skidded to a stop as a faint crunch caught under your feet.

Your frantic gaze veered down to see a petal crumbled under your rampage… a vibrant crimson rose.

You backtracked catching sight of more petals… your siege paused as you followed the trail down the new corridor. The white lights were dimmed; instead, the hall was illuminated in soft glow of small flickering candles. A warm whiff of your favorite scent guided you down the hall.

Did… Jeremiah do this?

Every so often you’d come home to a beautiful bouquet on your table with a handwritten note of adoration. Small gifts would be delivered to your workplace, but never a gesture like this.

You thumbed the rose petal in your palm as you gawked in awe as you moved along unsure of your destination.

The hall opened up to a room familiar. The den where you and your significant other spent hours, reading, laughing and enjoying the others company.

The worn petal slipped from your hand as you laid sight on a room aglow by a steady crackling flame in a fireplace… a new fireplace. Lanterns filled in the gaps chasing away any inkling of frigid darkness.

Your hands flew to cover your lips as a surprised gasp escaped you. A massive fur rug was spread over the typical cold concrete draped with plush pillows and blankets. The rose petals had blossomed into dozens of stems planted in small metal vases laid meticulously across the space, dancing in the dim glow.

“Do you like it Darling?”

You nearly melted hearing Jeremiah’s breezy voice tickle your ear; your eyes squeezed shut as his arms slipped around you in a warm embrace

He pulled you in close his cologne faint, filled your senses as you held him.

“It’s… amazing…”

You froze in you enrapture; eyes growing wide for a split second as you remembered-

“Don’t Scare Me Like That.” The words flew from your mouth angrily as you wiggled turning to smack your partners chest.

“Do you know how worried I was?

I thought you were dead.

Ecco didn’t say anything and you- “

Jeremiah’s lips cut you off as he cradled your cheek in his hand. His forehead together against yours pulling away to speak in your place.

“Forgive me. I know it’s brash but I wanted to surprise you and didn’t know any other way.”

You grazed the back of his hand falling into the deep green pools of his eyes. His dark brows knitted in concern at your silence.

After a few moments your bubbling giggle filled the room. “Don’t make it a habit.” You pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before turning back to the fireplace.

Your partner’s hand entwined into yours with a low breathy chuckle and a shake of his head as he led you to the warmth of the hearth, guiding you to a cushion before slipping off to the side returning quickly with two glasses and a covered dish.

“Thank you.” You grinned as you reached to take one of the glasses filled with your favorite wine.

He settled beside you before laying the dish to the side before taking a drink of his own.

“I do wish you would have at least given me a clue…” You swirled your glass before taking a sip. “I feel so out of place in all this elegance.” Even he had dressed impeccably as always in a copper toned sport coat and trousers down to his shoes that shined with care.

Jeremiah’s hand brushed against your knuckles pulling your attention from the drink; the flame dancing off the lenses of his glasses as he stared into the roaring fire.

“It doesn’t compare.”

The faintest grin crept on his face as he caught a glimpse of your eyes darting away to your glass, your form dipped at his sincerity. He felt a small pride seeing your blush, the bashful grins as you took his compliments was almost mind numbing for him. “All the grandest gestures I could give would never measure to the one you have given me.”

Your head lifted with the faintest tilt as you set your glass aside. “…Sweetheart is was just a watch...”

Your naïve nature was a charm he held so dear to his heart Jeremiah wanted nothing more than to protect you, to guard you from the evils of the outside world that had turned him callous and cold.

He felt his cheeks crack into a chuckling grin that spilled into his speech. “-And it’s a lovely piece, but it wasn’t…quite what I had in mind.”

He cleared his throat as he turned to face you reaching to take both your hands.

You gave him a reason to step away and take part in the small pleasures.

He felt life was worth something again. He was alive when you were with him, the mere thought of you now made Jeremiah…dare he say giddy like school boy with his first love. He now had a purpose beyond the piles of blueprints and sticky notes lining the walls of office.

He had you.

The fear that paralyzed him to hide in the shadows of the underground was cracking, shedding a light on a new life that he could build with his new purpose.

Even now as he looked to you, blinking under the cover of the candle lit room a weak smile slipped across his lips. The words all planned, down to the breathes he’d take all but faded away; Jeremiah didn’t even notice the faint tremor in his hands as he took in a breath in an attempt to seal his nerves.

You made him a mess.

“Y/N, my darling... will you stay here? With me.”

Your eyes glistened, as a soft gasp escaped you breaking into a beaming smile as you nodded eagerly your whole-body following along.

Before you could reply, he pressed a finger to your parted lips. His voice was faint as he dropped an addition.

“The night, and forever.”

You couldn’t hold the elation that was bursting in your chest; suddenly you sprang forward overtaking him in a fit of glee as one word fell feverishly from your lips. Yes. Yes, yes yes.

The two of you went tumbling down to the plush carpet. Jeremiah was on his back in an instant as your lips came crashing down to capture his own in a buzz of excitement.

Unprepared he flinched as the two of you went reeling back; his mind going blank as your lips settled into his. His hands wandered to hold your waist steady, savoring the taste of the drink on your lips before watching you pull away with a breathless huff.

And now, he would never have to think of another day were you wouldn’t be with him.

Taglist:

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@valeskaduh

@theunquenchablethirst

@spider-lonesome

@maria-akira

@seldomabsent

#jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska #jeremiah x reader #gotham jeremiah #jeremiah valeska x reader #jeremiah valeska gotham #prespray jeremiah valeska #prespray jeremiah #gotham x reader #gotham on FOX #ask prompts #mini prompts #Feedback is appreciated

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hansolmates · 5 years ago

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jjk; angel’s trumpet [final]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–dry humping but not really lololol w.c; 5.5k a/n; surprise! the finale is here. im a little emotional, i had so, so much fun writing this series. the most fun i’ve had writing in a long, long while. i really hope to all the new readers that you stick around for the other bts fics i have in mind. thank you for being so supportive and loving on this journey, and i hope you enjoy their ending! and pssssttt, the bonus chapter will come next friday, so look out for that! ty @btsghostiewritersnet for the Bingo Bash Challenge and encouraging me to finish my first bts series!

[08] [final] [bonus] -> masterpost

Your family took very good care of your apartment while you were away. The laundry is done, the tables are dusted, and your bed sheets are crisp and smell like lemon fabric softener.

Unfortunately, you can’t say the same thing about your fridge. You can’t recall the last time you’ve seen the back of your fridge, but now it’s completely cleared out save for three cans of soda.

At least there’s ramen you can boil.

Waiting for the water your fingers drum over your countertops, taking in your home. It’s been two months since you’ve set foot in your apartment. You used to hate living in this little box of an apartment, jealous that your other co-workers got to share with others and have grander living spaces. However today, you feel content basking in the intimacy of your home, thankful for the breathing room it provides.

Chilling with your candles on the counter, sits the bottle of angel wine you received that started it all. It looks innocent, sitting next to your Bath and Body Works candles like one of the team. In this scenario, the Angel surely trumpeted you.

The facility they sent you to was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in disguise because you had time to think and get back on your feet with no repercussions of going “too slow” and the pressures of going back to work. A curse in its own merit because the doctors constantly poked and prodded at your brain, trying to help you process your supposed trauma and get you to remember.

And sure, being sent unwillingly to an alternate dimension as you were practically forced to live another life and fall in love with the boy you already love is definitely trauma in it’s own right. However you’d be crazy to tell them and you’re not trying to end up in the cuckoo house anytime soon.

So eventually you give them the boring, appropriate version. How you were flung meters away from the impact point, feeling like you were seconds away from being dead, every bone in your body protesting as you rolled off the road. Yadda yadda yadda, you said you remembered brief flashes of your hospital room during your coma, catching simple conversation exchanged between your visitors, but nothing concrete. When you woke up, you thought you were in a dream about being in a coma, and once you saw that you’ve actually been asleep for two months, caused a panic which led you to their facility. Everything but the crѐme of the story.

With this utterly basic and blase confession, the doctors deemed you ready to transition and re-acclimate into your normal routine.

“Ow, fuck,” you put too much water in your pot, and it’s now boiled over and some of the water has dripped on your hand. Immediately killing the heat, you decide that you’re not feeling ramen and you definitely deserve a treat meal before facing society head on.

Quickly putting on a large sweater and leggings, you make quick work to the 7-Eleven across the street of your apartment complex. This has to be a ten-minute trip, tops. You start to shove whatever looks edible into your basket, making sure to have an equal balance of sweet and salty foods.

A low whistle from behind causes you to bristle, and you turn around to shove your container of Kewpie mayonnaise into the offender’s chest.

“I promise, I don’t wolf-whistle just any pretty girl at 7-Eleven.”

Your weapon of choice drops into your basket, face softening at the man in front of you. “Hoseok?”

You almost double-take, thinking for just a half-second that you could be dreaming. It’s been so long, but seeing the pearly white grin on his face and the red cap on his head feels all too familiar, and you’re overwhelmed with emotion. Dropping your basket you throw your arms around him, laughing when he nearly stumbles and you two almost topple over the dried foods section.

Heat stains Hoseok’s cheeks, not used to being this close with you. “Didn’t think you had it in you to miss me,” he says lightly, only half-joking.

“Of course I missed you, Hobi,” you admonish, leaning back slightly to adjust the cap that turned wonky once you embraced him. “It’s been what, two months?”

“Almost five, actually,” you can feel him tense up as you try to adjust the bangs on his forehead. This must be really awkward for him, but you made a promise to someone to try to become better friends with him, so why not start now? “But I guess it doesn’t count for you if you were in a coma for two of them.”

“Right,”

Hoseok watches your eyes glaze over, deep in thought. In his haste he grabs your basket, gesturing for you to follow him to the register. You don’t even argue when he starts to pay for you, slipping the bottle of aspirin he wanted to pick up upon finding you in the same aisle.

“Hobi?” you ask, following him outside.

“Yeah?”

“We should hang out,” you say, ignoring the surprise on Hoseok’s features. He wasn’t expecting that, “My family pretty much rearranged my place while I was away, and put in a lot of home workout stuff,” he chuckles at the face you make, “but they left my old tennis racket. I know you used to play so I could use a partner.”

To your utter relief Hoseok nods brightly, “I’d like that.”

You grin, taking your leave as Hoseok follows your trail. You try to hide how giddy you are by hiding your head in your hood, smiling wide at the thought of spending more time with Hoseok. Both of you seem to be headed in the same direction, Hoseok making small talk about what’s going on in his life and what you’ve missed.

He stops in front of the apartment complex, gesturing to the studio he’s currently practicing in. “I should go call Jungkook for you,” he says, “he’s been worried sick about you.”

At the mention of Jungkook, you shove your hands in your burgundy pocket, wringing at the old fabric. “I’ll call him tomorrow,” you say, biting your lip, “I’m not quite ready yet.”

“Of course,” and it looks like he wants to ask more, but out of politeness he doesn’t. He’s always had a vague understanding of your relationship with Jungkook, but it isn’t his business. “But if he asks about you—which he does a lot and it’s super annoying—I’m not lying.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” you smile.

“That boy, he visited you every day he could. You know that?” Your heart softens at the confession, and you heat up. Hoseok reaches over to squeeze your shoulder, bending down to send you a smile equally as heartening. “So call him soon, okay?”

The both of you part ways feeling lighter and sweeter. The rest of your way back up to your apartment is peaceful, until you hear someone crying on your floor. Your heart aches seeing your old co-worker slumped up against your door. Her hair has grown in, surprisingly not styled and she looks like she’s just ran a marathon to beat you. When she sees you approach her, she gives you a wobbly pout.

“You bitch,” Sehlyung says with no bite to her tone. She’s teary, and has been sitting against your door because the lock has changed. You must’ve just missed each other, “why didn’t you tell me the second you arrived in the city?”

“I was just going to call you,” you bend down to reach her eyes, “how’d you know I was already here?”

“C-cousin texted me,” she holds up her phone, wiping her face with her sleeve, “she’s a surprisingly good texter for a five-year-old.”

You laugh, offering a hand to pull her up. “I’ve missed you,”

“Fuck, I’ve missed you too,” and she hugs you, squeezing your insides out with every fiber of your being. “I’m so so sorry, baby.”

“It’s not your fault—”

“I fucking know! I know it’s not my fault but just let me be sorry and hug you,” you relent after that, letting her cry on your shoulder as you fumble for the door so you can both catch up comfortably.

You set up the table for your feast, lining up everything from 7-Eleven onto the coffee table as Sehlyung busies herself by pouring you guys cups of tea. She eats quietly, to your surprise. You didn’t realize how much this accident would have affected her, especially being the last person you saw before you left. The two of you exchange simple, mindless talk, with Sehlyung complaining about how much harder work has gotten and how boring your life in the facility, to the point that you wanted to teach the patients English just for the fun of it.

Sehlyung still looks a little weary, as if expecting you to be upset and blame her like she wanted to. You don’t give her that, instead you reach over to pat the black roots of her hair. “Girl, how could you let it grow out like this?” you admonish, knowing how much she hated to see roots after the first two weeks.

“Was waiting for you,” she mumbled between bites of her onigiri, “you’re the only one that does my roots. Can’t have some salon jip me for hundreds of won just because you got into a coma.”

You laugh, patting your knees as you move to your bathroom. “Pretty sure your hair stuff is still here,” you chirp, “let me fix that for you while you’re here, yeah?”

After the day is spent and Sehlyung’s hair is freshly dyed, you two cap off the night with some popcorn and a subpar romance movie. The two of you aren’t really paying much attention to it, instead the focus is on the silent understanding the two of you have as you bask in each other's presence.

Sehlyung leans her head on her shoulder, smelling like fresh conditioner. “Y’know,” she says, “he blames himself too.”

“Jungkook?” you know exactly who she's referring to.

“Yeah, probably because of what he said that night,”

“You two are such softies,” you remark, pulling her closer, “all tough and strong on the outside so no one sees how weak you are to the people you love.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Cleaning up your work locker is like unfolding a time capsule.

Thankfully, everything’s still there (aside from your Caprese sandwich Sehlyung so thankfully remembered to dispose of.) You take great care in putting all your things in your duffle bag, from your extra hoodie in case it gets cold to the soft covered textbooks that are worn from love and overuse.

You thumb your finger over the photograph of you and Jungkook, untacking it from the inside door. You don’t even remember when this was taken, a blurry polaroid of you on his back with sparklers in each hand. Both of you look hysterical, from the manic grin on Jungkook’s face to the slightly panicked face you sport because the sparklers are hovering dangerously close to your faces.

A little part of you feels bittersweet in closing this part of your life, but you have a feeling that this chapter ended long ago.

Making quick work to drop off your locker key among other workstuffs, you manage to catch a glimpse of some familiar faces working. The studio door is open, presumably to air out the seven sweaty bodies that have been working tirelessly. You pop your head open, nose crinkling at the smell.

You barely get a word in as passing staff come to greet you and marvel on your recovery. It’s a little overwhelming, but seeing the relief and relaxation on their faces as they take in your healed body like you’re Jesus reincarnate.

You also notice that Jungkook’s nowhere in sight.

Namjoon bumbles over to you, throwing himself on you like a bear swallowing you whole. “We missed you so much!”

“Ugh, sweaty!” you make a face when his muscle tee is practically transparent, “Joon, you’re like a sauna!”

He fakes a defeated sigh, making an exaggerated gesture of holding his shoulders in a tired shrug. “I get it, you don’t wanna hug me,” he declares, “after months and months, the only person you’re really looking for in this room is Jeon—” you squirm among the staff and the way they mull around the room, seemingly disinterested in your conversation.

But of course, you never know who could be listening in.

Namjoon cuts himself short and squeezes your shoulder, as if to say you know what I mean.

“You actually just missed him. He left his extra clothes at the dorm. If you leave now, you’ll be able to catch him,” Jimin offers. He’s slumped on the ground, regarding you with a secret smile.

“Yeah, and it’s okay if he’s five minutes late.” Hoseok pipes up, downing a water bottle.

“Or ten.”

“Or a day late,” Hoseok finally says, “a day is fine.”

You snort, looking between the three boys. “I wasn’t looking for him,” you scoff, but from the looks on their faces, they already knew. With an exasperated shout and a rushed goodbye, you dart out of the studio, acutely aware of the giggles that follow you out.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The floor of their apartment took up the entire complex and then some, so you had to get Namjoon’s code to reach that floor. A little part of you knew you also could’ve just texted Jungkook to wait for you, but you had an inkling you would chicken out the second your phone indicated he was typing. The animated (...) always gave you a little bit of anxiety.

But now you’re at their front door and you’re not so sure if you feel ready. You felt ready this morning, when you dressed “comfortably but cute” in an outfit appropriate for cleaning out your previous job’s locker and just so happening to stumble upon Jungkook. That didn’t happen, and now you no longer have the cushion of being at the company surrounded by people.

It would just be him and you, for as long as you two need.

You’re only allowed to dive headfirst into the situation, because suddenly Jungkook is barreling out the door, presumably rushing to get to practice. He’s also equal amounts of sweaty, but at least has a clean shirt on. The white cotton is haphazardly thrown on, the collar so wide that the gap seeps onto his tanned chest.

Said chest barrels into your face, and you go down hard.

He cries your name like a prayer, dropping whatever’s in his hands to kneel to your aid. He’s shaking, unable to register that you’re simultaneously here and not here because he just bulldozed the entirety of his weight into your unsuspecting body.

You’re dizzy, trying hard to focus on him through bleary eyes. Jungkook looks like he’s about to cry. His carmine eyes scan your body for damages, and his one hand cards roughly through his untrimmed hair. The slight curl from yesterday’s salon job has lessened, but still manages to bounce back despite his futile attempts to get his bangs out of the way.

“J-Jung—” dammit, why was it so hard to formulate two syllables? “Oreos.”

“Wha?”

“Your Oreos,” your eyes flicker to the quickly escaping tins that came from his arms, wheeling further and further down the hallway, “running away.”

He scoffs, but you can tell he’s trying not to laugh by the quirk of his lips, “They’re fine. They’re not going anywhere,” he steps back a bit, sitting on his heels to give you some breathing room, “you on the other hand, can’t go anywhere.”

You narrow your eyes, “I didn’t come here to just leave,” you say, “I came here to talk to you, until you so gracefully said hello to me with the entirety of your muscle mass.”

Jungkook deflates, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” so much for a graceful start, “let’s get inside.”

“I uh, I have practice,” but he scrambles to pick up the Oreos and the clothes he dropped, “so we can start talking for a bit and then… ?”

“Ah, Hoseok said you can come to practice tomorrow,” he lights up at the mention of his friend, “I mean, if you want. I don’t know how important this practice is but—”

“It’s not,” he blurts, then sees the shock on your face when he’s cut you off, “I mean, it’s important but not that important. I mean uh, in comparison to now, and your head… and the Oreos.”

“Right.”

Not trusting yourself to get up too fast, you decide to crawl around to gather up the tins of Oreos while Jungkook moves to pick up your bag. With three tins gathered in your arms, you take the proffered hand Jungkook offers you to hoist you up. Your head throbs a little, but you know Jungkook’s got you. You try not to think too hard about the hand in your grip as it switches to hover over your waist as he leads you inside.

The penthouse isn’t as different as you imagined it would be. Then again, you could imagine how little time they spend in here anyway. The granite and dark wood kitchen remains, and your hands hover over the cool material. You’ve always been jealous of their living space, and often grumble about how their kitchen and living room spans about three sizes of your apartment combined.

Jungkook’s nose pokes in your bag as he sets it down, “You picked up all your work stuff?”

“Yeah,”

He gives you a strained smile, “It’s definitely not going to be the same without you at work,” you can tell how equal parts truthful and embarrassed he is, given by the way he breaks eye contact with you. “I mean, we can put in a good word for you if you want to come back?” he offers, “I don’t know if there’s still a position available for teachers but,”

You shake your head, one hand gripping the counter. You want to tell him that it isn’t his job to find him, but your heart is feeling particularly achy looking at the way he does want to help. After all, you two were still very close before your coma and the weeks leading up to your fight, “I think I want to try new things,” you say, “but thanks anyway.”

“Oh-kay,” his eyes look towards where you two should get comfy. The living room is the most obvious option, but the thought of any of his members or staff coming in at any moment terrifies him, “let’s go to my room.”

Unfortunately the Golden Closet isn’t made for two. He blanches as you two appear at his front door, noting the odds and ends of speakers, mixers, cameras and microphones taking up space on the floor and his desk. God, you must think he really doesn’t have his shit together after all this time.

“So, you still sleep on electrical equipment?” you say wryly, climbing up to reach the bed. The only reason the bed is unoccupied is because it’s a half-bunk, high enough to avoid any of Jungkook’s things.

It takes a second for Jungkook to follow you up, and he almost loses his breath at the sight of you sitting cross-legged, waiting patiently for him to sit across from you. It’s like old times, where you’d sleep in his room and wait for him to get back so you can finish another episode of whatever show you two were catching up on. It’s been awhile since he’s slept in his own bed, so the sheets are fresh and it's easy for you to sit on a clean space.

“So,” Jungkook exhales, “what’s being in a coma like?”

He wants to slap himself. Repeatedly.

Your demeanor cracks, and maybe it wasn’t the wrong thing to say because up until now he never realized how much he missed your smile. “Waking up was the awful part, like the truck crashed into me in the middle of the room,” you reel it back when you see Jungkook’s face pinch, as if he thought back to his time watching over you in the hospital, helpless, “but uh, other than that, quite painless.”

“That’s a relief,” and you feel better seeing Jungkook’s shoulders slump in his t-shirt, looking relatively calmer than before. You tilt your head, wanting to gauge his expression by sneaking a glance under his chin, where he’s tucked in his facials. “I uh, about the last time we talked…” In other words, the last time we fought, but he’s still not looking at you, and it’s so unlike him. Jungkook doesn’t like beating around the bush, he’s a man who likes to cut to the chase and get straight to the poison of a conversation.

But it’s been a full thirty seconds and you decide that’s enough, as he’s starting to look like a tortured animal and you feel the need to put him out of his misery.

Placing a gentle hand on his knee you breathe, “It’s okay,” and his eyes flicker to yours, expectant. “I’m not going to push it, push us anymore. That wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. But we can still be friends and that’s more important to me.”

And suddenly Jungkook’s face shoots up and he’s panicked. He looks sweaty, scarlet, and on edge all over again, as if you asked him to jump off Mount Fuji without a spotter. “Wait, wait,” he splutters, nearly banging his head on his ceiling. Jungkook tugs your hand back, pulling you to him, “y-you don’t want to try anymore?”

You stare hard at the hand encasing yours, “Like I said, I want to start a new chapter in life.”

“But that’s not what I was getting at.”

You raise a brow, “So then what are you getting at?”

And he clams up again. If you two were in a bigger space, you could imagine yourself tapping your foot impatiently, to the point that it got annoying and Jungkook would snap at you and give you a proper explanation to his weird behavior.

Finally he exhales, “I dreamed about you.”

You narrow your eyes in confusion, “What kind of dreams?”

“Random ones,” he shakes his head, trying to recollect them. “They were of us, but not really us, y’know? It was like a different life, we did all the fun stuff we used to do,” he frowns, thinking he must sound really stupid that he’s betting everything on a couple of imaginations, “and some of it wasn’t. Like we’d be in the city taking pictures, or arguing in a library. But we were so happy,” he stops himself, because now he’s starting to feel silly, “and it made me think of what would happen if I met you under different circumstances, and even though it’s hard under our circumstances I want—a-are you crying?”

You start to whine, displeased with your emotions as you start to think about the past four months. Had Jungkook seen what you lived through? If so, how? Rubbing furiously at your eyes, you shake your head furiously, “Sorry, it’s just been awhile since I’ve cried it out,” you forge up, “pl-please continue.”

Jungkook moves sloth-slow, making sure his actions didn’t hurt you in any way. When he senses your consent, he pulls you over to his side of the bed, wrapping a tentative arm around your shoulder. Your scent engulfs his senses when you instinctively lay your head on his shoulder, your breath lingering between his neck.

“I really hated myself for a while,” he admits, “when I saw you in that hospital bed, I just couldn’t stop thinking about all the things I’ve wanted to experience with you and,” he’s starting to feel a glimmer of what you’re feeling, and he sniffs, resting his chin on your head, “if you’re going to start a new chapter in life, I want to be part of it too because I love you.”

Expecting your shock, he turns his head away for yours to whip up, face centimeters from yours. “Y-you love me?” you echo, mouth open and eyes wide.

He laughs at your expression, “I’m sure you knew that. We’ve been idiots for the better half of the year.”

“I know… but hearing it is different!” you’re caught up in the whirlwind, leaning forward to tug on his collar, “C-can I kiss you?” A little part of you is impatient, a bit too greedy for your usual demeanor but you’ve longed for him so.

Jungkook pouts, “You didn’t even say I love you back.”

“That’s a no?”

“I didn’t even brush my teeth…”

“Jungkook.”

He tries not to smile too hard at your eagerness. As much as he wants to kiss you, he needs to think better and continue on with his apology. It’s the least you deserve. “I’m sorry for not respecting your feelings that day,” he says, running his hands across your body. They stop at the curve of your waist, holding you down flush against him. You feel your body sing in response, but you tamp it down when he continues, “I shouldn’t have made the decision for you by rejecting you like that, it… it wasn’t fair to our feelings.”

“It wasn’t fair at all, and it hurt a lot.” you agree completely, and as much as it pained him to hear it, he needed to. Letting go of his collar, you sit back between his legs, “but I understand why.”

“And the next morning when I woke up, and everyone was crying I—” he’s choked up, tangling a hand through your hair to affirm that you’re really here, and really okay, “I know it’s not my fault, but I felt like I was in a movie. Like one of those crappy romances where one character gets into a really bad accident and the dumb boy finally realizes how much he loves her.”

He looks guilty, as if he wants to tack on how he feels like it is his fault. Jungkook bites his lip, fearful that you’ve realized he’s not good enough for you. No matter how many times he’s fabricated the scenario in his head, he only pictures the disappointment and pain in your features for falling for a guy like him.

But instead, you reach over with bright eyes leaning on your elbows to press a kiss to Jungkook’s mouth. It isn’t even a long kiss, but it feels nothing short of a cool wave washing him in relief. You pull away before he could deepen it, and you giggle when you see his mouth still puckered open like a fish. “You are a dumb boy,” you murmur, “but I still love you.”

You go soft in his grip when his eyes glow, sparkling carmine with nothing but sheer love and affection for you. The feeling comes unbridled, genuine and all-encompassing for the first time in a long time. He doesn’t know how much time he can cherish with you before he’s whisked away to his next activity, but he can surely make the best of what he has now.

It takes no effort for him to pull you in a sitting position, making it so your arms wrap around his trim waist. Snug together, he presses kisses to every part of your face, your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, your lips.

This feeling, this touch is long overdue for the both of you, but you’re languid in your attention, letting it wash over you like the sun on a warm day. You’ve missed him so much, you’ve missed this Jungkook. The man who has been with you through thick and thin for over a year, who’s struggled with the weight of the world and the audience of millions, is in love with you as much as you are him. Jungkook, who sings your worries away and makes you want to become a better person with each passing moment, is holding you like the most precious thing on the planet.

His kisses turn white hot, wetting your neck as he hoists you up to settle neatly on his thighs. A soft, high-pitched sigh escapes your lips when you feel something hard and thick press into your core.

A sense of urgency fills his radar at the press of your thighs locking tighter around his body. “Fuck, babe—” his hands grip the swell of your hips, bucking into you once, twice, so hard that the frame shakes. “You’re so, pretty I—” you moan into his neck, hands running every expanse of available skin, “I love you so, so much, pretty girl.”

You stop to clutch his face with both hands, enjoying the way your thumbs brush his pretty cheekbones and your palms fill with his soft, adorable cheeks. “I love you, too. Now, will you make love to me?”

“Fuck, yes,” and the fondness in your eyes immediately glaze over when he throws all his weight into you again, making you feel weak and wet with pleasure.

“Jungkook,” you drawl, “just like that, please I—AH!”

It isn’t a cry of pleasure. A little too into it, Jungkook thrusts particularly hard, enough for you to come down and the bedframe to soon follow. There’s a sickening crack in the metal, and the both of you immediately scramble as you feel your combined weight sinking into the corner of the bunk. Jungkook clutches your body in a vice, prepared to protect you in the event you two come crashing down. Now Jungkook remembers why he hasn’t been sleeping in his bed as of late.

It’s dead silent, apart from your labored breathing. When your eyes finally refocus, you notice that you two have dipped and you’re looking at Jungkook from a slight angle, your weight tipping. You two broke the frame.

“Kook,” you cry, digging your nails into his shoulder, “you need a new bed!”

He shakes his head, “Don’t think this bed was made for this kind of activity,” he peels the thin mattress, noting the way that two bolts in the paneling have come loose. One panel has already slipped, hanging at the edge and creating a large gap. He shakes his butt experimentally, noting the way the framework swerves with him. “That’s not good.”

“How could you have not noticed the loose bed frame!”

“It’s kind of hard to worry about your bed when you have a job that requires you being awake 25/8.”

“Well, how do we get down without bringing the whole frame down?”

“Uh, I’ll throw you down in that little space by the door. Make sure to tuck in your knees and make a ‘lil triangle with your hands in case—”

“What the fuck—you’re going to take a chance and throw the love of your life down the bunk?”

“Babeeee,” he whines, eyes zeroing in on his precious computer directly under the frame, “there’s expensive equipment down there!”

With a glare, you swivel your hips on his dick and he groans, unable to move. He barely gets a centimeter upwards before the frame moves and squeaks even lower. You don’t bat an eye when Jungkook panics for your safety over pleasure. Payback. “Call Seokjin,” you demand, pulling out your phone from your back pocket, “now.”

There’s something familiar in this kind of banter, and you want to akin this feeling to home. All your tears shed, your longings to go back to this world, all pinpoint to the home that is Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook mutters something under his breath about you being too bossy, punching the numbers in. As soon as Seokjin answers, you send him a sultry wink and move.

It… isn’t sexy. You’re giggling as Jungkook holds his breath, tells Seokjin on the line as tersely as possible that he needs to get here as soon as possible with some help and a new bed frame. Jungkook’s face is read, giving you warning looks as you bounce on him, the metal edging you on in a way that’s simultaneously unsafe and thrilling. When Jungkook hangs up, he sends you a look that says you’re gonna get it but instead presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. The chaste gesture makes you melt in his arms.

Silent, he pulls away and your thumb brushes his shiny lips, smiling at you as you wait it out.

As you lean your head in his shoulder and wait for help, you’re reminded of something. Not long ago, another Jungkook told you that he couldn’t wait to fall in love with you again, and now you’re echoing the same sentiment. You can’t wait to love him, too.

#jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #bts fic #goldenclosetnet #btsghostiebingo #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

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some-dr-writings · 4 years ago

Text

Hajime and Rantaro sing to comfort their S/O

Hajime Hinata:

· You always overthought everything. No matter what you did or said, moments later you’d just think it over and over and over again. Often this cycle lead to the not so great result of you panicking turning a simple greeting to a person, into you worrying, thinking maybe you insulted the person. Your mind tended to take more pessimistic lines of thinking which certainly didn’t help.

· It was a bad habit of yours to overthink everything, but it had it’s perks. Often when others were making plans you’d realize things they never thought of. It saved you and Hajime from being caught outside during the rain when on a date more times than either of you could count. It was an aspect of you Hajime was rather found of, though he didn’t like how it troubled you sometimes.

· After years of dating Hajime knew the two best ways to help you were to either get you to think of something else, or talk out the various scenarios you came up with, you soon laughing at yourself with how extreme your imagination could go before letting go of the subject.

· Thankfully these were both things he could still do long distance. Since he joined Hope’s Peak he had to move away and live in the dormitories on campus. After school he’d call and talk with you. You’d chat about whatever either of you wanted.

· One day after school Chiaki noticed he was rather spacey and asked what was wrong. He simply said he missed his partner and wanted to chat with you, which… it was true, to an extent. He knew he couldn’t speak of it, of the experiment Hope’s Peak had offered to him, the most plain, unremarkable student at the school. An experiment that could turn him into a different person, the Ultimate Ultimate. He couldn’t tell you, but… this was a lot to take in. Even if he couldn’t tell you, he just wanted to hear you. Maybe he could give a vague scenario like his and ask for your over analysis of it. Or maybe just not think of it, just laugh about nothing and momentarily and go back to it with a clearer head later.

· He sat on his bed, just staring at his phone. Taking a deep breath, he tapped the call button. He listened to that ringing drone on in his hear, holding the device to it. One ring, two rings, three rings, fo- click. “Ah, hey Hajime. Not gaming with Nanami today?” “No, I want to be with you right now. Though you sound a bit… on edge.” “Heh, heh. Yeah, one blunder after another.” He heard the rubbing of some fabric on your end, likely you flopping onto your bed, looking exhausted as you snuggle into the pillows as you so often did when your overthinking became overwhelming, where you were just stuck in your head and couldn’t escape.

· Alright so talking through it all may be a bit too taxing for you right now, so distraction. But what to do? Send you a funny video? A meme? Maybe send you a song? Oh maybe… Maybe he could sing? That way he wouldn’t have to cut the call short, and who knows maybe he’d sing so horribly he could draw a laugh from you. Hajime didn’t have much going for him, but one thing he did have, was determination, and he was determined to help alleviate your stresses.

· Admittedly this was rather embarrassing, but if it was for you, he’d do whatever it took.

· He started off softly humming nothing in particular just, feeling his way though this new experience, he never sang or at least never sang much before this moment. Soon he opened his mouth allowing the words to some song on the radio that kept playing recently. It wasn’t perfect, he forgot the lyrics part way through and fumbled when switching to some other song with a similar sound. Though unsure what he was doing, he still tried, a stubbornness in himself he never could quite shake, even if it got him into trouble when he was little.

· Suddenly he was cut off, a sneeze startling him to silence. “Sorry Hajime.” “Huh, no, no. Don’t be sorry.” You still sounded haggard. You thanked him and started talking about the latest volume of your favorite manga series you had read that day. He should have known. He should have known that someone like him couldn’t do much. Maybe, if he were the Super High School Level singer, he truly could have eased you.

· If he were just better, more powerful in some way, he could help you. You knew how to deal with your buzzing thoughts, but he wanted to be able to do more.

· And…

· Maybe.

· Just maybe he could.

· If he were someone else.

· …

· At times, his stubbornness truly could be troublesome.

Rantaro Amami:

· Ah singing. A leisurely pass time Rantaro often did without notice. He whistled as he went about doing chores, hum as he went out for strolls, mumble lyrics of songs he knew should he hear them.

· He loved music. If he hadn’t spent his time searching for his sisters, he may have dedicated himself to music and could have become the Super High School Level Musician or DJ or something similar. But his sisters meant more than anything else to him, so his own passions were set on the back burner indefinitely till he found each and every last one. Afterall, how could he even think of pursuing that passion without those who ignited that passion in the first place.

· And you, his partner often found him partaking in this hobby. “How come you always hum so much?” “Hum? Well…” He paused for a moment, leaning against the railing, looking out to the open ocean, the salty sea air racing past flowing through his hair, tossing it about. “Heh, just like everything else, it goes back to my sisters. When they had nightmares, I’d lay next to them in bed and I’d sing. It was the only thing I could think of to sooth them.” He fell silent his gaze lingering on that crisp, clear blue before shifting back to you. “Hey, what’s wrong.” “Ah, I just… A thought just occurred to me. A random connection you might say.” You momentarily glanced away from him, your troubled expression shifting to something soft, something gentle. “Your sisters being missing. Would you call this a living nightmare?” “… I see what you’re getting at.” He slithered an arm around your waist and pulled you close, looking back to the ocean. “I guess I mostly sing and hum when my mind wanders, often to them.” “But it can’t work, right. You sang to your sisters, they didn’t sing to themselves so for you to be soothed, you need someone to sing to you.” A light blush dusted your cheeks as you nuzzled into him, humming slowly transitioning into soft singing.”

· And that was how you started singing for him. It was always at times you knew his mind wandered to them, wondering how they were, if they were safe and happy. He always smiled when you sang. He’d be a little extra affectionate, wanting to show he really, truly appreciated you and what you were doing for him. You were so amazing, he had no idea what he’d do if he lost you too, so he always held your hand, no matter where the pair of you went.

· You tried going searching with Rantaro as often as you could, but you had your own life and responsibilities to take care of so many times you had to make things work long distance. No matter what time it was for Rantaro, day or night, you’d call him as you slipped into bed, and you’d sing to him only stopping as you fell asleep. Even though you’d never hear it, Rantaro would whisper you wishes of well rest and sweet dreams before ending the call. He’d then hold the phone to his chest, goofily smiling, telling anyone near by how amazing you, his partner was. This gesture absolutely melted his heart each and every time he couldn’t keep his affection for you all bottled in, he had to tell someone!

· Though he wished to find his sisters more than anything, coming back to you was always a treat, he could finally shower you in all the love and affection you deserved. But one time when he reunited with you- “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” “Sorry, just…” A deep sigh escaped you as you slightly went limp. “it’s been a real long day.” He hugged you, unable to continue looking into your dewy eyes.

· The moment he could, he coaxed you to bed, having you rest your head in his lap and there you let out all the madness that had been swirling around you. He had to do something to at least alleviate your pain in the moment. He didn’t even think about it, it was simply instinctive. And so, he sung. He sung your favorite song hoping to sooth you.

· Which it did?

· He was confused hearing you trying to hold in a laugh. “What’s gotten you so giggly?” “N-no, no, ignore me. Keep singing.” And so he did, but once more stopped when you burst into laughter. “S-sorry, sorry!” “Y/N… I only ever told you I sang to sooth my sisters, right? Well, I never said I was any good at singing, and what’s more soothing than laughter?” So his serenade continued, belting out without holding back, making up silly lyrics when he couldn’t recall the real ones, his tone constantly wavering making you think he were tone deaf. Normally something like this would be grating on the ears but he put so much energy and passion into it, it couldn’t help but become endearing in some form.

· Though he loved it, he was not good at singing, but he didn’t care. Good or bad, it helped you and his sisters, and that was all that mattered to him.

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earliebirb · 5 years ago

Text

under the silvery moon

An Anon asked for some dancing stevetony! I hope you like it, Anon! 🤍

under the silvery moon

steve/tony, fluff, established relationship, 1912 words

“Captain, you have truly outdone yourself.”

Steve feels his own lips break into an answering grin at the familiar voice.

Tony pads across the wide stretch of distance between the entrance to the rooftop and where Steve is seated on a picnic blanket, spread on top of the grass Tony had had installed to replace the linoleum flooring—something he did to cater to Steve’s love of gardening. The previously sleek, minimalistic, and barren rooftop has been converted into a flourishing garden filled with various plants and flowers of different colors, shapes, and sizes courtesy of Steve’s green thumb.

Right now, the garden has fairy lights strung all over it. They are hung on the branches of various plants, looping around bushes and flowers, giving off a magical yellow glow that is reminiscent of fireflies.

On the picnic blanket, Steve has prepared multiple layers of fluffy blankets for them to snuggle under, as well as several cushions and pillows. A bottle of wine is sitting in a bucket of ice and a bag filled with takeout from their favorite Italian restaurant is sitting right next to it.

He watches Tony approach him, unabashedly indulging in the sight of him. Tony’s steps are easy and unhurried. Still dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants, suit jacket slung over his shoulder and red tie loosened haphazardly, he gazes at Steve with a warm smile and a pair of tired eyes—remnants of a long work day.

Steve’s heart clenches at how much Tony looks like home—Steve’s home. There is nothing he wants more in the world than an armful of Tony right now—his weary eyes, his messy hair, the scrape of his goatee against Steve’s skin. Steve wants all of it.

So when Tony finally reaches him and lies comfortably on the picnic blanket, head nestled in Steve’s lap and legs stretched out, it doesn’t come as a surprise when a knot loosens in his chest, an immediate reaction to Tony’s touch—the ache that only Tony can soothe finally ebbing away. It is as if his heart has decided that this is the way things ought to be—both of them pressed close together, all day, everyday.

“The garden’s beautiful,” Tony says.

Steve smiles and Tony blinks when Steve’s fingers brush his hair back in slow, sweeping strokes.

“I had to do something of this caliber, at the very least, to beat the lovely evening you planned for us last week.”

“Why did you cancel the reservation, anyway? You were really excited to go to Romano’s just a few days ago.”

“No special reason. Just didn’t feel like going out and dealing with people after all.” Steve strokes the soft hair of Tony’s right eyebrow absentmindedly. “I want you all to myself tonight.”

A radiant smile blooms on Tony’s face, accentuating all the laugh lines he has accumulated over the years. The glow of the fairy lights is reflected in his eyes, twinkling gold flecks swimming in brown irises.

Tony fakes a scandalous gasp, eyes blinking up at Steve with mischief.

“Are the rumors true, Captain? Is Tony Stark-Rogers your favorite person on earth?”

Steve raises an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh,” he whispers conspiratorially, leaning down to bring their mouths together in a kiss that leaves Tony mesmerized and panting, “Tony Stark-Rogers is my favorite human being in the entire universe.”

He kisses the space between Tony’s eyebrows, chuckling when he sees Tony’s eyes cross as they try to track the movement of Steve’s face leaning in.

When Steve pulls back, Tony intertwines his fingers with Steve’s, squeezing his hand lightly. Tony lets their joined hands rest atop his chest, on the spot where the arc reactor used to be. The heat of Tony’s skin seeps through his shirt.

“You’re my favorite person, too, honey bunches.”

They stay like that for a while, relishing the quiet intimacy of each other’s company, the sound of New York City’s busy nightlife accompanying them from way down below. It all sounds far away, though. Up here, everything is tranquil and peaceful, just he and Tony in a world of their own.

“Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” Tony sits up. Immediately, Steve’s thighs feel cold and bereft.

When Tony stretches his limbs, groaning at the release of endorphins in his body, his ankle grazes the sole of Steve’s foot. He startles at the contact, surprised by Steve’s freezing cold skin.

“You feeling cold, sweetheart?” Tony’s eyebrows crease together in concern. He grabs one of the fleece blankets, wrapping the soft fabric snug around Steve’s cold feet. “I can go down and get you a pair of socks.”

“No, it’s fine. Just a bit chilly,” Steve says, heart warm at how taking care of Steve has become something second nature to Tony. Something done without conscious thought, akin to muscle memory.

Among Tony’s many expressions of love, small gestures during quiet moments like this are the ones Steve cherishes the most. He falls just a little bit deeper in love with Tony, every single time.

After making sure no part of Steve’s feet are exposed to the cold night air, Tony rummages in the takeout bag. “Which one’s mine?”

“Yours is the carbonara. Mine’s the aglio e olio. There’s garlic bread and caprese salad, too.”

They wolf down the food with a few glasses of wine, talking about the day they had. Steve grumbles about SHIELD paperwork and a mishap during weapons training. Tony rambles about a promising new deal with a biotech company in Japan that is still in the works. Their work separates the two of them more often than Steve would have liked, and not for the first time, he is immensely glad for the system they have taken years to cultivate: having weekly date nights whenever possible and not being away from each other for more than two weeks at a time. Three, if push comes to shove.

After an anecdote about Happy’s driving antics that has Tony giggling uncontrollably, Steve reaches over to turn on the speaker Tony gave him for his birthday a few years ago. Although Tony has thoughtfully modeled its vintage design after old radios from the forties, the sound it produces is of the highest quality—Tony wouldn’t settle for anything less, of course.

Steve connects the speaker to his phone before picking something slow and sweet out of a playlist of his favorites, old jazz that reminds him of the neighborhood he grew up in. It is the kind of song he would hear coming out of one of his neighbors’ windows, one that would linger in his head for days afterward.

A gentle melody on the piano begins and a lady starts to croon sweetly about tender love and foolish hearts.

Turning to Tony, he holds out a hand. “Dance with me?”

With Tony’s hand in his, Steve leads him off the blanket, both of them standing barefoot on the grass. Tony loops his hands around Steve’s neck and Steve settles his hands on Tony’s hips. They begin to sway gently in tune to the music, falling into a companionable silence. When Tony rests his cheek against Steve’s chest, eyes gazing at the skyscrapers in the distance, Steve rests his chin on the crown of Tony’s head, closing his eyes.

Somewhere during the second verse of the next song on Steve’s playlist, Tony says something, breaking Steve’s reverie. He opens his eyes.

“What?”

“I can hear your heartbeat.”

“Yeah? How does it sound?”

“Steady. It usually lulls me to sleep.” Tony yawns.

“You sleepy, sweetheart?” Steve plants a kiss into Tony’s hair.

A beat, and then:

“A little. But let’s stay like this for a little longer.”

At the end of the fourth song, Tony pulls back from his resting place on Steve’s chest to look up at him. Steve meets his gaze, warmth flooding his chest at the sight of the content smile on Tony’s face.

Maybe it’s New York City’s night air, or the fairy lights illuminating the rooftop, or the sentimental love songs flowing from the speaker, or the way Tony is gazing up at him like there is nowhere else he would rather be, or perhaps even all of those things combined, but the next thing Steve knows, he finds himself saying:

“Do me a favor, sweetheart?”

Tony tilts his head, curiosity bleeding into his eyes.

“Never change. Stay like this forever,” Steve whispers.

“What? Super sexy and irresistible?”

Steve chuckles, burying his laughter in Tony’s dark locks. He pulls Tony close as he looks up at the night sky.

“Stay like this. Stay mine. Stay with me.” Steve swallows. “Please never get tired of me.”

That gives Tony pause. Steve feels him still, pausing their slow dance. Then Steve feels warm hands cupping his cheeks, bringing his gaze back down to earth, back home, back to Tony.

Something shifts in Tony’s eyes upon catching sight of Steve’s watery eyes.

“Hey, what brought this on?” Tony asks, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Steve sniffs, laughing sheepishly, a little embarrassed at being so sentimental.

“Nothing, I’m just—” Steve takes a deep breath, tightening his hold around Tony. “Just really grateful for you.”

Tony’s thumbs sweep his eyelids gently, wiping his tears away.

“Hey, look at me.”

When Steve opens his eyes, lovely brown eyes are staring right at him.

“I don’t know about staying like this forever, sweetheart. I mean, I know I look absolutely ravishing right now, but you know I already have a few wrinkles and some white hair here and there.”

Steve rolls his eyes. As if those would ever render Tony less beautiful in his eyes. He even has a not-so-secret partiality for Tony’s salt-and-pepper hair—something Tony still finds difficult to believe.

“But! You have my word that you are, quite unfortunately, stuck with me for the rest of your life. I’m sorry, darling, but I did warn you that marrying Tony Stark comes with a no-return policy.”

Steve laughs even as he feels something glow incandescent within him, brighter and warmer than the sun on a hot summer day.

“In fact, I’m more afraid of you getting tired of me. In a few years, there will be more wrinkles, more white hair, and who knows? Maybe I’ll even go bald. My skin’s going to get all saggy and disgusting and then—”

Steve leans in to press his lips against Tony’s, one of the tried-and-true methods to effectively shut him up.

When he leans back, it is to glare at Tony.

“Don’t you ever use the word ‘disgusting’ to refer to my husband.”

Tony blinks. “Not even to say disgustingly attractive?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “Okay, maybe that one’s acceptable.”

Tony smiles smugly. Then he narrows his eyes. “But I’m serious, Steven. You better prepare yourself for my deteriorating beauty. It is not going to be pretty, I’m—”

Steve pushes Tony’s face back into his chest so the rest of his passionate tirade comes out all garbled and muffled.

“I’ll love you forever. Wrinkles, white hair, saggy skin, and all.”

“Don’t forget the balding—”

“I will love you even if there isn’t a single strand of hair on your head.”

Tony stills.

“You’d better,” he says, voice still muffled, poking a finger into Steve’s side in warning.

Steve’s hand reaches down to find the accusing finger. Ever so gently, he splays the rest of Tony’s fingers apart to interlock them with his own as he plants a kiss on Tony’s temple.

“I promise, sweetheart.”

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something #earl answers #anonymous

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sleekervae · 4 years ago

Text

The Neighbour [1.3]

Masterlist

A/N: I’m in a really good mood today and found the motivation to write! Super fluff ahead!!

When Eva woke up, not having remembered falling asleep, she let the light seep in behind her eyelids, floating shapes dancing in her vision before she even thought about opening her eyes again.

She was surrounded by a cloud of warmth, a thick cologne which she had grown too attached to for her own good and his hand was in her hair, tangling and untangling the curls, brushing gently as if distracted by something else, but wanting her to know he was there nonetheless.

She slowly opened her eyes, readjusting to her own living room, the memory of being on the sofa with him before she'd drifted off slowly coming back to her. She glanced down at her lap, his lap, then followed the brightness of his phone in his hand as he typed, closed and opened another app with his free hand, "Rem?"

He flinched, unaware that she'd woken because she was so peaceful, so still. "Yeah?"

"Am I your lock screen?"

Eva stared down at the picture that glowed through the oncoming dark, half confused, half endeared by the silent gesture and the meaning it held.

"Oh, shit," Remington giggled nervously, his cheeks already a flushed pink as he pulled back slightly to look at her, "You weren't supposed to see that, Eva,"

"When did you take this?" she pushed. The girl she looked at seemed so different somehow, so unaware of what was coming, but the laughter and happiness radiated off the screen and it could've only been the company she was with, the ease, the delicate carefree comfort he brought her.

Remington swallowed, "The album party..."

Eva nodded, "This was before the patio?"

"Before the patio. Still only seems like yesterday, you know?"

She smiled with endearment, "Yeah. How long has it been, a month?"

"About that, I think," he smiled back at her, the light reaching his eyes. "I only changed it the other day... now that I know that we're... together... you just looked so pretty. I know you weren't feeling too good, but you were glowing to me," He stroked his fingers through her hair lovingly again. "It's just -- my favorite picture of my favorite girl,"

Eva felt her heart leap in her chest and leant to press her lips to his without second guessing it, the familiarity of kissing him, of being able to kiss him still yet to settle as reality.

He moved his lips with hers eagerly, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, drawing her breath from her lungs effortlessly. She tasted so sweet, so addictive that he knew he'd never have enough.

"You know that picture we took in the bathroom last week?" she whispered against his lips.

"Yeah,"

"We should take more like that. I don't take a lot of pictures of myself, but I'd like more of us,"

"I'd like that, Eva... I'd like that very much,"

The clicking of spokes echoed through the tunnel, the lights above flickering over the girls' heads as they whizzed towards the light at the opening. Eva and Shy were neck and neck as they pedalled on their bikes, giggling and urging the other to hurry so they could beat the guys as they closely followed one their skateboards. Of course, they were proudly repping the new skateboard that would soon be out on the merch market.

"C'mon! C'mon! They're right behind us!"

Eva was unsure how a competition between the bike and skateboard arose, but she was too caught up in the thrill to care. She gripped the leather-worn handles of her yellow bike tightly, flying out of the street tunnel beside Shy. Pepper and Pluto sat in their baskets at the handlebars, too enthralled with the wind whipping over their faces to care about each other.

Remington had to wonder to himself why he didn't just take his car to the park; his own ego assuring him that he and Emerson could totally beat the girls there. Maybe if he was on a bike, then he may have had a chance. The skateboard was utterly useless in this situation as the girls became smaller and smaller in the distance.

"Hurry the fuck up, Emerson!"

"The boards aren't motorized!"

The girls came to the park quickly after, dismounting and coming to stop under a shady tree. Shy put Pepper down in the long grass and she immediately went bounding around, excited to explore and sniff all the new smells. Pluto took a look around the open park, glaring in dismay as to why he wasn't at home and decided to settle into the roots of the tree. Pepper then came trotting over to Pluto, in her excitement tumbling through the grass and rolling into Pluto. The tabby glared at the pomeranian and batted her away with his tail.

Though Eva was almost certain they were in the middle of nowhere, no other cars or people in sight for miles, she was more than happy to set up their picnic. She whipped a blanket over the grass and Shy began to pull food and drinks from her backpack. She looked out across the street, just able to get a glimpse of the guys coming their way.

"Maybe their next board should be electric," she grinned.

"And give them a fair chance?" Eva shook her head, "Where's the fun in that?"

Remington and Emerson finally made it to the open park, their legs sore and shoes scuffed from kicking at the ground over and over. They grabbed their board and jogged to meet the girls under the tree.

"Next time... we're taking the car," Remington huffed.

"It was your stupid idea to race, anyway," Emerson grumbled.

"But when I come up with a stupid idea, you can talk me out of it,"

The girls smiled coyly at the guys, "What took you so long?" Eva asked.

They sat down with the girls and took a moment to collect themselves. Surrounded by tall green grass and inhaling crisp air which made them feel distinctively far from home in the city, they were heading up to a small bank. The heat was palpable already, but the linen material of Eva's white sundress which stopped just above her knees, the hems frilly and delicate, provided a welcome breeze. She shifted to her knees as she helped Shy set up the food they brought.

Remington laid back in the grass, admiring the way the light dazzled between the gaps in the branches, then angled his face again to admire Eva, how effortlessly pretty and ethereal she looked amongst the natural landscape, "Did I mention how beautiful you look in that dress?" he muttered.

Eva lifted her head, looking down at her outfit then blushing at him, "A few times, yeah,"

"Just had to drive the point home," he grinned.

Emerson couldn't help but roll his eyes at his brother's sweet talk, "You guys are gross," he chided playfully.

"Look who's calling the kettle black," Shy chuckled, tossing a grape at the drummer. Emerson tried to catch it in his mouth but it bounced across his cheek and fell into the grass. He was quick to grab it before Pepper or Pluto could.

Remington pulled some of the drinks from his own bag, canned spiked sodas and juices. He grabbed a Nude seltzer and popped it open, unprepared for the fizz and carbonated shower that sprayed over him and the blanket briefly. The others giggled at him and Eva took a napkin to wipe some of the soda from his cheek.

"Thanks," he muttered bashfully.

The four kids shared in vegetable chips and vegan BLTs, with some fruit and two-bite brownies for their dessert. Pluto and Pepper had the opportunity to snack on some pieces of apple and banana. Eva was surprised to see her tabby not trying to start a fight with Pepper.

"You can never go wrong with brownies," she said, popping the little bite of goodness into her mouth.

Shy hummed in agreement, "I wanted to bring the whipped cream too, but I couldn't find it," she said.

Remington and Eva glanced at each other warily, wondering if they knew where the whipped cream actually went. Remington quickly cleared his throat.

"Uh -- I used the rest last weekend," he said, "We made chocolate pudding,"

"Yeah," Eva nodded quickly, "Rem's a secret gourmet,"

Emerson cocked an eyebrow, "Since when?"

"Since Eva," Remington grinned with pride.

The boys had brought out a soccer ball and decided on a quick match in the grass, with Pepper running between their legs to join in the fun. The girls had a different idea, however. Eva needed a new photograph to post along side a piece for her blog, and she asked if Shy would be willing to model. Of course, Shy was more than happy to oblige her.

They picked a small bouquet of daffodils that were growing just a few feet from the tree. The young model kneeled next to the winding roots, tossing her head back and clutching the vibrant yellow bouquet to her chest, her dark brown almond eyes staring into Eva's soul through her phone lens. Shy was easily one of the most strikingly beautiful women Eva had come across, and what made it better was her heart was practically made of gold.

"Wow," Eva breathed as she stared at the photo, "Emerson! I think I'm love with your girlfriend!" Shy bursted into giggles.

Emerson scoffed, "It's okay, I don't blame you!" he called back.

"How'd the picture turn out?" Shy asked, coming to take a look for herself, "Nice! You into photography, too?"

"It's an amateur hobby. I get most of my stuff from Pinterest," she replied.

"You ever think of modelling yourself?" she asked the young writer.

Eva shook her head quickly, blushing, "Me? Oh -- gosh, no!"

"Why not? You're fucking gorgeous. Not to mention so many girls would kill to have your naturally full lips," Shy said.

"I appreciate that. But I think I'm just more comfortable behind the camera, you know?" Eva replied.

Shy smiled and nodded, "I get it. But... if you ever change your mind, I'm expanding my business to a clothing line and I could use some cute models in the future,"

Eva blushed at the idea. Her, a model? Sure, she was confident in her body and what she wore, but she hadn't done a lot in terms of putting her actual face out into the digital media world. It might be fun, though?

"... I'll think about it,"

Sharp grass sliced at Eva's shins as she jogged through the plain, her fingers intertwined with his, the warm palm of his hand so familiar that she would have followed him anywhere. Looking up at the high tree tops, the bright blue sky and the sun peeking through, flooding their picnic spot behind them in a golden glow. Remington wasn't all too sure where he was taking her, he just wanted a minute to have Eva to himself.

The colours were vibrant, rich green tree tops, his pastel pink hair losing its sharp spike and falling over his face, complimenting his pale skin so gorgeously as he turned around while pulling her along. The melodic tone of his voice only drew her in further, she could barely keep up, her sneakers dragging on the ground as she followed Remington, kicking up tiny stones and branches.

"Where are we going?" her voice carried with the wind.

"I don't know," Remington shrugged, smiling gleefully at her, "But that's part of the fun, isn't it?"

She chuckled, "So help me God you get us lost, Remington,"

"We won't get lost," he flashed her that heart-wrenching smile that had her falling head over heels for him all over again. The way her fingers were wound around his made his skin tingle, and his breath hitched in his throat when he decided to stop, spun around and twirled her into a nearby tree, pinning her against his chest. His wild eyes flashed with excitement before he closed the space between them and pressed a deep kiss to her lips.

Her own lips parting, she moaned into his mouth, instantly desperate for more. His hands moved instinctively to hold her hips and she inhaled sharply when she felt the bark indent her skin, her arm wrapping slowly around his neck, her other hand now letting go of his to move slowly into his hair, her nails scratching lightly at the back of his neck, tugging gently on his soft pinky/brown locks as her lips moved eagerly with his.

"You dragged me out here to fuck, then?" she drawled amusedly, her voice nothing but a hint, her tone needy, already eager for more as his calloused fingertips dug into the material of her dress clinging to her hips.

"Have you seen yourself in that dress, darling?" he rasped, his lips were red, his chest flushed, eyes half-open, yet fixated on her flawless features. The glint of mischief in her eyes, the clear determination, everything about her excited him to a new level he never knew he could have, "You're something out of my dream,"

"How original," she chided, squealing briefly when he lifted her by her thighs and kissed her again. Her legs came to wrap around his torso, humming softly, only his hands on the tree keeping her off the ground. She was weak for the way his fingers stroked her skin tenderly yet held her so possessively that she knew she wouldn't have been able to pull away and deny him even if she wanted.

And his lips were on her neck in an instant, driving her wild as he licked and bit, not abashed about leaving a mark. She tilted her head back until she bumped against the tree, her stormy blue eyes slipping shut. The only thing she could feel was a cool breeze ghosting over the bare skin of her legs, his warm hands squeezing her thighs, and his chapped lips ravaging over her neck and chest like she was his final meal.

Her eyes fell open for a minute, mesmerized by the sun peaking through the treetops above, reaching them even in their spot of seclusion. The branches danced and swayed in the wind, and Eva had a brief thought slip through her mind.

"Remington," Eva gasped, pushing at his chest lightly so he'd pull away.

"Mhmm?" he looked up at her with dark, lustful eyes.

"... Can you climb this tree?" the bottom branches were low enough for him to grab a hold of, and it had dawned on her that she'd never seen him climb anything, despite how much he bragged about it.

Remington took a wistful glance at the branches, smiling easily, "Is that a question or a request?"

"Well, I've never seen you climb," she shrugged back.

"Piece of cake," he set her back on her feet, but she leaned against the tree for a moment longer so she could collect herself.

Remington took a few steps, like he was gearing up to run a track race. With Eva standing well out of the way, he took three long steps before he leapt up and grabbed the first branch. The bark on that particular spot was weak and he stumbled to the ground, "Shit!"

"Jesus!" Eva gasped, "Okay, don't do it if it's gonna' cost a trip to the ER,"

"It's okay," he assured her, rubbing his palms on his jeans to take the sting out, "Just a fluke,"

He backed up and tried again, this time gripping the branch tightly and pulling himself up. Eva stood back in awe, his forearms clenched tightly and the veins in his biceps popped, but he showed little overall effort as he maneuvered his way to sit on the branch.

"See? Piece of cake," he simpered.

Eva crossed her arms over her chest, "How's the view?"

Remington smiled down at her, "Pretty fantastic, not gonna' lie. Care to join me?"

"I would love to, but I don't possess any upper body strength, whatsoever," she said.

"That's no problem," he jumped back down and stood behind her, gripping her hips tightly "Do you trust me?"

Eva glanced at the branch warily, standing over her head at a good eight feet. Her fingertips couldn't even brush the bark if she stood on her toes. But she looked to Remington, nodding slowly. He counted down from three before he hoisted her up and Eva quickly grabbed the branch, heaving herself to sit at the spot where the branch met the trunk. Remington hopped up right after, pausing briefly as the wood made a lowly creak, but he relaxed when they were still in the air.

"Piece of cake," Eva mocked.

"Yeah, 'cause I did all the heavy lifting," he nudged her gently, "Literally,"

"I didn't ask you to lift me up here" she pouted.

"But it's more fun with you up here," he lifted his head and caught her lips in a kiss before she retort in any way, holding her in his arms and deepening their kiss.

She hummed softly, parting her lips and cupping his face into her hands, unable to pay attention to anything beyond Remington's lips moving hungrily with hers, his body pressed up against her.

There was a brief moment when Eva forgot where she was as she went to plant her hand behind her, only instead of a solid ground her fingers brushed thin air and she jolted, breaking their kiss and staring down at the ground.

"Fuck," It didn't seem all the far down from the grass, but up here she felt like she was miles up.

Remington chuckled, "You okay?" and she nodded, pink tinting her cheeks. He pulled her tighter into his embrace, willfully ensuring that she wasn't going anywhere, "Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you,"

The sun eventually began to settle into the horizon, maybe it was four or five o'clock now? Eva was tired but happy as she sat against the tree trunk at their picnic spot, Remington's head in her lap and she threaded her fingers through his pink hair and they conversed amongst themselves. And then her attention was captured when she heard a sultry request.

"What poem are you gonna' use with the picture, Eva?" Emerson suddenly asked. Eva was taken aback for a moment, her tongue suddenly running dry.

"Erm -- j-just a new thing I wrote a while back," she said, "I kept meaning to put it up, but it always needed some tweaking,"

Remington glanced up at her, "... Can we hear it?"

"Yeah," Shy nodded, hope glimmering in her dark eyes.

Eva relented faster then she usually did, perhaps because she knew they would continue to bother her about it until she would just buck up and read it. And she knew Remington would never make her do anything she wasn't comfortable with. Besides, they had all read the proses she had posted already, what actual difference would it make for her to read aloud?

"Okay..."

She grabbed her bag and fished out her notebook, only having to flip to the first few pages. She settled back against the tree trunk. She inhaled to gather herself as her eyes scanned the words she had written only a few months back. Funny, how her writing looked so different compared to how she wrote now. The emotion was different...

"I thought you were so mature when I met you

because we were 18 and you liked pistachio ice cream

and you smoked weed.

And I thought, "what are the chances you'd like someone like me?"

And you never did."

Despite Eva's misgivings, she had a natural storytelling voice. Calm and soothing, Remington had quickly fallen in love with the sound. There was an eternal softness in her voice, a magic that transformed every word she spoke into something more, something special. It relaxed Remington more than he thought possible. His heart was full, content.

"And eight months ago, seven years later,

I met someone who spends his summers in Long Beach, NYC

and studies law as a hobby

and I thought, "he's so accomplished, why would he ever like me?"

And it turns out he never actually did either,

at least not enough to make it real."

Emerson hugged Shy tightly, resting his head on her shoulder as they were both hanging on every word. Her fingers splayed through the grass, twisting, tugging blade by blade surely the same way these characters had to Eva's subject.

"Then I got drunk one night and I texted him

and I asked him "why I wasn't good enough?"

and he said that I was.

He liked me all along, I just refused to see it.

I was the one who decided I wasn't enough.

Sometimes we actually can't see things that are so obviously right in front of us

because we feel we don't deserve them.

And all I could think about was how different my life would have been

if I realized that at the ice cream parlor seven years ago,"

#palaye royale #Palaye Royale imagine #Palaye Royale fic #remington leith #Remington Leith imagine #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #palaye positivity #emo boys #fluff #summer love #boy bands #band imagines #band imagine blog #band blog #poetry #original story #original female character

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red-daddy-riot · 5 years ago

Text

Dazzle Me - Kirishima Eijirou

Overview: After meeting the new girl that’s transferred into class 2-A from Shiketsu High, Kirishima thinks it’s love at first sight and can’t seem to get her off his mind. Little does he know just how perfect she is for him...

Pairing: Kirishima x herocourse!reader

Warnings: none.

Author’s note: Hi lovelies! Even though this is my second fic, thank you to those who encouraged me to write it. As you can tell by my name I am head over heels for Red Daddy Riot and I couldn’t wait to write for Kirishima! Please let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

———

Kirishima’s troubles all started the minute you walked though the oversized door of the newly minted class 2-A.

He was currently idly resting his head in the palm of his hand, tapping a pencil against his desk while trying not to think about the soreness in his arm and shoulder muscles from pummelling the punching bag in his dorm room last night. Having to wrangle Bakugou’s hot head into line all day could really do that to a guy. His musings were soon interrupted by their homeroom teacher.

“Alright class, listen up. We have a new student joining us today. She’s just transferred to U.A from Shiketsu High, so I expect you all to make her feel welcome.”

Aizawa concluded his speech by gesturing to the doorway, inviting the person hovering outside to take a step into the curious atmosphere of the homeroom.

At the sound of your hard leather shoes clacking across the floor Kirishima slightly ceased his mindless tapping, raising his eyes to take in the visual of you making your way across the front of the room.

The pencil dropped from his hand and rolled under his desk as he sat bolt upright in his chair, lips parted and eyes wide. Without a smidge of a doubt, you were the most beautiful girl Kirishima had seen in his mere 16 years of life. Small smile flickering on your rosy lips as you rolled your shoulders back, head held high in your determination to project a good first impression onto your new classmates.

Kirishima’s eyes ran up and down you slowly, taking in your crisp new uniform of white shirt, red tie cinched at your throat and black socks pulled up to your knees. In the back of his mind he knew it was unmanly to stare, and especially unmanly to think the thoughts that were flashing through his mind as he gazed at your legs, but damn he couldn’t help it. The good angel sitting on his shoulder could wait.

“Go on, introduce yourself” said Aizawa, nodding his head to the class of students gazing intently at you, expressions ranging from curious to eager.

“Hi everyone, my name is L/n Y/n. As you know I just transferred here from Shiketsu High, due to my parents moving to Musutafu for work. U.A is a lot closer for me to travel, so it was a no-brainer decision. Um” you hesitated then flashed a cheeky smile. “Just between us, Shiketsu and some of the students were a bit too intense. I’m a bit more laid back.”

Kaminari let out a whoop from the seventh seat “Right on!”

You smiled then quickly looked back at Sensei before facing the front again. “As for my quirk... well I’m sure you’ll get to see it in action later today.” Grinning, your eyes scanned the room before dropping a quick wink. Yep, Kirishima could already feel the butterflies start up in his stomach.

Aizawa directed you to your new seat at the back of the room before addressing the rest of his students. “Make sure to introduce yourself to L/n throughout the day. I’m sure she would like to get familiar with all of you.”

Why on earth was Sensei looking at him when he said that? Kirishima thought. Wait, was that a smirk playing on his lips too! Confusion set in.

———

As the day went on Kirishima couldn’t help but notice you wherever you went. Somehow his gaze was always drawn to you like magnet. He was even able to pick you out of the crush of students in the hallways, walking along with your books tucked under your arm while you were deep in conversation with Ashido and Yaomomo, both of whom had taken it upon themselves to act as your guides and new friends at the unfamiliar school. Kirishima hadn’t even noticed he had stopped dead in the corridor until a body bumped into his, shouldering past roughly then looking back.

“Oi! Shitty Hair! What the hell are you doing standing there like a loser?” Of course it was Bakugo who had jostled him. Never one for patience or to beat around the bush.

“Yeah dude! What are you looking at anyway?” That was Kaminari, popping into his eyeline as he trailed Bakugo down the gleaming halls. Positioning himself as best as he could next to Kirishima in the crowd, Denki angled his body until his gaze mirrored Kirishima’s point of view, the stun-gun hero scanning the crowd eagerly until his gaze landed on where you were stood at Ashido’s locker, head thrown back as you laughed at something she said. Immediately his face cracked into a grin.

“Ooooooh lookie here. Mr Red Riot can’t keep his eyes off of the new girl huh?” He laughed, throwing an elbow into Kirishima’s side teasingly. “Can’t blame you dude. She’s a knockout!”

“No! I wasn’t looking at her, I was...uh...never mind.” Kirishima’s hand came up to his neck as he looked down bashfully. There was really no point in arguing with Denki. Besides, it was true. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“Tch! Come on you extras. Quit standing around!” Bakugo said, his bellow loud enough to be heard over the din of the student body. Just as they were about to move to join him, Ashido let out a screech from across the hall.

“NO WAY! That’s incredible! Just like Ki-mmh!” Momo’s hand clamped across her mouth, muffling her next words as you frantically tried to shush her.

“Mina-chan! Everyone isn’t supposed to know yet. Besides, I want to see what everyone else can do! I want to be... dazzled.” You let out a giggle. “Pardon the pun.”

Kirishima hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but Ashido’s clamour had really caught his attention. His curiosity increased tenfold at the words he had managed to briefly catch. Just what was your quirk exactly? Dazzled? The sturdy hero’s head swam as a million possibilities flashed through his head. He was intrigued by you, there was no doubt about it. And hearing you giggle.... man. Those damn butterflies just wouldn’t get out of his stomach.

———

The rest of the day passed in a blur until it was finally time for 2-A’s practical Hero Studies class in the afternoon. An excited air crackled all around the hero students as they eagerly awaited not only for their most anticipated class, but to finally see the new girl’s quirk. The air of mystery had permeated the classroom for a good majority of the day, with many students musing over the possibilities of what you could do. Midoriya was practically vibrating in excitement as he couldn’t wait to quiz you on the elusive quirk you were hiding.

After collecting their costume cases and heading to the change rooms, all the students stepped out into Gym Gamma. You were the last one to finish getting changed as your hero costume had to pass inspection from the staff. Stepping into the gym to join everyone else, the girls crowded around you to examine your costume.

Clad in hues of bright white and icy blue, your costume bared an awful lot of skin. A cropped halter top covered your chest and most of your neck, rising high to encircle your throat but dipping low in the back. Tight white shorts exposed most of your legs, while a cord ran down the length of your stomach, connecting your top and shorts together. Heeled white boots completed the look. However, what was most startling about your outfit was the abundance of diamonds. Sturdy diamond cuffs circled your wrists while loose gems decorated the connecting points of your costume. As a finishing touch, a diamond circlet ran across your brow. Exclamations of delight arose from both Ashido and Aoyama, who were in awe.

“Tres magnifique ma cherie!” Aoyama said. “Your twinkingly could only be rivalled by moi!”

Mina agreed, looking at your outfit in delight. “Y/n chan you look super cute! Definitely a showstopper.” Uraraka and Asui nodded in approval.

Glancing over at you standing there in your costume, Kirishima privately agreed. He thought you looked beautiful even in your school uniform, but that was nothing compared to how you looked now. And with that much skin exposed.... Kirishima felt heat rise in his cheeks and he quickly looked away, now determined to control the not so decent thought that were raging in his mind. Oh yeah, he really needed that good angel now. Others weren’t so discreet though.

Kaminari was openly gawking at you, jaw hanging to the floor as he ogled your body. Even Sero, who was more controlled than most of them was looking in your direction with wide eyes.

“Bro!” Kirishima knocked Kaminari round the head. “It’s not very manly to stare.” Yeah he was a hypocrite all right.

“Dude can you blame us! LOOK at her!” Kaminari yelled back. Sero grinned sheepishly and looked away. “Well we still don’t know what her quirk is, but it must be something flashy. Look at all those gems” he said.

It was at that moment that All Might stepped into the gym. Sunken eyes gazed at the eager students assembled before him as they waited for what he had to say.

“Alright class, as you know Miss L/n has joined you all in 2-A and will be a permanent addition to the class. It was a decision made by myself and Mr Aizawa that her quirk be kept under wraps until now. She truly...ahem...shone at Shiketsu High, and I would like her to demonstrate her power in the practical lesson we will have right now. So, Miss L/n, if you would please take your position in the middle of the gym, I will select a student to spar with you for this practice match.

You smiled at your teacher before you walked to the centre of the field, turning to face your classmates on the side line. Just like Midoriya you were practically vibrating in excitement. You couldn’t wait to finally be able to demonstrate what you could do. You definitely didn’t class yourself as one of the best fighters, but with much encouragement from your mentors at Shiketsu, you had come a long way by developing your quirk.

“Bakugou. If you could please join L/n in the centre.”

Gasps arose from the students as they took in All Might’s request for Bakugou to spar with you. Kirishima’s heart immediately jumped into his throat as he looked on in disbelief. What did All Might think he was doing? Bakugou was ruthless. No way would you be able to take him down easily, if at all. Looking at you standing in the middle dressed in your blue and white costume, you suddenly appeared very fragile. Anxiety rolled off of him in waves.

Mutters filled the air as Bakugou strode cockily to the centre of the gym, stopping metres away from you in the middle. Many of the students clearly shared Kirishima’s feelings. How on Earth would you cope with the explosion hero? The only ones who looked calm apart from All Might were Ashido and Yaoyorozu. Both stood as close to the sidelines as they could get, eager smiles on their faces as they looked at you expectantly.

“You got this Y/n chan!” Ashido whooped.

“Guys! She’s going to get hurt! Not many people can stand up to Kacchan!” That was Midoriya, fretting over your safety. No one knew more than Midoriya Izuku about tangling with Bakugou.

“Let’s get this over with All Might. This will be easy” leered Bakugou, smirking at you.

All Might only stepped back, retreating next to the crowd and leaving you and Bakugou alone in the middle of the concrete gym. “Begin”.

At once Bakugou sprinted forward, lighting up his hands and blasting off into the air in an explosion of red and orange heat. Hanging in the air, a yell left his lips as gravity took over and he began his descent, angling his hand forwards towards where you stood on the field, not moving a muscle as you looked up at him.

Kirishima could hardly watch, hand gripping Kaminari’s arm tightly in anxiety. All he could focus on was your form, standing still and looking up at the incoming attack that was sure to send you directly to Recovery Girl. His heart was beating at a million beats a minute.

Finally, as Bakugou got closer and closer, you moved. Stepping forwards, you planted one foot behind you and held your arms out before crossing them in front of your chest in an upwards ‘X’, bowing your head and bracing yourself. Closer, closer, Bakugou’s hand was coming down, heat brewing at his palm again as he prepared another devastating blast.

Horrified gasps could be heard amongst the assembled students as it looked like you were toast. But then... you transformed.

Kirishima’s eyes were huge as he fixated on your skin, looking on in disbelief. Your entire body, from your legs to your face had become translucencent, textured all over in millions of facets that covered you from head to toe, throwing millions of rainbows in the air around you as you moved. Your skin had become diamonds.

The redhead’s pulse instantly quickened as he gazed at the way you dazzled. He couldn’t believe it. You were just like him, just like his pal Tetsutetsu. However, you and your quirk were way more beautiful. Taking in the incredible gleam as you stood there waiting for Bakugou’s explosion, he thought you were ethereal.

Bakugou’s crimson eyes had widened as he watched you transform your entire body into diamonds, but it was too late. He had already let the explosion loose from his palm. As the blast rocketed in your direction you stood firm, taking the brunt of the explosive force on your forearms, remaining unbothered by the sheer heat unleashed in your direction. Instead, you smiled as the bright light that engulfed your body from the blast reflected off your diamond skin, bouncing back into Bakugou’s path as he fell within range of the millions of piercing rainbows shattering into the air.

Blinded by the intense refractions from your diamond-hard body, Bakugou fell wildly back to the ground, no longer able to brace himself for the impact as his hands covered his eyes from the shocking gleam. “Thump!” He hit the ground hard and rolled over and over, coming to a stop on his back with his arms covering his face.

“Argh! What the hell shitty woman! What did you do to me!” Bakugou yelled, unable to see from the light that had reflected into his eyes. You raced over to him before crouching on the hard concrete to reassure him. “It’s okay, Bakugou. You’ll be fine. You’ll be able to see in a couple of minutes. I haven’t permanently blinded anyone... well not yet at least.” You looked sheepish.

All Might strode over, assisting Bakugou (despite his reluctance) in standing up and guiding him off the ground onto a nearby bench. The rest of the class looked on in pure shock. The exceptions were Mina and Momo. They were too busy trying to conceal their glee, looking at you in amazement and happiness.

Still in your diamond form, you walked back to the group, coming to a stop in front of the 21 pairs of wide eyes that took you in from head to toe. You smiled nervously, hands clasped behind your back as you waited for what they had to say.

“That... that was INCREDIBLE L/n!” Midoriya shouted excitedly, notebook already clutched in his hand ready to take notes on your quirk.

“You can turn to diamond! That is so cool! Kaminari yelled in his excitement, pushing to the front of the crowd and dragging Kirishima behind him.

“Not bad at all.” Shinsou, the quietest of the bunch murmured.

“Young L/n, do you want to introduce your quirk and hero name to your classmates?” All Might asked from where he stood next to a dazed Bakugou. “As well as briefly field any questions your fellow students may have about you.” He said.

“Sure.” You said, turning to face you classmates with a grin. “As you can see, my quirk is called diamond-skin. I can turn my entire body to diamond at will, taking on the properties of natural formed diamonds. As a result, my body can withstand high temperatures and is extremely durable, as diamonds are the hardest substance in the world.” You then looked down nervously, before shyly glancing back up. “Um, it took a while for me to become confident with my quirk. As a kid, everyone thought that it was just pretty, being able to turn my skin to diamond. Flashy for sure, but not really hero material. I obviously knew my body was super strong, which is what encouraged me to enroll into the hero course at Shiketsu. It wasn’t until my teachers started putting me through the paces and experimenting with both offensive and defensive strategies that I really saw how handy it could be, like that trick with the light.” You let out a giggle, rainbows dancing across your skin with the slightest movement.

A dopey grin played across his lips as Kirishima listened to your laugh. Damn, he had to admit it to himself. It was like his dream girl had come to life right before his eyes. You could fight, had an amazing quirk, an incredibly cute personality AND you were stunning? It was safe to say he was head over heels.

“And your hero name?” Jirou questioned curiously from the huddle.

“Oh right!” You said, taking a step back and placing your hands on your diamond-hardened hips, body dazzling in the light. “I’m the Million-Dollar Hero: Diamonde!”

Voices surrounded you in a wave, all agreeing with how perfect the name was.

One voice cut through all the rest though. “Hey L/n! Come meet my bro here! You’re like the female version of Kirishima!” Of course it was Kaminari, anxiously tugging on Kirishima’s arm to get you to look his way.

You looked up, lips stretching into another one of your cheeky grins as you pushed through the huddle until you were right in front of him. Kirishima chuckled, arm coming up to rub his neck shyly as he took in all your beauty. You glanced at them both, still grinning as you put your hand on his shoulder.

“I know. Sensei told me that there was a boy in this class with a similar quirk. I kind of wanted to surprise you. After all, I haven’t met anyone else with a quirk similar to mine. This is so exciting for me too!”

Ahhhh. Now the look Aizawa had given him that morning had made sense. He knew all along. Laughing, Kirishima met your gaze. Despite your face remaining diamond-hard, your eyes were filled with warmth.

“Well I must say, I was super shocked. Your quirk, and the way you took down Bakugou...” He looked away nervously before meeting your eyes once again. “You’re dazzling. Er... pun not intended.”

You giggled. “It’s okay. Not to sound conceited, but I get that a lot.”

You deactivated your quirk, diamond texture melting away until your skin was back to its normal smoothness. At the sound of All Might’s approach you turned to face your teacher as the class fell silent. Bakugou trailed in behind him, pushing his way though the crowd until he was on the other side of Kirishima, pausing to throw a reproachful glare at you before turning away.

“Well class now that we are all acquainted with L/n, please match yourselves up into pairs. Today you’re going to be working in partners to spar and take it in turns honing both the offensive and denfensive sides of your quirks. I’m taking it easy on you guys today, but I can’t say it will be the same next week. So pair up and let’s go.”

Kirishima hardened his right arm before raising it and placing it next to yours. ”Well since I know what you can do now, wanna spar for this lesson? I know one of your tricks now, so let’s see what you think of mine.” He grinned teasingly.

You looked at his arm before meeting his eyes, face breaking into a smile that was just as dazzling as the rest of you. Bouncing on the balls of your feet in excitement, you activated your quirk in your arm before lacing your hand with his and tugging him further into the gym.

Looking down at your entwined hands, diamond and rock together, Kirishima’s heart raced. Finding a space for yourselves in the massive gym you stopped, letting go of his hand and stepping back in preparation.

“Okay Kiri”- he blushed at the sound of the nickname rolling off of your lips before you gave him another wink. “Your turn to dazzle me.”

At the sight of that wink again, his knees felt weak. Oh yeah, he was in love.

Gazing intently at the redheaded boy across from you, you quickly reactivated your quirk, turning your face to diamond before he could notice the blush staining your cheeks. Smiling to yourself, you mused over your first day at U.A while preparing for his attack. You really couldn’t wait to get to know him more.

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softbiker · 5 years ago

Text

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: language, attempted sexual assault and harassment, mentions of past sexual assault and harassment - do not read if these situations are triggering for you.

Word count: 6.1k - am I capable of writing anything short anymore???

A/N: HI I’M FINALLY BACK AND POSTING SOMETHING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST 3 MONTHS WOW. This story continues the Agent 14 series (so definitely check that out in my masterlist if you’re not familiar!) and...it’s something I’ve had on my mind for a while. I just needed to get it out. I hope that you like it and please share what you think! Feedback is appreciated!

When her phone starts buzzing, she’s mid-swing at the faded sandbag hanging from the ceiling.

She’s glad to have the place to herself - the dusty air and stale silence more of a comfort. A bead of sweat slides down her temple, itching past her ear, and her finger scratches at the spot absently, coming away salty wet. There’s sweat slicking her scalp, too; she feels it under the tight twist of her braids, heat trapped beneath the strands. Her dirty little basement gym - faded posters lining the walls, advertising fights long finished, flickering bulbs hanging from the ceiling, stained linoleum - is quiet in the mornings. A kind of quiet that is all too rare in the city, in her life.

Sure, it was nice of Sam to continue inviting her on their morning runs - she has every intention of taking him up on his offer, when she finally gets off the opening shift at work. She sees his 4 a.m. offers a couple times a week, shooting back a quick response that she’s already up, heading in to open the cafe. He finds it all so funny; calls her “Agent Barista”, and endearingly teases her about her rigorous coffee training at the SHIELD Academy.

Okay but real talk, 14 - what’s your top secret mission down at Starbucks? Pinged her phone as she brushed her teeth and concealed undereye circles with strategic swipes of makeup.

Key word in your question is “top secret”, Wilson. As in, tell you but I’d have to kill you. You know the drill.

Another ping. Yeah, yeah. Y’all agents talk a good game, but I know for a fact 41 can be bought with a box of See’s candies. Just gotta figure out your weakness.

Good luck.

No luck needed. I’ll bring a couple sweaty super soldiers your way around 8:30, you’re welcome.

With a wrapped hand, she flicks one swinging braid back over her shoulder, turning to her duffel bag for her phone. It’s buried under a spare pair of socks and a sports bra she forgot to wash, still buzzing as she grasps it and flips the screen upwards in her hand.

Unknown caller.

She’d bet every cent to her name that she could guess who was on the other end of the line. Tongue pressed against her teeth, she dismisses the call and drops her phone back in her bag. Fury can wait.

Turning back to the sandbag, she sucks a quick breath through her nose, curling power in her lean shoulders, and then unleashes a furious combination of jabs and kicks on the beaten plastic. Grunts and harsh pants slip past her lips, fists slinging blow after punishing blow, her weight held bouncing on the balls of her feet. The sandbag is a stoic opponent, taking her fists and feet without so much as a groan of protest, swinging back only a few inches on the chain even as she whips around high for a roundhouse kick. Growling, she rocks her weight back on her heels, before leaping forward off one leg to drive her knee into the bag with bruising force. More to herself than the bag, she thinks, glancing down at the tender skin on her bare knee, stinging from the impact. She leans an elbow against the bag and drops her head, swiping at the baby hairs along her forehead.

The phone buzzes again, insistent and muffled, and she lets her head drop back with a heavy sigh, eyes closed.

“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes narrowing in a nasty glare at the offending noise.

“I didn’t say anything.”

She whirls at the sound, fists raised - she hadn’t even heard him enter.

Steve has the good grace to look sheepish as he approaches from a shadowed staircase in the corner of the room, his hands raised in surrender. Not many people have had the sheer dumb luck - and misfortune - of sneaking up on her, and the part of her brain not whiplashed by adrenaline grudgingly admires him for it.

“Morning, Captain,” 14 sighs, her hands falling to her hips, rolling her neck against the tension in her shoulders.

“Morning,” he smiles. He’s trimmed back the beard, she notices, closer to the sharp line of his jaw. Dust motes swirl around his golden head like fairy dust as he passes through the puddles of light cast from the weak overhead bulbs. It strikes her then, the unassuming slope of his shoulders, a little shuffle in his gait, not quite lifting his feet from the ground. Not a strut, no stalking or preening like the SHIELD boys she came up at the Academy with, eager to throw their weight around. Somehow, despite his height, he manages to duck his head, to look up at her under a fringe of enviable dark lashes. Disarming and soft, a wayward blond strand falling over his forehead, he tucks his hands into his pockets, standing just a few feet away from her. He nods at the hanging sandbag behind her.

“Gave that thing quite a beating,” he says, tilting a dark eyebrow. She shrugs one shoulder.

“Looked at me funny,” she quips back, still catching her breath from the last bout. Her tongue swipes at a drop of sweat on her upper lip. Sniffing, she turns her gaze down to the wrapping on her hands. “I don’t recall inviting you, Rogers - I thought this was a private session.”

“Sorry for intruding,” he says, scrunching his nose and swiping at the errant lock of hair hanging before his eyes. With a jerk of his chin, he gestures towards her gym bag, where her phone has gone blessedly silent. “Fury had a feeling you would, um, how does Sam say it…’shady button’ him?”

She snorts in spite of herself, just managing to slap a hand over her mouth before her laugh becomes obnoxious. Even in the dim light of the fluorescents, she can see the high flush creeping up those scruffy cheeks. Steve rubs the back of his neck, a familiar embarrassment curling in his belly; it’s a joke the team plays sometimes, and he gets it, he really does. Gotta laugh at your CO sometimes - it brings the team together; so he drops little phrases here and there, incongruous slang with his pleated slacks and old-fashioned manners. Even things that Sam says - the word “fam”, or adding “ass” as a suffix to virtually any word - from Steve’s mouth, they’re suddenly enough to have the team rolling with laughter, Tony red-faced, Wanda close to tears. The tips of his ears burn, and he always acts put out, lowers his stern father brows, but if there’s one thing he learned as a Brooklyn-born punk, it’s how to take his punches.

“Oh, I’m sorry - I’m sorry,” 14 says, hand still half-covering the silly grin tugging at her mouth. “It just sounded so funny coming from you. It was like-”

“Kinda like if your dad were saying it?” Steve purses his lips, tilts his head to the side.

“Oh god…yes, that’s exactly it.” It ignites a fresh burst of giggles, though she scrunches her nose and shakes her head at the image. “Uh, just do us both a favor and don’t say that again.”

“I don’t think you can restrict Captain America’s freedom of speech.” He lifts his eyebrows, playful, considering. The slope of his nose casts a long shadow across his cheek, skin like Irish cream. She rolls her eyes, turning away to her duffel bag, using her teeth to tug at the wrappings on her hands.

“So. You’re Nick’s new personal assistant or something?” Dropping to the bench, she rummages through her gym bag and takes a long gulp from her water bottle. She swipes at her phone screen - 3 missed calls now.

Steve shrugs.

“I volunteered,” he says simply, large knuckles still visible where they stay curled in his pockets. “Thought…hoped I might have better luck.”

She licks her lower lip, chasing a coveted drop of water. It’s not as though she’s tired of the job - it varies so much, from one day to the next, that it makes boredom impossible. No, it’s not the job, she’s just…tired. Of what, or why, she can’t really say. Steve is patient. He doesn’t say anymore, just waits, standing a few feet away and shifting his weight from one leg to the other, his soft eyes watchful. Her fingers go to her shoulders, massaging the oncoming ache in her muscles.

“What’s the mission?”

**********

“You need some help there, punk?” Bucky leans a hip against the doorframe, arms crossed over his beloved NASA hoodie, an amused twitch tugging at the corner of his mouth. Across the room, Steve frowns at him in the mirror.

“Never really got the hang of these damned things,” Steve huffs, fingers losing the knot on his bowtie and sighing again as the cloth falls loose from the crisp collar of his shirt. Hands falling to his narrow hips, he turns to Bucky, wearing a look of defeat rarely seen on Steve Rogers.

Wordlessly, Bucky shuffles across the carpet and begins to knot the offending fabric, fingers of metal and flesh looping one strand over the other and back again. Chin lifted, brows furrowed, a marble bust of martyrdom, Steve is ever stoic while he works.

“Thought you were gonna shave for this,” Bucky comments, his voice quiet, not lifting his eyes from the tie. Steve makes a dissenting noise from his throat.

“Yeah, well, the beard makes it easier to keep a low profile,” he says, a hand reaching up to rub his whiskers absentmindedly. “And besides, I’m sort of attached to it now.”

Bucky chuckles, a smile dimpling his own scruffy cheeks.

“Know what you mean - God, but nobody looked like this when we were kids, ya know?” He steps back, finished with the tie, and gives Steve an appraising nod, pursing his lips. “Not too bad, Rogers, not too bad.”

Raising a dubious brow, Steve turns back to the mirror, tugging at the sleeves and adjusting his shoulders in the tux. Strictly white tie - totally out of his element, but sometimes duty comes with a dress code. He wedges a thick finger between the starched white collar and his own tender skin.

“In this get up?” Steve shakes his head. “Never did get used to wearing a monkey suit.”

Tongue in his cheek, Bucky grins.

“Have you seen yourself in your uniform?”

Steve flings a fist back behind him, grinning triumphantly when his hit lands in Bucky’s gut; a metal fist swings in retaliation, but Steve manages to sidestep, his hands raised in quick surrender.

“Hey, not too rough,” he says, tamping down a mischievous smile. “Tony will have my head if I ruin another one of these.”

“Tony could buy you one for every day of the week,” Bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes.

A knock on the doorframe makes them both turn.

It’s been years now, since he met Natasha - wind whipping up familiar curls on the deck of the helicarrier, a watchful smile, wolves’ teeth hidden under a lamb-soft face. Even later, when he learned to trust her, he always found himself surprised at her startling contrasts, the ease with which she managed to be two things at once; ally and spy, friend then enemy then family. In truth, she was testing him. They both knew. Years of probing, disguised as teasing and sarcasm and near-insubordination - assessing his strength, his weakness, the man behind the shield. And after all this time, it was his steadiness at each of her own turns that pacified her, let her learn to lean on him in return.

She smiles in the doorway now, her bright hair swept sleek behind her ears, revealing diamond teardrop earrings, probably on loan from Tony’s collection. The tips of her hair just brush her pale, bare shoulders, revealed by the strapless neckline of her jumpsuit. Black was always her signature color - never dull, though, because with Nat black is a spectrum, a rainbow refracted through her prism: intimidating, alluring, powerful, subtle.

“You clean up good, Rogers,” she smirks, her hands tucked into her pockets as she gives him a look of approval. “Keeping the beard, though?”

Steve’s hand idly brushes against his trimmed whiskers.

“It’s grown on me,” he admits. “And besides, I’ve got too much of a baby face without it.”

“Some girls like that.”

“Some guys like that,” Bucky adds, waggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, well,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, willing down the flush that crept up at his friends’ praise. “I’m not supposed to be the bait tonight.”

“No, I guess that’s my job.” Another voice appears behind Nat, her head peaking around Nat’s shoulder as she steps forward to share the space in the doorway.

Unbidden, Steve feels his mouth fall open. He always thought she was beautiful, from the first time he saw her, no makeup and the sleeves of her sweater splashed with coffee and mocha sauce; this morning, in the dusty half-light of the basement gym, sweat gleaming on her forehead and arms. But he wasn’t prepared to see her like this, glowing in his doorway, draped in a pink silk slip that exposed one of her thighs. She’d let her hair loose from it’s tight braids, her makeup bringing a dewy sheen to her cheeks - she looked…fresh, blooming like a rose. A clean swipe of red across her lips, almost an afterthought, as if she couldn’t be bothered to make more effort than that. Steve swipes his suddenly sweaty palms against his thighs and clears his throat.

“Um, wow,” he says, wincing at his own voice, which nearly gave an embarrassingly pubescent crack. “I mean, you…uh, you look great.”

“Better than great,” Bucky pipes up, the amused tilt to his mouth the only hint that he enjoys Steve’s embarrassment. “She looks beautiful.”

Nat nods in agreement.

“The dress is perfect for you - is it one of Stark’s?” she asks. 14 shakes her head, modestly gesturing to the gown with her hand.

“I’ve had it for a little while actually, I just couldn’t pass it up,” she sighs. “Just haven’t had the chance to wear it.”

“Well, we’re finally gonna put some miles on it,” Natasha smiles, her eyes cutting to Steve, who has clamped his jaw shut to prevent himself from saying more. “We all ready? Happy’s pulling the car around.”

14 nods, a shy smile tilting her mouth as she spares a glance at Steve before moving to follow Nat down the hall. She turns, and he sees that the cut of her dress falls low against the small of her back - almost low enough to glimpse the sweet dimples at the base of her spine. When they’re out of the doorway, he feels Bucky’s eyes on him - he’s perched on the edge of the bed, chewing his lip, one eyebrow lifted in an all-knowing look. He opens his mouth to speak but Steve lifts a hand.

“Don’t,” Steve cuts him off. “I know what you’re gonna say Buck, but just- don’t.”

Bucky lifts his hands in surrender, standing from the bed and walking over to where Steve still stands in the middle of his room.

“Fine, I won’t say a damn word,” Bucky sighs, shuffling across the thick carpet. He slaps his friend on the shoulder, gripping Steve with a firm hand. “Except you better move your ass instead of standing there like a dud - didn’t I tell you not to keep a lady waiting, Rogers?”

**********

Sam had whistled playfully as she glided out of the elevator on Steve’s arm, his eyebrows lifting halfway up his forehead.

“Damn, girl - almost didn’t recognize you without your apron,” he winked, his gap-toothed grin charming as ever.

“Didn’t match my shoes,” she winked back, flicking her hair over her shoulder. It sent a wave of her perfume drifting upwards; something bright and sweet, neroli, he thought, or orange blossom - maybe a hint of coconut. He had licked his lips without thinking; he’d like to smell it again, just to be sure.

Here, in this stuffy ballroom across town, with eager officials and bourgeois brats trying to rub elbows with Captain America, he finds the smell much less appealing. Sweat and ambition, excess and greed, all covered in layers of atelier cologne (eau de aristocratie) and - well, Bucky heard enough of his socialist soapbox speeches back in the day, and his views certainly haven’t changed much.

Still, he makes polite small talk with his admirers, rubs elbows, accepts drinks, all the while keeping one eye on the far corner of the room. It’s quiet, secluded, an overstuffed chaise with a soft cover tucked away from the buzz of the main dance floor. She’s perched there, ankles coquettishly crossed, the side slit of her dress revealing one leg and her glittering open-toed shoes; she leans on one arm, tilting her head towards the target, charming smile drawing up her lips as she hangs on his every word. Or pretends to, anyway. The target seems not to know the difference: Robbie Sinclair, a middle-aged man with the tanned smile of a Kennedy, salt and pepper hair slicked back from his face with a boyish cowlick escaping near the front, grins confidently as he talks to her. Steve watches him preen and puff his chest, spreading his legs to take up far more space than he needs. He stretches one arm along the back of the couch, leaning closer than appropriate, but she doesn’t move away.

He doesn’t like this, any of it. To be fair, he’d never been a big fan of the espionage facet of his job; much to Nat’s chagrin, subtlety and subterfuge were not Steve’s strong suits. If he had his way, they’d come in swinging and arrest this creep (and his insider-trading Wall Street buddies, too). But shooting from the hip wouldn’t work here, not when they still needed hard evidence on this guy, something more substantial than rumors - heavy as those rumors might be, words like “human trafficking” and “slavery” coming up in his SHIELD files. He understood the necessity, and so did 14.

Still, bringing her here and dangling her like a worm on a hook, hoping this asshole would take the bait…his stomach churned, whiskey bubbling unpleasantly at the thought. Steve angles his body around a chatty senator, trying to maintain his view on the corner. Sinclair looks about ready to take a bite, his head bent close to 14’s, sly smirk plastered on his face as he whispers something in her ear. Did her fist tighten around her glass? He can’t quite tell from this distance; he knows his own fingers are white-knuckled on his third whiskey. Or was it the fourth?

In a blink, a stumble, a minute trapped in choked small talk with Miss New York (during which he wondered if her real teeth were filed down like a shark’s underneath that crown-winning smile like Sam told him), he’s lost her.

A snowy static of panic whites out his brain, and his heart picks up against his ribcage as he all but shoves the beauty queen out of his way, his vision tunneling on the now-empty chaise in the corner. Where did she go? Where would she go? Barely managing subtlety know, he ducks his head, speaking to the comm device in his ear.

“Natasha. Do you have eyes on them?”

“…no, I was doing a sweep of the terrace outside,” she answers a moment later. “Did you lose them?”

Steve turns a circle where he stands, sharp eyes scanning each face and failing to find the one he wants to see.

“They’re gone, I’ve lost visual.” He tries to keep his voice down, his tone tight and clipped. Through a break in the crowd, he thinks he catches a glimpse of her dress, but when he looks again it’s the wrong color, the wrong dress, the wrong woman-

“Alright, I’m heading back inside - I’ll go up the stairs to the next floor, see if they went up that way.”

“Okay, I’ll take this floor,” Steve says, already making a beeline for the open doors of the ballroom, his tight-laced dress shoes clicking a solitary echo in the cavernous hallway just outside. Past the doors, and the gazes of nosy party-goers, he doubles his pace - the stiff starched tux protesting against the movement.

They’re not tucked into the alcoves along this hallway, and he deliberates a moment where the hall forks in opposite directions, before darting to the left and continuing his clipped jog. In a small part of his brain, he knows he shouldn’t be this concerned about her. 14 was an agent - a highly trained, highly skilled agent; he’d worked with her enough by now to know firsthand how well she could handle herself. But the other part of him couldn’t shake the way Sinclair had looked at her - the way every man in the room had looked at her when she walked in, circling and waiting for their chance to close in. Not to mention the less-than-sterling reputation of Robbie Sinclair, who, aside from the trafficking conspiracy that put SHIELD on his scent, had a handful of secretaries threaten him with harassment suits, before they were quietly paid to keep their mouths shut.

He comes to a dead end, a dancing nymph statue (far too baroque for his taste) mocking him with her tambourine against her hip. Doubling back, he curses under his breath and runs through the building schematics in his head, wondering where they could have slipped away to so quickly.

“Natasha? Any luck?”

“Negative. You?”

“No.” Steve clenches his fists and tries to force his heart back down from where it’s climbed up into his throat. His teeth grind together, jaw locked tight, holding in a frustrated growl. Unprompted, a wave of worst-case scenarios floods his mind - 14 dragged away by thugs, knocked unconscious, bleeding and gagged, unable to call for help. She’s a good agent. A good soldier. She can handle this. Try as he might to force them away, the tide of panic swells over and over inside him, the voice of his intuition telling him something must have gone wrong-

Behind him, an elevator dings.

Steve turns to see the ancient metalwork door rattle open, Agent 14 stumbling out half a moment later.

He blinks. She’s lost her shoes - no, she’s carrying them, the straps dangling from one hand. The side slit of her dress looks higher, and he notices the frayed edges along the top where the fabric has ripped. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair mussed, and she takes labored, panting breaths as she leans against the wall.

It takes him a while to understand what he’s looking at. As his panic starts to ebb, something different, something wounded and green threatens to perch in its place, at the sight of her so disheveled, with swollen lips and rumpled clothes. He says nothing; he has nothing to say, shocked as he is by the bitter taste of his own thoughts, wondering if a rendezvous with Sinclair was worth the information she might have gained.

It’s not until she starts sniffling that he notices the tears running down her cheeks.

The realization stops him cold, strangles the dark seed of doubt just starting to sprout in his heart, and fills him with shame and guilt. He takes a step forward. She’s not looking at him.

“…14? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice hushed. “Are you hurt?” There were no visible wounds that he could see, though she had limped a little when coming out of the elevator.

She nods, sniffing again.

“I’m-I’m fine,” she says, her voice scraping in her throat, barely holding back a sob. Squeezing her eyes shut, she presses a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent tears.

In two steps he’s at her side, though unsure of what to do, what would be appropriate, what she wants or needs. Were they…friends? Acquaintances? Colleagues? Do work friends hug, comfort each other?

“Can you tell me what happened?” he ventures softly, still not touching her, not crowding. He holds back a few inches, waiting, his hands feeling empty and heavy at his sides. “Do you want to?”

She nods, but it takes a few moments before she has regained her composure enough to lower her hand from her mouth and take a few rattling breaths, preparing to speak.

“He…h-he,” she stutters over a sob, like a child who’s cried too hard for too long. “He grabbed me and-and was kissing me, and then he tried,” she’s interrupted by a hiccup and a shaky sigh. “He tried to…to…”

She raises her eyes to his, tears welling up again, and shakes her head. She can’t say it, won’t say it - it is too much. It will make it real.

For his part, Steve barely restrains himself from blacking out with rage. His jaw is so tight he can feel his teeth nearly crack from the strain, fists curled but unsatisfied with not being wrapped around Sinclair’s neck. How dare he? How dare anyone? When he gets his hands on this goddamned son of a bitch, he’ll-

His vengeful train of thought is interrupted when she collapses against his chest with a sob, gripping the lapels of his jacket for support. On instinct he wraps his arms around her, caging her in, his chin resting on top of her head.

“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he hushes her and holds her, wishing there was more he could do, more he could say. He holds himself back from other platitudes, from it’s okay, and everything’s alright - he knows it’s not true.

She shakes and cries and rides out the storm in his arms, full of anger and fear and shame and helplessness; all the while, he stands silent and solid, murmuring soothing words his mother might have said - in another life, when someone held him, protected him.

Neither of them knows how much time has passed when her sobs become less violent, when her breathing calms, but she doesn’t step away. Her head doesn’t move from its place on his chest, and he makes no sign of wanting it to. Gently, slowly, he rocks her in his embrace, one hand smoothing over her back.

After a while, she speaks.

“I’m so tired,” she whispers. From this angle, he can see her blink slowly, tear tracks drying on her cheeks. He nods.

“You’re coming down from the adrenaline - that’s normal,” he murmurs, letting her weight sag against him, wondering if he’ll need to carry her.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not like that…that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

She doesn’t answer, not right away; her breathing has settled into an easier rhythm, less frenzied and panting. Her fingers slide from their place at his chest to rest around his waist.

“When I was in high school, there was this guy.” Her voice startles him when she finally speaks again, she’s been silent for so long. He makes a noise to let her know he’s listening before she goes on. “He was…I don’t know. Popular, I guess. Cute. Football player. Advanced classes. All the girls liked him.” She takes a shuddering breath before forging ahead. “And-and I guess he liked me because he couldn’t leave alone for a single fucking minute.

“God, it was constant. He’d grab my ass, or say dirty things about me to other guys…sometimes it wasn’t even sexual, it was like…he’d squeeze my waist or pinch the fat on the back of my arms and comment about my weight.” She sniffs, and Steve tightens his arms around her, not speaking. “One time, between classes, he grabbed me by the hips and bent me backwards over a desk - he wouldn’t let go, and he was just laughing…and no one said anything, none of the guys or my friends or anybody.”

Steve frowns, feeling impotent and frustrated. “I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head again.

“The worst thing is I just put up with it. I didn’t say anything…I didn’t think, I didn’t know-” she huffs a bitter laugh. “I guess I just thought it was flirting. Like I should’ve been flattered by it.”

“You shouldn’t - you don’t have to take that,” Steve says, fighting to control his tone. “Not from anyone.”

“I know that now,” she says. “But I was just a kid…nobody told me. Nobody helped me.”

He opens his mouth, tries to think of something to say, but she goes on.

“And nobody told me that it never gets better, it never changes.” He can feel how tightly her fists are clenched at his sides. “No one told me that this would be the rest of my fucking life. First it was him, and old men at the gas station where I got snacks after school, and truck loads of frat boys following me home. Jesus even the damn milk guy at the café calls me ’sexy’ and won’t leave me alone.” She sniffles again, voice tightening with anguish. “I’m tired, I’m so tired - I’m so fucking sick of all of it…of-of just being a thing, I’m tired of being looked at, and-” She tries to swallow back her sob, but it crests and stutters in her lungs, taking over her voice once again as she presses her face impossibly closer.

It breaks his heart and stokes his rage, the helpless, hopeless weight of her bitter words. Here he is, over a century old, and still watching people fight the same battles; battles to be heard, to be seen, to be treated like humans. He’d seen it all his life, women like his mother, like Peggy, spines of steel and hearts made of diamonds, resisting a world that would grind them down and make them small. He wishes his shield were wider, stronger. He wishes he could protect them from this.

“I can’t tell you it’s okay,” he murmurs. “Because it’s not. It’s not okay, I’m so sorry.” She squeezes his waist gratefully and nods her head a little. “But you…you don’t ever have to feel alone in this, okay?” He leans back a little, prompting her to lift her head, to meet her tear-bright eyes. “You’re not alone. I promise.”

It’s not enough. It’s not over. But today, for now, it feels like something.

**********

Natasha pages Happy, who pulls the car around to the front of the building. She says nothing as 14 limps down the front steps, shoes in hand, one arm linked with Steve’s and wearing his jacket, the too-long sleeves covering her hands. Nat’s eyes slide up to his - their silent exchange lasts moments, microseconds; her lips pinch tightly and her elegant white fists curl tight.

Happy holds the door, offering a hand as 14 drops inside, folding her legs and wrapping her torn skirt as tight as she can around the exposed length of her legs. Nat glances at the open door of the car and steps away, angling her back to the patient Happy. She juts her chin at Steve.

“You need a hand, Rogers?” He knows the look in her eyes is mirrored in his own - the look of a boxer stepping in the ring, of a lion sighting prey, a shark scenting blood.

Steve shakes his head, a hand reaching up to loosen his tie.

“No, it’s alright. You go on with 14.”

Happy peaks his head around.

“You don’t want me to wait for you, Cap?” he frowns. “I can keep the car running.”

Steve glances over Nat’s shoulder at the town car, where 14 has curled up in the backseat, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Nah. I need to have a word with Mr. Sinclair.”

**********

The arrest doesn’t make the front page. Or any page of the papers, in fact. Robbie Sinclair wakes in a hospital bed, in SHIELD custody, and ready to make deals with anyone who will bargain - provided his security detail keeps him well away from the Avengers and their Captain.

When the file crosses his desk, courtesy of Natasha, he notices the long list of names Sinclair has provided them with - powerful men, Wall Street and Capitol Hill’s finest, who found their positions one dirty handshake at a time. It would take some time to build a case against them all, find sufficient evidence for arrests, but SHIELD was up for the task. There’s a note in the back of the file, a small article someone has attached with a paperclip.

‘Executive’s Secretaries Speak Out’ reads the headline, with the subtext ‘Sinclair accused of sexual harassment, assault’. It appears a few women who had crossed his path were tired of being silenced; they had banded together, sharing pain and courage, to finally see him brought to justice. And combined with the charges SHIELD was bringing against him, it was unlikely he’d step foot outside of a prison for the next couple of decades.

It’s a start.

A few days later, Steve rises before the sun, a creature of habit. He takes his run alone, listening to a podcast that Sam had recommended. By 5:30, he’s stretching at the bench in front of the tower, before making his way down the street to the coffee shop.

She does a double take when she sees him, surprise and (he hopes) excitement creeping up in her smile. There’s only a couple of baristas in the store at this time - they haven’t hit their peak yet - and she’s wiping down the bar in front of the espresso machines by herself.

“Morning, Cap,” she smiles. There are tired little circles under her eyes. She looks beautiful. “You want your usual?”

“Hmmm,” he pretends to think, narrowing his eyes at the menu. “Actually…how about you surprise me.”

She raises her brows, a little impressed. “You sure? Anything goes?”

“Anything - I promise I’ll try it.”

“Alright,” she smirks, mischievous and much too eager, and she turns away from the espresso machines to the blenders behind her.

Milk, syrup, ice - other ingredients he can’t see or identify, all thrown into the pitcher and blended. She leans against the counter as the machine whirs loudly, a cheeky smile dimpling her cheeks. Just as the machine stops, the bell above the door chimes, both of them turning to look.

A small, wiry, white-haired man backs his way into the store, pulling a dolly stacked high with milk crates. He looks around, making sure he’s not backing into anyone, and catches sight of her behind the counter. Steve doesn’t like the look of his smile, or the way 14 ducks back down to her blender, her shoulders inching upwards.

“Morning, sweetheart,” the man says, a bit too loud, rattling the crates on his dolly as he wheels around tables, towards the back of house.

“Morning,” 14 replies coolly, not looking up from where she’s carefully lining Steve’s cup with mocha sauce. She doesn’t say anything more, keeping her head down as she pours out the drink and reaches for a canister of whipped cream. Steve’s eyes cut between them, his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

The milk man hustles back through the store with an empty dolly, on his way to collect the next load of crates, and 14 sighs a little when the bell chimes on his way out. She’s just turning around to hand Steve his drink, when she notices that the café is empty - he must have slipped out as well.

“Hey, pal,” Steve claps a hand on the man’s shoulder, consciously withholding his full force. “I was wondering - you usually deliver the milk here?”

“Yeah,” the man huffs, a little confused, and in a hurry to unload his crates. He squints, the rising sun in his eyes. “Why?”

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you for a second, that’s all,” Steve smiles. His hand doesn’t move from it’s place on the man’s shoulder.

When he comes back inside, his towering, chocolate-swirled beverage is waiting at the end of the bar. 14 is waiting, too, arms crossed, one hip propped up against the counter. She tilts her head to one side.

“Do I wanna know?” she asks. Steve shrugs.

“Nothing to know,” he says, shuffling up to the bar to claim his drink and stare at it, incredulous and amused. “Now what on earth is this thing, a milkshake?”

She rolls her eyes.

“It’s called a frappucino, old man,” she grins. “Drink up - you promised.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x agent 14 #steve rogers fic #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers imagine

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thewritingstar · 5 years ago

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Falling Back to You

Pairing: Blossick (Blossom x Brick, Reds)

Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls

Soft, sweet reds because I've been feeling angsty lately and needed a breather lol. Sorry to everyone who follows me for other fandoms, I promise Ill write more for FT (you can always leave asks lol)

Tag List: @over-under-through1 @shellielyzabeth (if you want to be on my tag list, you can find the post or dm me)

I hope you enjoy. This has been sitting in my drafts for a few months and decided to just finish it lol.

---

“I’m surprised you don’t have your hat on.” A voice came from behind him. But not just any voice. The moment the first word left those lips, the hair on his neck stood up and sent a familiar chill down his back. It was a voice that he knew well, could distinguish in a crowd of a thousand voices, it was the equivalent of his favorite song or the taste of the sweetest thing to melt in your mouth.

“Blossom.” He said under his breath but her super hearing picked it up.

She thought she was prepared to see him, after all its been two years. That’s enough time to heal, right? But she prayed that he didn’t hear the small gasp that escaped her lips as he turned. That crisp dark red suit fit him like a glove and she spotted him from a mile away in that signature color. He looked good in red.

“Hi.” She managed to say smoothly as he took a step towards her.

“What are you doing here?” He asked with a reluctant tone. It was only the most important night of his life. The one where he would be promoted to the head of the department, the one he busted his ass off from the ground up. Not to mention an award for a case he worked on last year.

She shrugged and bit her lip. “My boss is here and I have to write a report for him.” Then added. “And I wasn’t going to miss the achievement you have been talking about for literal years.” She said shyly. “I promised after all.”

And she did. Back when they had dated all those years ago. Blossom was by his side as he worked from being an assistant at the law firm to one of the most promising lawyers, and now the highest ranked lawyer, but she missed the last part. Unfortunately.

He studied his ass off and she did too, both of them determined to outshine anyone in their paths, maybe that why they chose different companies. They had traded their childhood rivalry for a path of lust and love, a simple competition would not be throwing them down that path. In fact their jobs were the reason they weren’t together.

“You remembered.” He said under his breath. She heard it, of course.

She tapped her foot and looked around before giving a puzzling look. “Wheres Jasmine?” It pained her to ask.

Jasmine. Oh yes, his girlfriend who couldn’t be bothered to celebrate to most important time of his career. Or rather, ex girlfriend, As of last night where he found her with another man.

“Not my girlfriend.” He simply stated as she nodded before taking a sip of her drink.

It must have been good if she brought it to her lips. Blossom loved a good cocktail but if it was hard liquor, she required top shelf, something he admired. He was like that too and was the reason she only drank the highest quality.

“What about Tyson?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Not my boyfriend.” She said bitterly and he didn’t know why he was happy about it. “Cheated on me for a blonde.” Her glass was on the verge of cracking before she smoothed out her dress. “Typical.”

He hummed in agreement. There was a feeling of anger running through him as he thought about any man hurting Blossom, sure he hurt her too but nothing like that. No their fight was different, it was a fight about whats best for both of them.

They had just under an hour before the cermony started. He didn’t want to bother being inside socailzing with a bunch of random people and he had a feeling she didn’t either. The wide open hallway was becoming stuffy and he could see a trio of men walking their way and knew Blossom would become the talking point.

Before Brick could turn them the other way, the men were already there.

“Brick.” The tall one spat.

“Landon.” Brick matched his tone. What a dumb name he thought.

Landon turned and did not bother to hide the fact that he was checking out Blossom. Of course he was. Even in her simple black cocktail dress that screamed sophistication, she was a walking dream.

“And you are?” He gave her a smirk that could charm anyone, expcet for Blossom of course.

Brick was pracitcally smiling as Blossom shook his hand. He knew she wouldn’t take his bait.

“Blossom Utonium. Head of corrupt affairs at Duchess Law.” She started with what Brick likes to call her “Miss Business voice”.

Landon smirked. “Duchess Law? Someones a smart cookie.” He winked.

The other men behind him agreed and Blossom held her tounge. She hated being patronized or looked down on. He should be thanking the lucky stars that he’s even in her presence.

Brick could tell she was annoyed and wrapped his arm around her waist before looking at Landon. “She makes more money than all three of you combine and actally can win a case so show some repect.” He spat and he turned them around towards the back doors that led to the garden space.

The feeling of having his arm around her sent a spark through her body. At first it felt foreign but the memories came rolling in waves as they walked.

“I could handle myself.” She stated and he hid his laugh.

“I know, but you won’t because of your repuation. I for one don’t care about mine that much.”

“Or maybe its because you still care.” She teased as she sat on the stone bench with him.

He was about to response but his phone began to ring. He wanted to ignore it but Blossom probably would say something about it.

“Its Butch.” He said before trying to put it back into his pocket.

“You should anwser it. I’m sure he’s wanting to wish his brother well.”

He huffed and anwsered on the final ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey quick question. Do you think that I would win in a fight against Thanos?”

Brick only shook his head.

“Butch.”

“Its serious cause Buttercup doesn’t think so but I could take him for sure.”

Blossom was holding a hand to her mouth as the guy kept going on about the stupid question.

“Oh shit dude, tonights your night!”

“Yes it is now Imma hang up now.”

“Brick be nice.”

“Wait a minute bro. Is that Miss Blossom with you?”

“Yes because shes the only one who bothered to care.”

“Hey you’re the one who said not to come. Anyways tell her I said hi and that you two should totally get back together because you kept going on and on about how you missed her and leaving her was the worst choice you made-” The line cut dead and the phone was shoved in his pocket.

“Hes stupid.” He mumbled and Blossom drank the rest of her drink.

“Hes not wrong.”

He turned towards her and gazed silently. She was just as he remembered. Gorgeous and graceful and even without a word spoken, she could command a room. He admired her greatly and she felt the same.

“Brick, can we just skip all of it?” She asked softly.

“I’ve kinda been looking forward to my award.”

“No, not this.” She gestured to the building. “But this.” She pointed between them.

“Skip what?”

“Oh I don’t know, the drama of it all? Because if we don’t confess now we are going to waste so much time running after each other and I-I dont want to waste time.” She looked down at her shoes. A sad sigh leaving her lips. “I just miss you.”

The confession surprised him. They were both forward people who never beat around the bush but when it came to their feelings between them, they had always been shy. Boomer and Bubbles were easy to confess and even Butch and Buttercup seemed to have it together but for them, it felt impossible sometimes.

No matter where he turned, she was there. They had always crossed paths like star-crossed lovers and it was as if the universe was constantly pulling them together and they had tried. They really did.

Perhaps the timing wasn’t enough or their pride had stood in the way. they never meant to fall apart the way they did but when the other side of the bed was empty, those walls they held up became transparent and it only took a mere few seconds to see what they had lost.

But he understood what she meant. They both knew that if anything were to happen between them tonight it would start a snowball effect that everyone was tired of seeing. Over and over they would fall in line and build each other up before something came between them and pulled them apart.

He wanted to get past all the hurdles of playing cat and mouse until on of them caved and said their feelings. But her saying she missed him wasn’t her caving, she was just tired and so was he.

They had been young when they had fallen in love. The rules of life tossing them into a sea of doubt but now they were adults who knew the game and could easily avoid anything in their paths, except each other.

His hand slid over hers. “I missed you too.”

She smiled softly before her hand rested on his cheek. “I’m really proud of you Brick, you’ve come along way.”

“I’m just happy you got to see it.” He whispered before his lips touched hers with a fire they both had missed.

A swirl of fire and ice that only they knew. No matter how much life decided to pull them apart or change the course, he would always find himself coming back to her.

The kiss didn’t last as long as he would have liked but seeing the faint blush on her cheeks made it all worth it.

“What are you doing later?” He asked as he helped her up from the bench.

“I was going to get take out and sit in my hotel room watching movies.”

Brick leaned over to fix the bow in her hair, taking the time to have her close. “I don’t suppose you would accept any company?” He winked before kissing the back of her hand and handing her the red purse.

“I think I can make an exception.” She winked and he had never thought she had looked more stunning.

She took his hand, their palms resting naturally together, before walking back to the ceremony, where he would leave with not only his award but the woman he had loved for years and years.

was the ending lazy? yes. do I care, only a little bit. Lol. I’ve had a really off day so I hope this is good.

Hope you enjoyed :)

#blossick #blossom x brick #reds ppg #ppg x rrb #ppg fanfic #blossick fanfic #thewritingstar

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

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Speak No Evil (Part 18)

After several chapters of trying to decide which direction/ending I think would be more satisfying, I still haven't decided. So I’m going to try something super new! I’m going to have two versions of this story. I bring this up now because this is the chapter where there is a crossroads in a sense. So the next few chapters will be version one and then after I’m through with this story line I will come back to this chapter and take it in the second direction. These parts will be marked (V2) meaning ‘version 2.’ I hope that this makes sense lol.

The sun had begun to filter through the windows hours ago, spilling a pleasant and cheek-warming wash of gold over the upturned side of her face. But she remains in bed, head sunken into pillows that are so invitingly plush.

She supposes that she has earned, or at the very least, could use a day spent in bed. Or mostly spent in bed. There can’t be much harm in it, she and Zuko had come to Ember Island to relax. She has simply decided to take advantage of this rather late. She rolls onto her back and exhales. Her ankles are still throbbing lightly.

She stretches her arms and tries to prepare herself to fully wake up and rise out of bed. She could use breakfast, though at this point, it is lunchtime. She lingers for a moment in the hallway in front of the kitchen. Seicho is already awake, she probably has been for some time now.

“You don’t have to cook for me, you already did so much…” she hears Zuko mutter.

Seicho shrugs. “I like cooking, it’s a hobby.” She clearly has a lot of those, hiking, fishing, botany...it seems as though she has a new hobby for every day and she had spent a good portion of their trip going on and on about said hobbies.

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.” Seicho flashes him a grin. “But if you’d like I can show you how to perfectly cook and season a lobster!” She inhales deeply. “It already smells wonderful. The trip was fun but it’s nice to have a full kitchen of cooking supplies!”

Azula supposes that it does smell nice, especially when she adds a touch of rosemary and a sprinkle of parsley. The woman catches her eye. “You’re finally awake!”

‘More or less.’ Azula spells out. She rubs at her eyes

“Are you feeling any better?” Zuko asks.

She holds up her hands and gestures, ‘a little’.

“Good. Believe it or not, I was worried.” He pauses, “I’m still worried.”

She wonders if Seicho has told him yet of how furiously she tried to hike up that volcano. Agni, she hopes that the woman hasn’t shared anything while she was asleep. She’d much rather tell him herself, if at all. ‘Why?’

“You weren’t doing too good when you left and you came back covered in cuts and...swollen ankles.”

She shrugs, ‘I’m fine.’

She can tell that Seicho is itching to speak up. She finds herself flooded with relief. Seicho holds her tongue. She wonders how long the girl with keep holding her tongue.

‘Really. I’m fine.’ And she thinks that she is telling the truth. She doesn’t feel particularly good nor hopeful. But she doesn’t feel naggingly miserable either.

.oOo.

TyLee bunches her fists and takes a deep breath. She isn’t yet ready, but she is as ready as she can and will be. Regardless of her hesitations, she needs to do this. She needs to if she ever wants to bring her journey one step closer to full closure.

She finds Mai outside of her aunt Mura’s flower shop, pruning leaves and ruffled petals. Zuko hadn’t expelled her from the palace, as far as TyLee knows but TyLee also can’t imagine that Mai would feel particularly welcomed there.

She takes another, much deeper breath. Agni, her hands are shaking. She isn’t sure how in the name of the spirits she is going to confront Azula. She thinks of Tuya and of the rest of her expedition mates. She thinks of the words ‘clever’ and ‘innovative’. She isn’t just ‘sweet’ and ‘cute’ anymore. She isn’t just some bubbly, naive child. Well perhaps she is still bubbly and chipper but she is smart. She is strong and resilient. She can hold her own.

She will hold her own.

“Hello, Mai.”

Mai looks up from her flowers as nonchalant and unexpressive as she always has been. Maybe she could use a venture away from the Fire Nation too. Maybe everyone can use a vacation from the Fire Nation. “How was your trip to…”

“The poles.” TyLee finishes. “It was amazing. Mai you should have seen it, it was glittery and enticing and it was like the Spirit World covered our world in stars…” she is rambling again. That stupid perky rambling. “And I learned a lot about myself.”

Mai quirks a brow. “Good things?”

TyLee nods. “Yes. A lot of good things.” She pauses. “And I thought about a lot too.”

“Like what?”

“Like about how I let everyone take advantage of me. Not just Azula but Zuko did it, you did it, and even Suki did it sometimes.”

Mai opens her mouth to interrupt but she won’t stand for interjection, not this time. “I don’t even think that you guys meant to do it. Azula, sure. But not Zuko and Suki. Sometimes I think that it just happened naturally. Because I let it happen. Because I couldn’t say no.”

“You didn’t mention me…”

“Because I’m not sure about you, Mai.” She confesses. “I’ve thought about it over and over again and I still can’t tell if you actually cared about me--if you actually loved me or if you were just trying to spite Azula and Zuko.” She wonders if Mai is even sure herself. Quite possibly she thinks that Mai had been killing two iguana-parrots with one stone.

“What if I told you that it was a mix of both?”

TyLee is quiet for perhaps longer than she has ever held a silence. The question has so much weight, so many nuances to consider. “Then I would say that it still isn’t okay. I don’t want to be part of some scheme. I didn’t distance myself from Azula to become your pawn instead.”

“You weren’t just a pawn…” Mai trails off.

“I was a pawn with perks.”

Mai shakes her head, “I loved you. For real.”

“So did Azula.” TyLee points out. “But I was still a pawn. I was still being used. Don’t you think it’s a little strange that you were getting trying to get back at Azula by doing the exact same things she did?”

“Why are you defending her?”

And there it is; the trap that they always set for her. She almost didn’t catch it. “I’m not. Actually…” it dawns upon her, “I think it’s the opposite. I’m telling you that what she did, how she use me, was wrong. And I’m saying that it doesn’t become less wrong when you do it.” She bites her lip, weary of what she is about to say. She thinks that she may have already scratched at the surface of this nagging itch in her head. “If anything it’s worse when you do it.”

For the first time in a while, Mai looks genuinely angry. Her brows crinkle and her mouth curves down ever so slightly. “How so?”

“Because you think that you’re doing it for the greater good. And you pretended like you weren’t doing it. At least Azula was trying to stop and even if she wasn’t, at least she was up front about it…” The problem with Azula, she realizes, is habit. Habit and constant apologies with no great efforts to make a change.

“What do you want from me, TyLee?”

“I want you to admit it. I want you to acknowledge that you were using me.” She wants clear cut confirmation that she isn’t seeing things that aren’t there. That she isn’t making an issue of nothing at all. She needs to know. “I need you to see that it...it really messed with me, Mai. To have so many people--to have the people I loved the most use me over and over again.” She attempts to blink away a few tears.

Mai’s expression softens and she rubs her hands over her face. “I did it okay. I loved you but I used you. I was mad at Zuko. Azula is the worst person I’ve ever met. And You’re one of the best. It was perfect; they’d both get hurt and I’d...we’d be happy.”

TyLee shakes her head. “You’d be happy. I want to be loved, Mai. I want to be loved completely with no ulterior motives.” And it comes to her that she can be.

“So what are you going to do, TyLee? Cut us all out.”

She doesn’t want to. She’d love to keep talking to Mai and Zuko, and even Azula, if only in moderation. “If I have to. Don’t make me have to.”

.oOo.

“No, no, like this!” Seicho takes her by the wrist and guides her hand.

‘Is there really an exact method of sprinkling salt on sizzle-crisps?’ Azula asks.

“There’s a particular way of arranging the dish too once the salt and spices are added. Personally I like to arrange my fruit slices and salad leaves to make pretty pictures…”

‘You like to play with your food.’

“It’s an art, princess! Culinary art. An undervalued art, if you ask me!” She pauses. “If you want, you can put the parchment aside and spell words out with fruit slices or sprinkle tyme to make letters.”

‘No thanks.’ She writes as Zuko grumbles, “and dirty our counters? We don’t have servants here so I’ll be the one cleaing the mess.”

“Azula can help!”

‘Azula won’t help.’ Cleaning is beneath her. Getting her hands dirty to knead dough and toss flour was a task better suited for serving personnel. She still isn’t sure why she has rolled out and flattened so many circles of dough. She gestures to them, ‘what for?’

“We’re going to wrap the sizzle-crisps in them, of course.” Seicho smiles.

Azula blinks.

“What kind of abomination are you having us make?” Zuko throws his hands up, kicking up a cloud of flour.

‘An affront to taste buds all over the Fire Nation. We ought to have you banished.’

“Don’t banish me until after you try it.” Seicho declares.

Azula picks up one of the sizzle-crisps and wraps it up in a blanket of dough. She supposes enduring the woman’s terrible cuisine creative process is the least that she can do.

.oOo.

Azula has grown unresponsive again. Seicho doesn’t think that her cooking innovations were that horrid. In fact Zuko quite openly enjoyed her wrapped sizzle-crisps and she could swear that Azula was only pretending not to.

“What’s wrong?” She finally asks.

‘Just thinking…’

With Azula this can mean anything really. Usually it isn’t anything good. Usually when Azula thinks, she thinks too much and she ends up crying either openly or privately. “About what?”

‘My voice.’ She hovers the brush over the parchment as if to add something more. She eventually retracts it.

“What about it?”

‘I want it back.’

Seicho nods. She could imagine. Reflexively she touches her fingers to the woman’s lips. Azula curls her fingers around her wrist. She expects to be swatted away but the princess simply holds her hand in place.

She shifts and turns back to her parchment. ‘Do you want to help me find the spirit and get it back?’ She quickly scrawls, ‘truthfully this time. I actually want to look.’

“Yeah, we can do that and maybe this time our brothers can tag along. I really want you to meet Zhang-Zin.”

Azula nods, ‘I suppose.’

Seicho grins. How exciting it will be to go on a real adventure with her. One with a genuine goal. One where they can truly get to know each other. “Great! I was thinking that we can take a little break first. Maybe go to the beach or a party and then we can start planning our next trip.”

‘The beach sounds…pleasant enough.’

She springs off of the bed. “Tomorrow, we can go shell hunting tomorrow and I can show you this tidal pool with these spiny urchins.” Her head is abuzz with idea after idea. Bits and snippets of things that might make Azula feel lively again. And this time she is optimistic that it might just work.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #TyLee #TyZula #Fanfiction #Zuko

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zoey-wades · 5 years ago

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Golden Boy

Characters: Carter Jackson x MC (Dionne Hughes

Rating: T

Summary: Dionne spends some quality time with a new friend and reevaluates her morals.

A/N: I have a type. And it’s jocks with a heart of gold.

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Dionne learned quickly that Carter Jackson didn’t have one malicious bone in his body.

When he knocked on the door of her room at 1 in the afternoon on a Saturday, she expected the worst. And, honestly, she kind of deserved it. Before her arrival to Belvoire, Carter probably had a very easy time with Poppy and his friends. All it took was a very public smooch and a dance routine to make it all come crumbling down.

She expected fireworks. Maybe even fire and brimstone.

Instead, she opened the door to find the 6’2 football star staring at his feet like a punished Dickensian orphan. The corners of his mouth were pulled into a deep frown, and his brows remained pinched as if he was in deep concentration. She couldn’t help but find the expression adorable, but kept her inappropriate opinion to herself.

“Carter?” She questioned, leaning against the door, “What’s going on?”

“Am I stupid?” He asked, finally looking up to meet Dionne’s eyes.

She instantly remembered an excerpt from a book she read as a child about how people with good thoughts had the loveliest faces. Carter was no exception. He radiated a softness in his eyes that made Dionne’s heart melt.

Not completely. But just enough to make her want to hug him. Instead, she mirrored his frown and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Of course you aren’t stupid. Why would you say that about yourself?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, choosing to focus on his feet once again, “I don’t know. Poppy always said I was when she got mad at me. I know she was just mad, and she probably didn’t mean it. But she’s not the only one to ever say it. And...I don’t know, Di, this time I think I really fucked up.”

If Dionne was heartless, she would ask why he was coming to her with his existential crisis. If anything, she was the last person he should be seen with after Poppy’s post-game meltdown. But, against her better judgment, Dionne stepped back and allowed him a way to pass into her dorm room.

“Come sit with me, I’m about to make some lunch,” she offered him the warmest smile she could, letting Carter know that he was safe in her space. The minute he crossed the threshold, his eyes lit up.

“Hey, it smells good in here. Like sugar cookies.”

He looked around the decorated living room, searching for the source of the scent before Dionne pointed at the candle on the counter.

“It kind of reminds me of my grandmother’s house,” she explained, a more genuine smile gracing her features, “A nice scented candle makes any place feel a little more comfy.”

Carter eyed the large Yankee Candle with raised brows, “The Alphas could totally use that in the bathroom!” He paused, “I hope one of us doesn’t get fucked up and try to eat it though.”

At this, a giggle bubbled out of Dionne that she would be ashamed of under other circumstances. It was the kind of giggle you give when you’re 12 and the person you like makes a terrible joke. Was Carter’s comment that funny? No. Was he trying to be funny? Dionne wasn’t sure. But damn it she was going to giggle anyway. The sweet smile that spread across his face made the nauseating gesture worth it.

But it was time to get to the meat of the problem. She sat on the kitchen barstool and patted the seat across from her, “Let’s chat, Jackson.”

He blinked as if waking up from a daze, “Right, I did come here for that reason.”

Sitting across from Dionne, Carter shifted a bit uncomfortably and shoved his hands back in his pockets.

��Now,” Dionne crossed one leg over the other—not for any particular reason—and noticed his eyes flicker down to her thighs before focusing back on her face, “What makes you think you’re stupid? You do well in class don’t you?”

He sucked his teeth and shrugged, “I do alright. But what if they’re just passing me to keep me on the team?”

“Well, what if they’re not?” Dionne gently challenged. The look he shot her screamed “Are you kidding, Di?” and she continued on, “I’m serious. What if you’re actually doing well?”

Carter laughed bitterly, “Poppy has a point, sometimes. She talks about things—finances, social stuff—I don’t always understand it. I want to. But...” he drifts off, as if shuffling through his thoughts, “I’m used to being called stupid. But this time I think Poppy actually meant it. I know I sometimes get things wrong, but this time I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Dionne listened carefully as Carter sorted out his thoughts, and laid them out on the table for her. She was angry at the ways people made him feel mentally inferior, while banking on his body for social and financial gain. He concluded with a deep, tired sigh.

After some thought, Dionne finally responded in a gentle, measured tone, “Carter, there’s more than one way to be intelligent. What you’ve just expressed to me is a deep sense of emotional intelligence that most people take their whole lives to figure out. Your teammates love and respect you. Your brothers respect you. You’re a natural leader and an honest person.” She smiled at him, “Professor Kingsley even told me that they really enjoyed your time in their class.”

Carter’s eyes widened, “They said that?”

She nodded. It was half-true. Kingsley admired that Carter was so easy to get along with, and seemed to genuinely enjoy learning even if he found it difficult. He maintained a C-average in that class, but she wasn’t going to bring that up now.

There was a brief silence between them as Dionne daintily picked at her chicken salad. She wanted to devour it, but she kind of hated eating in front of people. She doubted Carter would really care, but...

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and suddenly much closer to her now than he was a few moments before. She fought the instinctual urge to raise a questioning brow, as he still seemed lost in his own thoughts and completely unaware of the action.

“I don’t know why Poppy doesn’t like you,” he said, locking eyes with her, “But you seem really cool. Like someone I could talk to. Zoey, too! But mostly you.” He twisted back and forth on the swivel chair, “Sometimes, it gets super hard being one of the few black people on this campus. Like, I love my bros. They’re the best. But it’s really nice having you around.”

“Well,” Dionne began, “Maybe I’m not as cool as you think I am. Maybe I’m just as bitchy as Poppy is, and you just don’t know it.”

She was half-joking, but he seemed surprised by the statement.

“Poppy really isn’t that bad,” he returned his hands to his pockets and leaned away from her. Back in defense mode, she guessed, “She might be kind of mean sometimes. And she yells a lot when she’s stressed. But when she’s chill and not mad, she’s actually really fun to be around. She just doesn’t really handle anger well.”

Understatement of the century.

Considering how much Poppy tore down this guy’s self esteem, it was wonder why he was so willing to jump to her defense. Would she do the same for him? Every time she saw them together, she was more focused on maintaining her dignity than enjoying the people she surrounded herself with. It had to be a lonely experience for both Poppy and Carter.

“Do you love her?” The question slipped out before Dionne could stop it, and she regretted it immediately when another frown pulled at Carter’s lips, “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer that.”

He shrugged and fidgeted with something in his pocket, choosing to avoid eye contact, “I think I do...My parents do. Everyone says she’s good for me. I think I’m good for her too.”

Dionne was probably about to step onto a land mine, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

“Someone who makes you doubt your worth in the world isn’t someone who’s good for you,” she stated, slowly.

“But what if I’m not much better than she is?”

She smirked, “Copying my lines now?”

He returned another half-hearted chuckle, “I mean it, Dionne. If Poppy is as horrible as people say, and I love her anyway, what does that say about me?”

She considered this for a moment. If Carter could see the way Poppy spoke to people, and still chose her over and over, what did that say about him? Did he ignore it if it wasn’t directed at him? Did he make excuses?

“It says that you’re human, I guess,” she finally responded. She noticed his soft sigh of relief, and made a mental note for later, “Sometimes, when you love someone, you’re willing to overlook the flaws because you want to see the best in them. You know?”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience?”

Dionne stiffened and avoided his gaze, which now seemed determined to burn a hole through the side of her face.

“No,” she quickly stated, “I’ve never loved anyone.”

“You’re telling me you can give me this advice without any experience,” he chided, “and I’m supposed to believe you?”

“I’ve never been in a relationship,” suddenly her salad was super interesting. She bit into a crisp cucumber slice as Carter considered her answer.

“Hmm...that’s surprising,” he reached up to scratch the back of his neck, “I mean, I think you’re really cute and really smart. It’s hard to believe you haven’t been with anyone at all.”

It was true. Dionne was cute. Anyone with eyes could see that. And she had her reasons for remaining single. But the gentle earnestness in Carter’s words and expression made the heat rise in her cheeks. He seemed completely oblivious to the effect he had on people, Dionne specifically. It made her feel...things.

She didn’t like it.

She cleared her throat and shrugged, casually, “I have standards.”

Just as Carter opened his mouth to respond, his phone vibrated dully in his pocket. He quickly glanced at the message, and his shoulders slumped, “Damn. I gotta head out, I forgot I had to meet with the coach before practice. Can we pick this up again, later?”

“Sure, of course,” Dionne nodded her understanding, “let me walk you out.”

As they walked side by side to her front door, she could admit to herself that this conversation made her feel something akin to guilt. Maybe. Here he was, being so sweet to her, after she used him just to get under his now ex-girlfriend’s skin. That wasn’t her initial intent. Kissing him and asking for his help was simply a means to an end, but she never considered how he’d become collateral damage. And she definitely didn’t factor in this slowly blossoming fondness for him.

As he passed through the doorway, she reached for his arm, “Wait.”

He raised a brow at her, “What’s up?”

“I just wanna say sorry,” she swallowed, “For everything that happened.”

“What happened?”

“You know...kissing you. Asking you to help. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I’m sorry it ended up this way.”

He stared at her for what felt like an absurdly long period of time before opting to lean against the door frame, “Dionne, you have nothing to be sorry about. I may not be Professor Einstein or whatever, but I know that everything happened because I wanted it to. Do you understand?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

She studied the intensity of his face—that goddamn face—in complete silence. For once, she was at a loss for words. She nodded, latching her teeth into her lower lip. His eyes followed the action, and he grinned at her before pushing away from the door.

“I’ll see you around?” There he was again. Sweet Carter. Golden Boy Carter. Maybe he wasn’t entirely ignorant of the effect he had on her. That made him a problem.

“Yeah. See you around,” she mumbled back.

#playchoices #carter jackson #naja writes #carter x mc #queen b #choices qb

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pressedinthepages · 5 years ago

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Vorfreude (Part 2)

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 2369

Rating: E

Series Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: [I’ve just read your Jaskier x reader story “Vorfreude” and I’ve came to say that it is truly beautifully written, and it’s just a shame that it is hidden in the tags. Can I please request an oneshot where it’s set a few years after the wedding, and they’ve been on their adventures, etc and they finally decide that they want to start a family and they start by having sex. Lots of fluff/smut!! Please and thank you!] absolutely anon! this was super cute and lovey the first time around, so im happy to expand!!! (Here’s the original!)

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox @havenoffandoms @MishaFaye @criminaly-supernatural @queenxxxsupreme @persephonehemingway @hina-chans-stuff

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: SMUT, discussions of pregnancy, jaskier is gonna be such a dilf, jaskier’s iconic butt bow

Jaskier returns from another adventure, ready to settle at home and create a family.

The flowers in your garden shine under the light of the evening sun, soft colors awash with life. You kneel among them, trimming and pruning stray leaves and weeds from where they pop up from the soil. You hum to yourself as you work, one of the songs that Jaskier wrote but never performs, only sung for you in the comfort of your home.

You rise to your feet, brushing the dirt from your hands on your skirt as you cross to the well that sits at the side of your house. You lower the pail to the ground, quickly plunging your hands into the cool water. As you stand once more, water dripping down your arms as you dry them on your skirt as well, you hear heavy hoofbeats, accompanied by the sound of a lute. Your skirt falls from your hold as you turn with a gasp, watching as several people break through the treeline.

You run to your fence, fingers fumbling with the latch until it relents, opening the gate as you dash through. Jaskier sees you coming and swings his lute across his back, his smile wide as he moves to meet you. He leaves his companions trailing behind him, wind whipping through his chestnut locks as you race into each other’s arms. His arms catch you, wrapping around your waist as he sweeps you off the ground. He spins you, the both of you laughing at the joy of feeling one another once more.

Jaskier sets you back down and pulls you in close, pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss. You can taste the longing in it, how he quietly moans into your mouth and discreetly digs his nails into your sides as he grips you tighter. You smile into him, running your hands up and down his arms, over his chest, feeling him under your fingers as you confirm that he is truly there in front of you. You hold his face in your hands as you pull back, seeing far beyond the endless pools of love in his eyes.

“Welcome home, dear,” you murmur, resting your foreheads together as his dimples deepen with his grin. You stay like this, breathing each other in, feeling the empty spot in your soul fill back up in Jaskier’s presence. You glance over to the treeline, spotting the silhouette of Geralt and Roach where they wait patiently for an invitation. You huff out a laugh, stepping back from Jaskier as you wave them over.

Grabbing Jaskier’s hand and threading your fingers together, you walk leisurely to the entrance of your home. As you open the door Jaskier spins you back to him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “May I?”

You roll your eyes, “Love, you do this every time-ah!” Your voice carries into a fit of laughter as Jaskier swiftly bends down and sweeps you into his arms, carrying you once again over the threshold of the home. Your husband is ridiculous, sure, but it is with love that he carries out his rituals. Jaskier sets you down as you hear Geralt and Roach walk up the path to the backyard.

You stoke the fire, throwing some leftover stew into the pot so that it can warm through. Geralt steps through the door, nudging it closed behind him. You see him glance around the room, surveying the little trinkets that adorn the walls and the books on the shelves. He steps towards them, undoing his sheathes and sliding them from his shoulders.

“I see you’ve found some new titles, little magpie,” his voice is low, dark as he runs his thumb over the spines of the books. You smile, grabbing three bowls and filling them generously before placing them on the table.

“Well, Geralt, you’re one to talk,” you tease, “seems you’ve picked up a new traveler.”

A young girl, maybe fourteen, stands huddled in the doorway. She looks exhausted, like she’s been through hell and sees that journey with every blink of her eyes. Her hair is the same hue as Geralt’s, ethereal silver waves framing her young face. Her eyes, though. They are striking, the light green so clear it felt as though you were peering into the waters of Brokilon. They stand out against her pale skin and hair, strength and pride shining through your humble home.

“Ah yes, darling, terribly sorry,” Jaskier stands from his place at the table, bending low in a gesture to the young woman, “This is Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, rightful heir to the throne of Cintra. And this, Princess, is the love of my life.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, moving to bend in a low curtsy. “Forgive me, Princess, I did not know of your identity.” You glare over at Jaskier, who has now settled back at the table and is shoveling his mouth full of stew.

“Oh, please, do call me Ciri.” Her voice rings through your cottage, crisp with a life in court, but sweet around the edges of the words. You rise up, extending your hand to invite her to the table. She moves further in, looking over at Geralt before sitting across from Jaskier. Geralt comes over to the table too, one of your books tucked in his arm as he takes the spot next to her. You watch as she leans into his side, clearly relaxing just from his proximity. You catch Jaskier’s eye and give him a look, one that implies that he will be having a lot of explaining to do later.

Good thing he’s a bard.

…

“...So, now that she’s safe, Geralt is going to bring her up to Kaer Morhen. The other witchers are going to help for a while, probably Yennefer too.”

You’ve been pretty silent as Jaskier weaves the story, soaking in the tragic tale of the Last Rose of Cintra. Your home is far enough north that you still feel safe, but the threat of Nilfgaard looms overhead, an unavoidable disaster if ever there was one.

“Ciri’s been with Geralt for a couple of months now, and by the gods they are picked from the same tree. She’s stubborn as a mule, vicious with the words that she cares to share, but she’s still a sweet young girl underneath. She’s been through so much, I feel like I’d be a right ass if I went through half of what she has…” Jaskier sits next to you on the bed, taking your hand in his as he finally falls silent. Your heart breaks for the princess, just imagining her curled up on your extra bed in the attic, Geralt meditating at her feet.

“You know what this means though?” Jaskier squeezes your hand. You hum, looking over at him as you wait for an answer. “It means, darling, I’ll get to stay here, with you…” He nuzzles into your neck, pulling you tight against him. You can’t help the broad smile that pulls at your lips, thrilled with the prospect of having Jaskier here all the time.

Well, maybe not all the time...even you have your limits with how much *restless bard energy* you can take. Hopefully one of the taverns will strike a deal with him to perform regularly...

His lips pull your attention back, kissing a line down your neck and over your shoulder as he slides the sleeve of your shirt down your arm. You undo the laces down the front, slipping the soft fabric off and letting it fall to the floor. Jaskier kisses hot, wet marks along your bare chest, his hands roving and squeezing and pulling little needy noises from the back of your throat.

“Jaskier,” you breathe, “since you’re staying, we should-we should have our family.” Jaskier’s head is resting right over your stomach, and you feel the way that his lips turn up against your skin before rising. He sets his hands on either side of your face, his wedding ring cool on your cheek.

“Are you sure, love? You think we’re ready for that?” You can hear the waver in his voice despite his obvious excitement as he searches your eyes, his thumb lightly running over your cheek. You set your hands on his waist, pulling him to straddle your legs.

“I’m not sure that we’ll ever be ready, but I think that it would be silly to wait any longer.” You can’t deny your own nervousness as well, but it is far outweighed by the raging urge to keep Jaskier, his heart, his soul, all of him, and let him know the joy that a loving family can bring.

“Now, take this damn shirt off,” you murmur into his neck, nipping lightly at his collarbone where it peeks from under the chemise. Jaskier shakes with laughter, swiftly pulling the shirt over his head as you run your hands over his body. You’ve missed this, the feeling of his skin under your fingers.

Every time that he comes back home, you have to relearn each other a bit. But it’s a good thing that you’ve always been a quick study.

Jaskier cups the back of your head as he leans down, taking your lips in his as he licks into your mouth with fervor. He hums as he moves against you, ever the performer with his still-clothed erection pressing into your hip. You reach around, finding the little bow on his trousers at the small of his back.

“These pants are ridiculous,” you huff, undoing the tie and pulling at the now loose garment.

“Not ridiculous!” Jaskier gasps incredulously, “They are perfectly suited to traveling and they are comfortable, plus,” he waggles his eyebrows a bit as he stands from your grasp, “they keep me wrapped up like a little present, just for you.”

You shake your head with a smile, watching as he slides them down along with his underclothes. You’ve lain with him gods know how many times, but the sight of Jaskier bare, in all of his glory, still sends you reeling, your fingers itching to stroke, pull, pinch, touch your husband.

Jaskier sways towards you, pulling you to stand with him as he undoes the buttons at the side of your skirt. Ever practical, he yanks both it and your underclothes down in one fluid motion. He leaves them pooled on the floor as he slowly climbs back up your form, kissing up your legs and lingering at your core before standing to his full height.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he whispers, holding you close, as if worried you’d disappear if he strayed too far from your reach. You kiss him then, your lips fitting together as if molded from the same block of clay. You fall backward onto the bed, pulling him so that he hovers over you.

Jaskier’s fingers dance down your body, light touches leaving goosebumps in their wake as he finds your core. Your legs open as he runs his fingers along your slit, letting his thumb rub slow, gentle circles on the peak of your core as he slides a finger inside of you. You curl into his touch, desperate for anything he chooses to give you.

His lips move on your neck, worrying a mark into the same spot that he always chooses when he returns home. As he plunges another finger into your cunt you moan, almost a growl with impatience. Heat flushes through you relentlessly, waves breaking on the shore in a storm of pleasure.

“Jaskier,” you gasp, your fingers digging into his hips. He is especially lean when he first returns to you, but you know that he will grow just a little bit softer with the comfort of your love. “Please, I need you,”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he teases, running the tip of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing inside of you. Your back arches into him, the fill of him so familiar yet unique, as if you were truly made for each other by the gods.

Jaskier moves quickly, clearly just as pent up as you are as he thrusts into you. He hits deep with every snap of his hips, your impending pleasure building faster and faster under his touch. One of his hands grips your hip, digging into the soft flesh. His other finds your own hand, threading his fingers with yours as he fucks into you. Jaskier’s head still rests in the crook of your neck, the damp ends of his hair tickling you as he moves.

“Gods, love,” he whispers between breaths, “I always try to remember just how good you feel, but it is never the same…”

His hips start to falter, quickening as you hook your ankles around his back and pull him closer. His thumb returns to your core, circling the peak of your pleasure as he finds the spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Jaskier hits it again and again and again, sending you plummeting into the high of your orgasm. You cry out his name as your hips cant unconsciously with him, squeezing his hand in your own hard enough to turn your knuckles white.

Jaskier loses himself then, his hips stuttering before stilling deep in your cunt, his cock throbbing with his release. You feel his spend swirl inside of you, hot and thick as it mingles with your own slick.

You hold him close, keeping him where he lays atop of you. “Stay, for a moment,” you murmur, running your hands through his hair as he catches his breath. Jaskier does, staying inside of you as he shifts his weight, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him. He peppers kisses all over your face, drenching you in his adoration.

“Maybe I can convince Geralt to build us a crib before he leaves,” he whispers, holding you lightly as he carefully slides himself out of your core. You whimper a bit at the emptiness, but a comfortable bliss envelops you as your breathing deepens. Your hand rests over Jaskier’s heart, the feeling of it beating under your fingertips and Jaskier humming another one of his private songs lulling you into the grasp of sleep.

#jaskier x reader #smut #happy bard times #butt bow #pregnancy discussions

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mermaidxatxheart · 5 years ago

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Stockings Over the Fireplace

This is my last submission for @panicfob‘s #25DaysofChristmas

Prompt: Stockings over the fireplace

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Bucky has to leave on a mission in the middle of decoration shopping with you. He doesn’t make it home until Christmas Eve, but you have an even better present for him.

“Oh! I love this.” You gasp, rushing over to the shelf. It’s an old decoration, big and heavy. It depicts multiple Christmas carolers standing in the crisp white snow under an old fashioned gas lamp. “Are you sure?” Bucky picks it up and it’s heavy, even for him. “It’s kind of old.” He starts and you look at him with those damn eyes and tempting smirk. “I like old things. My mom has one like this.” Your fingers curl into his jacket and he knows he’s screwed.

“Yeah, alright.” He sighs and you grin, kissing him sweetly. “How come I can never say no to you?” He frowns, resting his chin on your shoulder, and his arms around your waist. “Because I’m cute? And you love me too much.” You reply, reverently picking up the decoration and setting it in the cart. Your hands drift back to a small decoration, a musical round base with figures ice skating on top. You twist the knob underneath and pull the stopper out. The song starts to play and the little people move across the surface, twisting and spinning. You lean back into his arms with a contented sigh. “There’s no such thing as loving you too much, baby.” He whispers, placing the music box in the cart. But you’re right, you’re cute and he adores the way your face lights up when he gives in to you. You twist in his arms, resting your head on his chest. “Is it super lame that I’m really excited for our first Christmas together?” You ask, twisting your foot nervously. “Well, if it is, we can be lame together.” He smiles. “Oh, thank god.” You sigh. “We need stockings for the fireplace.” You say, twisting your face into his coat and inhaling deep. “For just the two of us? Isn’t that a little silly?” He asks. “No, Steve and Sam and Tony and the others are coming over. Except for Clint. He’s gonna be with his family. And Nat is going over there for dinner, but she’s coming over to our place in the morning.” You say, your face breaking into a wide smile, hand wandering to his butt. “Our place.” “Whoa.” He jumps at the playful squeeze. “Alright. We can get them stockings.” He agrees, grabbing your wrist. “Yay!” You squeal, pulling away and pushing the cart. His phone rings in his pocket and he sees you freeze, looking over at him, your beautiful smile fading. He digs his phone out and internally groans at Steve’s picture. “Hey, Steve.” He answers and you huff in annoyance. “Hey, man. I know I promised you the weekend, but there’s a complication in Norway.” His best friend says and he wants to slap him. “How long?” He asks, keeping his eye trained on your back. Your shoulders are visibly tense and he can only pray that it’s a short trip this time. “Undetermined. Wheels up in 30. Maria’s coming to pick you up.” He pauses on the line. “Tell Y/N I’m sorry.” He adds. “You’ll have to tell her that yourself, punk.” He sighs. He hangs up and slowly makes his way towards you. He’s about to say something, but your sniffle stops him dead and he winces as if you slapped him. “How long?” You mumble. “I don’t know.” He admits as he watches your hands ball into fists on the handle of the shopping cart. “Baby,” He starts and your shoulders hunch, you brush at your eyes. This hurts him worse than any slap or shouting match. It’s only a few seconds before you turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him to death.

“You better come back to me. Uninjured, sir.” You mutter, fingers curling into his hair desperately. “Yes, ma’am.” He mumbles, squeezing you tight. “I love you so much.” He backs away slowly, knowing Maria will be here in a moment. You pull him back to you, kissing him with all your might. “You better take care of my heart, since you’re taking it with you.” Your cheeks are wet, you’re so upset that your chest is quivering as you try to fight your tears. He brushes your cheeks gently, ignoring the phone ringing in my pocket. “I promise.” He pulls his gold card out of his wallet and presses it into your palm. “Buy anything you want. I’ll help you decorate when I get home.” He says, tipping your head down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I love you.” He makes sure that it’s the last thing he says to you. Before every mission, he makes sure that you always know how he feels. He heads for the front of the store, shouldering the door open. Maria is parked out front in a big black SUV, waiting for him. He heaves himself in and slams the door. She takes off, heading for the private runway. “Packed you a bag. Nice boxers.” She smirks. “You know I keep a go bag ready in my closet.” He rolls his eyes. She does this every time. “Yeah, but I like to snoop. You can tell a lot about a man by his underwear.” She says mildly and he can’t tell if she’s joking. “Here.” She pulls a ziplock bag out of the middle of the seats and drops it onto his thigh. “Tell Y/N thanks for the cookies.” She says as he tucks the bag into his pocket for later. “You’ll have to tell her yourself. You have her number.” He reminds her. “I know.” “Find anything else you liked in my house?” He continues dryly. “Oh, absolutely.” Her phone dings and she checks it quickly before rearranging her expression “I have to find out where Y/N gets all her lingerie.” She waggles her eyebrows at him. “I’m sure that will be a fun conversation.” He grins. “Who was the text from?” “Y/N. Told me to watch your back.” She looks at him with a smirk as she pulls onto the highway. *** T W O W E E K S L A T E R The hotel gym was empty; the way Bucky prefers it. He jumps on the elliptical, deciding that today can be leg day. They’re two weeks into this mission, currently waiting on some intel before they can move. You’ve been sending him pictures of the decorations, asking what he likes or doesn’t like. It makes him feel a little better, almost as if he’s there with you. Almost. Sam and Steve join him a few minutes later. He ignores them as long as he can, but their eyes are like ants crawling over his skin. “What?” He snaps, turning to glare at them each in turn. “How’s it going?” Sam asks casually. “We’re in fucking Norway. Two weeks from Christmas.” He rolls his eyes, picking up the pace. “How d’ya think I’m doing, Wilson?” “I think you’re a sour wolf.” He grins. He stares at him. Coming to a stop, he climbs off and walks over to his bag, pulling out the last cookie. His eyes widen as he stares at Bucky in panic. “Hey, Buck, come on, man. I was only joking.” He tries to backtrack quickly. He breaks the cookie in half and walk over to the other side of Steve, handing him half while glaring at Sam. “Thanks, pal,” Steve says happily, shoving the whole thing into his mouth. Sam all but squeaks in shock and horror as it disappears. His eyes dart to his hand and Sam bolts off the machine as he crams the cookie in his mouth, fending Bird Brain off with his metal arm. He kicks his legs out from under him and they both topple to the ground. He chews while pushing his face away. “Sam, do you really want it now?” Steve chuckles and Sam rolls away with a groan. Bucky clambers back up and gets back on his machine. “Jerk.” He sighs. “How’s Y/N holding up?” Steve asks, glancing at Bucky. “Says she’s okay. Wants us to come back now. Apparently, you guys are coming over on Christmas Day.” He tells them. “Oh yeah. We were invited before you were, Tin Man.” Sam grins and he wants to trip him, just a little. “She went to the movies today, dunno what she saw, though.” He says, ignoring Wilson. “When will she be home?” His best friend asks. “Not for another hour or two,” Bucky replies. A voice in the hallway draws his attention, Steve’s a split second later. “No, I know. I can’t believe I’ve managed this long. I’m about to-” Maria Hill walks into the gym on her phone and stops dead when she sees the three of them. “No, I’m still here.” She mutters and Sam grins. “Who are you talking to, Maria?” He asks. “Your mom, Wilson. She says, what was that? Oh yeah, mind your own business.” She snaps. “I swear, getting any privacy in this place is impossible.” “The roof is good if you need to be alone,” Bucky tells her. “Just prop the cinderblock in front of the door.” “Thanks, Barnes.” She turns and leaves. He frowns, looking at Steve. “She’s been acting so weird, ever since we got here,” Bucky says and Steve nods. “She’s always on the phone. Two days ago, she answered a call in the middle of taking out those two guys.” Steve says. “Nearly bit my head off when I asked about it.” Sam agrees. “We should find out what she’s up to,” Steve says, hopping off the machine. Sam readily agrees, following him. “Just so you know, this is a terrible idea,” Bucky warns, following them. But he has at least an hour until you’re out of your movie, so to kill some time, he’ll do some snooping. They head up the stairs to the top floor, not really sneaking. Once they reach the top, he leads his idiot friends over to the roof door. He stops dead when he realizes that it’s closed. Did she forget the cinderblock? He motions for them to wait as he opens the door. Bucky digs out his phone as he props the door open. If she’s out here, he can just say that he wanted some privacy to call his wife. He walks around the outside, but there’s no sign of her. He makes his way back to the idiots and shrugs. “Spies.” Sam snorts and they head back for their rooms so he can shower and call you. *** T W O W E E K S L A T E R CHRISTMAS EVE “Good job, everyone,” Stark says as they leave the jet. “Barnes, get home in one piece so I don’t have to sleep with one eye open, yeah?” He grins. “Your girl terrifies me.” He rolls his eyes and climbs into the company car. “She should.” He mutters, gesturing for the driver to go, ignoring his nervousness. It’s late, long after dinner, but you know he’s on his way and you promised you’d stay up. Christ, he misses you so much. He’s sore all over and he can’t wait to shower and just fall into your bed. He jerks awake as the car comes to a sudden stop and he looks around, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, sir. The car ahead of us-” The driver starts timidly, gesturing to the brake lights in front of us. He glances around, recognizing his surroundings. “It’s alright. I’ll walk from here. It’s not far.” He yawns, grabbing his bag. “But, sir.” “Go home. Merry Christmas. Go be with your family. I’m just around the corner.” He says, swinging the door shut and giving a wave. He hikes his bag over his shoulder and makes his way home. His legs ache, his back is pinching and pulling with every step. He reaches the front walk and smiles to himself. The house looks perfect, lights line the front porch, changing the puffy snow to bright colors. The front living room light is on, casting an orange glow over the front yard. Your carolers' ornament is front and center in the bay window and he can’t help but smile. He heads up the walkway and opens the front door. You’re standing at the end of the front hall, eyes bright. You’re gonna cry, he can already tell. Despite how anxious you are to have him home, you’re giving him space, holding yourself back. The front hall is decorated simply, Christmas cards from your family and friends. The glass of the stained-glass window is frosted with some sort of washable spray. A round ball of mistletoe is hanging from the dome light fixture halfway between you. He drops his bag and stares at you. He shrugs out of his jacket with a loud sigh before kicking off his boots. “How is it that I leave you and you get more beautiful?” He groans. You laugh while rolling your eyes as he turns to face you, holding out his arms. “Okay, let me have it.” He says and you step forward, slipping gently into his arms. You kiss him softly, your hands cupping his face. “Mmm. I was expecting you to be a little more... enthusiastic.” He murmurs, burying his face in your hair. “I know you hurt. I’ll jump on you later.” You reply, resting your head on his chest. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” He sighs, holding you close. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nice, relaxing shower? When you’re ready, I’ll give you a nice back massage in front of the fireplace.” You suggest, pulling back and picking up a glass of whiskey. You place it gently in his hand, kissing his lips. “I’m glad you’re home safe and sound.” You lead him through the house and he pauses, looking at the tree. “You decorated everything?” He asks and you tilt your head. “Not entirely. I left the star for you. It didn’t feel right. I waited as long as I could.” You bite your lip and he pulls you against his side, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Next year, I’m telling Steve no more missions for the holidays.” He sighs. “Wanna shower with me?” He asks and you smile. “Not tonight. Go relax. I’ll be here when you come back down.” You promise. He kisses you deeply again, pulling you flush against him. Your hands start to creep up his neck, tugging at his hair before you pull back. “Nice try, mister.” You say breathlessly and he grins, not even bothering to feign innocence. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He heads up the stairs to get ready for his shower. The hot water beats down on his shoulders, working out the knots as best it can. Finally, he decides he’s soaked long enough and climbs out. He dries off and cleans up the bathroom before pulling on a pair of low riding pajama pants. He downs his drink before going back downstairs. You’ve started a fire in the brick fireplace, a massive number of stockings crowding the mantle. You must have heard him behind you, because you turn, eyes widening slightly. “Oh.” You murmur and he raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” He questions. “Is it too late to take you up on that joint shower?” You ask and he laughs. “Little bit, doll. Sorry.” You grin and gesture to the makeshift ‘bed’ you’ve made on the floor. He lowers himself down and looks up at you. “How do you want me, gorgeous?” He asks. “On your stomach. Anything else and you won’t get much of a massage.” You admit and he grins. “I’m fine with that.” “Stomach, Sarge.” You order and he groans as he shifts onto his stomach, laying down. You straddle his hips and he’s fairly certain one of you is facing the wrong way. Your hands are like fucking magic as you start at his neck, working out all the stiffness. He sighs contentedly as you work down his back, paying special attention to his shoulders, the scars that mark him. You’ve never shied away from any part of him. Jesus, he loves you. He lets his eyes drift closed, relishing in the feel of being home with the woman he loves, having your hands on him. It’s been too long. The longer you work, the more his muscles turn to actual puddles under your expert fingers. A moan escapes and you chuckle, laying down on his back, cheek resting against his shoulder. “Feel better?” “Mmm, much.” He sighs and you tilt your head, pressing kisses along his skin, across his back to his metal shoulder. “I love you so much.” You mumble. “I love you, too.” He smiles. Your lips trail over his scars for a few more minutes before you push yourself up. He misses the feel of you. “I have to pee. You should put on a shirt before you catch a cold.” You say, disappearing into the kitchen. “You know I don’t get sick.” He calls, pushing himself up. You gasp loudly. “Quick, knock on wood before a super big gets you!” He laughs, knocking on the door frame as he jogs up the stairs to grab a shirt. “Do you want some cocoa?” You call up the stairs. “Absolutely!” He calls back, about to slide his drawer closed when he realizes that your wedding picture is missing off the dresser. He frowns, looking around until he realizes it’s laying on his pillow. He smiles to himself and places it back in the center of his dresser. “Sweet girl.” He mutters, pulling his shirt on and heading back downstairs. “Baby?” He calls. “Living room.” You reply and he walks in, finding you in front of the fireplace. He wraps his arms around you from behind, nuzzling into your neck. “Were you missing me?” “Yeah. You found the wedding photo, I assume?” “Yeah. I put it back.” “Now that I have the real thing.” You sigh, leaning back against him. “Do we really need so many stockings?” He asks and you nod. “Yes. I’ve labeled them already.” You say with a gesture. He takes a step forward to read the names decorating the stockings. “Uncle Steve, Aunty Natasha, Uncle Sa-am,” He stutters. “Keep going.” You urge, holding onto his wrists. “Uncle Tony, Aunty Maria, Uncle Thor, Aunty Laura, Uncle Clint, Mommy, Dad-dy,” his voice breaks and he knows he’s squeezing you too hard, harder than he should be. “Last one.” You prompt. “Baby Barnes 7•12•20.” He looks down at you, his vision going blurry. You cover your mouth, hiding a smile so wide your cheeks just might crack. “Are you serious? I’m not being pranked?” “Not the kind of prank I would pull.” You roll your eyes and his gaze drops to your stomach. “When did you find out?” “About a week before you left. I was going to tell you but then you had to leave and I didn’t want to distract you. I made Maria promise she wouldn’t say anything.” “Maria?” His eyes snap back to yours. “She always gets your bag. I knew she would have found the test; she’s always snooping. I made her promise to let me be the one to tell you.” “Have you been talking to her this whole time?” “Yeah. She was helping me, got me into Stark’s medical lab for checkups and prenatal care. The stockings were her idea.” You say, starting to look nervous. “I knew she was acting weird.” He mutters. “I can’t believe you’re really pregnant.” He rests his hands on your abdomen reverently and you search his face. “You’re happy?” You ask apprehensively. “Happy? Baby, I’m fucking thrilled!” He picks you up and kisses your face all over. You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Oh, thank god.” “I can’t believe you. You shouldn’t have been waiting on me like that, sweetheart.” He frowns, setting you back down. “I’m alright. I wanted to. I knew you’d be tired and sore. I wanted to make you feel good. You do so much for me, Bucky. This was the least I could do, make our home feel like an actual home, like when we were kids. I know we grew up in different times, but it’s not so different.” “How did I get so lucky?” He mumbles, pulling you close again. “I dunno.” You shrug and he laughs. “Can we go to bed? I really missed you.” He sighs. “Let’s go. We have a big day tomorrow.” You take his hand and lead him up to your bed. *** Bucky groans as his alarm goes off. He slaps at his phone and you shift against him with a whine. “Make it stop.” You complain. “We have to get up.” He mutters, finally finding the off button. “People are coming over. Steve’s gonna want coffee.” You groan, burying your face in his chest. “Round three was a mistake.” “It was your idea.” He laughs. You push yourself up and straddle his hips with a grin. “I know. You should know better than to give me what I want.” He grips your thighs, already willing to give you round four as soon as you say the words. But then you swing your leg over, climbing off the bed. “Tease.” He sighs. “You start the coffee? I’ll start the breakfast pizza.” You kiss his forehead before grabbing some clothes and heading down the hall to the bathroom. He gets up, straightening the blankets on the bed before pulling on a fresh pair of pajama pants and a plain white shirt. The kitchen tiles are cold on his bare feet as he makes his way to the coffee pot. A round of nerves spikes through him as he thinks about the day ahead. He turns the coffee on and gets out a bunch of mugs. There’s a knock on the door and you come down the stairs. “I’ve got it.” You call. You open the front door and it sounds like everyone showed up at once. “Bucky’s in the kitchen with the coffee. Yes, Steven, there will be enough coffee for everyone.” You sigh and he just has to laugh. Bucky’s friends come through to greet him and he realizes your ploy to keep them out of the living room for a few minutes. You join them a few seconds later, arm snaking around his waist. “So, I was thinking, once everyone has their coffee, we can do presents and then eat? Clint and Laura asked us all to join them for dinner later.” You say, catching Maria’s eye. “Sounds good to me.” Steve agrees happily. Once everyone is settled in the living room, you sit on his lap in his arm chair, hand squeezing his in a death grip. “Okay, everyone has stockings, your names are on them.” You say and he can feel your pulse thumping erratically in your hand. Maria skips up first, finding hers easily. Steve and Sam find theirs next. Steve’s blue eyes widen as he reads the name on his stocking. He grabs Sam’s, checking the name on that one. Sam swats his hand away, before seeing his name. His gaze shoots over to you and Bucky puts a finger to his lips, gesturing to everyone else. One by one, their reactions are the same as they realize the importance. “First of all.” Tony starts, holding his up, pointing to the name. “Shouldn’t nine say ‘godfather’?” He asks and Buck rolls his eyes. “It can be changed later if that’s the decision we come to.” You reply with a pleasant smile. “Fair. Second of all, congratulations. How long have you known? Did Barnes know the whole time we were gone?” “No, but Maria did.” He says, narrowing his eyes at the dark-haired woman. Steve pulls you to your feet, crushing you in a hug. “I’m definitely The Godfather, right?” He whispers and you just chuckle, returning the hug. “I love you, too, Stevie.” You grin. You settle back into his lap, pulling his arm around you as you watch your family start to open their presents.

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