#love that my nails accidentally matched the books when i took the pictures

[deepestbluesky]

my latest fanbinding project!! AirgiodSLV's wonderful SHL raksura au, in its entirety, in Smol Book form! i had lotttssss of fun with this and the thing about small books is that they don't take much material to make, so it feels manageable, even when you have to, say, reprint half the book, since that's only four pieces of paper

also featuring my brand new press name and logo!

[simplyotometrash]

MC turns into MSheep!

Inspired by the lil anime announcement we got because I love MC still being represented by a lil sheepie~!

As usual, this is gender-neutral reader!MC

It was a total accident. You were just working on your potion project with Solomon. He was helping you with the math of it, mostly, since it was pretty complicated. You had no idea where things went wrong. There was a puff of pink smoke when you added the last ingredient and suddenly Solomon was a giant! Well, actually you were turned into a small pink sheep...

Lucifer:

He didn’t know what to say when Solomon brought you home.

You were a sheep. A tiny sheep. And very pink.

His beloved was a sheep.

Lucifer.exe has stopped responding.

Honestly, give this old man a few moments to take in the shock and let things settle.

Then he’s going to threaten Solomon because who else would have turned you into a fucking sheep?

A tiny voice sounded from the sheep. It sounded like you, only smaller.

“It was my fault. I think. Solomon didn’t even touch my potion ingredients.”

Well, that doesn’t change anything. Solomon had best change you back or else.

And those words shot pure ice through your veins. You knew when your Lucifer got pissed off, his threats were not to be taken lightly.

For the time being, however, you had to live as a sheep.

Lucifer didn’t hesitate to just carry you everywhere. What if you got lost? Or Beel tried to eat you? Or Belphie thought you were a pillow? Or Mammon tried to sell you?

There were too many variables and this old demon just wanted some peace of mind.

So you went literally everywhere with him. You two still talked as normal. You even slept in his room still. 

You promised yourself to help him relax once you were human again. You knew your situation caused a lot of unneeded stress on the poor man.

It took three whole days before Solomon was able to change you back.

But when you were human again you didn’t expect Lucifer to hug you so tightly or give you such a firm kiss. He had missed his human being, well, a human far more than he cared to admit.

But you better make good on helping him relax. I think there’s some grey in his hair now.

Mammon:

Haha, good joke, Solomon! Now, where was his human? Really, where were they hiding?

He was so sure it was a prank and you were taking pictures from the bushes or something.

When you voice sounded from the small sheep Mammon nearly fainted.

What the fuck did Solomon do to his human?! The Great Mammon’s human was a sheep!

You explained your situation and Mammon only grew more jittery.

He was grinding his teeth. He didn’t hesitate, though, to snatch you away from Solomon and hold you like you were the most sacred thing in the whole of Devildom.

“Ya better turn them back! I can make money at the casinos so name the price!”

Oh he was serious. Mammon was willing to pay good Grimm just to turn you back.

And Solomon, after cruel teasing with pricing your return to human at over a million Grimm, said he would do it for free. After all, there was no telling if this would wear off or if it needed to be reversed.

So he would do it. It was a good chance to study your potion recipe and figure out how you fucked up.

Mammon, like his older brother, took you literally everywhere with him. But by everywhere I do mean everywhere. Lucifer at least had the decency to leave you out when he went to the bathroom. Mammon did not.

He was also making sure to keep you away from Asmo, who had fallen for your pink and fluffy form on sight. 

Mammon talked to you like you were still human. He treated like his human.

But he also acted like you would break at any second. He had never been so careful in his life.

He honestly cried on the third day, worried you might be stuck as a sheep. He didn’t know what to do.

Of course, you were turned back by that evening. Solomon had dropped by to check in and the potion naturally wore off.

Mammon hugged you so tight you felt like you were being suffocated.

But he was back to normal the second Solomon joked that he wanted to get paid for his efforts.

Levi:

Once Solomon was able to get into his bedroom, Levi just about fainted at the sight of you.

He wasn’t even skeptical about this.

It was just like the anime “Help I’ve Accidentally Been Turned Into a Sheep and Now I’m Stuck!”. Literally, just like the anime! 

You needn’t worry about anyone trying anything with you while Solomon worked to turn you back, it wasn’t like you would be leaving Levi’s room very much.

You were in his lap almost 24/7 save for when you needed food or to go to the bathroom. Or he needed to do the same. 

His room was a fortress so you were pretty much safe. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you got to spend quite that much time with your otaku. He could be difficult at times, especially when he was playing a game.

You actually relished the time spent as a sheep because of it.

Levi was not-so-secretly getting more and more anxious though. 

He saw the anime! He made you watch it with him in one sitting, too! What if this turned out just like the anime and you never turned back into a human?

The main character in the anime was a sheep for an entire YEAR!

If he had a soul it would have left his body at the very thought.

By the end of the third day you could tell he was totally falling apart.

His partner was a sheep. Probably forever.

With a poof of pink smoke you were human again.

And Levi unconscious because, for some reason, you turned human and had no clothes on.

You just put on some of his clothes for the time being and called Solomon.

You caught a glimpse in the mirror as you were on the phone and told him to keep working on that reversal potion.

You still had sheep fluff for hair, horns, and sheep ears...

Satan:

If looks could kill then Solomon would have been dead where he stood.

The sin of wrath was so pissed off that there was an evil, menacing aura radiating from him.

And it was directed solely at Solomon.

“I don’t even want you working on a way to turn them back. You might be a great sorcerer but I’m going to do this myself.”

He snatched you away and slammed the door in the sorcerer’s face.

No one tried to bother him as he stormed back to his room. 

“I promise I’m going to turn you back, MC.”

He poured over his books and had you give him the potion you had been making. You had to tell every single detail you could remember of what happened leading up to your transformation.

But he didn’t only focus on turning you back.

He couldn’t neglect you being in the room with him. You still brought out the calm within him and made him feel at ease.

When you insisted he take breaks, he would make some tea and give you a straw so you didn’t get tea in your wool.

Like he usually did, he read to you when you wanted to go to sleep. It was even more relaxing holding a warm ball of fluff.

But he barely slept.

He had to figure out a way to turn his favorite person back to normal.

You were still you, no doubt about that, but he missed you being a person. Someone he could kiss and hold hands with. Someone he didn’t have to worry about accidentally crushing or losing because you were so small.

He finally figured it out. He studied your potion recipe for hours on end until he figured out what went wrong. You had been given a recipe that had been “mislabeled”.

Knowing that made it a cinch to turn you back within the hour.

Now to murder the dodgy sorcerer who gave you the recipe for class to begin with.

Asmo:

“Whaaaaaat? MC? A sheep? Oh, darling, you are so cute! And so soft!!”

He canonically loves cute things (did you read the Devilgram story about him taking care of bunnies?) so he was having the time of his life.

And then it hit him as soon as Solomon laughed.

He couldn’t go out on dates with you. He couldn’t kiss you. Or see your stunning face. Your voice wasn’t the same. 

Solomon promised to do what he could to fix this, but it could take a few days.

Did he spend the next hour crying and hugging your fluffy body? Yes, yes he did.

You got him calmed down, reassuring him that it was temporary and there were some perks. He would totally get lots of attention on Devilgram if he posted your pictures! You were pink, his favorite color! You had lots of soft wool he could brush and he could paint your tiny sheep hooves!

That perked him right up.

He spent the next several hours styling your wool, somehow managing to put braids in it. He gave you cute decorative pieces to wear in your wool, painted your hooves to match his nails, and even gave you a little bowtie!

And boy did his Devilgram blow up with attention at the sight of your pictures.

You even inspired his newest clothing designs! Clothing for pets! Devildom didn’t have a cute variety of pet clothes, and while you weren’t a pet, you were very inspiring to look at.

Even pets deserved to look beautiful!

You were so soft to snuggle with but nighttime really made him miss you. Even in an innocent way, he missed skin-to-skin cuddling. It was always so reassuring.

But he didn’t have that.

He managed to get through the days that went by before Solomon finally turned you back.

And he was beginning to wonder if Solomon had drawn out your time as a sheep on purpose.

That didn’t matter, though. Not when he had to take you out on a date!

Beel:

Solomon was holding something soft and fluffy. Was it food? Cotton candy? It looked really sweet and tasty.

“Beel, no, it’s me!”

“MC...?”

He wasn’t happy once the situation was explained. But he didn’t show it. To be fair, he wasn’t the most outwardly expressive of his emotions unless it was necessary.

With Solomon’s promise to return you to normal, he just carried you back to the kitchen with him.

But he wasn’t hungry anymore. Not when his dear human was in a new and unusual form.

It caused him to go into a bit of a crisis, though.

What did sheep eat? What could YOU eat? You were a human in a sheep’s body after all. Did you have to eat what sheep ate or could you still eat your favorite things?

He sat there, staring at the cupboards and fridge, with the most worried look on his face.

To be fair, you weren’t sure either.

And you two stayed liked that until Satan said you could still eat whatever you liked, though it would be best to avoid meat unless it was basically shredded. 

Then came Beel’s next huge crisis: he was terrified of crushing you!

You were so tiny and delicate now, even more fragile than when you were a human.

It took a little convincing but Beel took to carrying you literally everywhere you wanted to go. He loved how soft you were.

Though you didn’t like how often he drooled on you because your fluff looked too tasty. You promised to get him cotton candy once you were a human again, which kind of helped the situation.

Beel even made sure to make everything you ate easy on you! He didn’t want anything to be hurtful to your little sheep body or hard for you to eat!

He didn’t hesitate to help you drink the reversal potion once Solomon got it made, holding his breath until he saw you in your proper state again.

He could breathe easy again. 

Belphie:

What was Solomon carrying? A new pillow or something?

It looked so soft and like it would be a perfect napping pillow.

He wasn’t even listening to anything Solomon had to say, the explanation going in one ear and out the other.

He was focused on going inside to use the new pillow.

Until he heard you talking to him after Solomon had given up on explaining anything.

Now he was mildly concerned. You weren’t you anymore. You were a sheep. He actually listened as you told him your story, unlike with Solomon, and he merely shrugged.

“Well, what can you do? You’ll be normal again eventually.”

You knew your grumpy demon, though. He was worried about you. But Belphie was never good at showing his worry for others unless it was drastic.

True to form, he passed out once he laid down again. You were held against him as if you might disappear while he slept.

It was all the more proof he was worried about your situation.

He still slept most of the time, he was like a cat in that he slept for hours without moving. You had to wiggle free to do anything. No one wanted to wake up to a sheep smelling like piss and you didn’t want a bath.

Belphie whined that taking care of you as a sheep was too much work, but the moment anyone tried to take you from him he immediately got defensive. He even threatened to break Mammon’s hands.

The only one he trusted with you was Beel.

Always sleeping holding your little sheep self did make him realize he wanted a stuffed animal version of you just like that.

It was so nice to snuggle with.

But he missed the normal you. He wanted to have you to lay on or go “star” gazing with. He wanted to do things with you again that weren’t quite possible with you as a sheep.

So he may have gone to find Solomon and threaten him if he didn’t turn you back quicker.

It was all for naught, as he came home to find you curled up in his bed in your human form once again.

He’d wake you up later. For now, he wanted to take another nap with you.

[hanniiesuckle17]

Stray Kids Reaction: S/o Having A Big Baby Bump

A/n: this is such a cute request! I hope this is what you wanted! I wanted to try something a lil different since it's more of a reaction than a scenario🥰❤❤❤❤❤

Requested by: @unvrsecosmoss 

Chan:

HAPPY BOI

the second your belly gets big he gets so excited 

like bouncing up and down off the walls excited

“Chris calm down”

“BUT LOOK ITS SO CUTE OUR LITTLOE BOY OR HGIRL IS IN THERE ASLAFJDSFMDVLSOJFW”

“How do you even speak like that?”

like his inner dad immediately comes out

he probably starts reading and memorizing more parenting books

you woke up like a month before the due date and Chris had literally swaddled you

.......in a blanket.....

like a baby

granted....it was the best night sleep you had in a while but...still

overall he is just so excited to become a dad when he sees your big baby bump

although the boys are very done with him giving them pureed food during lunch breaks

this man is so ready to be a father

he loves you baby bump so much

he really likes to sleep behind you so he can have a hand on your stomach so in the middle of the night he can feel his son or daughter kick

Minho:

probably wakes up one morning and is like:

“.......your stomach is huge.....”

“Yeah its been like that for a couple months.”

the cats have most definitely sat ontop of your belly 

he finds it so cute

he took like a billion pictures of it

ngl though he is super obsessed with your belly

like he loves watching you cook and coming up and putting his hands on your belly

if you ask him nicely he might even give you a back rub but only if you let the cats sit on your belly again

minho has been pretty chill throughout the entire pregnancy

even when you had all those weird cravings he will wait until you walk out of the room to gag at the combination of food you are eating

“Y/n stay still!!!”

“Minho this cat is digging its nails into your future daughter!”

“.............the cats name is Soongi.”

“Geez. Sorry.”

“Now hold still. Daddy wants a picture of his baby and his baby mama”

Changbin:

THIS MAN

THE HAPPIEST MAN ON THE PLANETTT

the second

no

the MILLISECOND this man notices your baby bump gets bigger he is all over your tummy

this man will not stop touching you

he loves seeing how big your bump is

when he is bored he likes to take your eyeliner and draw a face on your belly

he calls it Mr.Bumpy

they talk about future plans for your baby and ngl.....its pretty cute

“Mr.Bumpy should we paint the nursery yellow or white?”

“You’re right Mr. Bumpy. That’s exactly what I thought. 

“Binnie you’ve been talking to my belly for like an hour and I’m hungry.”

 but he loves your belly 

he thinks you look super cute the bigger you belly gets

until he accidentally pisses you off during one of your mood swings

then you are scarier the grim reaper himself

“SEO LEWIS CHANGBIN YOU GET YOUR BUTT BACK HERE!” 

“I didn’t mean to !!!1 I’m sorry babbyyyyyy!”

Hyunjin:

This man is so 

WHIPPED

like he was whipped for you before you got pregnant but like now that your baby bump is getting bigger is more whipped than you thought possible

(y’all hyunjin be simpin)

but like for real

you ask this man to do anything and I mean anything and he will do it

“HYunjin!!!”

“what? yes? are you okay? what can I do? should I run to the store? Ill get pizza on the way back! or noodles? I don’t know. what about pickles! You liked those yesterday!” 

“.....can you get the tea kettle down for me?”

“oh....yeah of course baby!”

literally will do anything you ask him 

he just loves seeing you with your big baby bump

“hyunjin will you do aegyo for me? pretty please?????”

“........no......”

*points to baby bump*

aegyo storm for the next two hours just to make you smile

literally loves taking pictures with you and your big bump and always brags about it when he shows someone his lock screen

Jisung:

like hyunjin he is WHIPPED

will let you literally do anything to him

he doesn't do skincare but like you made him to a whole 14 step routine one day and he sat through the whole gosh darn thing because he loved seeing you with you big bump

the second you tummy gets really big he starts talking to his son or daughter

its the cutest thing

you swear that the baby kicks every time they hear his voice

“baby can I braid your hair?”

“.........can I talk to the baby.....”

“sure!”

“YES!” *fist pumps*

is definitely the type that is you have a big bump around Halloween to convince you to wear a baby bump related couple costume if you are going to a party or something

needless to say to the skz Halloween party you went as mike and sully with your belly being mike

he was very happy

“Ji! People keep looking at my tummy!”

“I KNOW ITS SO CUTE I CANT FUNCTION!”

he also probably has minor freakouts because your numb getting bigger means one day closer to him being a father so pre parental panic attacks come more often

Felix:

this weirdo

is obsessed with your big tummy in the weirdest way

but also like low-key the sweetest

when you are sitting next to each other on the couch he uses your belly as like a second table 

he has also used your belly as a pillow sometimes (with your permission ofc)

again another man that is available for your every need\

Felix is the king of helping you roll out of bed because you balance is thrown off

also he makes these incredible meals out of your weird cravings (we know he has been quite the little chef and baker recently)

“Felix omg how did you turn pickles, hot sauce, and peanut butter into this?”

“I have no clue myself. I think I blacked out and Gordon Ramsay took over”

also one of the ones who likes talking to your baby bump

he is constantly having his hand on your belly

“Felix you have to go to rehearsal”

“BUT WHAT IF IT  K I C K S ?????//?”

he just loves looking and touching your big bump it makes him smile feeling his little boy or girl 

(probably also a huge advocate for baby bump Halloween costumes)

Seungmin:

the MOST CARING BOI  E V E R

seeing your big baby bump makes his caring side come out 

“baby are you using the cream the doctor gave us?” 

“yes seungmin”

“what about the vitamins”

“yes seungmin”

“does this shirt match my jacket”

“yes seungmin”

*pushing him out the door so he can get to practice only three hours later than he was supposed to*

you can pretty much guilt him into doing anything you want by just pointing to your belly and reminding him he got you into this situation for nine months.

“you wanna watch a movie and do face masks with me?”

“eh not really”

*points to stomach* “baby bump.”

“clay or sheet?”

but while he doesn't say that he loves your bump he really likes seeing it

especially when you are just kind of lounging around the house in sweats and a baggy t-shirt that is not as baggy as it used to be

seungmin also really loves when you hold hands with him and the rest your hands on your tummy

Jeongin:

can someone tell me the full link to this video omg too cute ^^

this poor baby

seeing your big tummy just like a constant lovely reminder that he will be a father in a couple of months

he loves how cute you look with your big tummy

but eventually it leads him to a freakout

“y/n we haven't painted a nursery yet!!!”

“jeongin....honey we have two months left. its okay”

“y/n I don’t know how to change a diaper”

“innie you don’t have to-......yeah you should get on that baby”

*runs to watch 8347697 videos on how to change a diaper and falls through a yt baby funnel*

the minute your baby bump starts to show he goes into overdrive

he started packing your hospital bags when you were 4 months in

“innie I don't need......a.....what is this??”

“its a pregnancy pillow.”

“innie its bigger than me how are you fitting it in the bag”

but he loves your bump

probably another boy who finds the bump costumes cute but its most likely your idea

he most definitely has asked chan on how to father lessons 

seungmin probably also gave him one of those parenting for dummies books but he actually read it at night before he sleeps (omg too cute)

Requests are open my lovelies!

Masterlist

[obeymeluv]

Um...Good Morning? [7 Bros Reaction]

I have so many ideas for this blog~ I didn’t expect to be found so soon but I’m grateful for the support! This reaction is NSFW (because the boys love you).

P.S: I don’t know if there’s any sun in the Devildom (I don’t think so?) but we’ll say there’s not.

Super long because there’s headcannons for all 7 brothers.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» 

Aww, the little human slept in! Time to wake them up! Never mind, now we’re ALL late to school!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Lucifer

He fully expected you to sleep through your alarm and be late sometime during your first month in the Devildom. Humans are interesting little creatures that depend on routines and you’ve lost the sun.

Lucifer, trying to uphold Diavolo’s wish for humans, devils, and angels to build a bridge of understanding amongst themselves, gives you the benefit of the doubt and waits about ten minutes before deciding to wake you up

He’s very Type A. Probably didn’t even wait the ten minutes. Wants you to succeed and he’s responsible for you so you WILL get up.

When talking to you and light knocking (for him) don’t work, that door’s coming open!

And there you lay, perfectly asleep. Hugging your pillow with your tiny (to them) human body tangled in the sheets. Hair a mess and a...bottom scantily clad and just...in view

Lucifer doesn’t handle nudity well and you just make it all worse. His face heats up and he doesn’t know what face to make or where to put his hands

Forgets to shut the door, doesn’t say anything else. Turns away while trying to process what he just saw. Or...or not process (because that’s not right).

He absolutely CANNOT leave in this state so does he just stay home sick or...?

It’s not until Satan and Mammon come slinking up to poke at him and see what’s taking so long that he realizes they’re going to see you.

Lucifer hisses at them, little black diamond pulsing in his forehead as his horns threaten to spiral up into view.

Accidentally shuts the door on his hand because he tried to close it so quick

You get woken up by the small spat between Mammon and Lucifer--”Her FIRST MAN needs to see what’s up!”, “You won’t BE a man if you don’t SHUT UP and GO TO SCHOOL this INSTANT!”--and poke your sleepy head out the door to see Beel with Asmo and Mammon in a bear hug, lumbering towards the door.

Lucifer looks absolutely exhausted. “Please get dressed. It’s time for school.”

Mammon

He may give Lucifer a hard time but Mammon secretly enjoys waking you up

You know, FIRST MAN privileges and all!

Also, if he has to go, you’re going.

Has VERY little patience and doesn’t like to be ignored after putting all of that effort into his entrance/witty announcements.

“Yo, get--” Mammon threw the door open after running out of clever stuff to say and is totally awestruck by the sight of your ass just out there to see

He’s not up on human terms but he knows that’s a money-maker!

Seriously, that ass could make some cash! (he’d go into debt for that ass)

His ears, cheeks, and throat get super hot. Like, somewhere in the back of his mind Mammon knows his face is hurting

“Get up already!” he can’t even yell right now. His voice cracked. He’s dying inside. He jangles the door handle obnoxiously and hits his head on it really hard because this is a weird way to start the morning and he needs to think of ANYTHING ELSE.

Asmo’s skipping towards him none too innocently, practically glowing at the chance to see some drama

You open your eyes just in time to see Asmo get fucking clotheslined and dragged away from your door, the two brothers rolling away together in a ball of flailing, squealing, and biting.

“What’s going on?”

“NOTHING! STAY IN YOUR ROOM! SHUT UP AND GET READY FOR SCHOOL! THE GREAT MAMMON HAS WAITED LONG ENOUGH!”

He never tells you what he saw, and he’s weirdly protective of you the rest of the day

Leviathan 

Wouldn’t normally dream of waking you up. Touching a normie? Eww! He doesn’t even like going to school, himself, but somehow the duty’s fallen to him, so he must.

Should he say something funny? Something sweet? How would Henry do it?

OTOMES DID NOT PREPARE HIM FOR THIS!! (side note: buy more ‘slice of life otomes. They will surely have ‘wake up’ scenes).

Gets very shy, doesn’t knock loud enough, and grumbles out things you never hear (”Good morning! Time to get up! HEL-LOO!”)

Finally opens the door because if he doesn’t, you’ll never come out

Boy’s heart skipped a beat and probably stopped a minute. He makes The Noise™ (”WooOOOooW!”)

You’ll never be Ruri-chan but HOT DAMN!

That’s basically a free X-rated scene without all the dialogue and gifts!

Achievement unlocked? No, no. This doesn’t feel right! It’s not right!

Levi feels faint from excitement (is that a thing)?

He’s red in the face and right is left, he closed his eyes, and almost took himself out on your doorway trying to run away

Mammon’s coming to investigate and Levi’s demon form gets triggered because the thought of Mammon seeing you like this might make you guys closer, then you’ll get together, you won’t have time to be his friend (you dumb normie!), and just NO because Mammon took his figurine and his money!

Accidentally gets his tail stuck under the door

You guys are legitimately late and Levi may sound like he’s complaining but he doesn’t really mean any of it. Intimacy + 5, right?

Satan

He’s not as hardcore of a Type A as Lucifer, but he’s very orderly and wants to be on time. Life is easier when you put in effort.

Because he doesn’t want to hear Lucifer ramble on about how you need to get up and eat and generally detests the idea of him stealing anymore of his air, Satan goes to wake you up

It’s a moment of brief peace that he really values

Gives short, strong knocks and brief calls (mostly, ‘hey’)

Starts to get a little angry that you’re not up. Some questions and curiosities come into play, taking the edge off, but really, how long is this going to take?

Opens your door to give a tiny lecture (read: complain) and that ass throws him into stunned silence

Satan’s the one to get a nosebleed.

Forgets he’s supporting himself on the door, loses his grip, and almost gives himself a black eye

Beet red and trying not to get blood everywhere, Satan’s telling you to get up or you’ll be late

Coming from Lucifer has its perks, as he can do The Look ™ and chase his siblings off

When you show signs of getting up and moving for the day, he goes off to tend to his nosebleed

You’re awake and ready to go--backpack and all--when you realize he has blood on his bow tie.

Satan won’t admit he likes to keep up his appearance like Lucifer, but he insists on changing it out to save himself the annoyance of answering questions all day

You help, and it takes all his willpower not to get another nosebleed as you fix his bow tie

You’re both late and he doesn’t care. You talk about books on the way.

Asmodeus

Asmo’s an early bird because his routine is extensive and the world needs his perfection.

Wants to wake you up earlier--way earlier--and everyone craps on that idea instantly.

He wanted to bond, get you all dressed up! Maybe find a way for you guys to match or just do you hair. He has lots of ideas and he’d love to play with it!

But he waits to the point of it being painful, to where it feels like a century (read: until Lucifer tells him you need to get up).

Asmodeus bounds down the hall like a giddy puppy, throwing your door open like he’s the sun itself come to wake you up.

His eyes land on you and this boy basically explodes. YOU’RE SO CUTE OH MY GOD! It’s like an arrow to the heart, honestly

That bed head? Your little feet? And that ass, oh my!

As much as he wants to, he doesn’t take any pictures with his D.D.D because 1) you’re not dating and 2) he doesn’t have your consent.

The type to tease you and (accidentally, maybe) make you so mad you get up by yourself because he does not shut up!

When your feet hit the floor he’s trying to be in three different places at once. He wants to brush your hair and help you into your uniform and ALL THE THINGS!

You may break his heart by locking him out long enough to get dressed, but he pulls the charm and puppy eyes to convince you to let him do your hair. Or your makeup. Or your nails (maybe all three).

You’re late (not because you didn’t try to leave on time) but Asmo gets the punishment tossed because “perfection cannot be punished, and we are flawless.”

Beelzebub

Despite his many midnight snacks, this boy gets up early because he wants to be the first at breakfast

Eats his food, packs a few snacks for school, and tries to sneak your portion for himself. Doesn’t mean to, but the siren call is too strong!

Besides, you’re sleeping. You can’t eat if you’re sleeping. He doesn’t want it to go to waste!

When the family clears the table, it’s time to wake you up.

This boy hopes you get up because if you get up early enough, you can stop by a restaurant and get something to eat! Or you can get a good spot at the cafeteria!

Very kind and patient with waking you up, but his stomach wins out with a loud grumble.

When the grumble doesn’t wake you up, he pokes his head in to check on you.

He has PLENTY of experience with this because of Belphie and--Beel realizes you’re partially naked and his face catches on fire.

For a minute, he’s not hungry. Just looks, then doesn’t realize he’s looking and gets more embarrassed.

This boy’s probably eaten ass at least once in his long life and he’d DEFINITELY eat yours. Or eat something off of yours. Cake would be good. Is that cake still in the fridge? Mmmm...cake...

Beel may have tried to take a bite out of you when you first arrived (because you smelled so good and humans are basically a delicacy among delicacies) but he would never without your consent, so he settles for one of his freshly-packed snacks

Wakes you up with eating/package sounds. Tries to feed you.

Is pretty content to wait for you to get ready, seeing as how he has food

You guys end up being late because he stopped to get you a coffee and that turned into coffee and lots of sweets

Belphegor

He doesn’t like being woken up so why the hell would he want to wake you up?!

It’s just wrong, him stealing another person’s sleep!

Wants to do it even less because Lucifer asked him to (the asshole)

Can’t even justify it by ‘suffering together’

Belphegor knocks on your door a few times and resists the urge to lean his head against it. This boy can sleep standing up!

He finally opens it because if he keeps closing his eyes, they’re going to stay closed

It takes him a few minutes to realize you have a nice ass because he’s hating on how asleep you are.

Like, that’s a nappin’ ass. He bets it’s comfortable and soft. Would probably make a good pillow...

Belphie likes to nap, so he knows how to gently wake a sleeping person

You don’t even open your eyes as you talk to him, your voice deep and slurred with sleep. It’s so damn cute it’s almost disgusting and Belphegor’s happy you’re not looking at his face.

Makes the dangerous mistake of sitting on your bed to annoy you (shake your shoulders, etc.) and starts to get sucked into the idea of another nap

The two of you make a compromise--he’ll say he thinks you’re sick/just needed rest, and YOU let him sleep in your room. Belphie doesn’t outright say he misses sleeping with people, and probably won’t sleep with you in the bed. It’s just the idea of having another person around.

The plan works, and Lucifer and the others think he left your room to give you privacy.

Belphie makes sure everyone’s gone as he grabs a pillow and blanket. This boy’s changed out of his uniform and into pajamas in 0.03 seconds.

Falls asleep on your floor

Lucifer comes home to yell at you guys later in the day but you’ve just catnapped in different spots of the House of Lamentation and the others shush him. Apparently he’s not allowed to wake up the human (you do look kind of cute though)

Belphie is taken off of wake-up duty.

It was long but I hope you liked it!

[wkemeup]

Obsession

summary: Targeted after your complicated relationship with Bucky ends up on every news channel in the city, your stalker takes things into his own hands to ensure that you belong to him, and him alone.

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 11.2k

warnings: stalking, kidnapping, mild torture/violence, people being assholes to Bucky, 

authors’s note: oooo man Ive been dying to write something like this for  awhile and I’m so happy I could incorporate a prompt from @afewmarvelousthoughts’ writing challenge! My prompt was “We’re going to be ok” Hope you enjoy!! ✨

Bucky has been through more in his lifetime than most, survived more than he should. He’d been drafted into the US army in the second world war and given a group of men to lead through the trenches of hell. He’d been a prisoner of war, twice, experimented on, tortured, beaten and mutilated for a cause he never agreed to. He’d been ripped of his memories, of his innocence, and broken down into a shell of his former self, forced to carry out orders for the vilest organization in known history.

He’d been destroyed from the inside out, in every sense of the term, and still, nothing torn through him with a paralyzing fear quite like the moment he found out you’d been taken.

O N E  M O N T H  E A R L I E R

“So, Y/n has a stalker.”

Bucky choked on his cereal as Tony strode into the kitchen with a hand full of manila envelopes, sporting a single raised eyebrow and a purse of his lips.

You giggled as milk trailed down Bucky’s chin, rubbing soft circles on his back until the coughing fit subsided. You nudged his shoulder as you scooped up a bite of honey nut cheerios from his bowl while he was distracted. He narrowed his eyes and you only shrugged in response, cheeks full of cereal and a drop of milk slipping from between your lips.

You didn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by Tony’s announcement and yet Bucky’s palms were starting to sweat and his breaths were coming in a bit harsher than usual. He was a world class assassin, could take out a moving target from a mile away, was exceptionally calm under pressure to the point where he felt more at peace with the handle of a knife nestled in his grip than a cup of tea. That all went out the window when you were involved.

“What makes you so sure it’s a stalker and not some overly enthusiastic fan?” Clint piped up from the couch, eyes still glued on his book.

Bucky nodded to himself, attempting to bring his heart rate back to a normal pace before you could pick up on it.

Clint was right. The avengers had fans. It wasn’t a surprise that a few of them could take things a little too far. Steve has been bombarded for pictures while trying to pick up pizza from his favorite shop in Brooklyn more than once and Parker had to give hell to a few male fans not too long ago who had tried to push a girl down while she was asking politely for his autograph.

Luckily, Bucky wasn’t usually on the receiving ends of those sorts of things. The public still had a complicated relationship with the Winter Soldier, but he didn’t much mind. He was one of the few of the team who could still walk down the street without being bothered for pictures. Even without his metal arm in view, pedestrians still parted like the red sea when he walked in their direction. People would turn away, cower from him if they accidentally made eye contact. Some of the brave ones would take his picture from a distance, careful to shut off the flash, but he noticed.

In the streets, he was left alone.

But not you. No, you were exceptionally adored by the people of New York; always stopped for photos from little girls in dress up costumes hand stitched to match your stealth suit, dozens of interview requests pouring in weekly from esteemed journalists and high school newspapers alike, your image synonymous with relief, safety, and an aura of empowerment not even your critics could touch.

It was because you were so loved by the people, Bucky couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that he was the one you let hold your hand in the quiet hours at the compound, to sleep next to you at night when the nightmares were too much, to pull that smile from your cheeks he fallen so easily for.

Your relationship was complicated, a tangled mess of something a little more than friendship, but there was no doubt in his mind how he felt for you. You’d make his heart jump every time you’d walk in the door, had this uncanny ability to make him smile even on his darkest days, and you took him as he was, unapologetically and without judgement.

You were everything to him.

Voicing it aloud was something entirely different.

He knew the world would never accept a relationship between you and him. You were too kind, too selfless and generous, and he was a monster by the public’s standard, an instrument of Hydra. So, he kept his feelings hidden far away in the back of his chest and held onto the small stolen moments he had with you. For now, it was enough.

It was well known amongst the team the connection you shared, but no one dared bring it up. Not after you nearly chewed everyone out when Sam had caught you carding your fingers in Bucky’s hair during a movie night when the explosions on the screen felt too real. You had only scooted closer to him, brought his head to lean against your chest as you raked your nails soothingly against his scalp, tossing Sam a glare whenever he so much as looked in Bucky’s direction.

It was always you and Bucky.

On missions. In the gym. Making pancakes in the morning. Binge watching on the couch ‘till three in the morning. Pulling pranks on Sam.

Racing to the other’s room in the dead of night when a scream ripped through the halls. Sitting in a folding chair in the med bay for hours on end when one of you was injured in the field. Unwilling to leave for even a moment until you knew the other was okay.

You and Bucky.

Tony pinched at the bridge of his nose and Bucky found himself drawn to the manila envelopes tucked under his arm. “No ordinary fan does shit like this.”

With that, Tony let out a heavy sigh, and pulled out a stack of photographs from the first envelope. He tossed them down the table until they spread out over the surface. Bucky froze, breath hitching in his chest as his eyes darted to the pictures; each image a picture of you in various locations, unaware of the camera.

Bucky couldn’t help but instinctively slide closer to you, his thigh brushing yours just to ground himself. He watched nervously as you glanced over the pictures curiously, eyes flickering to ones of you walking out of a cafe in Queens, one in your tactical gear where you led bystanders out of the path of whatever chaos was erupting in the streets, one of you chatting casually with Wanda with an iced coffee in your hand.

You narrowed your eyes, picking up one of you on your morning jog. You were standing by a bench in central park, wrist raised as if you were about to check your heart rate when something caught your attention. Your eyes stared in the direction of the camera, but you hadn’t seen it, just a little too far to the left.

There were dozens more. All from over the last three years since you’d joined the Avengers.

“How did you get these?” Nat asked, holding up a picture of you wearing that teal blouse that always seemed to make Bucky’s heart stop as you took a picture with a fan on the street, oblivious to the photographer behind this particular photo.

“Special delivery straight to my office,” Tony replied, rolling his eyes. “No return address, of course.”

Bucky found his eyes caught on a photo of you walking down an empty side street in Brooklyn, dressed casually in blue jeans ripped at the knees, a grey knit sweater, and a smile thrown over your shoulder as you looked behind you to something outside of the camera’s range. Bucky remembered that day well. You were looking at him. It was the first day he had agreed to let you drag him to the coffee shop you’d been telling him about for months.

“Oh, that’s not all,” Tony grumbled, pulling Bucky from his trance as he disbursed a second wave of evidence. This time, handwritten letters in thick black ink.

Bucky scooped up one of the dozens of crinkled papers. He began to read aloud, “Today I saw you by your favorite bagel shop in Queens. Each day you grow more beautiful and I stop to wonder if you’re not Aphrodite herself. You were wearing that yellow sundress you know that I love and I bought you sunflowers to match. You’ll find these with your captors’ assistant—” Bucky shook his head. “Captors?”

“Must be us,” Steve said as he started to read one of the letters himself. “It’s signed ‘with all my love, Eros.’”

“This asshole calls himself Eros?” Sam scoffed. “What kind of a name is that?”

“The Greek god of lust,” Nat replied casually and you laughed under your breath. Only Bucky seemed to notice. He couldn’t understand why his stomach was twisting into knots and you were seemingly unaffected by this.

“I’ve got everyone working on finding this freak,” Tony said, gathering up the photographs and letters. “We’ll find him, Y/n. Don’t worry.”

You only shrugged and finished eating your cereal, sending Bucky a wink that didn’t ease the tension in his gut.

After the team had disbursed and only you and Bucky remained at the table, even long after you’d both finished your breakfast, he finally gained the courage to ask, “how are you so calm about this?”

You smiled, your hand brushing over his shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It was a soothing motion you had grown to do for him over the years and Bucky leaned into it subconsciously. You had a way of easing him before he could realize what you were doing.

“I’ve known about Eros for years,” you admitted. Bucky narrowed his eyes in shock. “He’s been sending me letters since I became more public as an Agent. I knew him back when I was living in Queens before I joined the Avengers, before I met you, too.”

You must have noticed the flash of panic across his face because you reached up and brushed a hair from his eyes, smiling sweetly at him, enough to unravel the knots in his stomach.

“He’s harmless, Buck,” you said and he wished he could believe you. “I brought it to the local PD when he first showed up and they said they’d seen this stuff a million times. Men like this are cowards and they get off on appreciating from afar. He’ll never act on his delusional affection for me. Besides, I’m a highly skilled Agent of Shield and I live in a glorified dormitory for superheroes. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Bucky nodded as you carded your fingers through his hair. As an exhale left his lips, you stood up to wash both of your dishes. Bucky watched you as you hummed to yourself, dipping the bowls in the soapy water, and he tried to convince himself that you were right, that this Eros would never make a move on you, that it would only every amount to creepy photographs and love letters.

He should have listened to his gut.

***

Bucky sat across from you, huddled in the corner of the small family owned café in Brooklyn you loved so much. Adorned in an oversized sweatshirt and your hair tucked back into a bun at the base of your neck, a few strands falling out to frame your face, and a pair of sunglasses in hopes to conceal your identity, you blew carefully on the surface of your tea. The steam wavered slightly and you crinkled your nose as you took a sip.

Bucky smiled to himself, adjusting the rim of his baseball cap and glancing over his shoulder at the hustle of commotion coming from the kitchen. Just a black coffee for himself, he didn’t pay much mind to the scalding temperature as it passed his lips, too transfixed in the way your eyes shifted, a gentle smile curving against your cheeks, as you watched an older couple settling down at the table off of Bucky’s left.

It was your tradition; one you insisted could not be postponed even with Eros lingering over your shoulder. It was nothing new, you told Bucky. It wasn’t going to get in the way of your weekly Sunday morning tea and coffee in Brooklyn. It wasn’t always this shop and it wasn’t always on Sundays in the weeks your missions interfered, but you had insisted it was important to keep up with. You wanted to make sure Bucky felt at home in Brooklyn again, felt safe to be out in the streets, and he appreciated that more than you knew.

When both cups had been drained and the server had stopped by to retrieve the empty mugs, Bucky slid a few dollars onto the table and followed you to the door. It had been a while since the two of you had a genuine day off and Eros was virtually silent for the time being, so you convinced him to take the longer route back to the tower. Bucky was keen to do just about anything you asked of him.

So, as you led him through the streets of New York, purposely taking turns onto the less crowded sidewalks, you told him about Sam’s latest prank he planned to pull, giving him a warning Bucky was sure Sam would not appreciate, though you only giggled to yourself and held your pointer finger over your lips to hush him. You told him about your encounter with a little girl asking for your autograph while you were on your morning run and the sunrise you’d had the privilege of seeing.

As you passed a group of kids playing basketball in a small parking lot, you asked for the third time in as many weeks if was absolutely sure he didn’t want to come do a mentor day with you at the Boys and Girls Club.

“The kids would really love you, Buck,” you said sincerely and Bucky knew you truly did believe it, though he struggled to find the truth it in himself.

“Steve’s got me trying to train the new recruits in hand to hand, so I won’t be able to make it this time, doll. I’m sorry,” Bucky muttered out, pressing his lips out into an apologetic smile.

It was a bullshit excuse, one he’d given before, though you never called him out on it. You knew him well enough to understand he didn’t trust himself enough to be around kids, to be a role model when he could hardly stand to look at his own reflection in the mirror.

So when your hand snaked into his, curling against hard metal as you walked, Bucky’s heart nearly skipped a beat. He never gave you enough credit for how perceptive you were. You just smiled up at him, leaning your head on his shoulder for the smallest of moments, and the gesture told him everything he needed to hear.

That you understood. That you were there for him. That you’d wait until he was ready. That it was okay to take his time.

A light squeeze in his hand and you tugged him out of the way of a runner he almost didn’t see coming. It wasn’t the first time you held his hand in public, but it was the first time you didn’t let go after a few paces. It wasn’t a stolen moment captured before anyone else could see or do double take in your direction. Ten paces later and you hadn’t let go. One block. Two blocks. Nearly ten blocks later and your hand still set carefully in his.

He had never wished his left arm could feel more than he did right now. He could sense the pressure, articulate the warmth of your palm, feel the trace of your thumb back and forth against his soothingly as you walked, but it read like data. He wondered if you’d let him switch to your other side but he was too afraid that maybe just acknowledging it would be enough to make it stop and he couldn’t risk it.

“But, uh,” Bucky cleared his throat nervously, “maybe you’d want to help me lead this training Monday morning for the rookies?”

He grimaced as the words left his tongue, already berating himself for taking nearly ten minutes of silence just to work up the courage to ask. Your hand in his was making him light-headed and he swore you could just feel the absolute abhorrent rate of his heart beat. When he looked over at you, he was relieved to find your lips curving up into your cheeks.

“Of course! I will absolutely be there!” you grinned wildly, enough to make Bucky’s stomach weak. “You know I love kicking the ass of some of those cocky agents fresh out the academy who think they own the place.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath, nodding fondly as he remembered the time you had an arrogant frat boy on his back within three seconds of sparring.

He paused at the red light, waiting for the crosswalk to signal for them to pass, when he noticed your face light up at the sight of the ice cream shop you had told him about a few weeks ago. Your smile was so infectious, Bucky didn’t even realize the grin on his face until his cheeks started to hurt.

“Oh Bucky, we have to go!” you exclaimed giddily, your other hand wrapping around your waist to hold onto his forearm. You were practically jumping with joy and Bucky felt his heart swell. The very second the crosswalk lit green, you began tugging him towards the shop and Bucky dragged his feet just for the drama of it, chuckling under his breath as you used your entire body weight against him.

“Bucky, come on!” you laughed, and Bucky realized he hadn’t felt that carefree in years.

The moment he gave in, you dragged him up to the line extending out the door, your hand still planted firmly in his. You grinned up at him, excited in almost a child-like state that Bucky couldn’t seem to get enough of it. You were in the middle of listing your top ten favorite flavors when a voice behind him caught his attention.

“Is that Y/n Y/l/n and the Winter Soldier?”

Bucky’s whole body stiffened. Being recognized in public never went well for him.

“Can’t be,” a second voice scoffed, also male, though a bit deeper in tone. They were further back in the line than Bucky realized, his super solider senses picking up what you didn’t readily hear yourself. “Why the hell would a dime like that be on a date with a psychopath?”

Bucky swallowed thickly and he hadn’t noticed your eyes catch up at him worryingly.

“Bucky? Are you alright?” you glanced back down the line and though you couldn’t find any threats. You could still sense his entire body tensing and you ran your hand soothingly along his arm in hopes draw away some of the strain. You knew him too well.

“Holy shit, it totally is,” the first voice echoed, a snicker in his voice as he must have caught sight of you looking back in their direction. “Wonder if she feels sorry for him...”

“You think she’s pity fucked him yet?”

Bucky visibly winced, recoiling at the man’s taunt as they snickered behind him and he could only vaguely register you running your fingers up and down his arm, the other gripping tightly to his hand.

A group of four exited the line and the two men were suddenly standing directly behind Bucky. He could hear them struggle to hold their laughs under their breath, swatting at one another to shut the other up with no success.

“Can’t believe they let him in the same team as Captain America. Didn’t know we were letting war criminals become superheroes these days,” one deeper voice went on in a hushed whisper, unable to stop himself and his friend laughed in response. Bucky felt you take in a deep breath, your grip on his hand tightening and he knew you heard.

“It’s fine, Y/n. Just ignore them,” Bucky implored, whispering low enough so only you could hear him. You shook your head, gritting at your teeth, though you did your best to do as he asked, despite how difficult these men made it.

“How many people as he killed again?”

“How the hell isn’t he locked up in a cell right now?”

“Can’t imagine why she would want to be anywhere near that freak...”

“Should probably have him committed to a mental state with the fucked up mess in his head.”

“Hydra should’ve just spared us all and killed him when they had the chance.”

That was the final straw.

Bucky winced as you spun around on your heels, dropping his hand and shoving yours hard into the man’s chest. He stumbled back a few paces and fell straight to the sidewalk.

“You wanna say that again, asshole?” you spat as the man cowered back and you stalked toward him, his friend hulling quickly him up to his feet. “You wanna talk shit about a decorated Sergeant of the United States Army?”

“N-No! Sorry ma’am!” the boy stammered out, couldn’t have been any older than twenty. Flip flops, cargo shorts, a university t-shirt. He was practically a child.

Bucky watched as cell phones sprung up from everyone in line, trained on you, as they began to recognize who you were. A few faces turned in Bucky’s direction, eyes wide in realization as many took a cautious step away from him, and he did his best to hide his face with the collar of his jacket.

He didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly reporters were swarming around the shop, bystanders shoved out of the way for cameras and microphones. The two men scrambled away and ran down the street, leaving you and Bucky at the center of flashing lights and microphones shoved in your faces.

Bucky reached out for you in the chaos, unconsciously searching for your hand. His heart only seemed to calm for a moment when he felt you grip the flesh of his right hand when the reporters started shouting questions over top of one another.

“Y/n! Y/n!”

“Tell us Agent Y/l/n, when did you start dating the Winter Soldier!”

“How long have you been together!”

“What does Captain America think!”

“What’s that arm like in bed!”

Bucky yanked you against his chest, guarding you from the camera flashes as you pushed your face into the crook of his jacket. Left arm out ahead of him acting as a shield, he attempted to push forward into the mass of reporters blocking your path but was met with too much resistance. There was no consideration to force them from his path, his public image already a nightmare without adding assaulting a journalist to the list.

The questions kept coming at you a mile a minute, and to Bucky’s relief you were able to ignore them. Until they started asking questions of a different nature.

“What are your thoughts on his dozens of war crimes!”

“Do you trust his affiliation to the Avengers!”

“What about his involvement in the attack on D.C.!”

“Do you believe he could still be working for Hydra!”

A growl ripped through you unlike Bucky had ever heard and you spun around to face the reporters, unveiling yourself from Bucky’s grasp as you shoved a hand to the microphones, swatting them away.

“Enough!” you shouted and the reporters silenced immediately. Your hand was still tied to his, gripping it tight enough to remind him you were still there even as he stood a step behind you. “You have no goddamn right to talk about him like that! James Barnes is a veteran who gave his life in service of this country! He was a prisoner of war for decades and has gone through more in his lifetime than any you could begin to imagine! He’s kind and selfless and the best man I know, so show some goddamn respect!”

With that, you whipped back around, hair flipping over your shoulders as you tugged Bucky away from the flashing cameras and stunned mass of reporters. They didn’t attempt to follow you after that.

The walk back to the tower was silent, though Bucky could feel you squeeze his hand every few paces, a careful glance up to his face. He didn’t know how to react. He knew you cared for him, he’d be a fool not to know that by now, but the way you defended him so fiercely, without even a second thought, made his legs feel weak. That footage would air on every news outlet in the city that night.

The only problem was that Eros would see it, too. Though, neither of you knew that quite yet.

***

Bucky first knew something was wrong when you didn’t show up to Monday morning training with the recruits. He had reminded you just an hour earlier when you slipped out from his bed to carefully tread back to your room for your running clothes. You had scoffed at him, feigning offense that he would even suggest you’d forget. He could still feel your fingers tickling over the bare of his back as he had curled up into the pillow for an extra hour of sleep. You promised you’d be back in time for the training.

Ten minutes past nine and still no sign of you, Bucky let out a heavy sigh and shouted for the recruits to follow him to the sparring ring.

Nearly two hours of training later, sweat dripping down his brow and a pleasant ache in his muscles, and you had yet you walk through the door.

He did his best to focus on the training, providing insight into the agent’s hand-to-hand formations and demonstrating techniques he had learned in his decades of combat. It proved rather difficult when an agent lingering near the back grumbled snide comments at every opportunity; everything ranging from Bucky’s role at an instructor to being personally offended that you weren’t here just for him to ogle at the way you looked in your workout leggings. It took most of Bucky’s self-control to make sure he still held his punches when he faced that particular agent in the ring.

“Good work today,” Bucky grunted to the young agents as he grabbed a towel and brushed it over his face, thankful it was over. He jumped over the barriers of the ring to find the agent who had been tossing a few unfavorable lines to his friends throughout the training waiting for him.

“I thought Y/n was going to join us today,” he remarked with a spiteful tone, as if Bucky’s presence had insulted him in some way. His friends snickered behind him as they watched.

Bucky rolled his eyes, his back to the agent before he turned around. “Agent Y/l/n had something come up. Maybe you should focus on the weak points in your stance rather than objectifying the best agent we have.”

A quick jag to the agent’s left side, one to his collarbone, and another to his right knee and the agent doubled over. His friends rushed forward to help him back up and Bucky chuckled to himself, exiting the gym before word got to Steve that he stepped out of line with another arrogant agent.

Bucky walked out into the kitchen for a glass of water to find the entire team gathered around the table. He paused at the threshold of the room as every pair of eyes landed on him. Tony stood at the end of the table, a solemn look upon his face and a heavy manila envelope in his hand. Bucky’s stomach dropped before he took another step forward.

“Thought you might want to see this first,” Tony said carefully and handed Bucky the envelope. Bucky stared at it for a moment, studying the folder marked with ‘To the Avengers, Signed Eros’ on the front, no return address, before he glanced back up to the team. Tony could only clench his jaw, sink down into the chair as his hand brushed over his mouth.

Trembling hands worked at the metal clips of the envelop that suddenly felt too heavy to carry. The team watched carefully as Bucky pulled a pile of pictures from the folder.

They were dark in color, lighting dim, but Bucky could make you out upon the image clear as day. Blood trailed down the side of your face, tape pressed over your mouth, and arms tied behind your back as you were clearly struggling against restraints, parts of your body blurred in the sudden movements captured in the photograph.

Bucky could hardly breathe, his chest twisting and burning, angry tears prickling in his eyes. He dropped the first photo to the floor, flipping through the rest only to find more of the same.

Photo after photo of you wincing as the flash lit the darkened room, close ups of the wound on your head where Eros must have knocked you out, a tear in your leggings at the knee, your wrists tied to the back of the chair in painful knots, red skin burning under the rope. Wide eyes, reflection of tears on your cheeks, and Bucky dropped the rest of the photos to the ground.

Paper thin and they fell with deafening sound.

The team swarmed in, each gathering a few photos to examine, to attempt to find any kind of clue to your location through the subtleties in the background of the images, but Bucky couldn’t stand to look at them any longer. He couldn’t see you like that, vulnerable, scared. It wasn’t right, didn’t sit well upon your features. He never thought he’d have to see you so afraid.

As the team argued amongst themselves over what farfetched lead to pursue first, Bucky found himself backing out of the room. He couldn’t let himself stop and think about the moment you were taken or what Eros was doing to you at this moment or how long you had been held hostage by this psychopath before anyone even realized you were gone.

There was nothing he could do but wait. Tony had the most advanced technology available outside of Wakanda, so if anyone had a chance in finding you off of these photos alone, it was him.

So, Bucky retreated to the one place he thought might be able to ground him.

He stood outside the door to your room for nearly five minutes before he let himself turn the knob. It was cold to the touch and the door squeaked as he stepped inside, something he had grown to be cautious of in the early hours of the morning when he’d seek you out after a particularly bad nightmare. You’d let him crawl into the bed next to you and even though he’d try to keep his body at the furthest edge of your bed, you’d still find a way to curl up against him and ease away the afflictions in his mind.

Bucky swallowed back the lump in his throat as stepped further into the room, taking in the smell of your freshly washed laundry and the faint scent of the vanilla candle you burned when you read at night. Framed pictures covered your shelves in the spaces absent of your collection of books and trinkets. Imaged of the avengers in their most human qualities; some candid, laughing and blissfully unaware of the camera, some posed, arms throw around one another, the widest smiles up their faces.

Though one in particular drew his attention. It was an image of you and Bucky; a selfie he had agreed to take after much persuasion while you were on a mission in Paris together and decided to stay an extra day after you recovered your intel. The Champs-Élysées stood in the background just over Bucky’s left shoulder. You were curled up against his side, arms wrapped tightly around his waist as he let his arm drape over your shoulders.

Bucky was the only one looking at the camera though, a smile curved on his pressed lips as you looked up at him, seemingly caught mid-laugh, the brightest look in your eye he’d ever seen.

He picked up the photo, holding it carefully in his hands, as a dried flower slipped out from behind the frame, falling delicately to the floor. He bent down to retrieve it, examining it in his hand for a moment until he recognized what it was from.

It was the first elaborate party he had agreed to go to after you had spent nearly an entire week begging him to come with you. If he was honest, he only gave in after Nat showed him the dress you were going to wear; long, forest green, with gemstones in the details and a neckline that was sure to kill him. Not much else could have convinced him to put on a suit and stand around at some stuffy gala to promote a public image he knew he’d never find the favor of.

He had felt a little awkward, showing up at your room to pick you up for something as fancy as this without anything to give to you. He was still a man of his time after all, so he had clipped the end of a carnation from the vase sitting in the center of the table that Wanda had picked from the garden, and handed it awkwardly to you as you opened the door. It was the first time he saw you blush.

He couldn’t believe you actually kept it. The gala was nearly a year ago.

“Buck?”

Breath caught in his throat, Bucky set the frame and the flower back on the shelf before turning around to find Steve leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey Steve.”

“We’re gonna find her,” he said, knowing exactly the train of agonizing thoughts swarming in Bucky’s mind.

“What if we don’t? What if this is it and I never told her that I--” he sucked in a breath, unable to finish the sentence aloud. “I can’t lose her, Stevie. I can’t...”

“I know,” Steve sighed. “Tony’s got everyone on this. All we can do is wait.”

Bucky nodded, but found he couldn’t seem to meet his friend’s eye. He sat on the edge of your bed, hands clenching at his knees as the bed dipped slightly when Steve took a seat next to him.

He didn’t know how long they sat there together in silence, could have been hours as far as Bucky knew. Steve’s hand would find its way onto Bucky’s shoulder every so often, just enough to offer him a light squeeze, remind him he was there when he noticed Bucky’s breathing increase a little too harshly.

Then, a subtle knock on the door and Bucky turned to find Nat standing just beyond the frame.

“Suit up. We’ve got something.”

***

Bucky woke to a blinding pulse at the back of his head. Struggling to adjust to the dim lighting of the room, he reached to the nape of his neck and touched a sticky wet substance. He didn’t need to inspect his fingers to know they’d be marked in red.

As he tried to stand, he found that he was met with a resistance in his left arm. Narrowed eyes glanced down to find his wrist secured to the wall, bound by a thick titanium band bolted into the cement.

He cursed under his breath, slumping down into the floor. He tried to think back to what had gone wrong, but his memory was hazy. He remembered enough to know that Tony’s AI had located the general vicinity Eros was holding you within a five mile radius and the team had split up to cover the most ground. Bucky took the north east quadrant on his own, despite Steve’s protests.

Whatever got him, he never saw it coming. Though, a concentrated burning in his side told him he’d been hit by a taser. Eros must have got him over the head when he was incapacitated by the electricity in his veins. A coward’s offense.

As Bucky’s eyes began to adjust to the room and he sucked in a harsh breath at what he saw.

Hand developed photographs were stung around the room in rows crossing above his head, taped against the wall, and throw along the floors. Some that he recognized from the day Tony had introduced the team to Eros, others from various locations around the city, some from before Bucky even knew you back when you were living in Queens near your cousin.

Though, there were a few, ones with dark red borders that caught his attention. Ones that made his stomach drop and left a deep unsettling ache in his chest.

Pictures of you with him.

Eros had written LIAR and TRAITOR over the images of you and Bucky in your tactical gear emerging from the helicarrier after a mission in Paris, over images of you walking next to Bucky down the busy streets back when he was sure to keep a careful distance from you, across pictures of you sitting next to Bucky in central park the day you had convinced him to start reading the Harry Potter books.

Labels of WHORE and SLUT carved upon images of you staring fondly at Bucky across a table in the café in Brooklyn you loved so much, upon images of the brief moments you had gathered his hand in yours in public, and over smiling faces as he had pretended to struggle to keep up with you on your morning jog. Stolen moments when you thought no one could see, not even Bucky.

In every image, his face was burned out with the hot edge of a lighter.

Suddenly, a sharp clicking at the door rang out into the room and Bucky recognized it as the locks unfastening. He steadied himself, back straight against the wall though he had no leverage sitting on the floor. His arm affixed to the cement didn’t allow for much else.

The door creaked open slowly and a muffled grunt echoed in from the hall. Some kind of commotion; a struggle, maybe. Bucky narrowed his eyes, craning his neck to get a better view, when the door slammed against the adjacent wall. His heart leapt at the sound, though nothing was quite like the twist of dread in his stomach at what followed.

You were thrown into the room, sliding hard on your shoulder and hip as you fell to the ground. Your arms were bound in front of you, wrists red and raw beneath the ropes, and blood dripped from the side of your face. Sweat gleamed over your skin, left in your workout gear though there was a tear at the knee, just as in the pictures he had seen earlier that day. A thick swatch of silver tape covered over your lips, muffling the groan you let out as you struggled to your feet. Otherwise, you appeared unharmed, though Bucky still struggled to catch his breath at the sight of you in chains.

A man Bucky assumed to be Eros stalked in behind you and grabbed a firm hold of your wrists, yanking you forcefully to the center of the room where he hooked the cuffs to a latch in the floor. Once secure, Eros backed away, admiring his work.

He was nothing like Bucky imagined him to be; tall, an incredibly average looking man, with thick rimmed glasses and a white button-down shirt. He looked like he had a stable job in an IT start up, albeit a maybe few social limitations, but entirely normal nonetheless. He could have been following you for years and you’d never pay him a second glance. He blended into the background with ease.

The way in which Eros watched you, a sickening smirk upon his lips, enjoying the way your breaths panted in your chest as you tried to brush the sweat from your forehead with your exposed shoulder, only to smear it further on your face.

You were on your knees, bent over to ease at the pain in your wrists. Tugging at the restraints, a heavy exhale left your lips when it didn’t budge. You slumped over onto your hip, an aura of exhaustion and defeat in your features.

Slowly, in agonizing pace, Bucky watched as you took notice of the pictures, eyes falling on the images he shared with you and a surge of panic in the hue of your iris. Your hand right hand curled into a fist to stop the sudden tremors.

Then, before Bucky could quite prepare for it, your eyes landed on him. You let out a guttural cry, though it was muffled against the tape secured over your mouth, as you tugged forcefully at the restraints. You tried to scramble towards him, but you were pulled back by the clang of the metal chain latching taunt.

His name upon your lips was subdued by the tape, your eyes wide and fearful as you looked him over. Bucky’s heart was pounding terribly in his chest, painfully so, as you winced against your bindings the more you attempted to reach him.

“Y/n, look at me. It’s okay,” Bucky urged, as the bindings on your wrist cut through and blood began to drip down to your fingertips. “We’re going to be okay, you hear me? We’re okay.”

You froze for a second, just meeting his eye and Bucky swore he saw a world of pain masked behind your irises. You shook your head subtly as eyes began to redden in the strain. You didn’t believe him. He wasn’t so sure he believed himself.

“Now the real fun can begin,” Eros grinned, stepping away from the wall as he moved to kneel by your side. His hand traced down the side of your cheek and you flinched away, shooting him a glare “Do you like the present I brought you? I thought you’d be happy I retrieved your plaything for you.”

Bucky watched as Eros stood slowly to his feet, a sinister look in his eye. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a long, black rod. He flicked the switch at the bottom and a buzzing sound filled the room, sparks of electricity bursting between the metal prongs at the end.

“Why don’t we have a little fun with him?” Eros smirked as he admired the taser. “It’s seven times the standard issue volts. Should be enough to bring down a super solider, don’t you think?”

You shook your head, words smothered by the tape over your mouth as you struggled to reach Bucky. The chains pulled you back every time.

Bucky met your eye for a moment, silently telling you he could take it, and maybe a part of him did believe that until Eros plunged the taser into his side.

His entire body tensed, slumping down to the floor, rigid, unable to control his limbs as jolts of energy eroded at his muscles. Convulsing tremors, breath caught in his lungs, he could hardly register your stifled screams. It brought him right back to the chair, to Hydra. There was no end in sight.

Then, relief as Eros pulled the taser away and the faint smelt of burnt flesh stung in Bucky’s nostrils. He laid on the floor, motionless.

“This is your hero?” Eros spat at you, nudging Bucky with the tip of his shoe, his body lifelessly slumping back down against the ground when he pulled his foot away, unable to move. “This is the asshole you've been parading around the city with? Huh? This pathetic excuse for a man? When you could be with me?!”

You screamed against the tape, tears brimming in your eyes as Eros brought the taser down to small stretch of skin exposed on Bucky’s collarbone. There wasn’t even a moment to prepare himself before the electricity surged through him again, rendering him completely helpless to the charge. Muscles stiff, body twitching, eyes rolling behind his head, and all he could focus on was your muffled cries.

Eros didn’t let up until he had grown tired of hearing you cry for another man and released Bucky from the electric waves in his veins. He crossed the room and ripped the tape from your mouth. You recoiled at the sudden stinging, clenching your jaw as red marks were left behind on your skin.

Bucky panted, attempting to catch his breath as he slowly hulled himself back to a sitting position. His muscles were too weak, he could barely lift his flesh arm. He weighed thousands of pounds, and his eyes were falling heavy. Brain too fuzzy.

“What do you want with him?” you demanded, voice broken and raw, as your eyes quickly flashed down to Bucky; a lifetime of guilt and apologies swimming in your eyes that took him off guard.

“The question isn’t what I want with him,” Eros responded, “but rather, what you want from him that matters here.”

You narrowed your eyes, glancing up at Eros for only a moment. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Eros shrugged, though there was a coy expression in his lips. “I need you to convince me he won’t come between us. I have seen the way he watches you. I know of his feelings for you. He’s corrupting you, my love; convinced you that he’s some kind of hero when we all know what he truly is. He’s trying to keep us apart; don’t you see that? I can't let that happen to us. I won’t let him take you from me.”

With that, Eros reached into a drawer nestled in the corner of the room and pulled out a handgun. You swallowed thickly, exchanging a nervous glance with Bucky. Eros cocked the gun, clicked off the safety, and in one foul movement, aimed the barrel right at Bucky’s head. Your eyes blew wide as a gasp left your breath.

Eros smirked. “I’m going to free him of us for good. “

Bucky closed his eyes, clenching his jaw as an unsteady breath came in through his nose, preparing for the worst, when he heard you scream.

“NO!”

Eros raised an eyebrow, a twitch in his eye as he stared at you. He hadn’t expected that. He wanted you to fall into his fantasy, to be the woman he made you out to be, who would be relieved that he had destroyed the man who was keeping you from him.

Bucky opened his eyes again, watching the exchange between you and Eros; the way your hands trembled as you closed them into fists, the displeased look upon Eros’ face.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t,” Eros grumbled.

Then, your face hardened, a seeming realization passing over you that Bucky didn’t catch onto. You took in an even breath, straightening your shoulders as you turned to face Eros, a purse in your lips as you glanced over Bucky from the corner of your eye.

“Don’t you want the satisfaction that I chose you over him?” you said breathily and Eros narrowed his eyes, waiting for you to continue. You licked at your lips, keeping your eyes trained on Eros. “There’s no reason to kill him. He's not worth the bullet. He’s not worth anything.”

Bucky swallowed back the bile in this throat, an awful pang in his stomach. He knew you were feeding into the man’s fantasy to bide time but hearing the words come from you, in your voice, hurt more than Bucky was able to hide. Eros must have noticed the way Bucky’s eyes darted to the ground and he sneered, urging you on.

“He’s nothing to me. Nothing,” you pressed, urgency in your voice as Eros took another step in Bucky’s direction, gun still aimed at his head. Your eyes widened as Bucky felt the cool metal of the barrel against his temple. “I was- I was using him! He’s nothing but something to pass the time with. You think I would actually want to be with him? An ex-Hydra hitman with a fucked up brain who can’t even get through a night without crawling into my bed? He’s practically a child. I have no interest in babysitting a grown man.”

A grin tugged at Eros’ lips and he let the barrel of his gun drop just enough for an audible exhale of relief to pass over your lips. Bucky clenched at his jaw, muscles aching in the effort. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself you were lying, that you’d never think those things of him, the pain in his chest only seemed to grow.

“Tell him how you really feel,” Eros demanded.

You didn’t respond, though Bucky could feel your eyes on him, begging him to look at you, but he couldn’t find the strength. His name passed over your lips, a breath so quiet he was sure not even Eros could hear it. He had always cherished the way his name came from your voice, like it was something precious, something that could be loved, adored. But now, it was broken, afraid, aching for a forgiveness he had absolved before the words had even left your tongue.

“Say it to his face!”

Harsh hands took a tight hold of Bucky’s hair, sharp pain in his scalp, yanking him up to meet your eye despite his protests. Bucky could do nothing to fight against him, limbs too weak from the remnants of electricity in his muscles. Eros hulled him like a rag doll, gun pressed up into Bucky’s throat. He tried to swallow, but found it too restricted by the barrel.

Your eyes were wide, fear dilating your pupils, unable to speak. Until the echo of the safety clicking off pierced through the silence of the room.

“You mean nothing to me.”

The words spilled from your lips, barely above a whisper. Bucky’s heart ached as you looked him dead in the eye, willing the emotion from your face as you put on the façade for Eros he so craved.

“I don’t want you. I could never want you,” you continued, struggling to keep your voice flat.

“Good, good,” Eros urged you on.

“You’re weak and- and pathetic.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes and Bucky tried to find a way to tell you he knew, that it was okay, that he understood why you were saying what you did, that he could handle it even if it stung, even if the words lingered in the back of his head after this was all over.

These words were never meant to come from you. He'd heard them before, on the streets from strangers, from the men at Hydra, in his own head. He knows these words well. He never wanted to imagine what they’d sound like in your voice, even if you only spoke them to save his life.

“Keep going,” Eros purred, readjusting his grip in Bucky’s hair, forcing him to wince at the sting in his scalp. “You know exactly what to say.”

You paused, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“You’re a monster. You’re broken and irredeemable and you will never be good enough for me.” Your voice cracked as you spoke the words you had once sworn so adamantly against. You had spent months reminding him at every opportunity that he was more than what Hydra made him, that he was worthy of love, that he was a good man with a kind heart who was dealt the worst cards imaginable.

It felt like all of that was being wiped away in a matter of minutes.

Eros released Bucky’s hair long enough to cross the room to kneel down by your side, his hand jutting out to grab a firm hold of your chin, yanking you to face him. He glared at the tears falling down the sides of your face like they had offended him. A snarl slipped past his lips.

“I don’t believe you,” he spat, shoving you back to the ground.

Eros had crossed the plane of the room before Bucky could realize what was happening and he turned on the television, sliding in a VHS tape to the opening at the bottom. Bucky watched you carefully, taking note of the way you couldn’t look in his direction, eyes focused on the floor.

The white and grey fuzz in on the screen soon transitioned into an image of you standing in front of a series of microphones. Bucky narrowed his eyes, watching as Eros hit play and your voice echoed through the room. It was from the day you had defended Bucky to the journalists in front of the ice cream shop. They played iPhone footage a bystander captured of you shoving the college kid out of the line after he and his friend took their comments a step too far, then switched to your impromptu press conference.

“He’s kind and selfless and the best man I know-” your voice rang out before Eros hit pause, rewinding it again.

“He’s kind and selfless and the best man I know-”

“He’s kind and selfless and the best man I know-”

You winced at every line; every scratch of the tape as it rewound to play again. Eros stood with his hands crossed over his chest, a rage building in his eye with every word. He paused the recording and Bucky caught sight of the way your hand clasped into his came into view in the bottom corner of the screen in between transitions in the chyron.

“Does that look like a woman who believes an ounce of the bullshit you just tried to push off on me!” Eros roared, shoving the tv off the stand and it fell to the ground with a thud heavy enough for Bucky to wince. The screen cracked, jets of green and blue obstructing the image of the tape until it flickered and faded to black.

“He’s manipulating you! Don’t you see that!?” Eros crossed the room, yanking the gun from his jeans once again and aiming it in Bucky’s direction.

“No! Please, I’ll do anything!” you begged, a sob cracking in your voice as you threw aside all pretenses of the façade. “I’ll- I’ll stay with you! I won’t try to run! Just, please, don’t hurt him!”

“Pathetic,” Eros spat, kicking away your hand as you reached for him. “You have no idea what he’s done to you!”

Eros straightened his back, a steady breath in as he adjusted the positioning of his weapon, clicking back the safety. “Once he’s gone, you’ll see.”

Bucky was only able to meet your eye for a moment before the deafening sound of the gunfire rang through the encased space. There was a terrible ache in his stomach, though he found he couldn’t quite focus on that with you screaming just a few feet away from him, tears falling down your face as you yanked against the chains binding you to the floor.

He only stared at you, watching intently as a ringing buzzed his in ears, muffling your cries. He wondered briefly why you were so upset when his right hand reached to touch the pain in his stomach and his fingers were coated in blood. Bringing his hand out in front of him, he examined the red glistening against his skin and his vision started to blur.

He slumped down onto his back, a faint chuckling registering as Eros crouched over him. Bucky could hardly keep his eyes open and even through his haze, he knew your face was the last thing he wanted to see when the darkness took him in; the tender look behind your eyes he had come to adore, the curve of your nose, the faded scar on your forehead from your first mission together, the hue of your lips. He just needed to see you one last time.

Bucky turned his head away from Eros to find your eyes bloodshot in red, blood oozing from your wrists, as you desperately tried to reach him with no avail. Tears streamed down your face and you were screaming, words he couldn’t quite understand, as he felt the cool edge of a barrel press to his temple. Eros smirked.

Then suddenly, a loud bang and Bucky watched hazily as your attention diverted to the door. A second gunshot rang out and Eros was suddenly on the floor.

Bucky’s lids were falling too heavy, he could hardly make out the sound of at least four sets of footsteps racing into the room. As he struggled to push his eyes open, he found a blur of red hair, hands working at the cuff on his left wrist with a laser.

His chest felt heavy. Each breath harder to take in. He let his eyes fall shut.

Then, he was being shaken forcefully, his left arm fallen to his side away from the wall, and he jolted his eyes open again to find you hovering over him. Steve stood just above your shoulder attempting to draw you away gently, though you clung onto Bucky with all you had.

Your hands gripped into his jacket, tears falling into his suit.

“Don’t do this! Don’t leave me! P-Please, Bucky! I need you to- to stay awake... Please!” you sobbed and Bucky wanted nothing more than to reach up and brush his hand over the side of your face, capturing the tears with his thumb as they fell, but his arm was too heavy. He couldn’t lift it.

He tried to nod, to tell you he’d do anything and everything you asked, but instead, his lids began to fall. The last thing he saw was Steve lunging down to scoop you into his arms as you kicked and screamed against him, desperate to throw yourself back towards Bucky.

Hands gripped under his body and then, he was floating.

***

Bucky woke to an influx of white light and a steady, high pitched beeping. He groaned, squinting his eyes as he attempted to adjust to the room, only to recognize it as the med bay of the avenger's compound. A quick glance to his left and he saw the red line on the monitor displaying his heart rhythm. To his right, you sat curled up in a chair, your hand grasping his as you slept and Bucky could hear the beeping pick up in pace as he finally took notice of your intertwined fingers.

He sank back into his bed, a semblance of relief passing over him as he let his thumb brush over your hand. Your nose scrunched in your sleep, adjusting your position in this chair Bucky could only wonder how you’d been able to find rest in. The days Bucky found himself in your position, he’d be leaning so far over the bed, he’d practically be on top of you just trying to find a position that didn’t kill his back.

He barely even noticed the lingering ache in his stomach when he looked at you.

“She’s been here for two days.”

Steve stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as his lips curved into a soft smile. Bucky exhaled, nodding. He should have known. At least someone convinced you to shower and put on some fresh clothes. Cho must have wrapped your wrists as well and attended to the wound on your head. It brought him some peace to know you had been looked after while he slept.

“What happened?” he asked groggily, his voice raspier than he realized. His left hand ghosted over the bandages wrapped around his stomach.

Steve sighed, stepping further into the room, his arms folding over his chest. “Red Wing caught sight of you through a small crack in the foundation of the wall and alerted us to your coordinates, but we were too late. By the time we heard the gunshot, we had just entered the building. Eros was leaning over you, had a gun to the side of your head, and Nat didn’t hesitate to take the shot. Sam untied Y/n and... Buck, you should have seen her. I could barely get her away from you long enough for Sam and Clint to hull you out to the quinjet. She was inconsolable. She really thought you were gone. We... we all did for a minute there.”

Bucky nodded eyes flickering over to you, a semblance of a smile as he memorized the way your hair brushed over your cheek, lips twitching in your sleep. You looked so peaceful like that. He couldn’t imagine being the source of your pain.

“You should tell her how you feel.”

Bucky swallowed, not daring to look Steve in the eye, though he didn’t bother denying it.

“I’ve seen a lot in my time, Buck,” Steve continued, “but, the look on her face when Clint and Sam carried you away, the way she fought me, just trying to get back to you... it’s not something I will easily forget. It was the look of someone who lost everything.”

“What if it changes things?”

“Isn’t that the point?” Steve smiled and he nodded in your direction. Bucky followed his eyes to find you stirring in the chair, your free arm stretching high above your head as you yawned. When Bucky looked back to ask Steve what he should say, he was already gone. So, Bucky found himself waiting anxiously, heart monitor beeping a little faster, as you opened your eyes.

It took a moment before you realized he was awake. Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line, the ends curving up ever so slightly. The shades of your eyes fell upon him and your entire body froze. You sucked in a gasp, and suddenly your breaths were coming in too fast, eyes darting across his face as they blurred in glossy tears.

“I’m okay,” Bucky said carefully, wincing at how broken his voice came out. He squeezed your hand as you brushed the tears from your cheeks. “Y/n, I’m fine, doll. Please don’t cry...”

“I’m so sorry, Bucky... I’m so sorry,” you cried and Bucky felt a horrible ache in his heart. He tugged on your intertwined hand until he could pull you to the side of the bed, bringing you close enough to hold you against his side. Despite the pain in his abdomen, he adjusted himself on the bed, moving over to provide you the room to lay next to him.

“Please don’t apologize, doll, I’m doing just fine,” Bucky soothed as you curled up against him, your face buried in the crook of his neck and he could feel the wet of your tears drip onto his skin.

“He almost killed you, Buck. After- after all those horrible things I said to you,” you shook your head against him, unable to hear him. He’d been in your place too many times, been on the end of an inescapable misplaced guilt and self-loathing, and you’d always known what to say to bring him back. He hoped he could provide even an ounce of that for you.

“I know you didn’t mean ‘em, sweetheart,” Bucky said sincerely, brushing his hand over your forehead to draw the hair away from your eyes.

“But I said them, Buck. I said them and- and then you almost died! It coulda been the last things you heard me say and you didn’t- you didn’t deserve that.”

“Y/n...”

“I love you,” you confessed suddenly and Bucky swore his heart fully stopped. You pulled yourself up from his chest, just enough to meet his eye. You swallowed, your eyes capturing his and he swore he saw a flicker of a smile upon your tear stained lips.

“I am fully, and honestly, in love with you,” you continued, a brightness forming behind your eyes as you spoke that took Bucky’s breath away. “You are everything to me. You’re my best friend, Buck, and I don’t ever want to spend a day without you. I’m... I’m sorry it took until my deranged stalker nearly killed us to tell you that.”

Bucky surprised himself when a chuckle escaped past his lips, easing the tension in your face. You laughed back, the absurdity of the situation finally catching up with both of you. Bucky reached forward, his hand cupping around the side of your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

“You know I feel the same way, don’t you?” he asked nervously. “I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you.”

“Really?” you grinned and the genuine shock upon your face only seemed to make Bucky’s stomach weaker. His cheeks started to hurt from smiling. It was a new feeling.

“Sam said I’ve been obvious about it, honestly.”

“Well what does Sam know anyway?” you teased, and even if Bucky’s heart was already filled to capacity, it managed to swell a little more.

Your laugh lingered a little longer, prolonging into the silence that followed, and Bucky’s eyes flickered down to your lips. The gentle beeping over his head pulsed quicker as you leaned in closer to him, eyes darting up to his when he felt the warmth of your breath on his cheeks. With a nod so subtle he wasn’t sure you had seen it, you closed the space between you and then your lips were on his.

Warmer, softer, than he imagined; you tasted of the mocha creamer you drowned your coffee in. Bucky’s hand snaked up into your hair, pulling flush you against him as he bit and sucked at your lips, do desperate to have you near. He grunted as your weight fell onto his wound and you yelped, laughing as you tried to pull yourself off of him, though he wouldn’t budge. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“What in the-”

You jumped off of Bucky, wiping your lips as your cheeks flushed red. Bucky chuckled, the ache lingering in his stomach as he glanced between Banner standing in the doorway and you attempting to hide red burning in your face.

“Maybe take off the heart monitor next time, kids,” Banner snickered, shaking his head with a massive grin as he disappeared down the hall again.

It only took one glance over in your direction before your lips were on his again, your body curled up against his side, careful of the wound on the left side of his torso, as he ran his hand along your back. You gripped at his right hand and pulled the heart monitor from his finger, tossing it to the floor. The beeping ceased and Bucky laughed against your lips.

“Think you can survive this, Sarge?” you panted as you peppered kisses along his jaw line.

“I’ve survived a lot in my life. I’m sure I’ll be okay,” Bucky grinned, cupping the sides of your face to bring you back to his lips. He pressed a simple, chaste kiss to your mouth before he pulled back, just enough to memorize the swollen look of your lips and the loving daze in your eye. “But, if this takes me out, I think I’m okay with that.”

“Shut up,” you giggled pushing forward to kiss him again and he didn’t mind one bit.

“You and me, doll. We’re going to be okay,” Bucky mumbled against your lips, drinking you in and reveling in the feel of you. It was heaven. It was home.

You pulled back for only a second, lips red and flushed, and hands grazing over the sides of his face. He’d never seen eyes as warm and loving as yours. You nodded with a smile beaming on your face.

“We’re going to be okay.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[halictus-writer]

Welcome to Seattle (Ch. 3 of 5)

Remus deleted Tinder the second the app finished downloading. He was sitting at the dining table/desk combination of his studio apartment, and, unsurprisingly it was raining just outside the window. Seattle felt so new to Remus, although it had now been months since he moved away from his previous life. It took a lot of journaling and time, but he had begun to feel like what had happened–– his ex breaking his heart an hour before his twenty-sixth birthday party–– was meant to happen. His life hadn’t been his own. It was full of so much compromise, as is necessary for a life shared by two people, but the compromises that were made did not further his growth. He was stuck in a rut in his career, he was still in his college town, and he hadn’t even written a word of the novel he told himself he would write after the next big thing––graduation, holidays, birthdays, travel–– finished.

And now, here he was. Living in a big city, alone, but doing it the way he wanted. He had a job that furthered his growth, he had supportive friends, and he had already filled entire notebooks with the ideas, character charts, and plot diagrams that would eventually become his novel. Suddenly realizing that no one was here to complain about the cold, he cracked the window open, letting some of the fresh, rain-scented air in, and shrugged on a sweater.

He was at peace with himself, and for that reason he felt he was ready to give dating another shot. He re-downloaded Tinder, chose a few random pictures of himself, and typed out the bio that Dorcas had helped him draft, cringing the entire time. He closed the app without viewing the other Tinder users within twenty-five miles and two years of his age.

As a treat for his bravery, he decided to get a margherita pizza for lunch. If he exercised self-control, he could save half for tonight’s dinner as well. It was really a matter of simple economics.

***

Remus immediately noticed that the restaurant looked a little different in the midday light, but he also immediately noticed that Sirius was not on the clock. He ordered his pizza to-go.

As he walked back to his apartment, one hand tucking the pizza close, the other brandishing an umbrella, he tried not to think about the fact that he had so far only received free–– and unsolicited–– dessert items when Sirius was working.

***

An hour later, Remus had made his first matches on Tinder. He had also accidentally “super-liked” a person named “DL Top” with a gray image as their only picture, frantically looked up how you could “un-match” with someone, read a very patronizing how-to article on basic Tinder functions, and decided to choose “block” for good measure.

One of his matches was a graduate student at the University of Washington, and Remus liked that his profile said he loved to read. They exchanged normal greeting messages, before the man asked Remus if he was “a LTR kind of guy.” Remus answered him by saying “Tolkien is an amazing writer, obviously, but I have to admit the movies were kind of long.” The man didn’t reply, and Remus figured that his opinions on the Lord of the Rings franchise must have been a deal-breaker for the other man.

Dorcas and Marlene were adamant about hearing his progress with Tinder, so he sent a group text to the two of them.

Remus: Tinder day one is a thing, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong yet

Dorcas: Yes! Proud of you

Marlene: what’s the weirdest thing that’s happened so far!!!!???

Remus: well, someone asked me what I thought about lord of the rings on the second message, does that count?

Dorcas: haha seriously? What did they even say

Remus: “so are you an LTR kinda guy or what?”

Marlene: HAHA

Dorcas explained that LTR in this context likely stood for “long-term relationship,” with intermittent texts from Marlene such as “how in the heck even” and “you are my favorite person oh my god.”

Remus decided to give Tinder a break for the rest of the day.

***

He made a good deal of progress within his first week of online dating, especially when considering that he started so low, with the misunderstanding of slang and accidental super-liking. It was now a Friday night, and he had a real-life, in-person date set for six o’clock. On Wednesday Remus had met a different match for coffee (but only after Dorcas had cross-referenced his story, friended him from a blank Facebook profile, and found pictures of him at his high school senior prom from nearly a decade ago. “You should be arrested,” Remus had said, horrified but a little grateful). Coffee had been perfectly pleasant, but both men agreed that they would rather be friends than anything more. They even friended each other on Facebook so that Remus could be added to his book club.

Meeting new friends was a welcome side-effect, but Remus was still in the market for a boyfriend. Hence, the anxious shuffling as he waited for the clock to get closer to six. Remus wished his apartment was larger, if only for the chance to have more space to clean. He had already Swiffered the floor, cleaned the bathroom mirror, and remade the bed, and it was still only a quarter past five. The cleaning was just for something to do with his hands and nerves, he knew that his date wouldn’t be seeing the inside of his apartment tonight. As per Dorcas’s prescriptions (and his own self-preservation), Remus’s first dates with strangers met online would take place completely in public.

At 5:45, a message from his upcoming date announced that he was being held a bit late at the office, and asked to reschedule for 6:30 instead of 6. Remus, wanting to be easy-going and amicable, kindly agreed, wishing him luck with his pressing work matters. Internally, however, he was frustrated that he had already taken the garbage out, since now there was absolutely nothing left to clean.

6:30 turned into 7:00, and by 7:15 Remus had taken his shoes off and was laying on the top of his neatly-made bed. The excuses changed from finishing at work, to a friend in need, to traffic, and Remus was beginning to consider just preemptively cancelling it himself.

At 7:45, the match asked if they could just skip dinner and maybe move straight into watching a movie “and cuddling” at Remus’s place instead. It was the final nail in the coffin Remus already saw, so he wasn’t even too disappointed.

Remus sent a polite but clear no, and knew that whoever this person was, he was not someone Remus would be building his life with. His stomach growled suddenly, reminding him that he still hadn’t eaten the dinner he was supposed to have hours earlier. Instead of going to all of the trouble to devise a meal at home, Remus decided that his troubles with the cancelled date warranted a very cheesy, doughy, and effortless meal. He quickly changed from his date clothes–– button down shirt, khakis, and tan buck shoes–– into a more comfortable, eating-pizza-alone-on-a-Friday-night ensemble: cozy sweatshirt, old blue jeans, and nikes.

When he got to the restaurant, he was still moping about getting blown-off from his date. He had sent a quick text to Dorcas and Marlene to let them know that his date was cancelled (otherwise they would have been checking his location religiously every fifteen minutes), but said he was doing okay since he didn’t want to interrupt their own date night plans with his sorrows.

Truthfully, Remus was pretty upset about what had happened. So far, online dating had not been a success, and Remus found himself returning to his secret fear that he wouldn’t ever successfully date again. Maybe it was because he was just too old, or perhaps he was out-of-touch, or it was simply because he had no real experience with dating since he had only ever had to go on one first date, and everything afterwards seemed to fall into place. If Lily was right, and he needed to meet someone organically for a relationship to work, he hoped it would happen soon.

Just then, his inner wallowing was interrupted by Sirius, carrying silverware and a glass of water. Somehow, Remus had forgotten that Sirius may be here, and hadn’t had time to prepare himself for the sight of the attractive waiter. His hair was swept into a loose bun, seemingly held together with a pencil.

“Hey there, how’s your Friday night going?”

Remus almost laughed at the question. Clearly, his night was not fantastic, because if it was, he would not be sitting in the booth of an Italian restaurant, alone, at 8:30 PM. He tried to shake off his own self-pity before answering. “Fine, thanks. How about you? Has it been busy tonight?” One of Remus’s favorite tactics when avoiding conversations about himself to his friends was to get them talking about themselves instead. Or, in the case of James, talking about Lily.

“It hasn’t been too busy today, or at least not since I got here at 5. Although,” he said, smiling almost conspiratorially, “I’ve had three different tables tell me ‘you too’ after I brought them their dinners.”

Remus laughed, and filed away the knowledge that Sirius remembered their inside joke from last time to the back of his mind for unpacking later. “I’ll have to see if I can get that number any higher then.”

“Oh, but you won’t be able to if I change up my script when I bring you your small margherita pizza. I’ll just say something like ‘here it is,’ no wishes of enjoyment included.” Sirius said, with faux sincerity.

“And what if I changed up my order on you?” Remus was surprised but pleased that Sirius remembered not only their jokes from last time about customers stumbling over words when presented with their food, but also the very food that Remus had ordered.

“I hope not, since I told the kitchen to start making it right after I saw you walk in.” Sirius grinned, but then suddenly looked almost bashful. “Although if you wanted something else, you still can order something else, that would be fine, I just thought, well, since it’s kind of late, we might as well give the ovens a head start?” His voice tilted up at the end as the statement turned into a question.

Remus liked this more approachable version of Sirius. He made him feel at ease. “No, you were right, I came here specifically for that margherita pizza. Thank you for starting it early for me.”

Sirius’s nervous smile turned soft.

***

The pizza was delicious, and succeeded in making Remus feel slightly better about the cancelled date. After all, he wouldn’t have been able to eat this much on the date, hindered by an abundance of good manners.

When Sirius dropped off the check, he also let Remus know that they would be closing soon. “You’re welcome to sit as long as you like, but the kitchen did just close.”

“No worries, I’m ready to head out. Thank you!” As Remus signed the receipt, a small to-go box was placed in front of him.

“Kitchen is closed, but you may want that for the road.” Sirius smiled warmly at Remus. “Have a good night!”

As Remus left the restaurant, carrying the small box, he reflected on Sirius’s parting words. He did have a good night, all things considered. Comfort food is one for addressing his emotional turmoil, but having a light conversation with a few inside jokes with another person is another thing entirely.

He also happily noted that he would get to bring the enclosed tiramisu with him to his breakfast with Dorcas and Marlene tomorrow. Pawning off the soggy dessert on them would be good for both reducing food waste and generating karma.

[kitkatwinchester]

Aesthetic Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me @jelly-pies and @letscatchyoulater! I know you guys tagged me a while ago, but it took me a bit to come up with my own aesthetics lol. It was super fun though!! 

Rules: Bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold

(soft!) baby pink | iridescent | glitter is always a good option | no bra | minimalistic tattoos | cherry patterns | sweet scented perfumes | wearing generous amounts of blush | doodling hearts | getting excited to pet an animal | fun nails | rewatching old barbie movies | hair sticking to glossed lips | heart shaped sunglasses | taking pictures of the sunset or sunrise | stuffed animals | protecting nature | stickers everywhere | teen movies | the light rain that falls from a clear sky at the beginning of the night | 

(dark academia!) neutral tones | masculine outfits | studying languages | worn down copy of books | grey skies | turtleneck sweaters | loose fitting pants | hair tied with a silk ribbon | trying to remember a cool difficult word you read somewhere to use in a convo | thick belts | minimal makeup | windows fogged by rain | vintage jewelry | blouses with cuffed sleeves | reading a murder mystery and trying to solve it | oxford style shoes | sweater vests | subtitled old movies in a language you don’t speak | leaves crackling as you walk | annotating books to express your emotions about the story |

(edgy!) closet full of dark clothes | fishnet tights | makeup sweating off | neon signs | searching for unknown songs | chokers | band tees | doodling on old converses | finding smoking aesthetically pleasing but not doing it | weird humor | accidentally very dramatic | dim lights | layered outfits | chain belts | chipped nail polish | messy hair | low quality pics | piercings | combat boots | scribbling on desks |

(seventies!) colorful wardrobe | doodling flowers | wearing short shorts | using a bikini top or bra as a normal top | listening to ABBA | flowers in your hair | DIYing everything | jamming to songs alone in your room | drunkenly telling your friends you love them | patterned bandanas | mid heeled shoes | messy braids | flared sleeves | walking barefoot on grass or sand | bold sunglasses | the good kind of tired you get after doing something you enjoy for hours | feeding stray animals | fun patterned socks | room decorated with succulents and other plants | likes to go roller skating or skateboarding |

(preppy casual!) collared clothes | drinking juice out of a champagne glass | getting excited to see the met gala looks | thick headbands | small pastel cardigans | making your friends take your ootd pics | plaid mini skirts | tweed two pieces | watching reality tv to pass time | frilly tops | watching old hollywood movies | academically driven | long manicured nails | new year’s eve fireworks | colorful tights | layered golden jewelry | yearns for luxury brand items | decorating your room with fairy-lights | cursive and neat handwriting | lace details

(@masterninjacow) rainy mornings | sweet steaming tea | cats’ purrs | daydreaming about fantasies | back hugs | glinting necklaces | loud video games | grumbling thunder | constantly chewing gum | wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear to bed | watching horror movies at night | nibbling on chocolates | talking to yourself | short hair | sad lofi music | messy sketches | sweet-scented body wash | spicy noodles at midnight | hating physical affection but craving it at the same time | ending all texts with lmao or rip

(@cherriigguk) | dried flowers | painting at 2 am in oversized sweater| up until sunrise | abundance of blankets and plushies | minimalistic colours | writing when you can’t sleep | warm banana bread on a winters day | stroking a sleepy dog | big eyeliner | butterfly clips | lo-fi hip hop | glossy lips and rose tinted cheeks | afternoon tea with old friends | oversized cardigans | herbal tea | dainty jewellery | self-care evenings | messy low bun or ponytails | dark hair | too many sketchbooks

(@bisoo) Fairy lights | Walking in the woods | night city | waves sound | drinking hot chocolate or tea during raining days | being wrapped in a blanket | polaroids | pastel stuff | mint tea | cats’ furr | baked brownies or cookies | French toast/pancakes for breakfast | drinking tea at 3 am with friends | café | doing braids on your friend’s hair | lots of plushies | doing old drawings again | boxes full of doodles | iced coffee

(@midnightlunaandinnerfangirl) having tons of plushies | wearing black | knitting | making your own clothes | napping in the sun | dancing in your bedroom | reading books in your bed | oversized hoodies | combat boots | flowy dresses | lots of piercings | wearing multiple rings on your fingers | gardening | ripped black jeans | chokers | wearing tights | oversized sweaters | black nail polish | holding babies | coffee

(@superherotiger) Posters on your bedroom walls | Marvel/Star Wars shirts | hot chocolate at night | platonic cuddling | family jewellery | ocean breeze | sand on your feet | reading books in the sunlight | stuffed toys | big jackets | black hair | playing games | night owl | clean and orderly | blues and greens | trinkets from travels | LEGO | unfinished sketch books | sunny days | starry nights

(@an-odd-idea) constant daydreaming | full notes app | studying maps | staying up late | meaningful jewelry | searching for music to match what you’re writing | loving deeply | always cold | cuddling cats | no makeup | long hair | camp t-shirts | songs on repeat | singing in the car | fuzzy blanket | chamomile tea | midnight snacks | summer nostalgia | bad at hugs but really wanting them anyway | holding hands |

(@jelly-pies) ink on your hands | doodling random quotes/song lyrics | t-shirts and denim shorts | keeping mints in your purse | lip balm | talking to inanimate objects | half-full journals | backpacks | fandom trinkets | flip-flops | board games | songs from original movie soundtracks | holding conversations with kids | fanarts saved to your phone | lying on the grass | floating on your back in the water | full hearty breakfasts | casual side-hugs | dozing off anywhere | fruit shakes |

(@letscatchyoulater) misty sunrises | peppermint tea with milk and honey | sunlight filtering down between trees | lots of warm, squeezing hugs | vanilla scented candles  | found family fics | watching raindrops fall down the window pane | drinking hot chocolate alone at a cafe | different playlists for different moods and activities | subtle fandom pun shirts and stuff | hurt/comfort | wireless headphones for care-free dancing | crisp autumn days | shadowy forest trails | calm seas and stormy lakes | reading just one more chapter before going to sleep | cocooning oneself in a blanket burrito | chocolate biscuits | platonic cuddle piles | randomly singing and humming everywhere

(@kitkatwinchester) constantly listening to music | ruffling siblings’ hair | dancing like nobody’s watching | head in someone’s lap| reading in a corner with a desk lamp | always saying “I love you” to friends and family | long bike rides | sunsets by the lake | late night phone calls | writing when emotional | playing random instruments when you walk by them | family doesn’t end with blood | always having something to talk about | nocturnal | organized chaos in your room | easily losing track of time | really long hugs from the people you love | always wearing fandom gear| organizing things into folders/albums | taking lots of fall photos

I’m tagging @baloobird, @jen27ny, @crowleyellestair, @howdoistopthetrain, @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover, @ironfamjam, @jolinarjackson, @irondad-not-ironsad, @joyful-soul-collector, @justme--emily, and @annieshurley. 

[hlupdate]

Harry Styles isn’t exactly dressed down for lunch. He’s got a white floppy hat that Diana Ross might have won from Elton in a poker game at Cher’s mansion circa 1974, plus Gucci shades, a cashmere sweater, and blue denim bell-bottoms. His nail polish is pink and mint green. He’s also carrying his purse — no other word for it — a yellow patent-canvas bag with the logo “Chateau Marmont.” The tough old ladies who work at this Beverly Hills deli know him well. Gloria and Raisa dote on him, calling him “my love” and bringing him his usual tuna salad and iced coffee. He turns heads, to put it mildly, but nobody comes near because the waitresses hover around the booth protectively.

He was just a small-town English lad of 16 when he became his generation’s pop idol with One Direction. When the group went on hiatus, he struck out on his own with his brash 2017 solo debut, whose lead single was the magnificently over-the-top six-minute piano ballad “Sign of the Times.” Even people who missed out on One Direction were shocked to learn the truth: This pinup boy was a rock star at heart.

A quick highlight reel of Harry’s 2019 so far: He hosted the Met Gala with Lady Gaga, Serena Williams, Alessandro Michele, and Anna Wintour serving an eyebrow-raising black lace red-carpet look. He is the official face of a designer genderless fragrance, Gucci’s Mémoire d’une Odeur. When James Corden had an all-star dodgeball match on The Late Late Show, Harry got spiked by a hard serve from Michelle Obama, making him perhaps the first Englishman ever hit in the nads on TV by a First Lady.

Closer to his heart, he brought down the house at this year’s Rock & Roll Hall of Fame ceremony with his tribute to his friend and idol Stevie Nicks. “She’s always there for you,” Harry said in his speech. “She knows what you need: advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl.” He added, “She’s responsible for more running mascara — including my own — than all the bad dates in history.” (Backstage, Nicks accidentally referred to Harry’s former band as “’NSync.” Hey, a goddess can get away with that sort of thing.)

Harry has been the world’s It boy for nearly a decade now. The weirdest thing about him? He loves being this guy. In a style of fast-lane celebrity that takes a ruthless toll on the artist’s personality, creativity, sanity, Harry is almost freakishly at ease. He has managed to grow up in public with all his boyish enthusiasm intact, not to mention his manners. He’s dated a string of high-profile women — but he never gets caught uttering any of their names in public, much less shading any of them. Instead of going the usual superstar-pop route — en vogue producers, celebrity duets, glitzy club beats — he’s gone his own way, and gotten more popular than ever. He’s putting the finishing touches on his new album, full of the toughest, most soulful songs he’s written yet. As he explains, “It’s all about having sex and feeling sad.”

The Harry Charm is a force of nature, and it can be almost frightening to witness in action. The most startling example might be a backstage photo from February taken with one of his heroes, Van Morrison. You have never seen a Van picture like this one. He’s been posing for photos for 50 years, and he’s been refusing to crack a smile in nearly all of them. Until he met Harry — for some reason, Van beams like a giddy schoolgirl. What did Harry do to him? “I was tickling him behind his back,” Harry confides. “Somebody sent me that photo — I think his tour manager took it. When I saw it, I felt like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction opening the case with the gold light shining. I was like, ‘Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t show this to anyone.’”

In interviews, Harry has always tended to coast on that charm, simply because he can. In his teens, he was in public every minute and became adept at guarding every scrap of his privacy. But these days, he’s finding out he has things he wants to say. He’s more confident about thinking out loud and seeing what happens. “Looser” is how he puts it. “More open. I’m discovering how much better it makes me feel to be open with friends. Feeling that vulnerability, rather than holding everything in.”

Like a lot of people his age, he’s asking questions about culture, gender, identity, new ideas about masculinity and sexuality. “I feel pretty lucky to have a group of friends who are guys who would talk about their emotions and be really open,” he says. “My friend’s dad said to me, ‘You guys are so much better at it than we are. I never had friends I could really talk to. It’s good that you guys have each other because you talk about real shit. We just didn’t.’”

It’s changed how he approaches his songs. “For me, it doesn’t mean I’ll sit down and be like, ‘This is what I have for dinner, and this is where I eat every day, and this is what I do before I go to bed,’” he says. “But I will tell you that I can be really pathetic when I’m jealous. Feeling happier than I’ve ever been, sadder than I’ve ever been, feeling sorry for myself, being mad at myself, being petty and pitiful — it feels really different to share that.”

At times, Harry sounds like an ordinary 25-year-old figuring his shit out, which, of course, he is. (Harry and I got to know each other last year, when he got in touch after reading one of my books, though I’d already been writing about his music for years.) It’s strange to hear him talk about shedding his anxieties and doubts, since he’s always come across as one of the planet’s most confident people. “While I was in the band,” he says, “I was constantly scared I might sing a wrong note. I felt so much weight in terms of not getting things wrong. I remember when I signed my record deal and I asked my manager, ‘What happens if I get arrested? Does it mean the contract is null and void?’ Now, I feel like the fans have given me an environment to be myself and grow up and create this safe space to learn and make mistakes.”

We slip out the back and spend a Saturday afternoon cruising L.A. in his 1972 silver Jaguar E-type. The radio doesn’t work, so we just sing “Old Town Road.” He marvels, “‘Bull riding and boobies’ — that is potentially the greatest lyric in any song ever.” Harry used to be pop’s mystery boy, so diplomatic and tight-lipped. But as he opens up over time, telling his story, he reaches the point where he’s pitching possible headlines for this profile. His best: “Soup, Sex, and Sun Salutations.”

How did he get to this new place? As it turns out, the journey involves some heartbreak. Some guidance from David Bowie. Some Transcendental Meditation. And more than a handful of magic mushrooms. But mostly, it comes down to a curious kid who can’t decide whether to be the world’s most ardently adored pop star, or a freaky artiste. So he decides to be both.

Two things about English rock stars never change: They love Southern California, and they love cars. A few days after Harry proclaimed the genius of “Old Town Road,” we’re in a different ride — a Tesla — cruising the Pacific Coast Highway while Harry sings along to the radio. “Californiaaaaaa!” he yells from behind the wheel as we whip past Zuma Beach. “It sucks!” There’s a surprising number of couples along the beach who seem to be arguing. We speculate on which ones are breaking up and which are merely having the talk. “Ah, yes, the talk,” Harry says dreamily. “Ye olde chat.”

Harry is feeling the smooth Seventies yacht-rock grooves today, blasting Gerry Rafferty, Pablo Cruise, Hall and Oates. When I mention that Nina Simone once did a version of “Rich Girl,” he needs to hear it right away. He counters by blowing my mind with Donny Hathaway’s version of John Lennon’s “Jealous Guy.”

Harry raves about a quintessential SoCal trip he just tried: a “cold sauna,” a process that involves getting locked in an ice chamber. His eyelashes froze. We stop for a smoothie (“It’s basically ice cream”) and his favorite pepper-intensive wheatgrass shot. It goes down like a dose of battery acid. “That’ll add years to your life,” he assures me.

We’re on our way to Shangri-La studios in Malibu, founded by the Band back in the 1970s, now owned by Rick Rubin. It’s where Harry made some of the upcoming album, and as we walk in, he grins at the memory. “Ah, yes,” he says. “Did a lot of mushrooms in here.”

Psychedelics have started to play a key role in his creative process. “We’d do mushrooms, lie down on the grass, and listen to Paul McCartney’s Ram in the sunshine,” he says. “We’d just turn the speakers into the yard.” The chocolate edibles were kept in the studio fridge, right next to the blender. “You’d hear the blender going, and think, ‘So we’re all having frozen margaritas at 10 a.m. this morning.’” He points to a corner: “This is where I was standing when we were doing mushrooms and I bit off the tip of my tongue. So I was trying to sing with all this blood gushing out of my mouth. So many fond memories, this place.”

It’s not mere rock-star debauchery — it’s emblematic of his new state of mind. You get the feeling this is why he enjoys studios so much. After so many years making One Direction albums while touring, always on the run, he finally gets to take his time and embrace the insanity of it all. “We were here for six weeks in Malibu, without going into the city,” he says. “People would bring their dogs and kids. We’d take a break to play cornhole tournaments. Family values!” But it’s also the place where he has proudly bled for his art. “Mushrooms and Blood. Now there’s an album title.”

Some of the engineers come over to catch up on gossip. Harry gestures out the window to the Pacific waves, where the occasional nude revelry might have happened, and where the occasional pair of pants got lost. “There was one night where we’d been partying a bit and ended up going down to the beach and I lost all my stuff, basically,” he says. “I lost all my clothes. I lost my wallet. Maybe a month later, somebody found my wallet and mailed it back, anonymously. I guess it just popped out of the sand. But what’s sad is, I lost my favorite mustard corduroy flares.” A moment of silence is held for the corduroy flares.

Recording in the studio today is Brockhampton, the self-proclaimed “world’s greatest boy band.” Harry says hi to all the Brockhampton guys, which takes a while since there seem to be a few dozen of them. “We’re together all the time,” one tells Harry out in the yard. “We see each other all day, every day.” He pauses. “You know how it is.”

Harry breaks into a dry grin. “Yes, I know how it is.”

One Direction made three of this century’s biggest and best pop albums in a rush — Midnight Memories, Four and Made in the A.M. Yet they cut those records on tour, ducking into the nearest studio when they had a day off. 1D were a unique mix of five different musical personalities: Harry, Niall Horan, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, and Liam Payne. But the pace took its toll. Malik quit in the middle of a tour, immediately after a show in Hong Kong. The band announced its hiatus in August 2015.

It’s traditional for boy-band singers, as they go solo and grow up, to renounce their pop past. Everybody remembers George Michael setting his leather jacket on fire, or Sting quitting the Police to make jazz records. This isn’t really Harry Styles’ mentality. “I know it’s the thing that always happens. When somebody gets out of a band, they go, ‘That wasn’t me. I was held back.’ But it was me. And I don’t feel like I was held back at all. It was so much fun. If I didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t have done it. It’s not like I was tied to a radiator.”

Whenever Harry mentions One Direction — never by name, always “the band” or “the band I was in” — he uses the past tense. It is my unpleasant duty to ask: Does he see 1D as over? “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think I’d ever say I’d never do it again, because I don’t feel that way. If there’s a time when we all really want to do it, that’s the only time for us to do it, because I don’t think it should be about anything else other than the fact that we’re all like, ‘Hey, this was really fun. We should do this again.’ But until that time, I feel like I’m really enjoying making music and experimenting. I enjoy making music this way too much to see myself doing a full switch, to go back and do that again. Because I also think if we went back to doing things the same way, it wouldn’t be the same, anyway.”

When the band stopped, did he take those friendships with him? “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “Definitely. Because above all else, we’re the people who went through that. We’re always going to have that, even if we’re not the closest. And the fact is, just because you’re in a band with someone doesn’t mean you have to be best friends. That’s not always how it works. Just because Fleetwood Mac fight, that doesn’t mean they’re not amazing. I think even in the disagreements, there’s always a mutual respect for each other — we did this really cool thing together, and we’ll always have that. It’s too important to me to ever be like, ‘Oh, that’s done.’ But if it happens, it will happen for the right reasons.”

If the intensity of the Harry fandom ever seems mysterious to you, there’s a live clip you might want to investigate, from the summer of 2018. Just search the phrase “Tina, she’s gay.” In San Jose, on one of the final nights of his tour, Harry spots a fan with a homemade sign: “I’m Gonna Come Out to My Parents Because of You!” He asks the fan her name (she says it’s Grace) and her mother’s name (Tina). He asks the audience for silence because he has an important announcement to make: “Tina! She’s gaaaaay!” Then he has the entire crowd say it together. Thousands of strangers start yelling “Tina, she’s gay,” and every one of them clearly means it — it’s a heavy moment, definitely not a sound you forget after you hear it. Then Harry sings “What Makes You Beautiful.” (Of course, the way things work now, the clip went viral within minutes. So did Grace’s photo of Tina giving a loving thumbs-up to her now-out teenage daughter. Grace and Tina attended Harry’s next show together.)

Harry likes to cultivate an aura of sexual ambiguity, as overt as the pink polish on his nails. He’s dated women throughout his life as a public figure, yet he has consistently refused to put any kind of label on his sexuality. On his first solo tour, he frequently waved the pride, bi, and trans flags, along with the Black Lives Matter flag. In Philly, he waved a rainbow flag he borrowed from a fan up front: “Make America Gay Again.” One of the live fan favorites: “Medicine,” a guitar jam that sounds a bit like the Grateful Dead circa Europe ’72, but with a flamboyantly pansexual hook: “The boys and girls are in/I mess around with them/And I’m OK with it.”

He’s always had a flair for flourishes like this, since the 1D days. An iconic clip from November 2014: Harry and Liam are on a U.K. chat show. The host asks the oldest boy-band fan-bait question in the book: What do they look for in a date? “Female,” Liam quips. “That’s a good trait.” Harry shrugs. “Not that important.” Liam is taken aback. The host is in shock. On tour in the U.S. that year, he wore a Michael Sam football jersey, in support of the first openly gay player drafted by an NFL team. He’s blown up previously unknown queer artists like King Princess and Muna.

What do those flags onstage mean to him? “I want to make people feel comfortable being whatever they want to be,” he says. “Maybe at a show you can have a moment of knowing that you’re not alone. I’m aware that as a white male, I don’t go through the same things as a lot of the people that come to the shows. I can’t claim that I know what it’s like, because I don’t. So I’m not trying to say, ‘I understand what it’s like.’ I’m just trying to make people feel included and seen.”

On tour, he had an End Gun Violence sticker on his guitar; he added a Black Lives Matter sticker, as well as the flag. “It’s not about me trying to champion the cause, because I’m not the person to do that,” he says. “It’s just about not ignoring it, I guess. I was a little nervous to do that because the last thing I wanted was for it to feel like I was saying, ‘Look at me! I’m the good guy!’ I didn’t want anyone who was really involved in the movement to think, ‘What the fuck do you know?’ But then when I did it, I realized people got it. Everyone in that room is on the same page and everyone knows what I stand for. I’m not saying I understand how it feels. I’m just trying to say, ‘I see you.’”

At one of his earliest solo shows, in Stockholm, he announced, “If you are black, if you are white, if you are gay, if you are straight, if you are transgender — whoever you are, whoever you want to be, I support you. I love every single one of you.” “It’s a room full of accepting people.… If you’re someone who feels like an outsider, you’re not always in a big crowd like that,” he says. “It’s not about, ‘Oh, I get what it’s like,’ because I don’t. For example, I go walking at night before bed most of the time. I was talking about that with a female friend and she said, ‘Do you feel safe doing that?’ And I do. But when I walk, I’m more aware that I feel OK to walk at night, and some of my friends wouldn’t. I’m not saying I know what it feels like to go through that. It’s just being aware.”

‘Man cannot live by coffee alone,” Harry says. “But he will give it a damn good try.” He sips his iced Americano — not his first today, or his last. He’s back behind the wheel, on a mission to yet another studio — but this time for actual work. Today it’s string overdubs. Harry is dressed in Gucci from head to toe, except for one item of clothing: a ratty Seventies rock T-shirt he proudly scavenged from a vintage shop. It says “Commander Quaalude.”

On the drive over, he puts on the jazz pianist Bill Evans — “Peace Piece,” from 1959, which is the wake-up tone on his phone. He just got into jazz during a long sojourn in Japan. He likes to find places to hide out and be anonymous: For his first album, he decamped to Jamaica. Over the past year, he spent months roaming Japan.

In February, he spent his 25th birthday sitting by himself in a Tokyo cafe, reading Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. “I love Murakami,” he says. “He’s one of my favorites. Reading didn’t really used to be my thing. I had such a short attention span. But I was dating someone who gave me some books; I felt like I had to read them because she’d think I was a dummy if I didn’t read them.”

A friend gave him Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. “It was the first book, maybe ever, where all I wanted to do all day was read this,” he says. “I had a very Murakami birthday because I ended up staying in Tokyo on my own. I had grilled fish and miso soup for breakfast, then I went to this cafe. I sat and drank tea and read for five hours.”

In the studio, he’s overseeing the string quartet. He has the engineers play T. Rex’s “Cosmic Dancer” for them, to illustrate the vibe he’s going for. You can see he enjoys being on this side of the glass, sitting at the Neve board, giving his instructions to the musicians. After a few run-throughs, he presses the intercom button to say, “Yeah, it’s pretty T. Rex. Best damn strings I ever heard.” He buzzes again to add, “And you’re all wonderful people.”

He’s curated his own weird enclave of kindred spirits to collaborate with, like producers Jeff Bhasker and Tyler Johnson. His guitarist Mitch Rowland was working at an L.A. pizza shop when Harry met him. They started writing songs for the debut; Rowland didn’t quit his job until two weeks into the sessions. One of his closest collaborators is also one of his best friends: Tom Hull, a.k.a. Kid Harpoon, a longtime cohort of Florence and the Machine. Hull is an effusive Brit with a heart-on-sleeve personality. Harry calls him “my emotional rock.” Hull calls him “Gary.”

Hull was the one who talked him into taking a course on Transcendental Meditation at David Lynch’s institute — beginning each day with 20 minutes of silence, which doesn’t always come naturally to either of them. “He’s got this wise-beyond-his-years timelessness about him,” Hull says. “That’s why he went on a whole emotional exploration with these songs.” He’s 12 years older, with a wife and kids in Scotland, and talks about Harry like an irreverent but doting big brother.

Last year, Harry was in the gossip columns dating the French model Camille Rowe; they split up last summer after a year together. “He went through this breakup that had a big impact on him,” Hull says. “I turned up on Day One in the studio, and I had these really nice slippers on. His ex-girlfriend that he was really cut up about, she gave them to me as a present — she bought slippers for my whole family. We’re still close friends with her. I thought, ‘I like these slippers. Can I wear them — is that weird?’

“So I turn up at Shangri-La the first day and literally within the first half-hour, he looks at me and says, ‘Where’d you get those slippers? They’re nice.’ I had to say, ‘Oh, um, your ex-girlfriend got them for me.’ He said, ‘Whaaaat? How could you wear those?’ He had a whole emotional journey about her, this whole relationship. But I kept saying, ‘The best way of dealing with it is to put it in these songs you’re writing.’”

True to his code of gallant discretion, Harry doesn’t say her name at any point. But he admits the songs are coming from personal heartbreak. “It’s not like I’ve ever sat and done an interview and said, ‘So I was in a relationship, and this is what happened,’” he says. “Because, for me, music is where I let that cross over. It’s the only place, strangely, where it feels right to let that cross over.”

The new songs are certainly charged with pain. “The stars didn’t align for them to be a forever thing,” Hull says. “But I told him that famous Iggy Pop quote where he says, ‘I only ever date women who are going to fuck me up, because that’s where the songs are.’ I said, ‘You’re 24, 25 years old, you’re in the eligible-bachelor category. Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up, and explore and have an adventure and let it affect you and write songs about it.’”

His band is full of indie rockers who’ve gotten swept up in Hurricane Harry. Before becoming his iconic drum goddess, Sarah Jones played in New Young Pony Club, a London band fondly remembered by a few dozen of us. Rowland and Jones barely knew anything about One Direction before they met Harry — the first time they heard “Story of My Life” was when he asked them to play it. Their conversation is full of references to Big Star or Guided by Voices or the Nils Lofgren guitar solo in Neil Young’s “Speakin’ Out.” This is a band full of shameless rock geeks, untainted by industry professionalism.

In the studio, while making the album, Harry kept watching a vintage Bowie clip on his phone — a late-Nineties TV interview I’d never seen. As he plays it for me, he recites along — he’s got the rap memorized. “Never play to the gallery,” Bowie advises. “Never work for other people in what you do.” For Harry, this was an inspiring pep talk — a reminder not to play it safe. As Bowie says, “If you feel safe in the area that you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you are capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. And when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”

He got so obsessive about Joni Mitchell and her 1971 classic Blue, he went on a quest. “I was in a big Joni hole,” he says. “I kept hearing the dulcimer all over Blue. So I tracked down the lady who built Joni’s dulcimers in the Sixties.” He found her living in Culver City. “She said, ‘Come and see me,’” Hull says. “We turn up at her house and he said, ‘How do you even play a dulcimer?’ She gave us a lesson. Then she got a bongo and we were all jamming with these big Cheshire Cat grins.” She built the dulcimer Harry plays on the new album. “Joni Mitchell and Van Morrison, those are my two favorites,” he says. “Blue and Astral Weeks are just the ultimate in terms of songwriting. Melody-wise, they’re in their own lane.”

He’s always been the type to go overboard with his fanboy enthusiasms, ever since he was a kid and got his mind blown by Pulp Fiction. “I watched it when I was probably too young,” he admits. “But when I was 13, I saved up money from my paper route to buy a ‘Bad Motherfucker’ wallet. Just a stupid white kid in the English countryside with that wallet.” While in Japan, he got obsessively into Paul McCartney and Wings, especially London Town and Back to the Egg. “In Tokyo I used to go to a vinyl bar, but the bartender didn’t have Wings records. So I brought him Back to the Egg. ‘Arrow Through Me,’ that was the song I had to hear every day when I was in Japan.”

He credits meditation for helping to loosen him up. “I was such a skeptic going in,” he says. “But I think meditation has helped with worrying about the future less, and the past less. I feel like I take a lot more in—things that used to pass by me because I was always rushing around. It’s part of being more open and talking with friends. It’s not always the easiest to go in a room and say, ‘I made a mistake and it made me feel like this, and then I cried a bunch.’ But that moment where you really let yourself be in that zone of being vulnerable, you reach this feeling of openness. That’s when you feel like, ‘Oh, I’m fucking living, man.’”

After quite a few hours of recording the string quartet, a bottle of Casamigos tequila is opened. Commander Quaalude pours the drinks, then decides what the song needs now is a gaggle of nonsingers bellowing the chorus. “Muppet vocals” is how he describes it. He drags everyone in sight to crowd around the mics. Between takes, he wanders over to the piano to play Harry Nilsson’s “Gotta Get Up.” One of the choir members, creative director Molly Hawkins, is the friend who gave him the Murakami novel. “I think every man should read Norwegian Wood,” she says. “Harry’s the only man I’ve given it to who actually read it.”

It’s been a hard day’s night in the studio, but after hours, everyone heads to a dive bar on the other side of town to see Rowland play a gig. He’s sitting in with a local bar band, playing bass. Harry drives around looking for the place, taking in the sights of downtown L.A. (“Only a city as narcissistic as L.A. would have a street called Los Angeles Street,” he says.) He strolls in and leans against the bar in the back of the room. It’s an older crowd, and nobody here has any clue who he is. He’s entirely comfortable lurking incognito in a dim gin joint. After the gig, as the band toasts with PBRs, an old guy in a ball cap strolls over and gives Rowland a proud bear hug. It’s his boss from the pizza shop.

In the wee hours, Harry drives down a deserted Sunset Boulevard, his favorite time of night to explore the city streets, arguing over which is the best Steely Dan album. He insists that Can’t Buy a Thrill is better than Countdown to Ecstasy (wrongly), and seals his case by turning it up and belting “Midnight Cruiser” with truly appalling gusto. Tonight Hollywood is full of bright lights, glitzy clubs, red carpets, but the prettiest pop star in town is behind the wheel, singing along with every note of the sax solo from “Dirty Work.”

A few days later, on the other side of the world: Harry’s pad in London is lavish, yet very much a young single dude’s lair. Over here: a wall-size framed Sex Pistols album cover. Over there: a vinyl copy of Stevie Nicks’ The Other Side of the Mirror, casually resting on the floor. He’s having a cup of tea with his mum, Anne, the spitting image of her son, all grace and poise. “We’re off to the pub,” he tells her. “We’re going to talk some shop.” She smiles sweetly. “Talk some shit, probably,” says Anne.

We head off to his local, sloshing through the rain. He’s wearing a Spice World hoodie and savoring the soggy London-osity of the day. “Ah, Londres!” he says grandly. “I missed this place.” He wants to sit at a table outside, even though it’s pouring, and we chat away the afternoon over a pot of mint tea and a massive plate of fish and chips. When I ask for toast, the waitress brings out a loaf of bread roughly the size of a wheelbarrow. “Welcome to England,” Harry says.

He’s always had a fervent female fandom, and, admirably, he’s never felt a need to pretend he doesn’t love it that way. “They’re the most honest — especially if you’re talking about teenage girls, but older as well,” he says. “They have that bullshit detector. You want honest people as your audience. We’re so past that dumb outdated narrative of ‘Oh, these people are girls, so they don’t know what they’re talking about.’ They’re the ones who know what they’re talking about. They’re the people who listen obsessively. They fucking own this shit. They’re running it.”

He doesn’t have the uptightness some people have about sexual politics, or about identifying as a feminist. “I think ultimately feminism is thinking that men and women should be equal, right? People think that if you say ‘I’m a feminist,’ it means you think men should burn in hell and women should trample on their necks. No, you think women should be equal. That doesn’t feel like a crazy thing to me. I grew up with my mum and my sister — when you grow up around women, your female influence is just bigger. Of course men and women should be equal. I don’t want a lot of credit for being a feminist. It’s pretty simple. I think the ideals of feminism are pretty straightforward.”

His audience has a reputation for ferocity, and the reputation is totally justified. At last summer’s show at Madison Square Garden, the floor was wobbling during “Kiwi” — I’ve been seeing shows there since the 1980s, but I’d never seen that happen before. (The only other time? His second night.) His bandmates admit they feared for their lives, but Harry relished it. “To me, the greatest thing about the tour was that the room became the show,” he says. “It’s not just me.” He sips his tea. “I’m just a boy, standing in front of a room, asking them to bear with him.”

That evening, Fleetwood Mac take the stage in London — a sold-out homecoming gig at Wembley Stadium, the last U.K. show of their tour. Needless to say, their most devoted fan is in the house. Harry has brought a date: his mother, her first Fleetwood Mac show. He’s also with his big sister Gemma, bandmates Rowland and Jones, a couple of friends.

He’s in hyperactive-host mode, buzzing around his cozy VIP box, making sure everyone’s champagne glass is topped off at all times. As soon as the show begins, Harry’s up on his feet, singing along (“Tell me, tell me liiiiies!”) and cracking jokes. You can tell he feels free — as if his radar is telling him there aren’t snoopers or paparazzi watching. (He’s correct. This is a rare public appearance where nobody spots him and no photos leak online.) It’s family night. His friend Mick Fleetwood wilds out on the drum solo. “Imagine being that cool,” Gemma says.

Midway through the show, Harry’s demeanor suddenly changes. He gets uncharacteristically solemn and quiet, sitting down by himself and focusing intently on the stage. It’s the first time all night he’s taken a seat. He’s in a different zone than he was in a few minutes ago. But he’s seen many Fleetwood Mac shows, and he knows where they are in the set. It’s time for “Landslide.” He sits with his chin in hand, his eyes zeroing in on Stevie Nicks. As usual, she introduces her most famous song with the story of how she wrote it when she was just a lass of 27.

But Stevie has something else she wants to share. She tells the stadium crowd, “I’d like to dedicate this to my little muse, Harry Styles, who brought his mother tonight. Her name is Anne. And I think you did a really good job raising Harry, Anne. Because he’s really a gentleman, sweet and talented, and, boy, that appeals to me. So all of you, this is for you.”

As Stevie starts to sing “Landslide” — “I’ve been afraid of changing, because I built my life around youuuu” — Anne walks over to where Harry sits. She crouches down behind him, reaches her arms around him tightly. Neither of them says a word. They listen together and hold each other close to the very end of the song. Everybody in Wembley is singing along with Stevie, but these two are in a world of their own.

[thewritingjasmine]

Escape (Not the Pina Colada Song)

I sat in my car alone. The silence was only broken by the occasional tire squealing across the asphalt. The parking lot was full of cars, and I felt almost comfortable, snuggled in between the two SUVs. As I stared through my windshield, past the chrome Honda Accord, my view of the tree on the other side of the lot was slowly being obscured by the light snowfall. Having just shut off my car, I could feel the heat being replaced by the freezing cold. I couldn’t go inside. Not yet. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back. Just a few more minutes. This isn’t a healthy way to deal with your problems. I was losing track of the amount of times I’d sat in this parking lot, trying to avoid interacting with my roommate, having nowhere else to go. Out of my peripheral, in the seat of my car, I saw my phone’s screen light up. As I picked it up, I sighed. I’d been ignoring my phone for too long. Text messages from my mom? Ignore… Snapchat from my roommate? Not now… Emails… Not important… OKCupid? My thumb hovered over the push notification. “Jake messaged you! This could be big!” I tapped on the notification almost instinctively. I always hoped that the notification specifically designed to make me want to use this app was right and that maybe it “could be big.” Pressing the notification lead me to Jake’s profile. Only one picture, strike one. He says the phrase “I’m a good guy, and I’m funny,” strike two. The only person that gets to decide if someone is funny is me. “The three most important things in my life are my car, my family, and God. In that order.” I swiped left on Jake. He’d probably rather have sex with his car than with me. I forget about the message he sent me. Vijay, 22, smoking a cigarette in one of his pictures. Swipe left. Sal, 20, his self-summary is “Young college guy” and nothing else. Wow, I feel like I really got to know him. I swiped left. Ariana, 19, super cute, 93% match. Beautiful ebony skin and bleached blonde hair. We go on our first date. I can tell she feels kind of awkward, but the way she laughs at my jokes tells me she wants to be there. She’s wearing a blue, spaghetti-strap sundress and combat boots. Her hair is cut short, and I can make out each individual curl. We decide to go to a coffee shop on our date, but neither of us order coffee. “You don’t like coffee either?” I laugh, and she smiles in her awkward way, telling me she’s more of an herbal tea kind of girl. I sighed. Why didn’t she just tell me she doesn’t like coffee? I swiped left. James, 23. His only picture is of a jack-o-lantern. Swipe left. Brandon, 20. “Wanna Netflix and Chill? You can probably beat me at Fortnite.” Left. Doug, 21. 94% match. They/Them pronouns. Speaks Spanish. Gorgeous, curly black hair that you only dream about having. One of their pictures showed them with black nail polish, but it’s not in an “I’m still in my emo phase” way, so it’s cute. “When I graduate, I want to move to New York and become an actor.” After a few dates, we start pursuing a relationship. I was convinced it would be nothing serious, but we spend most of our spare time together now. They’ve made a habit of falling asleep in my arms when I try to show them some of my favorite movies and tv shows. It used to be annoying, but now it gets cuter every time it happens. They laugh at all my jokes, even the bad ones, and, if I tell them enough jokes, they’ll kiss me to shut me up. I’ve slowly started falling in love with, not just their personality, but everything about them. The way their curly, black hair falls over their eyes, the freckles that brush their cheeks and bring out their smile, and the sweatshirt they stole from me… They’re perfect. “Too bad I want to move to Boston after I graduate,” I swiped left and placed my phone face-down in my passenger seat. That’s enough. I should just delete that stupid app. I felt the cold that had seeped its way into my car. I looked down at my hands and flexed my fingers. I knew I could only stand to be in there for a little longer. I glanced up at my building to answer a question I already knew. The lights in my dorm room were on; my roommate was home, and she wasn’t asleep yet. Dammit. I picked up my phone again with every intention to respond to my mother. Facebook message? I tapped on the blue circle to read the message, “Hey! I lost my syllabus for HIS262, can you send me the rubric for the paper due tomorrow?” Oh, yeah. I closed the app. We have a paper due tomorrow. I should get on that. I found myself scrolling through my newsfeed. Something political I didn’t want to read tonight. Continue scrolling. A cute dog playing with a balloon. Like. My aunt shared a post: “Real women have meat on their bones and don’t eat salad.” I comment: “All women are ‘real women,’ including, but not limited to: skinny women, trans women, and women who don’t have children.” Throughout the next day, I’m plagued with “You need to lighten up. My post was meant to be light-hearted” and “All you lib-tards take things too seriously” replies. I get a message from my mom, asking me to apologize to my aunt after being so rude. Too much red tape. I continued scrolling, careful to avoid accidentally reacting to the post. My mother shared a video that teaches people how to make “ice cream lasagna.” I’m glad her diet is working. Like. My little sister shared a picture of a Jeep Wrangler with the caption “They say money can’t buy you happiness, but I’d rather be crying in a Jeep Wrangler.” She was trying to be subtle with my parents about her intense need for a Jeep Wrangler on her 16th birthday. Like. A funny video of a cat stepping in water. I instinctively started to tag my roommate. She loves cats. Before I hit send, I saw that her boyfriend had already tagged her in it. Continue scrolling. My sister-in-law posted a picture of my niece. She’s wearing a Princess Belle costume. It’s captioned “She told me she wants to sleep like a princess and yells when I try to take it off. This girl officially has the most expensive pajamas.” Heart react. I started scrolling through the posts absent-mindedly, so fast that I wasn’t even reading them anymore. I glanced at the clock in my dashboard. 10:47pm. When am I going to go inside? I flex my fingers again; I could feel them getting stiff. I could turn on the car again, or I could go upstairs. I put my phone to sleep and stared at my keys. I could drive anywhere. I almost have a full tank. I don’t have to go inside right now. I close my eyes, take one last deep breath, and grab my bag. Walking up the two flights of stairs is agony. Maybe I should exercise more. I grab the doorknob, count to three, and open the door. My roommate and her boyfriend are cuddling on the couch. At least they’re not having sex. When I walk in the room, it’s freezing. They always kept the thermostat 10 degrees colder than necessary because they could keep each other warm. “How was your night?” the way my roommate asks feels like it was pre-recorded, I’d heard it so much lately. “Um, longer than I wanted it to be,” I grab a couple books off my desk, “I have a 7-page paper to write, so I’ll be in the lounge if you need me.” “When’s it due?” the boyfriend chimes in, like he cares. “Noon.” “Why didn’t you do it sooner?” “I haven’t had time.” “Well, I feel like you could’ve budgeted your time better. Then, you wouldn’t be pulling an all-nighter.” I look away from him and grab a notebook from my bed. He had a nasty habit of making me feel inferior or stupid. “Well, that’s not what happened,” I leave the room quickly, trying to avoid conflict. You need those books. “Fuck it,” I exited the car, grabbing my phone and my bag, locking my doors as a walked across the parking lot. After the uncharacteristically short two flights of stairs, I stopped at my doormat. I stared at my door, at the rainboots next to the doormat, at the numbers by our door. I put my hand on the doorknob, and, while I turned it, I put on the best smile I could. Then, I opened the door, still smiling. “I’m home.” My roommate and her boyfriend were cuddling on the couch—our couch—watching the same show they’d been watching for the past three weeks on my TV with my Netflix account. I can’t remember the last time I even thought about watching TV.. “Hey,” my roommate’s voice was tired and disinterested. The greeting was a formality at this point. “Hi,” I tried so hard to make it sound genuine, but it came out a little more aggressive and short than I intended. I walked past them and grabbed the books from my desk. They didn’t quite fit in my bag, but I forced them into their place. I made sure my laptop and its charger were still there. Her boyfriend glanced over at me, “How was your day? “Long,” I really didn’t feel like explaining the intricacies of my day, and I knew he didn’t really care; he just wanted to use me as a pawn to make himself feel better. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, “I’m gonna go start a paper that’s due in 12 hours. Pray for me.” I pushed my way through the door. I set my things down in the lounge and intentionally didn’t turn the lights on. The lounge had become another place I went to avoid interacting with my roommate. I closed my eyes again and cried.