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scrumdidiliyumyum · 3 days ago

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Something special ||

Prologue - > Part 1 - > Part 2

Yan! Batfam x Neglected! Reader

hope you guys enjoy!!

"Make sure to not miss any notes okay?"

You looked up at your mom despite the sunlight shining in your eyes as she smiled at you, "okay!" You trained your focus back to the piano she had guided you to, one that had collected dust in every nook and cranny, tucked into the corner of your home.

Your mom took her place behind you before resting her hands over yours. You felt her slowly guide your hands to each note, missing a few here and there piecing together a sloppily made song, one that you could barely hear over the giggles you couldnt help but let out.

Be-

You giggled more when she spend up the song, guiding your hands back and forth.

-ep

"See," your mama started, "you're getting it! I knew you would my smart little girl." She said from above you. You looked up, expecting to see her smiling brightly down at you, but-

You felt nothing but horror seeing nothing but a scratched out face.

Beep!

You shot up from your bed, sweating intensely and heart thumping wildly in your chest. Your breathing was erratic for a few minutes before you could bring it back to a normal pace. When you finally managed to calm down, you let out a sigh,

"Another nightmare." You've already had a few nightmares here and there, but recently they've become a bit too intense recently. It's not anything generically scary, but it's precious memories

Precious memories where you can never seem to remember your moms face.

It started off small, little details, a misplaced freckle here and there, before suddenly noticable things like wrong eye color. Was it really the wrong color or did you just forget?

You didn't wanna have to get up and deal with another long day, one full of advanced classes and a tad bit too many extracurriculars. As much as you hated to admit it, the overloaded work schedule was starting to take its toll on you, and you weren't too sure how to handle it.

Maybe you could rest, let yourself sleep in for the first time in what seemed like forever, even though you had some things to catch up on, maybe you could grant yourself this little mercy.

You looked up at the huge wall you passed by everytime you went to your room, littered with pictures of all the family's adventures. Dicks big flips through the air, like a bird soaring freely, Damiens standing strong showing the confidence he holds in himself, Duke smiling brightly with Tim and Stephanie. A place you so longingly wished to be placed upon.

you paused in your thoughts about deserting everything, before finally deciding to finally get up out of bed. you forced yourself to head to the bathroom and get a headstart on your day.

—

God it was too early for this

Because you tried your best to get an earlier headstart to your day, you had taken it upon yourself to drive every day to school as to not give Alfred more work, and not have to share the car with Damien, who loved nothing more than to poke, prod and criticize everything you did.

You had wanted to get to school early to get ahead on the schoolwork you had that was starting to slowly build up, along with some club work you had been given as of recently. Being in so many things and working as tirelessly as you did, it amazed people. Teachers, students, advisors.

It really was amazing to see the eyes full of admiration, something you had been longing for for years, but sometimes all you wished was to quit everything and actually hang out with your friends for once, to go to sleep without the countless responsibilities plaguing your mind.

You sighed as you pulled into the school parking lot, parking the car in front of the school and sat for a minute to mentally prepare yourself for the day ahead of you. Finally you checked your bag that was sitting in the passenger seat and fixed your uniform before getting up and out of the car.

Time for another day.

—

Even though it was tiring, studying in the early mornings at the library with the sun shining through the stained glass pane windows, sprinting to every class, ones full of hours and hours of homework, most advanced to give yourself an advantage, and trudge towards clubs at the end of every day, you made it work.

You kept everything on a tight schedule, having to keep everything on a time restraint to be able to manage everything without feeling like you were going insane. And you did, but you kept pushing as hard as you could.

But you tried to not make it seem as such, mainly for one reason.

Ms. Honey.

She was always worried about you, a lady with a heart of gold that could see the tiredness that seeped through your eyes and consumed every single part of your body. A tiredness that made it seem as if your body would suddenly one day just entirely give up on you.

She was someone who made sure that you were getting enough rest, food, and weren't overworking yourself as much as you always did.

Of course you knew that no one really cared in the end. Other than the friends you kept in your close nit circle, you knew that no one would really pay any mind of course.

But you knew Ms. Honey, and you knew that if she felt the need to, she would tell your father about all the late night studying you did, all the tears and confessions you let out to her when things felt too real, or the way your eyes would fight to stay open when you had her class, something she always noticed despite her attempts to pretend she didnt.

You didn't want him to find out, not because he would care, but because you knew he would be upset. He'd be upset that you made him seem like someone that couldn't even care for his own child, someone that was the complete opposite of his public image, and you didn't want to give then another reason to dislike you, not when you were trying so hard to do otherwise.

So you put on fake smiles, grinned so hard that it almost brought you to tears everytime. Not only for her, but eventually even your friends. Everything felt like a hassle, and that alone forced you to put on a facade to the world, one that felt heavier and heavier every day that went on.

But you tried.

You really did.

—

You strolled by the students that were ending the opposite way from you towards the door, along with the other students that had club activities. This was the one time of day that was relatively peaceful for you before it was overtaken with even more responsibilities for you to bear.

You peaked into one particular clubroom, after hearing your name being called. Your newspaper club, a club that you shared with a few of your friends, and always in a way gave you a sense of comfort. Looking in, you saw the one and only Miss Honey. You gave her a relaxed smile once she took notice of you and entered once she ushered you in with her hand.

Her eyes took on a softness once she looked at you, "Y/N, it's a pleasure to see you as always, how was your day?" You paused to think, "it was okay, y'know, the usual." She winced a little at that before returning her smile from before, albeit a little strained. "Ah, I see. Well I just wanted to check in with you, you can stay here and relax or you can go on to your next club, but nonetheless, thank you for stopping bye."

You gave her a smile before slowly retreating out of the classroom, "I'll see you around Miss Honey?" She brought her attention away from her work, and back to you, giving you a more genuine smile. "Of course, I'll see you soon."

You took that as an end to the conversation and left to your next club, letting the smile drop from your face. After you left, Miss Honey couldn't help but do the same and let her feelings come forth and settle in on her face. It truly did break her heart how sad you always seemed to be.

"I know, it must be pretty confusing for me to ask you to see me," Miss Honey stated as calmly as she could, "but I'm worried about your sister. She's been overworking herself and I know, I know she says that she's fine but, I know her and I can tell she isnt." Miss Honey paused, it seemed as though she had more to say but instead let the words die in the back of her throat while waiting for his response.

Damien let out an irritated sigh, "and why is this my problem?" Miss Honey was a bit taken back for a moment. Were they really family? After she regained her composure she responded, "well, she's your sister, is she not? I can't see why it wouldn't be." She let out a little laugh to lighten the tension but quickly regretted it seeing the cold-blooded stare she got in return.

She knew this was a bad idea, she really did, but she was just so worried. She could see it despite how much you tried to hide it. A friend of yours even let it slip how much you had been working as of recently. She brought her attention back to Damien as he cleared his throat.

"I'll... check in. But only because it was brought to my attention, so don't try and bother me with the nonsense again, alright?" She swallowed harshly before nodding her head, standing up and thanking him profusely. "Thank you, thank you really. I really do appreciate this."

Damien quickly gathered his belongings before heading back to his homeroom, to grab his stuff and go home. He honestly couldn't care less for whether or not you were okay, in fact if anything it was a good thing, finally putting good use to the last name you were given. Though he tried to ignore the small pull in his heart whenever he saw the tired eyes you shifted his way.

He couldn't let something as small as this continue, even though it was just a teachers worries, it could become something bigger, something worse, a stain on fathers carefully created reputation. And as his son, it was his job to put a pin in this.

You walked through the halls that seemed to grow longer every day. You needed to get back to your room and work on your club work. Newspaper class needed an essay on the new rules that the dean had passed along with student polls. Your photography club needed the, 'your life' collage by Friday, and you didn't even want to get started on debate.

You needed to work on homework as well, but you couldn't bring yourself to at the moment. Your brain felt like mush and you knew you didn't have the brains required at the moment to do the advanced formulas for math class, or the willpower to research more for your science fair project. You just couldn't

But you had to because-

Why did you have to?

Why did you have to work yourself to the bone everyday, to just come home to an empty manor, a place you didn't even feel comfortable enough to call a home? The people here would never read through the essays you spend hours creating, or go to your debate matches and listen to the arguments you piece together with ease.

So why did you work so hard? For a pat on the back that would never come for you, for another harsh criticism from your so called brother? could you even call someone like that your brother? Do siblings kill eachothers spirit with every word they spit at one another's way?

"H-"

You wanted to go back. To go back to that bright apartment- home. To the place that you used to do so many things with your mama in. God you missed her. Why did you have to have her, the one person who loved you, liked you taken away?

"He-"

How much more would you have to suffer before you could finally be able to live without the burdens weighing upon your mind 24/7?

"Hey Y/N!"

You jumped out of your trance before snapping your head over to Duke, who was looking at you with concerned eyes and an unsure smile. He paused to think of what to say now that he got your attention, "you doing okay?"

"..Yes?" You winced internally at how unconvinced that came out, you could see on his face that he clearly didnt believe you. "Are you sure? Damien mentioned your...dilemma."

You let out a sigh, you honestly just wanted to go to your room, "yes, I promise I'm fine- wait I'm sorry what?" Your dilemma? What dilemma? You could feel yourself starting to freak out, mainly because that was a pretty big area to cover. It could've been one of your clubs, classes, teachers-

You felt your heart drop as that last category came to mind. Had Miss Honey said something to him? You tried to think back to times where you messed up in front of her. Did she notice despite the smiles you put on for her? And if Damien told Duke already, how many other people had he told?

Dukes concerned face came back into focus, his mouth was moving but you couldn't hear a single word that was coming out of it. You felt absolutely sick. Your breathing had sped up against your will, and you were starting to see black spots in your vision.

Before you could help it, your legs buckled out from underneath you, and before you knew it all you could register was the pounding in your head and the vision of Dukes arms shooting to grab you before your head smacked against the floor.

It was really sunny that day, to the point that you felt like you were going to melt into a puddle. You honestly didn't pay it too much mind, mainly because you were much more focused on something else.

You giggled as your mom wrapped her arms around your waist and lifted you in the air from the small mattress you two shared, swinging you around while tickling you. You had replayed this in your mind more times than you could count, considering this was the day your mom passed.

You remember how happy you had been at first, despite the fact that it was just any other day. Getting up to your mom nudging you awake, having her whisk you off to the bathroom to get you all set for the big day ahead of you, making you breakfast full of as many nutrients as she could possibly pack into it, always trying to incorporate a smiley face into her finished work.

It was so simple, but so special.

It played like a broken loop in the late nights where you felt so utterly alone, nothing able to distract you. From the memories, the emptiness you felt when you saw your mom hunched over and eventually lying cold on the kitchen floor with smoke coming from the frying pan. The sadness you felt being dragged away from the home you two shared and made your own. The anger you felt whenever you failed to remember her voice.

You loved your mom, and even the memories that came with her, but this, this one specific memory hurt the most. It hurt because you never could do anything to change it. You couldn't when you were pulling on your dead moms arms to get up, and you couldn't when the memory played in your head while you tried to sleep.

You wished you could turn away- no, run away from this memory and bury it in the deep depths of your mind-

"You know mama always loves you right?"

You paused in what you were doing and turned towards her, confused on why she had stated the obvious. "Yeah I do! And I love you more than I love dessert!" You said with a proud grin. Your mom just turn her head towards you before bursting out in laughter, pure and filled with joy.

Her tone took a somber tone as she then said, "I won't always be here y'know. I know you don't understand what I mean now, but, just know that mama loves you no matter what, where, or who you are, okay?" You stared at her for a second before you smiled at her,

"Okay!"

You slowly opened your eyes, flinching from the sunlight seeping through the window into your eyes. You tried shifting your stiff muscles and rolling them around a bit before fully sitting up. You looked around the unfamiliar bed you were in, along with the unfamiliar room. The room you were in was obviously in the Wayne manor from the luxorious architecture, but if it wasn't yours, then where were you?

"Finally awake I see."

You jumped at the sudden voice, snapping your head towards it. You felt your heart drop as you finally realized who's room it was.

Damien.

He stared at you from a chair on the side of the bed, legs crossed. He didn't say anything further, and just stared at you. It was unsettling, not because it was cold like it usually was, that you were used to, but this was just staring, like he was simply observing you.

And you hated it.

You shifting around uncomfortably before saying, "what happened?" You winced at the scoff he let out as he sat more upright, "you passed out, that's what." You just faintly recalled what he was talking about, just barely. Had you really? You swore that you got just enough sleep to be okay.

"Get some more sleep tonight, or else." You looked back towards him surprised. As if reading your mind he continued, "I really couldnt care less, but I don't need you doing that at school that's all." He was starting to leave before shifting back towards you, "also, get it together and leave as soon as possible."

And with that he left you alone in his room.

—

You were finally back in your own room, away from any prying eyes and finally able to do your work. You needed to go over ypur club activities, maybe do some homework, and finally get dinner. When was the last time you had eaten.

You looked over at your phone after hearing the notification, picking it up and checking who had texted you. It read,

Aryannn 💓

> Hey Y/N, do you wanna go to dinner with me and cody?? Ik, your soooo busy these days but pleasee? 😞🙏

you relaxed seeing who it was and let out a little chuckle. You missed hanging out outside of school with them, but you had work to do, and unfortunately it was due soon which meant you needed to get a jump on it.

"Just know that mama loves you no matter what, where, or who you are, okay?"

You paused and decided to do something different than your usual.

Sorry Aryan not ton|

Sorry Aryan no|

So|

Ofc!! I'll see you two soon, usual spot?|

you didn't need to see her response as you jumped out of your desk chair with a big smile on your face, maybe for once you could let loose and have fun, let yourself not be overtaken by the piles and piles of work you have to complete.

Breathing felt easier for some reason.

—

You walked down the long staircase skipping a few steps here and there with a pep in your step. You were excited to finally be able to see those two after- how long had it been? Well, if you couldn't even remember then it had for sure been too long.

You skipped down the stairs and right as you reached the end and started to make your way towards the front doors, you noticed a blur of red to your right. You did a double take before noticing Barbara, who was seemingly just standing there by the bottom of the stairs banister.

She looked at you and smiled, which wasn't out of the usual. You assumed it would end there like it typically did, but surprise surprise when she actually waltzed over towards you and blocked your path to the door.

She smiled at you and said in a soothing voice, "hey Y/N, doing okay?" That made you cautious. Why did she suddenly care if you were okay or not? Unless-

"Did Damien say something about me? Because if so I promise I'm fine." You blurted out to her. There's no other reason why she would suddenly care about you, or atleast not any that came to mind.

Her eyes widened an inch when you said that, before letting out a sigh and rubbing her forehead. "Straight to the point I see." She said plainly, "look I know you probably think your fine, but could you please go lay down? It's dangerous, and if you pass out, in Gotham of all places, you could get seriously hurt. Please?"

You hesitated for a moment before deciding, "I'm fine, alright? I'll just be out for a little, I'll be careful." She reached out for you as you passed by her before letting her arm fall back to her side as she let out another sigh.

As she watched you walk out through the doors and saw your figure fade into the distance before the doors shut, she pulled out her phone and dialed someone.

—

You strolled down the street arm in arm with Aryan, with Ethan looking in the shops by your side half listening in, half in his own world. You felt so relaxed, being here with them talking about school antidotes, teachers that were irritating as of recently, just catching up with eachother.

Despite the fact that you were originally supposed to get dinner with these two, you guys had been going from shop to shop looking as many things possible. Clothing, antiques, video games, comics, books, technology, home furniture, you name it. The one thing you loved about being with them was no matter what or where you were, you would always be laughing to the point of pain.

You felt so happy with them.

As you guys finally walked up to the restaurant, Aryan pulled Ethan to the front and started to push him in while following him. You were about to go in after them, but felt your heart spike as you saw something run in the corner of your eye. You snapped your head towards the street but saw no one there. Your eyes lingered on the alleyway, but decided against it since alleys were typically a call for death in Gotham.

Ethan pulling on your arm brought you back, so you shook it off and walked into the restraunt with your friends.

—

You had enjoyed dinner much more than you thought you would've. Dinner was fun, filled with stories dating from a week ago, to even a few years back, memories you treasured more than anything. You guys split the bill, grabbed takeout containers and piled on as much as you could before heading out.

You guys had parted, going your separate ways after a prolonged goodbye, one that must have lasted over half an hour. You were going your way, passing a few people here and there, but still feeling a twinge of unease. It felt as though you were being followed, and although you wanted to chalk it up to nothing more than being tired, in Gotham being followed was way more common than was typically normal.

You kept speeding up, hoping to get to your car quicker, praying to whatever God's there were that it wasn't all jacked up. How stupid were you to not only leave it who knows where at this time of night, but to walk alone? In Gotham of all places. You couldn't help but berate your past self as you speed walked through the streets.

Just as you turned a corner, you felt yourself bump into a tough chest. You fell back a little before being caught and pulled back up. You rubbed your head a bit, before looking up at them and seeing his worried look, "are you alright kid? Sorry I didn't see you."

It took you a few seconds of sifting through the vigilante names and pondering on it as to not get it wrong, "...Nightwing?" He immediately lit up as you said that, "yeah, the one and only!" His tone immediately became concerned, "should you be here right now? Gothams dangerous, you should be careful."

You just stared at him in question, why were so many people worried about you recently? But as to not give him any more reason to worry, you settled on, "Yeah, well I'm okay." you did a double take as your eyes settled on your car sitting in the parking lot behind him, and mentally did a victory dance. Thank you universe.

"Actually," you started as you tried to ease on by him, "my cars right over there, so I'll be heading off now since you probably have other people to save and whatnot. Bye!" You tried to walk past him quickly but the feeling of his hand snatching your wrist made it clear that this conversation wasn't done yet.

"Wait!" He winced after he had yelled that out, coming out louder than expected. He hesitated for a moment, before letting go of your wrist. "Just... please be safe, okay kiddo? You should be more aware of your surroundings and not goofing around with friends at this time of night."

You looked at him and tried to place exactly where you recognized his mannerisms from. Pushing it to the back of your mind, you simply smiled up at him, "of course! Thank you Nightwing." After saying your final piece sprinted back to your car before he could try anything else.

When you finally reached the car, you let out a sigh of relief. Finally you were in the car, and despite the fact you had a long drive back, you let yourself have this little victory. You looked back at the spot that Nightwing was standing in as he waved towards you with a smile on his face before disappearing in a flash.

You started up the car and looked at the screen to check the time.

10:47 PM

Despite how nervous and frankly a little creeped out you had felt before, Nightwing was right. Being out with friends so late in the streets of Gotham was the kind of stories you saw everyday on the news. If anything you-

You felt your heart drop when a thought came to mind.

How did he know you were with your friends?

taglist!! : @dhanyasri, @wizzerreblogs, @chericia, @daddyissuesehe, @darktrashpoetry, @dreamsarenicer, @shadowytravelerlover, @alliwantisadonut, @lemiko0, I wrote this on nothing but hopes, dreams and Tyler's 'like him' on loop for hours. ( ´△｀)

BTW I might start writing other batfam fics but I'm not dropping this!!!

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #platonic batfam #reader insert #yandere batfam x reader #platonic yandere #x reader #batfam

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hees-mine · 3 days ago

Text

Birthday girl - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, multiple orgasms, cursing, stepcest, daddy kink, dirty talk, cheating.

Genre: 18+, stepcest.

Word count: 2k+

“Mom, just one, please. I promise it’ll only be one.” It was your 21st birthday, and you celebrated in the kitchen with your mom and your stepdad as you begged her to let you have your first shot on the day you officially turned 21.

“No, I never had a shot at 21,” she simply answers, turning away from you and putting away the leftover cake she had your stepdad buy from the store cause she apparently couldn’t be bothered to get one for you herself.

“Mom, come on, that’s not fair!” You whined. ��I’m literally an adult,” you reasoned.

“And you’re literally under my roof,” she replies back nonchalantly like she always does. You hated it when she acted like this.

She would always hold things over your head: no sleepovers, no parties, no boyfriends, no nothing, and it’s not cause she was looking out for you. It’s cause she was jealous of you.

She always told you how she never got to have any of those things, and now you can’t shake the feeling that even though she never directly said it to you, you feel like she’s taking it out on her only daughter, which just isn’t fair.

“Dad!” You turned to heeseung your stepdad, looking for his approval, and he gave you the tiniest hint of a smile while folding his arms and resting against the kitchen counter.

You and your stepdad had a much better relationship than you and your mother, unlike her. He seemed to actually care about you, which is comical cause he wasn’t even your real dad, and he treated you better than your mom ever did.

He’d always vouch for you, defend you when arguments got too heated, and he never made you feel like you were always in the wrong, unlike your mother did.

His care for you did go a lot further than just how a stepdad would care for their stepchild because his hugs would last a couple of seconds too long. His kisses on the cheek were a little too affectionate, and he'd eye you when you wore revealing outfits a bit too much.

You didn't mind, though. You did it on purpose cause you liked the attention. He wasn't your real dad, and besides, you had met him so late in your life that you were already fully grown, and you didn't even see him as a father figure at all.

Dad never even crossed your mind when you thought about him. All you saw was a very attractive man, and you wondered how your strict, bitter mother landed a gem like him.

“You heard your mom.” he swipes the cake as your mom sets it in the fridge and licks the frosting off his fingertip, humming at the sweet taste. “Now go upstairs and get ready for bed, young lady.”

You rolled your eyes and did as he said. You thought he’d vouch for you this time, too, but apparently not.

Little did you know he had other plans up his sleeve. He only said no to you cause he was not about to start a fight with his wife over you taking one measly shot, especially since it was your birthday.

His wife always had a way of making things about her just cause she didn’t get a shot at 21. Why couldn’t you? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say his wife was jealous of her own daughter, and if he’s being honest, it was kinda getting on his nerves the way she’d bitch at you all the time for virtually nothing.

When he married her, she was not like that at all, but once he moved in and you all became family, the whole dynamic changed. She paid more attention to scolding you than him.

He wasn’t needy necessarily, but he did get lonely sometimes, especially in the bedroom, and heeseung noticed that you talked to him more than his own wife.

Which resulted in him developing maybe not a crush but a certain attraction to you, and to his luck, it was mutual between the two of you, considering all the shameless flirting you did back and forth.

At first, he felt a bit guilty, but with the way he was feeling in his marriage, he might as well have been single. He’s not excusing his actions, but he definitely doesn’t care or feel any shame in checking you out from head to toe on a daily basis.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t spill his load in his palm once or twice at the thought of you.

How could he not when you’d purposefully bend over in front of him pretending that you dropped something or the way you’d push your chest against his whenever you’d hug?

You had already gotten ready for bed, sulking a bit as you leaned against the bed frame, scrolling on your phone.

Heeseung had joined his wife upstairs, lying next to her and sharing a quiet goodnight before they turned off the bedside lamps.

It was always like this: completely silent, no conversation, no talking about the day, no intimacy, absolutely nothing.

Even if he did try to talk, she’d always say she was stressed or tired.

Another one of the reasons Heeseung didn’t feel guilty for having feelings toward you was that you gave him the time of day.

He sighs putting his hands behind his head and staring at the celling finally after an hour passed his wife was fast asleep so he silently slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen where the cupboard was located pulling out a bottle of liquor one he bought expressly for you cause you had been going on all week about wanting to take a shot on your 21st.

He snuck over to your room, knocking on it softly, knowing you’d still be up. You were always up late.

You sighed and got out of bed tossing your blanket to the side and ripping open the door ready to be faced with your mom and some more of her shenanigans. “Wha-“ you stopped mid-way through, shocked to see that it was actually your stepdad instead, and you were pleasantly surprised to see he was in nothing but his underwear and a shirt.

“Hey,” he laughs softly, waving a bottle of liquor in your face along with two shot glasses.

“H-hi,” you smile upon seeing the bottle.

“Are you gonna let me in? Or are you gonna wait for your mom to catch us?” He smirks and you open the door further to let him in…

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hoe4hotchner · 21 hours ago

Note

I know you are probably so tired of this but I NEED more smoker Hotch, I do know why but the pure thought of Aaron Hotchner smoking just does something to me, I also wanted to say thank you so much for all that you do for the Aaron hotchner fan base and even the criminal minds fandom ❤️

Bad habits | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader | WC: 0.7k | CW: Smoking cigarettes

A/N: I'm never tired of getting requests (cause let's be honest smoker!hotch is too hot for his own good) Thank you so much for the kind words. It means a lot to hear. 💕💕💕

The first time you caught Aaron smoking, it was in his garage, out of all places. He leaned against the back wall, one foot propped up against the wall, a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers. The faint glow from the overhead bulb cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension etched into his features.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in the doorway, watching. This was Aaron Hotchner, your steadfast, composed partner. The man who was usually all discipline, who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever letting it show. And yet, here he was, indulging in what could only be described as a private ritual.

You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe, breaking the silence. “I didn’t take you for a smoker.”

Aaron turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. His expression didn’t shift much, but you could tell you’d caught him off guard. The hand holding the cigarette hovered near his side like he wasn’t sure whether to hide it or finish it.

“It’s... occasional,” he said after a pause, his voice gravelly, almost sheepish. “Stress, mostly.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the garage. “Stress? Really? You expect me to believe this is a spur-of-the-moment thing?”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You think I have a habit?”

“Oh, I know you do,” you shot back, your tone teasing. “You’ve clearly done this before. What, do you sneak out here after bad cases? After long nights at work?” You'd meant it as a joke, but deep down, you knew that some of it probably held truth to it.

He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, the tendrils curling lazily. “Something like that.”

You moved closer, the faint scent of smoke mixed with the familiar aroma of the garage. It should’ve been off-putting, but there was something about the way the cigarette looked in his hand that made your pulse quicken.

“You know, it’s terrible for you,” you said, tilting your head as you studied him.

His lips quirked into a smile, closing his eyes for a split second, more amusement than apology. “So I’ve heard.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence. You couldn’t stop watching him — the way his fingers held the cigarette, the way his jaw tightened as he brought it to his lips, and the way the soft glow of the embers lit his face up with each inhale.

It shouldn’t have been attractive. But it was.

“You’re staring,” Aaron said, breaking the spell.

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Am not.”

“You are,” he replied. He held the cigarette out to you, his eyes studying your reaction. “Want to try?”

You frowned, narrowing your eyes. “Is this how you justify it? Getting me to join in so you feel less guilty?”

His smirk deepened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of mischief in his gaze. “Maybe.”

Your lips twitched as you took the cigarette from his hand, your fingers brushing against his. The contact was brief but electric, and you had to steel yourself against the flutter it sent through your chest.

The cigarette felt foreign between your fingers, and you glanced at Aaron for guidance. He stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding.

“Breathe in slowly,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Not too deep. It’ll burn if you’re not used to it.”

You followed his instructions, the taste sharp and smoky as it filled your lungs. It wasn’t pleasant — not really — but the way Aaron watched you, his gaze steady and just a little amused, made the moment strangely intimate.

When you exhaled, you handed the cigarette back to him, coughing slightly. “That’s disgusting.”

Aaron chuckled softly. “I didn’t say it was enjoyable.”

“Then why do it?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He took one last drag, his eyes distant for a moment before killing the cigarette in the ashtray on the table next to him. “Because sometimes,” he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s the only thing that helps.”

Your heart twisted at the admission. He didn��t have to say what it was — you knew fully well what he meant, and you admired him for taking on that burden.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand. “You know you don’t have to carry everything alone, right?”

“I know.”

And maybe he did. But as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your temple, you made a silent vow to remind him as often as he needed.

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willowsnook · 2 days ago

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Wouldn't have it any other way

rye with salami, ranch, and mikes way please and thank you! (idk if i did that right, i've never done this before)

jack hughes x reporter!reader

she isn’t you

——————————————————

Working as a reporter covering the NHL was a childhood dream of yours that came true. You worked your ass off in college, having internships each summer which led to an opportunity at ESPN that turned full-time after you graduated. You were ecstatic when they moved you to New Jersey to cover the Devils. It had been six months and so far you had gotten along well with all the players…well except one.

“Ya we got whacked two games in a row, so the last thing you want to do is stand and talk in front of you guys,” Jack Hughes told the small group of reporters crowding his locker, you included. You rolled your eyes which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Something to say, sweetheart?,” he said, eyes honing in on you.

You felt your cheeks flush with anger at his condescending tone. "It's our job to ask questions, Hughes. If you can't handle that, maybe you should find a new career."

The locker room fell silent, all eyes darting between you and Jack. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer.

"And maybe you should find a new team to cover if you can't handle a little attitude," he shot back.

The tension was palpable. You'd butted heads with Jack since day one, his arrogance rubbing you the wrong way. But this felt different, more charged.

"I can handle you," you replied, holding his gaze. "Question is, can you handle the heat when you're not performing on the ice?"

A collective intake of breath from the other reporters. Jack's eyes flashed dangerously.

"That's enough," the Devils’ PR manager said, ushering the reporters out of the locker room. You shot Jack one last glare as you followed the rest of the pool out. You knew you were going to get your ass chewed by your boss but you couldn’t help it. Jack was infuriating.

Unfortunately, your phone rang the second you were out of the arena and you listened to your boss rant at you. The moment was apparently already blowing up on social media and it was not a good look for you or Jack really. Half of the internet said you were too young to be in your job and wildly unprofessional while the other half defended you, calling Jack a dick who needs to respect women. There was another weird fan side of hockey twitter that were now actively shipping the two of you together, claiming it could be a perfect enemies-to-lovers story.

—————————————————————-

Headphones in, you watched workers out the window as they loaded luggage onto your plane. New Jersey to Vancouver was a long flight so you had splurged, upgrading yourself to first class to try maybe and get some actual sleep. The seat next to you was still empty and as the time ticked by you grew more hopeful that it would remain that way but nothing good lasts forever.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” a voice called out next to you and you looked up to meet the eyes of none other than Jack Hughes.

Your heart sank as Jack glared down at you, his tall frame looming over your seat. Of all the people to be stuck next to for a cross-country flight, it had to be him.

“Why aren’t you flying with the team?” You questioned.

“I overslept and missed the flight,” he muttered and you snorted.

Jack huffed as he stowed his carry-on and slid into the seat beside you. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. You both sat rigidly, avoiding eye contact as the rest of the passengers boarded.

As the plane began to move, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Jack. His jaw was clenched, hands gripping the armrests tightly. Was he... nervous?

"You okay there, Hughes? Not scared of flying, are you?" you teased, unable to resist.

He shot you a withering look. "I'm fine.”

But as the plane started to take off his breathing grew more rapid and you started to get concerned. You hit a bit of turbulence trying to level out, and Jack’s hand moved towards yours, gripping it tightly.

“Sorry,” he rasped, but you kept your hand in his, caressing his skin softly with your thumb.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “Just try and breathe.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped and you rolled his eyes. “I need you to distract me.”

“How?”

“Just tell me something about you I don’t know,” he asked looking over at you pleadingly.

“Hockey isn’t my favorite sport,” you said instantly. It felt like your dirty secret being a hockey reporter, but it was the truth.

Jack let out a strained chuckle, “oh yeah, what is?”

“Football,” you replied and he nodded at you to keep going. “I fell in love with it when I was just a kid watching Brett Farve. Him leaving the Packers was my first real heartbreak in life. I like college football more now and while I love the atmosphere of hockey, there is nothing like a Saturday night home game in the palace. The lights illuminating the fields, the smell of popocorn and hotdogs, the fight song playing in the background, and everyone knows that $20 beer tastes better watching your favorite team. What’s more romantic than that?”

If Jack didn’t have the history he had with you, he thought he might have fell in love with you right then and there. His grip on your hand loosened slightly as he listened to you speak, his breathing becoming more even. He found himself captivated by the passion in your voice as you described your love for football.

"I never would have guessed," he said softly, a hint of a smile on his face. "You always seemed so... intense about hockey."

You shrugged, feeling a bit vulnerable having shared something so personal. "It's my job. I take it seriously."

"Maybe too seriously sometimes," Jack muttered, but there was no real bite to his words.

The plane leveled out and you both realized you were still holding hands. You quickly pulled away, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"Thanks," Jack said, avoiding your gaze. "For, you know... helping me through that."

You nodded, unsure how to respond. This was the most civil conversation you'd ever had with Jack Hughes, and it felt weird. The rest of the flight went by without a spectacle; you were happy to catch some shut-eye, and woke up as you were about to land, Jack nudging you awake. He grabbed your bag for you, and you followed him off the plane, stopping when he turned to face you.

“Back to our regularly scheduled business of hating each other,” he said with a smirk, and you laughed.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way Hughes,” you shot back before heading off.

—————————————————————————

After a long call with your boss the next day, you were very irritated. Since the Devils were playing the Canucks, he wanted a short fluff piece about the Hughes brothers reuniting.

“It won’t be that bad,” Luke said after you tracked him down to tell him about the assignment. “You love me, and Quinn will love you.”

“I’m not worried about you two,” you told him with a look. “I’m worried about your other brother, who makes me want to jump off a cliff.”

“You’re dramatic,” he said, crossing his arms and you huffed. “We are all getting dinner tonight; just come with us. It’ll be a good chance to see us all off the ice.”

Later that night, you find yourself in the lobby with Luke, waiting on his brothers. Dressed down and out of your business wear, you felt more like yourself in a cute white sweater and jeans. Jack stepped out of the elevator and you immediately crossed your arms, already not in a good mood seeing him.

“Why is she here?” He asked Luke, completely ignoring you.

“She is writing a piece on the three of us, so I thought it would be nice to let her see the non-hockey side of things,” Luke explained and Jack groaned. Quinn stuck out his hand to introduce himself, and you smiled warmly at the oldest brother.

“So you’re the one who has little Jack by the balls?” He teased and Jack shoved him while you laughed.

You and Jack didn’t say a word to each other on the way to the restaurant and you luckily ended up being diagonal from him. It was a steakhouse but you weren’t that into steak so you opted for a grilled chicken salad with no tomatoes of course. Remembering that you were here for work, you kept quiet just observing the brothers.

"Remember when Jack tried to dye his hair blonde and it turned orange instead?" Quinn chuckled, earning a glare from Jack.

"Hey, at least I didn't cry when mom cut my mullet," Jack shot back, causing Luke to nearly spit out his drink.

You couldn't help but smile, seeing this different side of Jack. He was more relaxed, his guard down as he joked with his brothers. You caught yourself staring at him a few times, noticing how his eyes crinkled when he laughed.

The waiter soon returned with your food and you sighed as you watched your salad be placed in front of you with the tomatoes you had asked to be left out. You were never one to send something back, so you accepted your fate and unrolled your silverware.

“Everything look good?” The waiter asked. You nodded absentmindedly as Jack opened his mouth.

“She asked for no tomatoes,” he said, pointing to your salad. Your head snapped up and the waiter began to apologize.

“Oh it’s okay,” you said, trying to wave him off but Jack gave you a stern look that made you sit back.

“Don’t like tomatoes?” He mused. “Kind of childish, don’t you think?”

“You literally ordered a lemonade,” you shot back and his eyes narrowed at you.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s every kid’s favorite drink,” you retorted.

Jack scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Sophisticated Palette. Let me guess, you’re a black coffee type, right? So edgy.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your soda. “At least I don’t need a sugar rush to get through lunch.”

“And yet, here you are, drowning in soda. Classy.”

You gestured to his plate with a smug smile. “Says the guy who’s been avoiding the broccoli on his plate like it owes him money.”

Jack’s smirk faltered, and he glanced down at the offending vegetable. “It’s not avoidance. I’m saving the best for last.”

“Sure you are. Must be why it’s still untouched and getting cold.”

“You know, you’re a lot braver with your words when I don’t have a hockey stick in my hands.”

You shot him a fake, sweet smile. “And you’re a lot more tolerable when you keep your mouth shut.”

Quinn and Luke were thoroughly entertained as they observed the back-and-forth banter between you.

“You see what I have to deal with?” Luke said, looking at Quinn once you and Jack had finally stopped.

“Jack finally met his match,” he commented, prompting an eye roll from the mentioned brother.

The rest of the dinner passed with a mix of tension and grudging amusement between you and Jack, while Quinn and Luke kept the conversation flowing. As you all left the restaurant, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret at how quickly you and Jack fell back into your antagonistic pattern.

"So, got enough material for your fluff piece?" Jack asked sarcastically as you walked back to the hotel.

You sighed, "Probably. Though I'm not sure how to write about the Hughes brothers' dynamic without mentioning how insufferable one of them is."

Jack chuckled, surprising you. "Just make sure to mention how charming and handsome that one is too."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "In your dreams, Hughes."

As you reached the hotel, Luke and Quinn said their goodbyes, leaving you and Jack alone in the lobby. An awkward silence lingering in the air between you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He asked and you gave him a weird look, trying to figure out his angle.

“Where else would I be? I’m always front row waiting for you to mess up,” you joked and he gave you a playful frown.

“Very funny,” he said before bidding you goodbye and going up to his room. Things felt different between the two of you tonight, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

———————————————————————-

The Devils beat the Canucks handily and you found yourself with a couple of other reporters waiting for Jack, who had scored, and a new girl that you didn’t recognize.

“Hi Jack,” the girl called out as he got settled and he looked at her amused. She looked like a puck bunny who had snuck in; beach blonde hair, fake spray tan, low cut top, you knew the type. Jesus, what had gotten into you, you thought, trying to shake off your cattiness.

“Hey, haven’t seen you around before,” he commented and she giggled. Literally giggled in response. The other reporters were amused but you kept your lips in a firm line.

“You were so great out there; it’s so impressive how hard you work,” she said and he smiled awkwardly thanking her. “Do you ever get scared when the puck comes at you?"

You couldn’t help but snort out loud when she asked that and Jack looked amused at you.

Jack’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his smirk growing wider before he turned back to the blonde with a practiced ease.

"So," he said, leaning casually against the bench, "you’re new to the media scrum, huh? They usually send someone more…" He glanced at you briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Experienced."

The girl giggled again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, well, I’m just filling in today. I guess I got lucky getting to talk to you."

"Guess I got lucky too," he said smoothly, his tone playful. "Usually, I’m stuck with—" He cut himself off, letting his eyes flick to you with mock innocence. "Well, people who don’t seem to enjoy the job as much as you do."

Your jaw tightened, but you kept your face neutral, scribbling something completely irrelevant in your notebook to avoid giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"So," the blonde continued, practically glowing under his attention, "what’s it like to be so focused all the time? You’re just so… intense on the ice."

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Takes a lot of practice. But I don’t think I’m half as intense as you just now."

Her eyes widened, and she laughed, her cheeks turning a shade pinker. "Oh my God, stop! I’m just trying to do my job."

"And you’re doing it very well," he replied, his voice low and charming.

You shut your notebook loudly, drawing Jack’s attention as you stormed out of the locker room, your cheeks flushed with anger and... something else you didn't want to acknowledge. You made it halfway down the hall before you heard footsteps behind you.

"Hey!" Jack's voice called out. "Where are you going?"

You spun around, glaring at him. "Away from that circus. I have actual work to do."

He jogged up to you, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face. "What's your problem? Jealous?"

"Jealous?" You scoffed, crossing your arms. "Of what? Your ability to charm airheads?"

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, that's pretty harsh. What happened to journalistic integrity?"

"What happened to professionalism?" You shot back. "Or do you always flirt with reporters during interviews?"

His expression shifted, a knowing smirk appearing on his face.

“You are jealous,” he said confidently and you were about to argue back but he grabbed a door handle behind you, yanking the door open and pulling you in it. It was a smaller equipment closet, but you didn’t have much time to look around before Jack had you tight against his body.

“She isn’t you sweetheart,” he said as your body flushed against his.

Your breath caught in your throat as Jack's words sank in. The closet suddenly felt much smaller, the air thick with tension. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his chest rising and falling against yours.

"What are you doing, Hughes?" you managed to whisper, your voice betraying your conflicted emotions.

His eyes searched yours, intense and unreadable. "Something I've wanted to do for a long time," he murmured before closing the distance between you.

His lips crashed against yours, hungry and insistent. For a moment, you were too shocked to respond. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you found yourself kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands tangled in his hair as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

The kiss was everything you never knew you wanted - passionate, electrifying, and months of frustration bubbling over. His hands moved under your shirt and up your back as his touch burned your skin. Resting your head back against the wall, he took advantage, latching on to your neck, sucking harshly.

“More,” you gasped. “I need more.”

He pulled your shirt over your head and you unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes glazed over, looking at your chest and you smirked before tugging at his shirt. He lifted it off and you admired his toned body, tracing your finger down his abs. His breath hitched as he watched you and you smirked seeing the bulge against his sweats get bigger.

Jack's eyes darkened as he watched your finger trail down his abs. In one swift motion, he lifted you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrapped around his waist. His lips found yours again in a searing kiss as his hips ground against you, eliciting a soft moan from your throat.

"God, you drive me crazy," he breathed against your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

Your hands roamed his broad shoulders and back, relishing the feeling of his muscles flexing under your touch. Jack's mouth moved lower, trailing hot kisses down your collarbone to your breasts. You arched into him as he took a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Jack," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair. He looked up at you, a mix of lust and something softer. “I need you in me.”

“Let me savor this sweetheart,” he pouted and you shook your head.

“Not the time or place,” you argued back and he sighed. Pulling down his pants, you spit into your hand before bringing it to his cock, pumping a few times, causing him to hiss. Shimmying out of your pants, you let him lift you against the wall, angling himself at your entrance.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked.

“Just this once,” you said and he rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,” he replied and you started to argue back but he pushed in and your head fell forward onto his shoulder.

Jack began to move, thrusting into you with a steady rhythm. You clung to his shoulders, biting back moans as he hit just the right spot with each stroke. The closet filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the slap of skin on skin.

"God, you feel amazing," Jack groaned, his pace increasing. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, urging him deeper.

"Harder," you demanded, nails digging into his back. He complied, slamming into you with renewed vigor.

The tension that had been building between you for months was finally finding release. Every thrust, every touch was electric. You couldn't get enough of him.

"I'm close," you panted, feeling the familiar tightening in your core. Jack slipped a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he urged and you cried out, his hand coming up to muffle the noise. Riding out your orgasm, you were clenching hard around him and he grunted as he kept up the pace, pounding into you.

As your walls continued to contract around him, Jack couldn't hold back any longer. He buried his face in your neck, groaning out your name as he spilled into you.

For a few moments, all that could be heard was your heavy breathing as you both came down from the intense high. Jack leaned his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your skin. You both took a few minutes to catch your breath before Jack slowly pulled out of you. You winced slightly and Jack gave you a concerned look. He handed you your clothes and you quickly put them back on, refusing to look at him.

“Y/n,” he said softly and you finally looked over at him. His face was flushed, hair all over the place, but the look he was giving you made you want to take your clothes right back off.

“This was just two people blowing off steam, nothing more,” you said and he grinned widely.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I hook up with that other girl next time instead?” He asked and you frowned before quickly morphing into a neutral expression but Jack had already caught it.

“Ugh,” you exclaimed before opening the door slowly, peeking out before you walked out. Jack was right behind you and you thought the coast was clear until you walked right into Quinn and Luke. You froze and felt Jack still behind you as he saw his brothers.

“What were you two doing?” Luke asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

“We were just talking,” you defended, not meeting his eyes.

“Oh yeah? In the supply closet?” Quinn teased.

“It was quieter than the locker room,” Jack said.

“Didn’t sound that quiet,” Quinn shot back.

Your face burned with embarrassment as Quinn's words sank in. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Jack or his brothers, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

"I... I have to go," you mumbled, pushing past Luke and Quinn without meeting their eyes. You practically ran down the hallway, desperate to distance yourself and the Hughes brothers as much as possible.

Once safely in your hotel room, you collapsed onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. What had you done? Hooking up with Jack Hughes in a supply closet was bad enough, but getting caught by his brothers? Your career could be over if word got out.

Your phone buzzed with a text. Hesitantly, you checked it, half-expecting it to be Jack. Instead, it was from Luke:

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with us. But you might want to figure your shit out with Jack ;)”

You groaned, turning over, trying not to think about what happened in the closet or what it meant for you and Jack.

#nhl imagine #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine

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sierrale8ne · 3 days ago

Text

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER ELEVEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @uconnpazzi @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @ch12334 @wbb4l

warnings angst, allusions to sex, more julian mentions

kalena speakss 🪽! yall will hate me and thank me for this chapter, sorry :(

July 2025 — Hartford, Connecticut

“Nuh uh! I’m standing next to Boogers, she was my senior!”

“She was everyone’s senior, she was here for too damn long.” Sarah responds, making the bunch of my former teammates laugh.

I don’t even bother to fight back. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss these girls until I was across the country. Connecticut has become home to me, five years of lessons and friendships that I’ll hold into forever. It’s my first time back in Connecticut since the national championship, and the feeling is unreal.

The amount of UConn jerseys is unreal, cheers each time I checked in, after every shot. It became normal to me, loudest crowds in LA, then Minnesota, and now Connecticut. My third home.

We all stand at center court at Mohegan Sun, all of my former teammates excluding Aubrey who’s in New York and Kaitlyn who’s in San Francisco.

We take the picture and everyone disperses, breaking into a multitude of conversations.

“So, we going out tonight? Like old times?” Ice is beaming at me, a smile fitting her face as she tugs me down with an arm around my neck.

I chuckle. “I’m too damn old to be showing up at Ted’s again.” I mutter. My shoes squeak against the hardwood with each step I take to get out of her hold.

“No, not Ted’s, a different— that doesn’t matter. You coming? Please?”

I nod, tugging on the gatorade towel that accumulates the sweat around my neck. “Cam’s coming too.”

“Perfect! The more the merrier.”

—

The more the merrier was right.

The club was loud and fucking packed, from athletes to college kids, anyone that you could imagine. My leg bounces along to the music playing while Allie and Azzi talk about God knows what a few feet in front of me. The beer I’m drinking glides down my throat while I look around.

“This place is jumpin’.” I murmur to Caroline next to me.

She nods, the hair that frames her face swinging over her shoulder as she looks at me. “I know. Maybe you can get some play tonight.”

“You think I’m not gettin’ any in LA?” I laugh, taking another swig.

“I know you’re not getting any. I have my sources.”

I roll my eyes, spinning back around in my bar stool for another drink.

There was definitely enough alcohol in my system. Tequila burning in my chest and a couple beers downed as well. I’m well beyond thinking straight, which to me is fine since we don’t play again for another two days.

“Lemme get a dirty shirley.” I tell the nice bartender who’s probably cringing at my alcohol breath.

“Can I get one of those too? And two shots of vanilla crown, please?”

The voice literally makes me freeze.

I know it well, so well, that I’m not even surprised when I look to my right and Nyla sits there with a smile towards the bartender. I haven’t seen her in what feels like years, even if the last time was in Tampa during the tourney.

She looks good. I mean, she always does. It’s why I let her walk all over me for so long. Why I kept going back no matter how much it hurt.

Nyla wears a blue corset top, it contrasts beautifully with her brown skin and cups her breasts in a way that drags my eyes down to them. Sober, I wouldn’t have paid her any mind. But right now my head is spinning and I can’t help it.

“Good to see you.” She feeds me a tight lipped smile.

I look over my shoulder at Caroline, who is no longer paying any attention to me.

“You look good, Ny.” I say through squinted eyes.

The bartender slides my drink to me over the table, her’s as well. And when Nyla picks up her drink, and her lips purse around the small black straw, my mind immediately goes to Maraye.

I haven’t thought about her in a while, not since she left my apartment. Yet, the second I look at Nyla I think of her. The way her hands, done up with pretty french tips, would wrap around the glass cup. Or the way she smiled at me when I bought her a drink that night in Atlanta.

I turn away, feeling the wood of the bar dug into my back as I watch Allie, and now Cameron and Caroline. They’re inebriated, definitely more than me, and dancing freely to Teenage Dream by Katy Perry.

“You don’t wanna talk?”

“What’s there to talk about, Nyla.” The statement navigates through the air, and the second it reaches her ears she huffs.

“You’ve never been good at talking about things.” Nyla laughs.

I’m quick to scoff and take another hefty gulp of my shirley. “I’ve always been good at that. You just don’t seem to listen to me.”

We sit in an uncomfortable silence, her heal taps against the tiled floor in a rhythm I wish would stop.

“We should talk, P. About Tampa, about everything. You ghosted me the morning after.”

“And you ghosted me after I told you I had feelings for you.” I returned. “It was forever ago, Nyla. Move on.”

I see her down one of her shots before slamming the small glass down on the counter. She takes in a sharp breath of air, swiveling in her chair to look at me. Nyla’s upset.

So many months of me getting angry, then realizing how badly I need her, then going right back. Countless times spent having sex with her rather than realizing how much I was letting myself go by just being around her.

She ruined me, and now that I’m not falling for it, she’s upset.

“Why’re you being such an ass about this?” She yells, the music drowns out the noise but I can still make out the bass in her voice. “It’s that bitch in LA, huh? That’s why you can’t talk to me?”

“Watch your fucking mouth.” I snap almost instantly.

It’s too often that I forget that Maraye and I aren’t the only two people in the world. That everyone around us still sees the way we look at each other or act around one another.

We co-exist with everyone else. They are also affected by the shit we do. The things we say.

The way we kiss each other.

“Oh so she is your girlfriend?”

“You’on’t get to be mad about shit. I’m setting boundaries with you.” I say, refusing to bring Raye’s name up again and make things worse. I care about Maraye, obviously, and if I had to hear a girl who literally ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it repeatedly call her out of her name again, I might get suspended.

I finish what’s left of my vodka filled drink, mouth tasting of grenadine and tingling faintly from the sprite.

“I want you, P. Y’know that.” Nyla hums. She’s so damn sadistic. She knows the exact way to get under my skin all the while turning my brain to mush for her.

“No you don’t.” I scoff. “You don’t know what you want, Ny. That’s why I ended all this shit.”

This conversation is entirely reminiscent of the one I had with Raye earlier this week. Which makes me think that she didn’t do anything about the pressing Julian-situation.

Then I’m getting angry all over again. Pissed off that not only is the girl that I want is probably at home pillow talking her boyfriend, but that the girl I once was fucking helpless over is sitting in front of me telling me everything I want to hear from her. Not her–Nyla, her–Maraye.

Even though I have on shorts and t-shirt, my body still feels like I’m on fire as if I was wearing a full snow suit. The alcohol and combined anger has my brain running in laps, from Maraye to Nyla to the fucking flight I have to be on time for in the morning.

And it’s hard to keep it all intact with the way Nyla fucking looks at me. Like she hates me but there’s still a glint in her eye that reminds me of the first time we met. When I saw her in the stands sophomore year, her hair was short and brown with blonde streaks. She was everything then.

“Paige.”

“No, Nyla.”

But now, I don't even recognize her. Her voice sounds like a fever dream, or a fragment of my imagination.

“I can fix this.”

Her hand rests on my knee. I should jump or push her away but I just stare at it like an idiot.

My legs spread apart subconsciously, welcoming her between them. And I am an idiot, allowing her to stand in this place that I have decided belongs to Maraye.

“Lemme fix it, P. Like old times.”

We’re at eye level like this. Her hand trailing up my thigh and to my shoulder. I need to push her away. Tell her to get off me, and then head back to the hotel. By myself.

But I can’t.

For whatever damn reason. I can’t.

—

July 2025 — Los Angeles, California

I rock awkwardly on my heels, bottom lip tucked between my teeth so tight it might bleed.

My heart beats rapidly in my chest while I wait for the door to swing open. I can hear the hum of the air conditioning system blow through the hallway and the sound of my breaths coming out heavy and ragged.

The lock click echos when the door finally does pull open and there he stands. Hand stuffed in the pocket of his black dress pants.

It’s crazy, that just months ago I was head over heels over this man. The sight of him like this would’ve sent me into orbit, but now it’s like he’s just here. Just another person in my world.

“We need to talk.” I stutter, eyes glued to him.

“Yeah.” Julian responds, turning around and walking into his apartment. He doesn’t close the door, leaving it open for me to follow him, I do so not forgetting to lock it behind me.

“This needa be quick. I got a meeting.” He murmurs as we approach his bedroom.

I haven’t been here in forever, and that’s totally and completely my own fault. I’ve been so damn avoidant. Sure I was always working, but I made time in my day to go see Paige or Rickea or my sister. But with Julian I just chose not to.

“That’s fine.” I say. “We uh, Ion think this is working, Ju.”

He hums, nodding and throwing on a button up shirt over his wife beater shirt.

I don’t even think he’s surprised, more content with the result. Like he expected this the second I rang his doorbell. Maybe even earlier than that.

“Damn.” It’s not a disappointing damn, quite the opposite actually.

“I’m sorry. I just— I can’t give you what you want. We’re one opposite ends of life right now, and I don’t wanna hurt you. Really.”

I don’t know how much is the truth and how much is meant to be a lie to get him to not talk about our last argument. I know I can’t give him what he needs, it’s not because of my alleged time management struggles.

My heart wasn’t in it. Even if it wasn’t for Paige, I’d be calling it quits because I’m not into him the way I should be. She taught me that. The lengths I’d go to for someone I had feelings for, I simply don’t think I could do for him.

“That’s it? Y’just can’t make time for me?”

I huff at the undertone of his voice.

“Nah, this isn’t me arguing. You really think that?”

I nod. “Among other things, yes.” I can’t look at him. Because even though I think he doesn’t, Julian knows me well. He knows my tells and the way I react under pressure. “You deserve better than me, Julian.”

His cologne burns through the air when he sprits it out across his skin. I’m sure that the second I leave, that damned scent would be ingrained into my mind forever, I’d never forget it.

“And this has nothing to do with her?”

Julian doesn’t look away from me for a second, staring holes into my soul that make me feel naked. My hands sweat, and I stuff them in the back pockets of my jeans.

I’d be dumb to stand here and keep lying. I’m already an idiot for thinking that everything would be peaches and cream after this. So I take a breath of air, which basically confirms any doubts Julian has running in his head.

“I— Ju.”

“I fuckin’ knew it. You sleepin’ with her?”

“No. No, Ju. She just— it’s so easy to be myself around her, and I feel like I'm always fighting to be myself with you.” I explain, partially trying to save my ass. “I dunno.”

“So that’s it. You cheat on me and think shit just gonna work out with her?”

“All I can control is this. We aren’t working, so we’re breaking up. That’s it, Julian.” I say, fully aware of how disgusted he looks with me right now.

Never in a million years did I think this shit could happen to me. I’m so conflicted, I don’t deserve whatever happy ending may come with Paige. I don’t deserve his forgiveness either, that’s for damn sure.

“Whatever.” Julian shrugs, walking out of the room with his shoes in hand. I follow behind him, trying to meditate the situation any way I can. It doesn’t work, as I expected.

He trots to the door, unlocking it again and pulling it open. He stands in the doorway, looking at me expectantly. His height looms over me as he waits.

Words form on my tongue and instantly die there. I shut my mouth, slipping through the corridor and hearing it slam behind me.

And for a brief second, I feel good. Like everything is going the way it’s supposed to.

Then the reality of it all hits me, and I feel like I want to run into a wall.

—

July 2025 — Hartford, Connecticut

My heartbeat rings in my ears while I make an attempt to catch my breath.

Nyla lays next to me, sweaty and naked, and months ago I would’ve been completely enamored by the sight. But now I’m just fucking disgusted.

She’s gorgeous, always has been. That’s not the issue.

The issue is her lips don’t taste like that vanilla sweet cream I would always taste after being with Raye. It’s almost bitter, just pure alcohol.

I eagerly throw my legs off the side of the bed. We’re at her apartment, not too far from my hotel. I feel her stare into my back, piercing through me and suddenly I’m well aware of my own nakedness. I toss my bra followed by my shirt over my head before picking up my boxers and putting them on too. The bed shifts, dipping slightly before I feel her hand on my arms.

The events of the last hour have sobered me up tremendously, her hands that once were burning hot to the touch are suddenly freezing. Almost dead.

“Where you goin’?” Nyla asks. Her voice is raspy from the screaming of my name. It should make me feel good, as it always seems to no matter who I’m with.

This time it doesn’t.

I shrug her off of me standing up from the bed and searching for the rest of my clothes. My shorts, socks, shoes all scattered somewhere. I threw the hair tie that kept my hair in a ponytail somewhere too, and Nyla was definitely crazy enough to use it to make a clone of myself.

“Paige, I said—”

“I heard what you said. I’m getttin’ the fuck outta here.”

“You’re not doing this shit again.” She grumbles, pulling on her panties and trying to chase after me. Nyla grabs my arm as she spins me around, looking up at me while I stare up at the ceiling in an attempt to avoid her tits in my face.

“This was a mistake.” I explain, pushing her off of me and finally putting on my shorts. My shoes follow. “You and me are fuckin’ done. Ion know how many times I gotta say that for it to click in your damn head.”

“‘Cause you say shit like that and then come crawling right back!” She’s yelling now, and I can only imagine how irritated her neighbors have become with us. “You wanna act like you didn’t just fuck me? Or that you didn’t tell me you missed me.”

“I’m fucking drunk! That’s the only reason why I do any of this shit with you.” I yell, back. “Ion want shit to do with you, Nyla. I’m moving on.”

“Moving onto that ho, in LA? Is she better than me?”

“You got one more fuckin’ time to—” I cut myself off with a heavy breath, shaking my head and grabbing the rest of my belongings off her nightstand. “Get over it. We’re done. This is never, and I mean never, fuckin’ happening again.” I muse. I’m quick to rush out of the apartment, phone in hand, while I shut the door.

I feel dirty. Like I just committed a fucking felony and was on the run.

The cool air finally hits me like a breath of fresh air when I finally touch the streets. My hotel wasn’t far, a block, maybe more, away.

I’m ashamed of myself, for going back to Nyla and falling for her dumbass words as if they meant something. They never did.

Then it hits me.

Maraye.

I nearly stop in the middle of the street before picking up my pace and walking into the hotel building.

God knows what decision she’s made. She could be with Julian right now telling him everything he wants to hear. Or she could be waiting for me. To call her, to text her, to tell her that I miss her.

And believe it or not, I do. I fucking miss her crazy. Her voice and those gorgeous fucking eyes. The way she listens to me like I’m the only person left on Earth, like it’s just me and her. I miss her smell, the Chanel no.5 combined with some vanilla body spray that she almost always seemed to have on, that permanently left its mark on my nose and my soul. Everything about her being, I miss it like crazy.

I’m in the elevator, the hum of the gears and the corny ass elevator music that plays only leaves me with my thoughts. Feelings of disparity and fucking anger.

How could I be so stupid. All it took was a few drinks and a fucking glare and now I’ve made arguably the biggest mistake of my life.

My phone starts ringing when I pull out my key card. I stand in the hallway, flipping the device over and staring at it.

Her name, in bright and bold font with the anatomical heart emoji next to it. It’s so intimate, an emoji that I think I’ve only ever used in correspondence with her. The picture is recent, I changed it after she left my place that night. It’s the two of us seated on my couch, her head resting on my shoulder with her lips in that cute pout she does in almost all her photos. My eyes are red from sleep but I still keep a nose-scrunched smile on my face.

I catch myself just standing there, looking at her looking at me until the call goes to voicemail.

I’m glad that it does, because I know that if I were to pick up the phone and hear her voice as she talks I might break down.

I unlock the door, kicking my shoes off the minute the door closes. I rest my back against it, head tossed onto the white painted portal.

Then my phone buzzes again.

i miss you. call me in the morning k?

I fucked up. Fucked it all up.

#sierrale8ne #kalena’s works ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers smut #uconn wbb #la sparks #lesbian #my fic #40 days and 40 nights

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wishchip106 · 15 hours ago

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bro looks like he’s on the verge of breaking down

he’s gonna curl up into a ball on the ground while charles just watches

#how they hell does he manage to show all his teeth #dentists must really like him #if moira didn’t interrupt it might of happened #that or cherik making out who knows #did the president really have to make an address NOW?#couldn’t he have waited idk a few more hours 🤨#i wonder how erik learnt to push against magnetic fields to make himself fly #like did shaw ‘help’ him #or was it charles #or maybe he just figured it out for himself #they show him flying at the end #the horse used the elevator? i didn’t know he knew how to do that 🤨#would’ve been cool if they showed him doing it during the training week #cherik moment but erik picking charles up then skyrocketing into the sky #i just got distracted by clouds but i need a one shot or something of him doing that #damn it really windy up there #um okay imma stop rambling before this gets too long #cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #x men #professor x #magneto

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aquaticmercy · 24 hours ago

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Waste a Moment / Part 17

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by : @remoony

Word count : 2.8k

Note : This is the second to last chapter :) Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“All This Living”

Friday.

The mission had started out so promising. You were eager, determined to prove Yelena wrong— that you and Bucky going on the same job was not going to be a disaster.

You’ve gotten better, and you've been on more missions after the artifact retrieval fiasco, but something about this one felt more personal. Maybe because it wasn’t just Yelena— Bucky had also doubted this from the start.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he’d asked, during the hot chocolate date the night before. His voice had been calm, but there was a flash of panic in his eyes.

“Yes, Bucky,” you had promised, putting your hand on his, “I’m sure.”

And now, crouched beside him in the shadows of the Hydra facility, you couldn’t help but think maybe Yelena was right.

Everything had gone south so fast. You’d been working to disable the cameras when, somehow, you tripped the alarm. Your fingers had hovered over the holographic keypad for just a second too long, but a second was all it took.

“Damn it!” Bucky growled, his voice cutting through the blaring siren as the lights started flashing.

“I can fix it,” you hissed, turning back to the console.

“No, you can’t.” But he grabbed your wrist firmly. “We need to go. Now.”

“Bucky, I—”

“Now,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. He tugged you down the corridor, his eyes scanning to every shadow, every corner, for signature if hostility.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and frustration building with every step. You weren’t helpless. You weren’t some rookie needing hand-holding. But the way he was acting, you might as well have been.

The two of you ducked into a storage room as the sound of boots thundered closer. Bucky leaned against the door. You could feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, counting the bullets in your rifle. “I didn’t mean to trip the alarm.”

He didn’t look at you. His metal fingers clenched the doorframe, his human hand flexing at his side. “Let’s just get you out of here alive.”

“Don’t patronize me.” You said harsher. You twirled your knife, the golden one you retrieved months ago. “I can handle this.”

His head turned toward you, exasperated. “Can you?”

The words cut deeper than you expected, but you refused to let them sting. “If you don’t trust me, then why the hell did you agree to this mission?”

“I didn’t agree to this,” he sighed. “You just— you wanted this.”

The tension between you was suffocating, but the sound of footsteps outside the door yanked you both back to reality.

“Stay here,” Bucky ordered, his voice cold as steel.

You reached for your gun. “Not a chance.”

“I said stay here,” he snapped, his metal arm blocking your path as he moved toward the door.

“No,” you shot back.

The door rattled, and a split second later, it burst open. Three hostile operatives stormed in, guns raised, but they found two avengers on the other side. He slammed one into the wall with his metal arm while disarming the other with a brutal twist of his wrist. You sliced the third guard’s chest and brought your knee to his head, knocking him out.

The fight was over in seconds, and neither you nor Bucky broke a sweat.

“Stay behind me,” He turned to you, concerned, “please.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “I’m not a liability, Bucky!”

He didn’t answer, already moving toward the hallway. “We’re leaving. Now.”

You followed him, your blood boiling. The two of you moved through the maze-like corridors, every step laced with unspoken tension. The sirens screamed around you, but the only sound you focused on was the thudding of your boots against the concrete and the pounding of your heart.

The silence— it was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore, it was getting heard for you to breathe. “Why won’t you trust me?”

He stopped so abruptly you nearly ran into him. His shoulders were stiff, his fists clenched at his sides. He turned to face you, and the intensity in his eyes froze you in place. Anger. Fear. Love.

“I just can’t lose you again, okay?” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

The words hit you like a blow to the chest.

“But—” you started, but he shook his head, his jaw tight.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice rising now, his frustration spilling over. “You think this is about trust? About my damn ego? It’s not. It’s about the fact that I’ve already watched you get hurt— twice!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The pain in his voice, his broken vulnerability, left you speechless.

“I can’t let you go through that again,” he said, quieter this time. “I won’t.”

The hallway was silent except for the distant echoes of shouts and the relentless blare of the alarm.

“Bucky, I can’t—I can’t promise I won’t get hurt,” you said finally, your voice shaking. “That’s the risk we both take.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned away, his shoulders tense.

“We need to move,” he said gruffly, already heading down the corridor.

You followed, your chest aching with the weight of his words. You wanted to say something— anything— to fix the growing rift between you, but the danger around you left no room for it.

And as the two of you fought your way out of the facility, every punch, every bullet, every explosion seemed calm compared to the storm raging between you.

—

The Quinjet’s hum filled the silence as you sat beside Bucky, the adrenaline from the fight draining away rapidly. You had put the jet on autopilot while tending to his injury— a small would he caught on his arm.

Bucky winced as you dabbed antiseptic on the gash, the fabric of his shirt now stained slightly red. He hadn’t said much since he got back, only the occasional grunt of discomfort.

How could you put yourself through this? You’d made so much progress, or at least you thought you had. Just yesterday, you were laughing together over mugs of hot chocolate. But today? You were screaming at each other over a stupid tripped alarm.

Had Yelena been right? Was this mission a mistake?

And deeper still, the question that you couldn't shake: Was your relationship always doomed to be this way? Was it destined to fall apart, to spiral into frustration no matter how hard you tried to fix it?

You noticed his teeth clenching, eyes cast down toward the floor of the jet. There was so much left unsaid— so much anger, frustration, so much fear.

"Does this still hurt?” you said as you started wrapping the bandage, your voice swimming with guilt.

"I’m fine," he muttered with a sigh. “Just a scratch."

Your fingers tightened around the gauze. You knew it was more than just a scratch. You knew it was also an unspoken rift between you two.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words coming out before you could stop them. “I fucked up. I didn’t mean to trigger the alarm, to put us in danger.”

His silence only made the ache in your chest grow. You finished wrapping his arm, moving carefully, as if he was made of glass. All you wanted was for things to be… better.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” you continued, looking down at your hands. You could feel your heart racing. “It was going so well. I thought we were finally—"

“Yeah, we were,” Bucky interrupted, his voice gentle. He shifted in his seat, leaning back a bit, his eyes still fixed on you. His posture was rigid, like he was trying to keep himself together. “We were moving forward with… us.”

You blinked, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice. You couldn’t look away from him, your hand still resting on his arm, fingers tight around the bandage.

“I know it’s been hard,” you said quietly, almost to yourself. “I thought it was… I thought going on a mission would move us forward. I thought we were getting there."

Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, and for the first time in a long while, you saw a glimpse of the hurt he’d buried so deep. “We still are,” He insisted, his voice strained. “I just, I can’t… I can’t lose you again.”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was the first time he’d said it outright. The first time he’d acknowledged what had been building between you— the way the tension had been pulling at the fabric of your relationship for months.

Maybe, you were right. Maybe,you just needed this mission to acknowledge all of this.

“I know.” Your voice cracked.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of the Quinjet’s engines, a low, steady hum that seemed to vibrate through the floor beneath your feet. You could see him processing, his brow furrowed, gears turning like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.

“I just… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this fear anymore,” he finally murmured, his voice strained. “Every time you’re in danger, every time something happens to you, it feels like my heart stops. I don’t know how to protect you from that. I can’t—"

His words broke off. He did my have any idea how to put it into words— fear that had been gnawing at him every time you left for a mission, every time you came back bruised or hurt.

"I can’t keep losing you," he continued, his words barely above a whisper. His eyes closed briefly as if he could shield himself from his own pain.

You reached for him, your fingers brushing over his hand before you intertwined them, gentle but firm. You could feel the warmth of his skin beneath yours, the callouses and scars that spoke of a life well fought for— a life deserved. It felt like holding a piece of his heart.

“You won’t,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? ”

Bucky turned his face toward you, his eyes more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them before. His lips parted, and for a moment, you thought he was going to speak. Instead, he just nodded slowly, his fingers tightening around yours.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You swallowed hard, the words hovering on the tip of your tongue. “Bucky…” You paused, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, for some cue that it was too soon or too much. But all you saw was him—waiting, holding his breath, as he was waiting for you to save him, even when didn’t need saving.

Your heart raced, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them. “I love you.”

It came quietly, but with a certainty you hadn’t felt in months. It wasn’t rehearsed, it wasn’t a grand declaration—it was simply the truth.

Three months ago, you hadn’t been sure you’d ever say it again. You hadn’t been sure he was ready to hear it. But in this moment, it didn’t matter. It felt… right.

Bucky froze, his eyes widening. He blinked, his eyes scanning your expression, like he was trying to figure out if you were being serious.

“I—” He stopped himself, his breath shaky, “You’re not just saying that to make things better, are you?”

“No,” You shook your head slowly, “I mean it.”

A long pause stretched between you. Slowly, Bucky’s eyebrows softened, the tension on his shoulders easing.

“I love you too,” he murmured, his voice quieter than before. “I… I do. More than anything in the world.”

You squeezed his hand tighter, leaning in slightly, as if that physical connection would be enough to bridge the gap between you. “We’ll get through this. We’ll figure it out.”

And in that moment, despite the fear, despite everything that had gone wrong, you felt… right. Maybe it wasn’t all ruined. Maybe, just maybe, the road ahead wouldn’t be as hard as you thought.

—

The cool evening air drifted through your hair as Bucky walked you back to your apartment.

The debrief had surprisingly been calm, echoing each other’s understanding as you told Sam what happened.

Despite everything that went wrong, tonight felt different. It felt… right.

When you reached your door, Bucky stopped a few paces away and turned to face you. There was a hesitation in his eyes, a mix of longing and uncertainty. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just gave you a small half-smile.

“Goodnight, doll,” he said softly, his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. His eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long before flicking down to your lips. Then, almost reluctantly, they met yours again. It was like he was searching for permission. Or maybe an excuse to stay just a little longer.

You felt your chest tighten— he was looking at you as if you were the only person in the world. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips, your fingers curling around the edge of the door.

The door creaked softly as you pushed it open an inch, enough to wedge your foot between it and the frame. You glanced up at him, cupping his face. Your fingers trailed down, eventually stopping on his chest. You felt his racing heartbeat underneath your fingertips.

He wasn’t as calm as he seemed.

His gaze dipped to where your hand rested, and you felt the faintest hitch in his breath. He looked as though he was waiting for something— a signal, a moment, a reason to come back tomorrow, or maybe to stay today.

“This is progress, right?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Going on a mission, fucking up, coming back stronger… That counts as progress, right?”

Bucky’s eyes softened, the hallway lighting illuminating the faint lines of worry etched into his forehead, but they faded as he found your smile. Gently, he reached up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there and couldn’t quite bring himself to pull away.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured, confirming your hope, “it is.”

You opened the door a little wider, your hand still on his chest.

For a moment, you thought he’d say goodnight again and leave, but instead, he cleared his throat. “This might be the wrong time to ask again, but… can I kiss you?”

He said it so quietly, as if he was afraid of what your answer might be. His eyes searched yours, his brows furrowing just slightly, like he was bracing himself for yet another gentle rejection.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

Oh god, you’d been waiting for him to ask.

Instead of answering, you leaned in, bridging the space between you. Your lips found his in a fragile kiss, as if you were both testing the waters. The world seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth of his mouth on yours, to the way his hand came up to cradle your cheek as though you were a precious gemstone.

Three months. It had been three months since you’d felt this kind of comfort from him, and it was almost overwhelming in its familiarity.

And it was definitely worth the wait.

He responded cautiously at first. As the kiss deepened, his grip on you tightened, pulling you closer. Your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, desperate to keep him as close to you as possible.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. The tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding melted away.

“So… I guess that’s a yes,” he teased.

You grinned, leaning in again to capture his lips in another kiss, this one more urgent, more certain. His hands slipped to your waist, as your fingers found the edge of his shirt, slipping beneath it to feel the warmth of his skin.

It was like finding your way home again.

Bucky groaned softly, his hands finding your waist, pulling you even closer if it was even possible. The touches became more heated, more desperate, like you were both trying to make up for lost time, trying to bridge the gap that had formed between you that once felt unfixable.

In between kisses, you managed to pull away just enough to ask, “Do you want to come in?”

He didn’t even hesitate. His lips found yours again, and he nodded into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you. Without breaking the moment, you stepped backward, pulling him inside.

The night was only just beginning, and you had no intention of rushing through it.

-to be continued…

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#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan

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siri-ike · 2 days ago

Text

Empty. That's all he could feel for such a long time. Just a never-ending empty hollowness. It's not even a bad feeling, so to say. Not good, either. It's nothing. A little damp maybe, a sinking dampness.

Sometimes, he would float past things, sometimes through them, not really paying much attention. Sometimes, he would recognize someone, but every time, it got harder and harder to remember who, or from what. Were they family? Famous? Nothing. Eventually, he stopped trying. What's the point? He doesn't know them. Besides, he's probably halfway around the world by now. Or he could just be in the same place. Did he even start anywhere?

Maybe he had been doing this forever. Maybe he will be doing this forever. This is all there was, is, or ever will be. That's OK. At least it's consistent.

Or, at least

It was.

It felt like a jolt of electricity shot through his entire body at once. Body? He has one of those? So much noise, so many different sounds all competing for his attention. Lights from seemingly everywhere but the sky. No, wait, there are giant lights in the sky. Or being pointed at the sky? What kind of place is this?

He turns to face the city below him. The lights are even worse this way. He's so far above even the tallest skyscrapers, and the... are those blimps? All over a city? What is this world War 2? Confused, curious, uncomfortable. He hasn't felt anything like this, or really anything in general, for so long. If only he could get closer. And with that, a weight appeared inside him. His trajectory pointed ever so slightly downward. Excitement. At this rate, he could reach the buildings someday. No! He's been patient. He wants to go faster. As though motivated by his own will, his fall sped up. Can this be real? Forget the buildings. He could reach the ground before sunrise. As he floats closer, one of the zeppelins gets close enough to read. Police. Could this actually be World War 2? The architecture seems to fit. Even if it was, he'd take it. But he still doesn't want to wait. Now, he wants to be there now. It's as though he's being pulled down in a flash. He's below the blimps, just as quickly he's surrounded by reflections as half the buildings are covered in glass. The noise is no longer just construction and cars honking. He's close enough to hear voices yelling at each other and the lights, oh they are sickening. The ground gets closer and closer, with every fraction of a second he sees and hears something new. For a few wonderful seconds, he feels so alive. And then everything is black.

no. no,no,no. No! stop! please! pulling out from that speed sends him spinning out of control for just a moment. But a moment is enough. So far underground that he can't even tell which way is up. And a new feeling. what could this one be? Disappointment. If only he had been patient. What's a few days of falling to a, a... whatever he is... he shouldn't have wanted. He was asking too much, that must be it. Should have just been content with what he had. At least before he didn't hurt.

Hoping was a mistake. Just look where it got him.

How long has it been? Days? Hours? He'd thought before he had nothing but now. The lights aren't just dull. The sounds aren't just muffled. They are non-existent. He is non-existent.

And once more, he has accepted it. Every now and then, a faint pull here and there. Like something wants his attention, but he knows better now. It's not worth it. Better to just float. In the dark. Forever. He was a fool for believing there could be more.

It didn't take long for his circumstances to beat him down again. But it didn't take as long for them to change again either. As suddenly as before. A similar, but fainter jolt surged through him. He's had enough time now to understand what it is. Despair. Someone out there is experiencing despair the way he is. It's hardly the first time. All those other pulls and tugs. He knew what it was, but this one was different. This time, it's closer to his own suffering. And it's enough. "I want to get closer," he thinks. The pull gets stronger. Little by little, he's dragged through the darkness. He won't risk it this time. He lets it take forever. By the time he finally reaches the surface, the despair is long gone. The sunlight is blinding yet so thoroughly welcomed. If anything, the blinding sunlight was better than the crime scene he'd floated in on. Looks like murder. Two outlines on the ground. A man and a woman. Pearls scattered everywhere, too. could all that emotion have come from them? If it did, they certainly don't need help anymore. Ok, concentrate. "My feet can touch the ground," he thinks as he places his feet down, but they go straight through.

"I am tangible," he says outloud. But it still rains false.

"I can walk!" He shouts, catching the ear of a nearby cop.

"You hear something?" The officer says to another.

"Heh, first murder got ya spooked?" The other replies.

"Oh, I guess it could have just been the wind"

They perceived him? Or was that just a coincidence? The two officers pick up the last of their police tape and put it in their car. Hold on, the crime happened too recently to be cleaning it up. There's still wet blood on the ground. Their uniforms have the letters GCPD written on the back. PD always stands for police department. Why does he know that? This feels so vaguely familiar. Has he... met one before? No, that can't be. He's never met anyone. He's incorporeal, unknowable, beyond being. He has no history or future. Right? But why is he so drawn to follow them into their car? Forget walking. He can figure that out later.

Sitting in the back of a police vehicle also feels vaguely familiar. Or rather floating.

"Heh, guess I've never really been on the GZPD's good side."

"There it was again"

"You're just worked up, it's normal to struggle with mortality. How about we stop for a relaxing cup of tea on the way back to the station."

He deffinetly heard him. He's real. He's really real. Is it possible to be so happy you cry? If he could, that's definitely what would be happening right now.

The older officer turns the key. The car is loud and shakes a bit. It would be nice to be able to feel it. He closes his eyes in anticipation. This is all so new and exciting. The noise quiets down. It sounds further away. He opens his eyes to see the car driving off without him.

If he were a better student, he probably would have known he'd phaze right through. Never mind that. Just float in the direction they were going, it can't be that hard to follow a car going normal car speeds when you can only trust yourself to go average snail speed. And so he floats down the street.

Someone curses danny, and he loses all of his strength. He's stuck as the most basic of ghosts, invisible and intangible and floating endlessly.

With an obsession like protection, while being unable to contact anyone he knows and loves, it seems impossible for him to ever regain enough strength.

He spends most of his time sleeping, allowing himself to drift through the blurry world as his ecto slowly replenishes, but since his human half digests most of his progress to stay alive, he's not getting any energy at all.

That is, until he enters Gotham. He's pushed back to conciousness by the weight of all of its trapped emotions, and the complete turmoil the city had been cast into. (Or just cause Lady Gotham, if that's your thing)

It's like torture for him. He can't leave, because of all these desperate souls he feels the need to protect, but there's nothing he can do to protect them. He's forced to watch the city fall to ruin, doing his best to ignore time passing him by.

Finally, one day, Batman becomes his saviour. He's a shining beam of hope through Gotham's doom and gloom. Danny follows him home without even realising it.

And so begins the haunting of Wayne manor, as a half-alive ghost slowly regains power and desperately tries to portray that he's alive and needs help.

#fanfiction #danny phantom #dpxdc #dc crossover #batfam #hes so overstimulated by bright lights #i dont think thats supported by cannon #but whatever #lights are the worst #also i wrote this shortly after a very overstimulating late trip to the city #and artafical lighting was a mistake on humanitys part

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iamgonnagetyouback · 2 days ago

Note

Ohhh can I request prompt number 11- wondering if there might be a way to spend the holidays together "accidentally" and number 15- "YOU want to spend the holidays with ME??""Now that you say it, it really does sound weird." with Barty crouch jr please? You can choose either or both whatever you want ◡̈ thank you in advance<3

barty crouch jr x reader where you both spend the holidays together

The Slytherin common room buzzed faintly with the warmth of the enchanted fireplace, but to you, it felt more like a tomb. The empty couches and eerie quiet of the holidays always did that. You lay sprawled on Regulus Black's bed—his perfectly made bed, which you were mildly ruining with your presence—and shot a glare toward his open trunk, half-packed with the precision only someone as uptight as Regulus could manage.

"That’s my bed you’re defiling," a voice drawled.

You bolted upright, realizing with horror that Reg wasn’t the one who spoke. You’d accidentally sprawled onto Barty Crouch Jr.’s bed. The realization made you leap off it like it burned.

"Ugh," you groaned, brushing yourself off as if the act alone could cleanse you. "Do you even wash those sheets? Actually, don’t answer that—I don’t want to know."

Barty smirked. “Why, jealous of the ‘type of girls’ who—”

“Stop right there!” you barked, cutting him off. “I don’t need a list.”

Regulus, seated on the edge of his own bed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Merlin’s sake, do you two ever take a break from this?"

You folded your arms. "Reg, I think it’s fair to say that I wouldn’t need to if he didn’t exist."

"And yet, here I am," Barty said cheerfully, settling on the arm of the couch like he owned the place.

"Existing loudly, obnoxiously, and in the worst possible way," you shot back.

Regulus groaned. "You know, sometimes I feel like I’m babysitting. Why do you hate each other so much?"

“Umm, I don’t know, Reg,” you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because he’s the most arrogant, annoying, insufferable, self-centered, overconfident, ridiculous—"

"Impressive vocabulary," Regulus deadpanned. "That’s seven insults in one breath. You’re rivaling Evans’ rants about Potter."

"Thank you," you said sweetly, before returning your glare to Barty.

He, for his part, looked far too amused. “I’m flattered, really. That much attention? I must be doing something right.”

Regulus ignored him. “Well, you’re going to have to tolerate him.”

“Pass,” you said immediately.

"Unfortunately, not an option," Reg continued. "You have two choices. Either come home with me for the holidays—awkward, tense dinners with Mother and Father included—"

"Barf," you interrupted.

"—or stay here at Hogwarts with Barty."

Your jaw dropped. "That’s not a choice! That’s Sophie’s Choice!"

Barty tilted his head. “Which one am I in this scenario? The kid that gets—”

"Don’t," you warned, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Regulus smirked faintly. "Well, what’s it going to be?"

You groaned. "Weirdly, staying with Crouch sounds like the better option. How did my life come to this?"

The Slytherin common room was hauntingly empty when the holidays began. The eerie quiet made you itch, and the firewhiskey you’d filched from the kitchens wasn’t doing enough to drown the loneliness. You sat in front of the fireplace, swishing the amber liquid in your glass as though it could conjure some company.

The door creaked open behind you. You didn’t bother turning around, but the low hum of voices made your stomach twist.

“…yeah, just up here,” Barty’s voice carried, warm and smooth in a way that made your teeth clench.

Moments later, he entered your line of sight—his arm slung around a girl whose name you vaguely recalled as Jessica. Or Miranda. Whatever. The two of them were all over each other, and you immediately looked back at the fire.

Barty’s voice broke through the air. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You took a long sip of whiskey. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

The girl—still clinging to him—smirked, and you resolutely ignored her as she worked on unbuttoning his shirt. Barty, however, seemed distracted, his eyes flickering to you.

"How about we pick this up later?" he said suddenly.

The girl blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Very,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. She huffed, gathering her things, and stormed out.

Barty let out a long breath, plopped down beside you, and started buttoning his shirt. "Well, that’s not going to happen again."

You side-eyed him. “Shame. She seemed charming.”

“Jealous?” he asked, smirking.

You rolled your eyes and offered him the bottle of firewhiskey. "So, you know how I’m like—"

"Absolutely embarrassingly in love with me? Yes, I’m familiar. Go on."

"Can you take anything seriously?"

“Yes, I do. I take you very seriously.”

"Anyway," you continued pointedly, “you know how I’m, like, alone for the holidays?”

He tilted his head. "What are you talking about? I’m right here."

"You want to spend the holidays with me?"

"Now that you say it, it really does sound weird."

You groaned and leaned back against the couch, nursing the bottle of firewhiskey as if it held the answers to your problems.

“Careful,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Wouldn’t want you getting emotional on me.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered. “If I cry, it’ll be because I’m stuck here with you.”

Barty clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me, sweetheart. Truly. I’m a delight.”

“You’re a menace,” you corrected.

“Semantics.” He plucked the bottle from your hands and took a swig, ignoring your glare. “Besides, you’re the one who decided I was the lesser evil compared to awkward Black family dinners. Makes you wonder about your priorities.”

“I regret everything,” you deadpanned.

He grinned, leaning back to rest his head on the arm of the couch. The firelight danced across his features, softening the usual sharpness of his expression. For a moment, you hated how easy it was for him to look so... comfortable.

"Do you ever stop being smug?" you asked.

"Not when I’m winning."

"Winning what, exactly?"

He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "This. Us. Our rivalry. Whatever you call this disaster of a relationship."

"Relationship?!" you choked, nearly spilling your drink.

"Rivalry is a kind of relationship," he pointed out, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Merlin, just hex me now.”

"Tempting," he mused, stealing another sip from the bottle.

You reached over to snatch it back, and in the scuffle, his hand brushed yours. For a fleeting moment, your eyes met, and something in his expression shifted—so subtle, you almost missed it. But then he smirked, and the moment was gone.

“So,” he said, settling back. “What’s your plan? Drink yourself into oblivion until the new year?”

“Bold of you to assume I have a plan,” you muttered.

“Tragic, really,” he replied. “No wonder you need me.”

“I don’t need you,” you shot back.

“Sure you don’t,” he said easily, standing up and stretching. “Come on.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored, and I’m not spending the rest of the night watching you sulk. We’re going for a walk.”

“A walk?” you repeated incredulously. “It’s freezing outside!”

“Good thing you have that fiery personality to keep you warm,” he said with a grin, already heading toward the common room door.

You didn’t know why you followed him. Maybe it was the firewhiskey, or maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation, but somehow, you found yourself trudging through the snowy grounds of Hogwarts, your breath puffing in the cold air.

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever made me do,” you grumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets.

“Oh, please,” Barty said, walking a few paces ahead. “If this is the dumbest thing, then clearly I haven’t been trying hard enough.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He turned back to glance at you, catching the fleeting moment of amusement before you could mask it.

“See? You’re having fun,” he said smugly.

“Barely,” you replied.

The owlery loomed ahead, its spires dusted with snow. Barty pushed open the creaking door, letting you step inside first. The warmth of the building, faint though it was, was a welcome reprieve from the cold.

As he wandered to a nearby perch, you pulled a letter from your pocket—the one you’d been avoiding since it arrived. Your parents had written to let you know they were home early from their trip and could come to pick you up if you wanted.

You scanned the letter, your eyes flickering over the words, before glancing at Barty. He stood by a window, his breath fogging the glass as he rubbed his hands together for warmth.

Without thinking too much about it, you pulled out a quill and parchment and began to write your reply.

Dear Mum and Dad, Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. Love, Me

You folded the letter carefully, sealing it before tying it to the leg of a nearby owl. The bird hooted softly, spreading its wings as it soared off into the night.

Brushing your hands together, you turned and made your way to where Barty was perched by the window. His breath fogged the glass as he stared out into the snow-covered grounds, looking strangely peaceful for someone who thrived on chaos.

“Enjoying the view?” you asked, hopping up to sit beside him on the ledge.

“Would be better if you weren’t ruining it,” he replied without missing a beat, glancing at you with a smirk.

“Oh, how tragic for you,” you said, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Should I leave you alone with your deep thoughts?”

“And deprive you of my company? I’m not that cruel,” he quipped, nudging you back.

You rolled your eyes, bumping him again, harder this time. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, smirking as he nudged you right back. “Sitting with me. Bantering with me. Some might call it quality time.”

“Some might call it punishment,” you shot back, unable to suppress the grin tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before leaning back against the wall. The firelight from the sconces glinted off his features, making him look almost softer than usual.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “for someone who claims to hate me, you spend an awful lot of time in my presence.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, your tone light but your shoulder brushing his again.

“Too late,” he replied, smirking as he met your gaze.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, surprisingly. Instead, it felt… comfortable, even as the cold from outside seeped through the stone walls.

The walk back inside was quiet at first, snowflakes clinging to your robes as you made your way through the dimly lit corridors. The silence didn’t last long, though—because, well, Barty.

As you approached the main hall, he slowed, eyes catching on a towering Christmas tree tucked into a corner, adorned with only the faintest glimmer of lights.

“So, you know how-,” Barty began, his tone casual, almost too casual.

You smirked, cutting him off. “You’re obviously in love with me?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Touché,” he said, not missing a beat. “But as I was saying—before I was so rudely interrupted—we don’t have to wallow in misery here. We could, I don’t know, decorate the Christmas tree in our common room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you think we��re supposed to do that? There aren’t decorations just lying around.”

He gave you a sly grin, the kind that always spelled trouble. “I’ve got my ways,” he said with a wink.

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “That sounds suspiciously ominous, but fine. Lead the way.”

As he guided you through the castle, you couldn’t help but pester him. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Salazar, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Barty groaned, though his tone held amusement.

“Excuse me if I don’t blindly follow someone whose life motto is basically chaos and poor decisions,” you shot back, earning a snicker from him.

Eventually, he led you to the seventh floor, stopping abruptly in front of a blank stretch of wall. You blinked, glancing around nervously. “Uh, Crouch, I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”

He smirked, completely unfazed. “You worry too much, treasure.”

Your cheeks heated at the nickname, and you shot him a look. “Treasure? That’s new.”

He waved you off, nonchalant, though his smirk deepened. “You’ll get used to it.”

“All right, fine, but if Filch shows up, I’m hexing you first,” you muttered, though you couldn’t stop the small smile forming as you followed him.

As he paced in front of the wall, you crossed your arms. “Crouch, hate to break it to you, but a wall isn’t going to help us celebrate Christmas.”

He paused, turning to you with mock seriousness. “I feel two things right now. One, you’re severely underestimating my brilliance. And two, if I can call you treasure, you can at least call me Barty.”

“Oh, sod off,” you said, laughing.

“Charming,” he replied, grinning.

Before you could retort, the once-blank wall began to shift, stones rippling like water before solidifying into an ornate door. Your jaw dropped as Barty casually pushed it open.

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing with exaggerated chivalry.

You rolled your eyes, stepping past him. “Such a gentleman.”

“Only for you,” he quipped, his grin widening.

Inside, your breath caught. The room was filled with everything you could possibly need to decorate a Christmas tree: boxes of shimmering ornaments, strings of enchanted fairy lights, and even rolls of tinsel that sparkled like stardust.

“Is that—” you stammered, pointing at a pile of candy canes stacked next to a miniature sleigh.

Barty draped an arm over your shoulders, looking smug. “This is the Room of Requirement, treasure. Think of something you really need, and it appears—within reason. Found it when Evan and I were pranking Snape.”

You shook your head in amazement, eyes wide as you took it all in. “Merlin, I love magic.”

Barty watched you, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “Yeah, it’s got its moments.”

You turned to him, excitement practically buzzing off you. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s turn that boring tree into something worthy of our genius.”

He grinned, grabbing a box of ornaments. “Now you’re talking.”

You and Barty dove into the decorations like kids in a candy shop. He threw a strand of tinsel over his shoulder, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Would you look at that?” he said, holding up a glittery bauble. “This one’s almost as sparkly as you.”

You snorted, grabbing it from his hand. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Crouch.”

“Please, I’m just getting started.” He waggled his brows before draping a garish red-and-gold ribbon around the tree in one dramatic flourish.

“Subtlety really isn’t your strong suit, is it?” you said, hanging ornaments with a bit more care.

“Subtlety is boring,” he replied, holding up a pair of elf-shaped ornaments and making them ‘kiss.’ “Now this is art.”

Rolling your eyes, you flicked a sprig of tinsel at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he shot back with a grin.

As the tree began to come together, you both stood back to admire your work—or, at least, your chaos. The tree was a glorious mess of mismatched ornaments, glowing lights, and way too much tinsel.

“Alright,” Barty said, clapping his hands together. “Time for the grand finale: the star.” He held it up, the light reflecting off its gilded surface.

“Go on, then,” you said, crossing your arms.

He scoffed. “You think I’m tall enough for this?”

“Why are you holding it, then?”

He gave you a mischievous look. “Because you’re going to sit on my shoulders, obviously.”

“Oh no, absolutely not,” you started, but Barty had already crouched down in front of you.

“Come on, treasure. Unless you want a very lopsided star?” He glanced back at you, his grin infuriatingly charming.

You groaned. “Fine. But if you drop me—”

“I won’t,” he said confidently. “Unless you insult my decorating skills again.”

With a roll of your eyes, you carefully climbed onto his shoulders. He stood up, holding your legs steady as you wobbled slightly.

“Stop moving!” you yelped.

“Relax, you’re doing great,” he said, his voice laced with laughter. “Just don’t kick me in the head.”

With a muttered curse, you reached up, placing the star delicately on the top branch. “There. Done.”

Barty gave a little celebratory bounce. “Perfect. You can come down now.”

You let out a relieved laugh as you slid off his shoulders, landing back on solid ground.

“See? Told you I wouldn’t drop you.”

You smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As you both stood there, admiring your handiwork, something peculiar happened. A small pop echoed above you, and when you glanced up, there it was—mistletoe, hanging innocently from thin air.

You turned to Barty, narrowing your eyes. “Really?”

He blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “What? That’s definitely not my doing.” He gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Could it be the castle itself, trying to tell us something?”

“Oh, cut the theatrics,” you said, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

He leaned in slightly, his grin softening. “Well, we wouldn’t want to anger the castle, would we?”

You gave him a long, suspicious look. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here,” he murmured, his voice lower now, more serious.

With a small smile, you stood on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He responded immediately, his hands coming up to gently cup your face.

When you pulled back, his grin was back, brighter than ever. “So, does this mean you’ll let me call you treasure more often?”

You shoved him lightly, laughing. “Don’t push it.”

“Too late,” he said, his laughter echoing through the room as he pulled you back in for another kiss.

REQUESTED FROM : this post RELATED TO : this post

#ivy's soft scribbles ೀ #barty crouch jr x reader #christmas fics ❆#barty #barty crouch jr #barty jr #barty crouch junior #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch x reader #barty crouch jr fluff #slytherin skittles #barty x reader #bartemius crouch jr

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bandsofmarv · 2 days ago

Text

Cold to the touch

Enemies to lovers Bucky x reader

TW - smut, angst

The compound was unusually quiet, except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. You sat at the kitchen counter, nursing a mug of tea, hoping the caffeine would get you through another tense morning.

It wasn’t the missions, the training, or even the threat of constant danger that drained you. No, it was him.

Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Resident pain in your ass.

You had been forced to work together on Steve’s orders, a new partnership meant to “strengthen the team dynamic.” Instead, it had only strengthened your resolve to avoid him at all costs. Bucky was cold, distant, and maddeningly closed off. And worse, he seemed to go out of his way to make your life hell.“Up early, huh?” His voice, low and gravelly, startled you out of your thoughts. Speak of the devil.

You turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. He looked as stoic as ever, but there was a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I could say the same to you,” you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral.

He shrugged, moving to pour himself a cup of coffee. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until he broke it.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t a question.

You blinked at him, surprised by his directness. “Not everything is about you, Barnes.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure this is,” he said, turning to face you fully. His gaze was sharp, assessing, like he was trying to read your mind. “What’s your problem with me, anyway?”

“My problem?” You laughed bitterly, setting your mug down with a clink. “You’re arrogant, impossible to talk to, and you act like the whole world owes you something.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, the faintest crack in his icy exterior. “You don’t know the first thing about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back. “You don’t let anyone in. You’re like a damn wall.”

He took a step closer, his steel-blue eyes burning into yours. “Maybe I don’t let people in because I know how it ends. People like you—they don’t stick around when things get messy.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, cutting through your anger like a blade. For a moment, you saw the man beneath the armor, the one haunted by a past he couldn’t escape.

“That’s not fair,” you said softly, your tone losing its edge. “You don’t get to push people away and then blame them for not trying.”

Bucky stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his metal hand bracing on the counter beside you.

“Why do you care, anyway?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why not just walk away?”

Your breath hitched as his proximity sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a mix of leather and something distinctly him, filled your senses, making it impossible to think straight.

“Maybe I’m just stubborn,” you said, your voice shaking slightly.

He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Stubborn enough to take a chance on someone like me?”

You didn’t have time to answer. Bucky’s lips crashed against yours, desperate and unrelenting, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long. You gasped against his mouth, your hands flying to his chest, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

He made the decision for you. His flesh hand slid to your waist, tugging you against him as his metal fingers traced up your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His kiss was messy, full of teeth and hunger, but it was exactly what you needed.

“Bucky,” you breathed when his lips left yours to trail down your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his breath hot against your skin. “If you want me to, tell me now.” But you didn’t. Instead, you pulled him closer, threading your fingers through his hair as his hands roamed, exploring every inch of you like he was memorizing it.

“Hard to love, huh?” you murmured, your voice teasing despite the breathlessness.

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark with desire. “You have no idea.”

And then he kissed you again, and for the first time, you thought maybe you were willing to find out.

#bucky barnes #angst bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky smut #bucky x y/n #marvel #winter soldier #winter soldier smut #enemies to friends to lovers #enemy bucky #sebastian stan x reader #dark sebastian stan #sebastian Stan x #bucky x #bucky fic #Bucky imagine #bucky fluff #bucky x female reader #bucky au

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the-winter-spider · 2 days ago

Text

Red | One Shot

Bucky x reader AU

Word count: 9.4k

Warnings: Angst sorta

A/N: Just was hanging around in my docs

Purple

The rain outside had slowed to a drizzle by the time the bartender placed another drink in front of you, unasked but not unwelcome. You curled your fingers around the glass, watching the condensation bead and trickle down to the counter. In the corner of your vision, he was still there, watching—not in a way that felt predatory, but in a way that made you hyperaware of everything. The tilt of your head. The way your fingers trembled slightly on the glass. The flutter of your scarf in the breeze sneaking through the cracked door.

“Another round?” the bartender asked, jerking his thumb toward your almost-empty glass.

You nodded, grateful for the distraction, but when the man in the corner stood, your breath caught.

The sound of his boots against the wooden floor carried through the room like a countdown, slow and deliberate. You kept your gaze locked on your hands, trying to steady your nerves, until he was there. Beside you.

“You look like you could use better company than that drink,” he said, the roughness of his voice softened by something faintly teasing.

You glanced up, and there it was again—that pull, that undeniable gravity. “And you think you’re better company?” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady, trying to pretend his presence wasn’t unraveling you thread by thread.

He slid onto the stool beside you, leaning back like he’d been sitting there all along. “You tell me.”

The ice in your glass melted as the conversation deepened, its edges smooth and warm, much like his voice. He asked simple questions at first—the easy kind, the kind that let you pretend this was just another stranger making small talk. But as the minutes passed, the space between you seemed to shrink, the questions becoming sharper, more pointed.

“Why here?” he asked after a while, motioning to the bar around you.

You glanced around, taking in the dim lights and peeling wallpaper, the faint hum of music struggling against the noise of the room. “The rain,” you admitted. “I wasn’t planning on stopping. This just…happened.”

He nodded slowly, his fingers drumming softly against the counter. “Funny how things happen, isn’t it?”

“And you?” you asked, your curiosity finally outweighing your nerves. “What’s your excuse for being here?”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I wasn’t planning on stopping either.”

What struck you most about him wasn’t what he said, but the way he didn’t speak. The moments of silence between his words were heavy, charged with something unspoken but palpable.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you feel like you needed to fill it. It was the kind of silence that made you want to stay.

“People don’t usually stick around when I stop talking,” he said after one of those silences stretched long enough to make the bartender glance over.

You smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m not most people.”

His eyes flicked to yours then, sharp and piercing, and for the first time, you thought you saw something crack in the façade he carried so carefully. Something vulnerable. “No,” he said softly. “You’re not.”

The red scarf had become your anchor, your fingers twisting and untwisting it like a lifeline. When he noticed, his gaze softened, and he leaned in just slightly.

“Nervous?” he asked.

You laughed softly, though your chest felt tight. “Should I be?”

“Probably.” The word was heavy, weighted with something unspoken, but his tone was lighter—almost teasing. “But you don’t scare easy, do you?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much of yourself to reveal to someone who already seemed to see too much. “Maybe I’m just good at pretending,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was studying you. “Or maybe you’re braver than you think.”

The words shouldn’t have affected you the way they did, but they hit like a fist to the chest, leaving you breathless.

Time moved strangely when you were with him. Minutes stretched and contracted, the room around you fading into a blur until it was just the two of you, caught in the strange, magnetic pull that had brought you together.

The rain had stopped by the time you noticed how late it had gotten, the room quieter now as patrons trickled out into the damp night. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, reluctant to leave but knowing you couldn’t stay.

He stood when you did, his presence a shadow behind you as you moved toward the door.

“Be careful out there,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

You turned to face him, the red scarf catching the faint breeze sneaking in from outside. “I could say the same to you.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. And then he nodded, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, though it didn’t sound like a promise.

You stood there for a long moment, your heart racing as the distance between you grew. And when he stepped back into the shadows of the bar, disappearing as quietly as he’d appeared, you felt like you’d lost something you hadn’t even known you were looking for.

You stepped out into the damp night, the world strangely quiet around you. The red neon of The Red Star Lounge flickered behind you, its glow painting the pavement like blood.

You walked slowly, the chill creeping back into your skin despite the warmth of your scarf. And as you turned the corner, the realization settled deep in your chest.

Whatever had started tonight, it wouldn’t end well.

But maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

Green

The days after your first time meeting Bucky were a blur of stolen moments and quiet intensity. He was everywhere—every corner you turned, every crowded space you slipped into. He’d somehow become woven into the fabric of your days, and time itself seemed to shift around him.

You caught his glances in places you hadn’t expected to see him, like the coffee shop down the street or the bookstore you thought no one but you ever visited. His presence lingered, felt before seen, heavy and magnetic in a way that made your pulse quicken.

It wasn’t love—not yet. It couldn’t be. You’d only just met him. But it was something wild and unstoppable, like a spark catching dry kindling. The kind of connection that was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

You hadn’t planned on running into him again so soon. The market was bustling, filled with the warmth of laughter, the clink of cups from a nearby café, and the chatter of vendors calling out deals. You’d come to escape the growing restlessness inside you, hoping to lose yourself in the ordinary rhythm of the crowd. But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, there he was.

“Hi,” came the familiar, gravelly voice from behind you.

You turned, your breath catching for just a moment. There he stood, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his steel-blue eyes fixed on you in a way that made the bustling market fade into the background.

“Hi,” you replied, the word softer than you intended, like a whisper carried on the breeze.

A small smirk tugged at his lips, and for a moment, you could swear the space between you felt electric. “We keep running into each other,” he said, his tone teasing, but there was something deeper beneath it—something unspoken.

“You’re everywhere,” you said, almost accusing, though your lips curved into a faint smile.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Is that a bad thing?”

You hesitated, the playful edge in his voice sending a flutter through your chest. “You tell me,” you said, your voice steadier now, though your heart was racing.

His smirk widened just enough to make your stomach flip. “I think it depends,” he said, stepping just a fraction closer, his presence filling the space around you. “Do I bother you?”

“Should you?” you shot back, meeting his gaze evenly despite the way he made your pulse race.

“Guess that’s up to you.” His voice was low, steady, but there was a challenge in it, the kind that made you want to stay in this moment longer than you should.

The crowd around you moved on, the noise of the market dulling as the two of you stood there, caught in the pull that seemed to draw you together no matter where you were.

The moment stretched, the world around you blurring as the tension between you thickened. It was maddening, this pull, this constant feeling that he was both a mystery you wanted to solve and a danger you weren’t sure you should touch.

“Are you always this… persistent?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He laughed softly, the sound warm and rough, settling somewhere deep in your chest. “Only when I’ve got a reason to be.”

“And do you?”

His smile faded, replaced by something softer, something that made your breath catch. “Maybe.”

The honesty in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure you could say anything at all without betraying the way he was already getting under your skin.

Before either of you could say more, someone jostled past you, breaking the moment like a stone dropped in still water. You took a step back, breaking his gaze, suddenly hyperaware of the world around you again.

“Well,” you said, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck, the movement more of a reflex than a necessity. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Guess so,” he replied, his voice softer now, but still carrying that magnetic pull that made it hard to leave.

You turned before you could change your mind, slipping back into the crowd, but you could feel his eyes on you long after you’d disappeared from view.

That night, as you sat by your window, the red scarf still warm against your neck, you couldn’t shake the feeling of him—the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to linger in your thoughts long after he was gone.

Orange

The first time he took your hand, it was under the cover of night. The two of you had wandered out of town, the air crisp and the moon high above, lighting the fields with silver. You’d teased him into leaving the bar, insisting there was more to life than whiskey and dark corners. To your surprise, he followed.

“You’re relentless, you know that?” he muttered, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket as you walked side by side down the quiet road.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder with a grin.

When the road opened into a clearing, the moonlight spilling across the grass like liquid silver, you stopped. “Dance with me,” you said suddenly.

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse. “You’re kidding, right? I don’t dance.”

“Everyone dances.” You grabbed his hand before he could protest further, your fingers tangling with his. “You just haven’t tried with the right partner.”

At first, he was stiff, awkward, his steps uncertain. But you laughed, the sound soft and free, and something in him loosened. His hands found your waist, tentative but firm, and together you moved under the open sky, your red scarf trailing in the breeze like a streak of fire against the night.

His grin was shy but genuine, his guard slipping just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the man hidden beneath the rough edges.

The air around you seemed to hum, the crisp night wrapping you both in a cocoon of stillness, as if the world had paused just for this moment. The stars twinkled overhead, scattered across the velvet sky, and the quiet rustle of grass beneath your feet served as the only soundtrack to your impromptu dance.

His hand on your waist was steady now, the earlier awkwardness fading as he settled into the rhythm of your movements. You could feel his warmth even through the layers of fabric between you, grounding and electric all at once.

“You’re full of surprises,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. The moonlight illuminated his features in a way that made him seem both sharper and softer all at once—the hard lines of his jaw, the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he smiled.

“Don’t get used to it,” he teased, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

“Oh, I already am,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips. “You’re stuck with me now.”

His laugh was quiet, almost a hum, and you caught a flicker of something in his expression—hesitation, maybe, or disbelief. Like he wasn’t used to this kind of lightness, this kind of joy.

“You really do this to everyone?” he asked, tilting his head as he studied you, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and playfulness.

“Do what?”

“Drag them out into fields, make them dance under the stars, make them feel like…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. “Like this.”

Your smile faltered, but only slightly. “Like what?”

“Like there’s still something good in the world.” His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, and the words felt like they carried more weight than you expected.

Your breath caught in your chest, and for a moment, the flirty banter dissolved into something deeper, something raw. You didn’t look away, though, even as his gaze burned into yours. “Maybe I just have good instincts,” you said softly. “Maybe I knew you needed this and maybe you're not just anyone.."

He didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he seemed to wrestle with whatever storm was brewing inside him. But then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe.”

You continued to sway, the tension between you softening but not disappearing. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, not possessive but steady, anchoring you to the moment.

“You’re not bad at this, you know,” you said, breaking the silence. “For someone who doesn’t dance.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he muttered, but there was no hiding the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Too late.”

You laughed, and the sound seemed to draw something out of him—a quiet chuckle, his guard slipping even further. He spun you then, a move so unexpected and unpolished that you nearly stumbled, but his hand caught yours, pulling you back to him with ease.

“Show-off,” you teased, breathless from the movement and his proximity.

“You asked for a dance,” he replied, his grin widening. “Don’t complain when I deliver.”

After a while, your movements slowed, the dance turning into little more than a quiet sway. The night had grown colder, the stars above brighter, and the world around you quieter.

His hands lingered on your waist longer than they needed to as you pulled back slightly, your red scarf brushing against his arm.

“You’re not as bad at this as you think,” you said softly, your voice carrying just enough warmth to take the sting out of the teasing.

“Guess I had the right partner,” he replied, his tone quieter now, almost serious.

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you smiled, your fingers brushing his briefly before you stepped back fully.

“Thank you,” you said, and you weren’t sure if you meant for the dance, for following you out here, or for letting you see this softer side of him.

He nodded, his eyes meeting yours one last time before he stepped back, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You’re trouble,” he repeated, the faintest trace of a smile still on his lips.

“And don’t you forget it,” you replied, your grin returning as you adjusted your scarf, the red fabric catching the breeze.

As the two of you made your way back to the bar in comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but glance at him from the corner of your eye. There was something about the way he walked beside you, the way he seemed both cautious and unflinchingly present, that made you wonder what was hiding behind those sharp eyes and soft smiles.

Grey

It started with something small. It always did.

The two of you had been in his apartment, a quiet night derailed by the weight of unspoken things. You’d made a joke—a harmless, casual jab at the way he always seemed to know what was happening before you did, like he had a sixth sense for trouble. But instead of laughing, his jaw tightened, and his response came sharp and clipped.

“Maybe you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he muttered, his voice low, his eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Excuse me?”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as if to push the thought away. “Forget it.”

But you couldn’t. You hated when he did this—when he locked you out, pulling the shutters down on a window you’d thought was finally open.

“Bucky, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you asked, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay calm.

“It means I’ve got enough going on without you digging into things that don’t concern you,” he snapped, his frustration spilling over.

“Things that don’t concern me?” You took a step closer, your chest tight with a mix of anger and hurt. “How can you say that? You’re the one who pulled me into this—into you. Don’t tell me I don’t get to care about what’s going on in your head.”

His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and guarded, like he was debating whether to fight or retreat. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less biting. “You don’t know what it’s like to carry the kind of shit I do.”

You stared at him, the words hitting you like a blow. “You’re right,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t know. Because you won’t let me!”

The room fell silent, the tension crackling like a live wire between you.

“Maybe it’s better that way,” he said after a long pause, his voice cold and distant.

The words sliced through you, sharp and unforgiving. You turned away, grabbing your coat and scarf, your movements jerky and frantic.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice rising as you stormed toward the door.

“Somewhere I don’t feel like a burden!” you shot back, the words raw and cutting as they left your lips.

The rain started just as you stepped outside, a steady downpour that soaked through your clothes within minutes. You didn’t care. Your feet carried you forward, one step after another, until you were too far from his building to hear his voice if he called after you.

But he did call.

“Y/N!”

You stopped, the sound of his voice slicing through the rain and your resolve. You turned slowly, the water streaming down your face, mingling with the tears you hadn’t realized were falling.

Bucky stood a few feet away, his hair plastered to his forehead, his jacket already drenched. He looked as wrecked as you felt.

“Why are you here, Bucky?” you shouted, your voice shaking with anger and something far more dangerous—hope. “Why do you care?”

Red

“Because I can’t not care!” he shouted back, the words breaking open something in both of you.

He took a step closer, his boots splashing in the puddles, his gaze locking onto yours. “You think I don’t know what this is doing to you? To us? I’m trying, baby. I just—”

His voice cracked, the raw emotion in it making your breath hitch. “I just don’t know how to be the person you think I am,” he finished, his shoulders slumping.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving with the force of everything you felt. You wanted to yell, to cry, to pull him closer and push him away all at once. But before you could do anything, he moved.

His hands cupped your face, his touch firm but trembling, his palms warm against your rain-chilled skin. And then his lips were on yours, urgent and unyielding, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss.

The rain poured harder, cold and relentless, but you didn’t feel it. All you felt was him—his hands in your hair, his body pressed against yours, the heat of his kiss erasing every other thought in your mind.

Your hands found their way to his jacket, gripping the wet leather as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His lips moved against yours, fierce and desperate, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

The rain poured around you, cold and relentless, but his kiss was all heat. It stole your breath, your anger, your fears—leaving nothing but the raw, unshakable truth of how deeply he’d gotten under your skin.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and ragged against your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words barely audible over the rain. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

Your hands loosened their grip on his jacket, falling to your sides as you searched his eyes. “Then stop pushing me away,” you said, your voice trembling. “Stop making me feel like I’m not enough.”

His eyes closed briefly, his jaw tightening as he nodded. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice raw. “I swear I’m trying.”

You exhaled shakily, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. “Then let me help you,” you said softly. “Whatever it is, Bucky, i can take it….But you have to let me in.”

His hands dropped from your face, his gaze falling to the ground. For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence filled only by the sound of the rain.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice hoarse but steady. “Okay.”

The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time you made your way back to his apartment, walking side by side in silence. His hand brushed against yours once, then again, before he finally took it, his grip firm and grounding.

Neither of you spoke as you stepped inside, the warmth of the room wrapping around you as you shed your soaked coats and shoes.

“I’ll make some tea,” he said quietly, his voice still rough around the edges.

You nodded, watching as he moved to the kitchen, his shoulders still tense but lighter somehow. The storm wasn’t over—not completely.

White

It didn’t take long for you to realize that Bucky wasn’t like anyone else you’d ever loved. He carried his past like a weight around his neck, a shadow that followed him even in his brightest moments. He never talked about it—not in words, at least. But it was there, in the tension that gripped his shoulders when he thought no one was watching, in the way his eyes sometimes drifted to the distance, as if he could still see ghosts in the corners of his mind.

One night, as you traced the faded scars on his knuckles, the storm of his silence felt unbearable.

“Where did these come from?” you asked softly, your thumb brushing over the jagged lines etched into his skin.

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Bar fights,” he said, his voice laced with forced nonchalance.

“Must’ve been some fight,” you murmured, your fingers lingering on the edges of his scars like you could smooth them away.

He shrugged, but the movement was tight, deliberate, like he was trying to shrug off more than the question. His smirk faded, replaced by something far heavier. “I wasn’t always… the guy you see now,” he said finally, his voice quiet, almost hollow.

The air in the room shifted, the words lingering between you like smoke, impossible to clear. You didn’t press him. You’d learned by now that he wasn’t the type to offer up pieces of himself freely. He kept his pain buried deep, beneath layers of charm and bravado, but in the quiet moments—when the walls came down—you could feel it.

The silence stretched, heavy but not empty. You studied his face, the hard lines of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his lips pressed into a thin line like he was holding back words he didn’t trust himself to say. His eyes, always so sharp and clear, seemed distant, as if he wasn’t in the room with you anymore but somewhere else entirely.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you said softly, your fingers still resting against his hand. “But you don’t have to carry it alone, either.”

His gaze snapped back to you then, sharp and searching, like he was trying to decide whether you meant it.

“Some things aren’t worth sharing,” he said after a long moment, his tone guarded but not unkind. “They don’t make anything better.”

“Maybe not,” you said carefully, leaning back slightly to give him space. “But sometimes saying it out loud makes it hurt a little less.”

He laughed softly, but it wasn’t a laugh meant to comfort—it was bitter, self-deprecating, the sound of someone who didn’t believe a word you’d said.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Then tell me,” you challenged, your voice steady even as your heart pounded. “Show me.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and something darker—fear, maybe, or anger. For a moment, you thought he might snap, might push you away entirely. But instead, he let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever he was holding.

“I’ve done things,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Things I can’t take back. Things I don’t want to take back because… because I thought I deserved them.”

The confession hit you like a punch to the chest, but you didn’t flinch. You stayed where you were, your hand still resting on his, grounding him in a way you hoped was enough.

He looked down, his jaw tight, his voice rough as he continued. “You want to know where these scars came from? Fine. Some are bar fights. Most of them are from being too drunk to care what happened to me. Or too angry to stop swinging when I should’ve walked away.” He paused, his eyes flicking back to yours. “And some of them are from people who thought I deserved worse.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t speak. This wasn’t the time to offer reassurances he wouldn’t believe. This was the time to let him speak, to let the floodgates open.

“I wasn’t a good person, darlin’,” he said, his voice breaking just slightly. “I was reckless. Selfish. I burned bridges with everyone who ever gave a damn about me, because it was easier to burn them than to admit I needed them.”

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You look at me like I’m someone worth saving, but you don’t know what you’re saving me from. And I don’t know if I want you to.”

Your hand tightened on his instinctively, and he looked at you like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned forward, your voice quiet but firm.

“You’re not that person anymore, Bucky.”

His laugh was bitter, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “And what makes you so sure?”

“Because I know you,” you said, your words steady even as your chest ached with the weight of what he’d shared. “I know the man you are now. The man who stands up when he’d rather run. The man who cares about the people in his life even when he’s scared he’ll lose them. The man who looks at me like… like I’m more than just another person passing through his life.”

His breath hitched, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart pound. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmured, his voice low and broken.

“Don’t I?” you replied, leaning closer, your hand still on his. “You think I don’t see the cracks in you? The scars you’re trying to hide? I see them, Bucky. I see you. And I’m still here.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions. And then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“Maybe not,” you said softly, leaning into his touch. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Pink

Not everything was heavy. There were moments of lightness, too—moments when the weight he carried seemed to lift, revealing the boy he must’ve been before life carved him into the man he’d become.

Like the time you convinced him to teach you how to ride his motorcycle.

“This is a terrible idea,” he said, his hands firm on your shoulders as you perched awkwardly on the seat. His jacket was slung over the handlebars, leaving him in a worn t-shirt that clung to his frame in the afternoon heat.

“You’re just saying that because you’re scared I’ll be better at it than you,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder with a grin.

He rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “No, I’m saying it because I like this bike, and I’d rather not see it flipped into a ditch.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” you said, sticking your tongue out at him before turning your attention back to the bike. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Fine,” he relented, stepping around to stand beside you, one hand resting on the handlebar. “First rule: don’t panic. Second rule: listen to me.”

“Was that not the first rule?”

He smirked. “It’s the first and second rule. You like to improvise, and I’m not interested in seeing where that gets us today.”

You weren’t good at it—not at first. Your balance was all wrong, your movements jerky as you tried to adjust to the unfamiliar weight of the bike beneath you. The engine purred, vibrating against your thighs as you gripped the handlebars too tightly.

“Loosen up,” Bucky said, his voice even as he kept one hand on the back of the seat to steady you. “You’re not wrestling it into submission.”

“Easy for you to say!” you snapped, your voice high-pitched with nerves as the bike wobbled forward.

His laugh was low and infuriatingly calm. “Relax, you’re not going to die. I’ve got you.”

“You better,” you muttered, biting your lip as you tried to focus on his instructions.

By the time you’d tipped the bike over for the second time—mercifully without actually crashing—your cheeks were flushed, half from embarrassment and half from the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Alright, maybe this was a terrible idea,” you admitted, throwing him an exasperated look as you struggled to right the bike again.

He was already laughing, the sound deep and unrestrained as he grabbed the handlebars to help. “Told you,” he said, grinning wide enough to show his teeth.

“Don’t gloat,” you shot back, but your own laughter bubbled up before you could stop it.

By the time you got the hang of it—coasting in a slow, wobbly circle while he watched from a few feet away, arms crossed and smirking like he was witnessing a miracle—you were both laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

“Look at me!” you shouted, your voice triumphant. “I’m doing it!”

“Don’t get cocky,” he warned, though his tone was light. “You’re still going about five miles an hour.”

“That’s five more miles an hour than you thought I’d manage,” you called back, steering carefully toward him.

When you finally stopped, dismounting with all the grace of a baby giraffe, you stumbled into his arms, laughing uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay,” you gasped, your forehead resting against his chest as you tried to catch your breath. “Maybe you’re the expert.”

“Told you,” he said, his laugh rumbling against your ear. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, holding you steady as your knees threatened to buckle.

“You know,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, “you’re kind of a good teacher. Strict, but effective.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he replied, though there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flip.

In those moments, you forgot about the shadows lurking at the edges of your relationship. You forgot about the way he sometimes disappeared into his own head, shutting you out without warning. You forgot about the way doubt sometimes crept in, whispering that you’d never be enough to pull him out of the darkness he carried.

In those moments, it was just him and you. His laughter, his warmth, the way he looked at you like you were the brightest thing in his world.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he said suddenly, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you a moment too long.

“So i've been told,” you replied, smirking “But here you are”

His lips quirked into a faint smile, but something flickered in his expression—something unspoken but undeniable. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Here I am.”

Black

Bucky’s past was a shadow that followed him everywhere, slipping into the quiet moments between you, seeping into the cracks of your conversations, and weighing down the lightness you fought so hard to hold onto. He never told you the full story, but you’d pieced together enough to know it was dark, messy, and full of mistakes he couldn’t forgive himself for.

He’d let pieces of it slip, in fragments so small they barely felt like enough to build a picture. The late nights when he’d sit on the edge of the bed, his back to you, head in his hands as he tried to keep his breathing even. The scars on his knuckles, his ribs, the faint burn marks along his forearms he never wanted to explain.

“Old life,” he’d say when you pushed, the words clipped, like the conversation was over before it began.

But you could see the weight of it in his eyes, the way they clouded when you asked too many questions, or the way his jaw tightened when you pressed him about the motorcycle gathering dust in the corner of the garage.

One night, tangled together in bed, you felt the words leave your lips before you could stop them.

“Why don’t you let yourself be happy?”

You hadn’t meant it to sound so accusatory, but it hung heavy in the air between you. He was staring at the ceiling, the dim light casting shadows across his face, and for a moment, you weren’t sure he’d heard you.

Then, quietly, he answered. “I don’t deserve it.”

The simplicity of it made your chest ache. You shifted closer, your hand sliding over his chest to rest just above his heart. His pulse was steady beneath your fingertips, but his breathing was shallow.

“Who gets to decide that?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

The silence that followed was louder than anything he could’ve said. You felt his walls build themselves back up in real time, felt the distance between you grow even though he was right there. And that was the moment you realized just how fragile this thing between you really was.

You were falling for him—deeply, recklessly—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how hard you tried, you’d never be able to love away the pain he carried.

It was a few days later when he finally said something. You were sitting on the back steps of the house, the two of you sharing a beer in comfortable silence, the late summer heat clinging to the air.

“I used to be part of something,” he started, his voice low, almost like he was speaking to himself.

You turned to him, careful not to interrupt.

He stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the horizon as if the past was painted somewhere in the fading streaks of the sunset. His hands fidgeted with the beer bottle, his thumb running along the condensation like it was the only thing grounding him to the moment.

“A gang of sorts,” he finally said, the words clipped, sharp, like they physically hurt to say out loud. “We didn’t call it that. We thought we were a brotherhood, a club at best. Thought we were something… loyal. But it wasn’t like that.”

Your breath caught, but you stayed silent, knowing this was fragile ground you were treading on.

“We rode together. Lived for the thrill of it. For the noise, the chaos, the speed.” He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But it was never just that. It was fights. Deals. Smuggling. You name it, we probably did it—or looked the other way while it was happening.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And I was all in. I thought I’d found a family. I thought… it meant something.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and you reached for his hand instinctively, your fingers brushing his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at you either.

“What changed?” you asked softly.

His jaw clenched, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “I did. Or maybe I just woke up. Started seeing it for what it really was—a way to hurt people. A way to run from everything I didn’t want to face. And when I finally decided I couldn’t be part of it anymore…”

He trailed off, his knuckles tightening around the beer bottle.

“What happened?”

He turned to you then, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite name—regret, anger, fear. “They don’t let you just walk away from something like that. Not without consequences.”

“They came after you?” you guessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“They tried,” he said, his tone flat. “It got messy. People got hurt, people died, good people died…. And I left everything behind. My bike, my crew, the only life I’d known up to that point. I’ve been running ever since.”

His words hung in the humid air, and you struggled to process everything he was laying bare.

“Bucky…”

He shook his head, cutting you off. “Don’t. Don’t try to make it sound better than it was. I don’t deserve that.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that everyone deserved a second chance, that whatever he’d done, it didn’t define who he was now. But you knew he wouldn’t hear it. Not yet.

Instead, you squeezed his hand, your thumb brushing over the scarred skin of his knuckles. “You don’t have to keep running,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat.

He let out a humorless laugh, his shoulders slumping. “You think it’s that easy? That I can just… stop?”

“I think it’s a start,” you said. “And I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

That night, after the sun had dipped below the horizon and the two of you had gone inside, you lay awake beside him, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

You wondered about the things he hadn’t told you—the names, the faces, the details he still kept locked away. You could feel them pressing down on him, weighing him down like chains he didn’t know how to break.

And yet, despite everything, you felt hope. Because he’d told you something. He’d opened a door, even if only a crack.

But in the days that followed, the weight of his confession seemed to grow heavier. You noticed the way his eyes darted to the shadows when the two of you walked down the street, the way his body tensed every time a motorcycle engine roared in the distance.

As you sat together in the living room, the sound of distant thunder rolling through the open window, you decided to ask the question that had been burning in the back of your mind.

“Do you think they’ll come for you?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze was fixed on the window, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Maybe. Probably.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking in. “What would you do?”

“Whatever I have to,” he said, his voice firm, his jaw set.

The finality in his tone sent a chill down your spine. “You don’t have to face it alone, Bucky.”

He turned to you, his eyes softening just enough to let you see the fear buried beneath the bravado. “You don’t understand. If they find me, it won’t just be me they’ll go after.”

For a moment, the air between you was thick with everything left unsaid. Then he reached for your hand, his grip strong but trembling. “I don’t want you to get hurt, I cant have you get hurt”

“I know,” you said softly. “But I’m not walking away.”

RED

It was late, the kind of quiet that made the world feel smaller, as though the two of you were the only people left in it. The rain had come and gone, leaving the air cool and clean, and the faint scent of damp earth drifted through the open window.

Bucky sat on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, an old book balanced on his knee. You were curled up beside him, your feet tucked under his thigh, a mug of tea cradled in your hands. It was a simple moment, unremarkable in its stillness, but it felt significant in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

You watched him over the rim of your mug, his brow furrowed as he read, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hair was tousled from the way he kept running his fingers through it, and the soft lamplight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw.

“What?” he asked suddenly, his eyes flicking to yours.

You blinked, realizing you’d been caught staring. “Nothing,” you said quickly, though the warmth rising in your cheeks gave you away.

He closed the book, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. “That didn’t look like ‘nothing.’”

You rolled your eyes, setting your mug down on the coffee table. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

His grin faltered, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. He reached out, his hand finding yours where it rested on the couch cushion. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low. “You keep saying things like that, and I might start believing them.”

The words were on the tip of your tongue before you even realized they were there. They spilled out quietly, almost like they’d slipped past your defenses on their own.

“I love you.”

The room seemed to freeze, the words hanging in the air between you. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his response.

Bucky’s hand stilled against yours, his eyes widening slightly as he looked at you. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. “I love you,” you repeated, more firmly this time.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then he shifted closer, his hand cupping your cheek as he studied your face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, your hand covering his where it rested on your cheek. “I mean it, Bucky.. I love you.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone, his touch warm and steady, and you could see the emotions flickering behind his eyes—fear, disbelief, hope.

Then, finally, he exhaled, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “I love you too,” he said, the words soft but sure, like they’d been waiting inside him all along.

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his confession hitting you like a wave. You leaned into his touch, your forehead resting against his as a quiet laugh escaped you.

“Why do you sound so surprised?” you teased, though your voice was thick with emotion.

“Because I didn’t think I’d ever get to say it,” he admitted, his voice raw.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tangling with his. “Well, you do,” you said firmly. “You do.”

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel his heart pounding against your own, his breathing shaky as he held you like he was afraid to let go.

“I love you,” he murmured again, the words muffled against your skin.

Black

The cracks in your relationship with Bucky had always been there, faint at first, like hairline fractures in glass. But over time, those fractures deepened, spreading until the entire structure seemed ready to shatter. You both saw it coming. Neither of you stopped it.

The end wasn’t sudden—it was a slow, excruciating unraveling. It started with the silences, the way Bucky’s gaze lingered on the horizon instead of you. Then came the arguments, sharp and biting, words flung like weapons that left wounds neither of you could heal. And finally, the moment when everything fell apart.

The air between you was thick, suffocating, as you stood across from Bucky in the dim light of your apartment. Outside, the sun was setting, the sky painted in hues of crimson and gold, like a warning, like a fire.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you snapped, your voice trembling with frustration. “I can’t keep doing this, Bucky. I can’t keep wondering if you’re going to disappear every time things get hard.”

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I’m not disappearing.” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it, the tension in his frame barely restrained.

“Then what do you call it?” You stepped closer, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you’d been holding back. “The nights you don’t come home? The way you shut me out? How am I supposed to love you when you won’t even let me in?”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression. But then he looked away, and the wall went back up. “You knew what you were getting into,” he muttered, the words like a punch to your chest.

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. Like I’m constantly fighting to hold onto you while you’re halfway out the door.”

“I’m trying!” he shot back, his voice rising for the first time. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration boiling over. “Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I don’t hate myself for dragging you into my mess?”

“I didn’t ask for perfect, Bucky,” you said, your voice shaking. “I just wanted you. But you can’t even give me that, can you?”

The tension snapped like a breaking wire. He turned sharply, his movements abrupt, knocking a glass from the counter. It hit the floor and shattered, the sound ringing out like a gunshot in the suffocating silence.

You both froze, staring at the pieces scattered across the floor. The sharp edges glinted in the fading light, and you couldn’t help but think how perfectly they mirrored the state of your heart.

“I can’t do this,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep trying to fix something that doesn’t wanna be fixed.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wide and almost panicked. “Baby, don’t—”

But you held up a hand, cutting him off. “No. You don’t get to keep doing this. You don’t get to keep tearing me apart just because you’re scared.”

You turned away from him, walking to the window where the last rays of the sun bled across the sky. The red hues painted the room, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch forever. You felt his presence behind you, silent and heavy, but he didn’t move closer.

“Do you even love me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, quietly, he said, “More than anything.”

You closed your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “Then why does it feel like I’m the only one fighting for us?”

When you finally turned to face him, the sight of him nearly broke you. His shoulders were slumped, his expression a mixture of pain and regret. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I think you need to leave,” you said softly, the words tasting like ash on your tongue.

“No,” he said quickly, his voice thick with emotion. He took a step toward you, but you shook your head.

“Bucky, please,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He stopped, his hands clenching at his sides. For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging heavy in the air.

“Loving you is the best and worst thing i've ever done,” you whispered finally, the words cutting through the silence.

He flinched, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t beg. Instead, he stepped back, his red leather jacket catching the dying light like embers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible.

And then he turned and walked away.

You stood there long after he was gone, staring at the shattered glass on the floor, the red hues of the sunset fading into the gray of twilight. The silence in the room was deafening, and the absence of him felt like a physical ache, a hollow space where your heart had been.

You wanted to scream, to cry, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But all you could do was sink to the floor, your knees pulling to your chest as you clutched the scarf around your neck—the same red scarf you’d worn the night you met him.

The memory of him lingered, vivid and unrelenting, like a fire that refused to be extinguished. And as the last light disappeared, leaving the room bathed in shadows, you realized that some scars never really fade.

Loving him had been a blaze of color, bright and beautiful and all-consuming. But now, all that was left was the ash.

Dark Grey

Years later, you would still catch yourself tracing the edges of your life, searching for the faint marks Bucky had left on it. They were everywhere—small, quiet reminders that had become part of you. A fleeting song lyric. A warm breeze on a rainy day. The streak of red in a sunset that made your breath hitch.

Not all loves were meant to last forever. You knew that now. But the ones that didn’t stay still had the power to change you. Some were fleeting, like sparks that burn brightly before fading, but even when the fire dies, it leaves a mark. A scar. A memory. A piece of yourself you couldn’t reclaim.

And Bucky had left you with all three.

You moved on in the ways that mattered. You built a life filled with steady, small joys—the kind of life you never would have imagined in those tumultuous days with him. There was laughter and comfort, new love and old friends, and yet, there was always that quiet space inside you that belonged to him.

Because loving Bucky had been unforgettable. It had been red—vivid, bold, and impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just the good that stayed with you, though. It was the ache, too—the lingering hollow of his absence that sometimes felt like it echoed in your chest.

You remembered the way his hand had felt in yours, steady and warm, even when everything around you felt like it was unraveling. The way his voice, low and rough, could calm you and set you alight in the same breath.

And you remembered the way he looked at you—like you were something he wanted to hold onto but didn’t know how to keep. Like he was terrified of you slipping away, even as he kept his distance.

You didn’t regret loving him. How could you? Even with the heartbreak, the unanswered questions, the nights spent missing him so fiercely you thought it might tear you apart, Bucky had given you something no one else had.

He’d made you feel alive.

One night, as you wandered home after a late dinner with friends, the city felt unusually quiet. The streets were slick with rain, the glow of streetlights reflecting off the pavement in golden pools. You’d tucked your red scarf tighter around your neck, the fabric trailing behind you as the cool wind nipped at your cheeks.

And then you felt it—him.

It wasn’t something you could explain. It wasn’t logical or rooted in reason. It was a pull, a magnetic force that had always drawn you to him, no matter how far apart you’d been.

You stopped mid-step, your eyes scanning the crowded street. At first, it felt silly—just your mind playing tricks on you again, filling strangers’ faces with memories of him. But then you saw him.

Across the street, standing near the entrance to a dimly lit diner, was a figure you’d know anywhere. The dark hair. The broad shoulders. The familiar slouch of someone trying not to be noticed but failing anyway.

Your breath caught. For a moment, the world narrowed to just him, the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

You hesitated, your feet frozen to the pavement. And then, as if sensing you, he turned.

His eyes found yours across the distance, and the breath you’d been holding escaped in a sharp gasp. It was him. It wasn’t a trick of the light, wasn’t your imagination conjuring his ghost again.

It was Bucky.

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. His hair was shorter now, his stubble heavier, but his eyes were the same—piercing, sharp, filled with something you couldn’t name.

He took a step toward you, and for a moment, you thought he might cross the street. But instead, he stopped just at the edge of the curb.

“Red suits you,” he said, his voice low and familiar, carrying over the noise of the city.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, dragging you under. Red suits you. He’d said it to you once before, years ago, as he wrapped your scarf around your neck on a bitterly cold night, pulling you close to kiss you before the wind could steal the moment.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. What could you say?

But he didn’t wait for you to answer. With one last lingering look, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, slipping away as easily as he always had.

You stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the spot where he’d been, your heart racing and your mind spinning. You didn’t know why he’d been there, why he’d said what he had, or why he’d left again so quickly.

But as the rain began to fall again, you smiled, your hand instinctively reaching up to tug your scarf tighter.

Some loves weren’t meant to last forever.

But some burned too brightly to ever truly fade.

And as you turned and walked into the night, the rain soaking your hair and your scarf trailing behind you, you couldn’t help but feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be—haunted, alive, and forever marked by him.

Because loving Bucky had been red. And somehow, you knew, that story wasn’t finished yet.

#Spotify #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes au #bucky fanfic #james barnes x you #james barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes

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caitified · 14 hours ago

Text

thanksgiving

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none

thanksgiving with caitlin was something you’d been looking forward to for weeks. it was your first time hosting together in your shared apartment in indianapolis, and caitlin was determined to make it perfect.

you stood in the kitchen, focused on making sure the turkey was carved just right when you felt a familiar presence behind you. caitlin’s arms snaked around your waist, her chin resting on your shoulder.

“need some help?” she asked softly, her warm breath tickling your ear.

“you’re supposed to be entertaining your family,” you replied with a smirk, leaning back slightly into her embrace.

“they’re fine,” she said, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “besides, i missed you.”

you rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t hide the smile spreading across your face. before you could say anything more, caitlin’s brother strolled into the kitchen, his eyebrow raised at the two of you.

“okay, lovebirds, save it for later,” he teased, grabbing a drink from the counter.

caitlin turned to face her, not letting go of you. “jealous much?” she shot back with a grin.

“hardly,” he replied, but the amused look on his face betrayed his sarcasm. he walked back out to the living room, shaking his head.

caitlin kissed your temple before finally pulling away. “i’ll let you finish. but don’t take too long—i’m not sharing you for the whole night.”

you laughed as she disappeared into the other room, and after a few more minutes, you emerged from the kitchen with the turkey, setting it down in the center of the table. everyone cheered as caitlin helped guide you to your seat beside her, sneaking a quick kiss on your cheek as you sat down.

dinner was lively and full of stories, many of them from caitlin’s time at iowa. her dad was in the middle of telling a particularly embarrassing story from her childhood when caitlin reached under the table, lacing her fingers with yours. she leaned in close, her voice low enough for only you to hear.

“can you believe this? they always gang up on me during the holidays,” she whispered, her mock-annoyed expression making you stifle a laugh.

“you love it,” you teased, squeezing her hand.

“maybe,” she admitted, grinning. “but only because you’re here to make it bearable.”

you shook your head at her dramatics but couldn’t help feeling a warmth spread through your chest. moments like these, where caitlin’s playful charm was on full display, made you fall for her even more.

after dinner, while the others migrated to the couch to watch football, you stayed behind in the kitchen to start cleaning up. caitlin joined you soon after, rolling up her sleeves and grabbing a dish towel.

“you don’t have to help,” you said as she started drying dishes.

“i want to,” she replied, glancing at you with that soft smile she reserved just for you.

the two of you worked in comfortable silence for a while, the hum of conversation and laughter from the living room serving as a backdrop. then caitlin broke the quiet.

“you know,” she said, leaning against the counter once the dishes were done. “i think this might be my favorite thanksgiving ever.”

“why’s that?” you asked, turning to face her.

she stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “because it’s the first one with you.”

her words made your heart race, and before you could respond, she cupped your face in her hands, kissing you softly. it was a moment of quiet intimacy amid the chaos of the holiday, a reminder of how much caitlin meant to you—and how much you meant to her.

“i love you,” she said when she pulled back, her forehead resting against yours.

“i love you, too,” you whispered, smiling up at her.

and as the night went on, surrounded by love and laughter, you couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the holiday than by caitlin’s side.

#wnba x reader #caitlin clark x reader #wnba imagine #wbb x reader #wbb imagine #iowa wbb #caitlin clark

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lazysoulwriter · 2 days ago

Text

Cozy night... and more. - Paul Mescal.

The rain pattered gently against the window as you set two steaming mugs of spiced apple cider on the worn wooden table. The living room was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the crackling fire in the hearth and the string lights draped along the shelves, giving everything a golden hue. Paul was already sprawled on the couch, a blanket thrown over his lap and a book resting on his chest.

"You're lucky I like you," you teased, handing him a mug.

He gave you that easy, boyish smile. "I knew you'd come around eventually."

It had been a tradition between the two of you for years now—cozy nights in when the weather outside refused to cooperate. Tonight, though, there was something different in the air. Maybe it was the soft music playing in the background, or the way his eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual.

You curled up on the other end of the couch, tucking your feet under the blanket. Paul shifted slightly, enough for your legs to touch his.

"You’re hogging all the warmth," he complained, nudging you playfully.

"You're literally sitting next to a fire," you shot back, but you let him pull your feet onto his lap anyway.

The hours slipped by as you talked about everything and nothing, the kind of conversations that felt like they could stretch on forever. At some point, the book was abandoned, and the mugs sat forgotten on the table. His hand absentmindedly traced patterns on your ankle, and you felt your pulse quicken at the touch.

"Do you ever think about..." Paul began, then stopped, his voice unusually tentative.

"Think about what?"

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. "What it’d be like...if we weren’t just friends."

Your breath caught, and the room seemed to shrink, the warmth from the fire suddenly amplified.

"Paul..."

"I’ve always wanted to do this," he murmured, leaning in.

His lips brushed yours, soft and hesitant, like he was afraid of crossing an invisible line. But then your hands found their way to his collar, pulling him closer, and his uncertainty melted into something deeper, something you’d both been skirting around for far too long.

When you finally broke apart, the firelight danced in his eyes, and he gave you that lopsided grin that made your heart skip.

"So...is this a one-time thing, or do I get to kiss you again?" he asked, his tone light but his gaze steady.

You laughed, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. "We’ll see. Maybe you should ask me again next time it rains."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

If you want me to write about someone or something specific, just let me know—send me a request, and I’ll do my best!

#imagines #fanfic #paul mescal #paul mescal imagines #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal x y/n #paul mescal imagine #paul mescal fanfic #paul mescal fanfiction #paul mescal cute #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #normal people

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stellasdrafts · 15 hours ago

Text

Coffee & Confessions - Leon Kennedy

Summary: he regrets what he said. (RE2R Leon x Reader)

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: none really- angst, thoughts of cheating if you squint (not on reader), forced proximity, no use of Y/N, reader’s features are not described but is briefly mentioned as female – self insert to your heart’s desire <3

Notes: Leon may be a bit OOC, still working on characterization. It’s a long one! Kinda let myself go. Hope you enjoy my first one shot! ~Stella

“Don’t you understand?! No! I’m sick of saying no to you!”

His words reverberate through you, pounding in your head incessantly. You feel the wave of burning embarrassment crawl up from your stomach to your face. Your limbs go numb and you’re not even sure how you’re standing upright. There’s a spotlight shining down on you, highlighting your lowest moment in the dimly lit, deserted west office of the RPD. Your consciousness floats somewhere in the shadows above, the bezoar of nauseating dread being the only thing keeping you grounded to this damned blue tile floor.

You’re not even processing Leon standing before you, panting and lingering in the weight of his words. Kind, soft-spoken Leon… Even he doesn’t know what came over him. It was a moment of irritation brought forward by an exhausting day, and a girl unfortunate enough to be standing in his line of fire. You hadn’t even realized you had been pushing his buttons. Sweet, sweet you – feeding into an innocent crush on the newest addition to the task force with soft greetings and warm smiles… You don’t recall when humble acceptances of coffee turned into apprehensive ones, then polite rejections.

Sure, maybe those cordial acts of service were your subtle way of flirting and making an impression upon the rookie, but you had never seen yourself as pushy. They were simple acts of kindness, special enough to make him notice that you were going out of your way, but simple enough to pass off as coworker decorum – or so you thought. You had even backed off to a certain degree after finding out that he had a girlfriend. Though, clinging to the selfish hope that maybe things wouldn’t work out between them. Leon isn’t like any man you’ve met before. He’s selfless, caring, funny… There was something about him that kept you hooked, despite your better judgement. He was a real find, and you couldn’t bring yourself to completely let go of him. The guilt ate up at your insides.

Your subtle relentlessness wore him down. Unbeknownst to you, he had been battling torn feelings of his own. He didn’t enjoy rejecting your coffee date offers – though you never used the word date. He’s a smart young man… perceptive. It was part of the job. He didn’t miss your longing stares, the purity of your smiles when directed toward him, and the way your warm fingertips lingered just a moment too long when you handed him paperwork and office supplies. That had grown to be his most used word around you: no. Not because he doesn’t want what you continuously offer, but because he is a faithful man. His relationship feels more like a duty at this point, much like processing perps that came in the station or filling out paperwork after an arrest. That love had lost its spark a long while ago. You on the other hand… He had always found you to be a pleasant presence. There’s something about you that brings a glowing light into his life. A spark, brighter and more powerful than the one dimmed by the woman in his bed.

And now he has to watch as he snuffs out that spark from your eyes.

“R-Right… Okay.” You’re completely taken aback by the bite in his words. You step backwards, stiff as a statue. Your mouth gapes open and closes repeatedly. Never had you expected him to speak to you like that. Tears immediately well in your eyes. You look utterly heartbroken… Maybe you deserved it.

Leon is so caught up in his own tormenting feelings that the realization of having hurt you doesn’t really hit him until he sees the tears in your eyes. His expression drops from frustrated to shocked. This is the first time he’s seen you without your usual effortless smile – it’s the polar opposite of it. “Wait- That’s not-” the officer tries to say something, but the words catch in his throat, a war raging in his mind.

You lift your hands in surrender, still staggering back and blinking back tears. You raise the white flag at his counterattack. “N-No. I understand. I should… I should’ve stopped a long time ago,” your voice breaks.

Leon flinches. His heart clenches as he realizes just how badly he’s hurt you. You with your pure and loving intentions… A sickening feeling of guilt arises within him. His mouth opens and closes, so much like yours had just done. There’s a million thoughts racing through his mind, yet he can’t find the right words. His body yearns to reach out to you, to stop you from walking away and leaving this irreparable fracture between the two of you, but he finds himself unable to move. There’s so much he wants to say – anything, really, but he’s frozen in place, terrified to say the wrong thing again. Terrified to let the emotions swirling inside him take over.

You look away in a futile attempt to hide your crying, to salvage the last bit of your dignity. You quickly gather your things from your desk and messily dump them into your bag. You head for the door at a fast pace, wanting nothing more than to remove yourself from this living nightmare. “Goodnight. See you… tomorrow.”

The man’s body jolts as he registers the slam of the door closing behind you, the sound ringing in his ears. The realization of what just happened hits him like a bus. He could have stopped you. He could have called out your name, said anything, tried to move. But he didn’t. He just stood there and watched you trip over your words, watched you go. He just stood there and watched you take a part of his joy with you.

Tomorrow. He had to make things right with you.

But you don’t let him. Downright humiliated by last night’s incident, you pour all of your efforts into avoiding him. The day turns into the week, which turns into a month, which turns into ten. Ten months without speaking to Leon Kennedy beyond simple task updates at work. Maybe it was excessive, but you were plain embarrassed to talk to him, and when you felt slightly okay again, it felt too awkward and out of place to approach him after the hiatus.

Approaching him is what set him off in the first place, and he had made it clear that he wanted nothing of yours. You realize perhaps you had been pushy, but what’s done is done. It felt bizarre to cut him out of your routine when your heart still yearns for him, despite the shame he’s caused you. Alas, you learned how to live without him: one less warm greeting as you enter the station, one less enchanting smile, one memorized coffee order stored in the back of your mind never to be ordered again.

Your vow of silence is successful these ten months until Chief Irons assigns the two of you to a dreaded stakeout. As if being stuck inside a cold car at night for who knows how long doesn’t sound like hell enough, you’ll have to do it with someone whom you can barely even look at. Wonderful.

The ride to your suspect’s house is as silent as a tomb. That combined with the cold of winter and the feeling of unease circulating around the small space – you both might as well be in one. You can’t say you’d mind being six feet under right about now. Leon parks a few houses down and across the street from the target. He turns off the engine, bathing you in complete silence now, save for your breaths and the occasional crumpling of your coats as you readjust your positions. It’s excruciating how aware you are of his icy eyes on you. You keep your eyes on the house because you’re frankly terrified of looking at him.

“Look out for any movement, particularly women, coming in and out of the house,” you softly remind him of your orders, hoping to entice him into turning his unwavering attention away from you.

“Noted,” he grunts, clearing his throat to fill the silence. “And how long are we supposed to keep watch for?”

Was he not listening while you were getting briefed? You sigh. “Until we see something interesting.”

He lets out a sigh of his own. “And if we don’t?”

“Until the sun comes up.”

This has to be a form of torture. Leon nods absentmindedly, his gaze shifting from you to the house and back. He can’t help but steal glances at you, his chest tightening as he notices how you go out of your way to avoid looking at him. He taps his fingers against the cold steering wheel in a slow, irregular rhythm as he tries his damnedest to keep his eyes on the house. “Guess this could take a while, huh?” he mumbles, his gaze slipping to you once more. The tension couldn’t be cut with a knife, you’d need more of a fucking chainsaw.

You shouldn’t be this upset by it all… Everything happened almost a year ago. You’d both changed. Hell, he wasn’t even with his girlfriend anymore. In theory, you should both be able to behave normally – professionally. But that’s not the case. It’s so strange. You two used to be able to chat and joke around together. Now, neither of you could say ‘hello’ without feeling like you were treading on thin ice. Your heart aches at the thought that you drove him away, that you ruined things between the two of you. You suppose a dark, freezing car with nothing to entertain yourself but the mist of your own breath isn’t exactly great to keep up morale.

Once again unable to stand the silence, Leon hesitates before speaking. “You cold?” he asks quietly, catching on to how you hug your thin jacket tightly around your frame.

“No,” you lie.

But his sharp analytical eyes don’t miss your slight shivering. He can’t help but roll his eyes and let out a half-hearted huff. “Liar,” he mutters under his breath, careful to hide the slight fondness in his tone. This is so like you; brushing aside your comfort to appease those around you.

“Believe what you will.” You tuck your legs underneath you, hoping to maintain at least some of your body heat. You still can’t find it in you to look at him, settling for the perp’s house and his neighbours' holiday decorations.

The young officer’s lips twitch. Why couldn’t you just admit it? Was it really that hard for you to let him help? He sighs again. “Stop being stubborn. You’ll freeze in here. Take this,” he scolds, already unbuttoning his coat.

You shake your head when you notice what he’s doing in your peripheral. “That’s stupid. I already have a jacket. You won’t have one at all if you give me yours.”

He rolls his eyes again, his hands pausing on one of the buttons. “I’ve got a sweater on, I think I’ll be fine. It’s the middle of winter, that excuse of a jacket won’t keep anything warm.”

“I’d feel better if you kept it. It’s going to be a long night.” You clench your jaw.

It was almost infuriating, the lengths you would go to deny any kind of help. He scowls at you, but he can’t deny the fact that part of him craves the chance to take care of you. “I don’t care how you think you feel at the moment. You’re taking my jacket. It’s no good if my partner gets frostbite during the night and we have to call the stakeout off,” he rumbles, already pulling the jacket off his body.

“I don’t think that’s how frostbite works.”

He bites back an amused smile and reaches over to drape the coat over your shoulders. You try to hide the immediate relief it brings – a blanket of his body heat. It smells like him too… his aftershave, you think. It makes your heart ache with memories of earlier this year. How you would’ve done anything for him. How you still would if it came down to the wire… He watches as you bury yourself in the material, practically being engulfed by the puffy thing. The sight alone makes his chest pang with emotion. Seeing you wearing his jacket – he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than that.

“Let me know if you start getting cold,” you say quietly because you can't bring yourself to say thank you.

Leon nods quietly, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deafening silence returns yet again. He struggles not to say anything. This is unbearable. Sitting in a silent car, with you a mere foot away, and he can’t even speak to you normally. It’s driving him crazy.

“God damn it, why can’t you just look at me?” he suddenly blurts out, breaking the silence.

Fuck. You knew this was coming. “Because we’re supposed to be keeping our eyes on the house.”

“Quit being a smartass. You know we have nothing to do but sit and watch the house for god knows how long. But you’d rather stare at the damn streetlight than talk to me or look at me for even a split second.”

That’s true. You think that seeing him – bewitching as ever even when you want to hate him – would break you. “I’m doing my job. I suggest you do yours.”

Leon clenches his jaw, annoyance flaring up inside him again. You are infuriating, acting aloof as if nothing is wrong. As if it doesn’t bother you at all. “You’re being impossible, you know that?”

You hug his coat tighter around you, wanting it to swallow you whole right about now. “We’re coworkers. I wasn’t aware you expect me to be a certain way.”

The sight of you melting into his jacket just makes Leon’s heart clench painfully once more. He’s torn between your evident hurting, and cold words and attitude. “You’re twisting my words and you know it,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes at you. “We used to be more than coworkers.”

That’s it. You look. And dear god it’s a mistake because things are always more beautiful when you can’t have them. He’s everything you remember – everything you etched into memory all those months ago. If anything, he looks even more ethereal now as the streetlights and holiday lights reflect off the snow and onto his pale face.

“No, we weren’t. Because you never let us be, Leon.”

His heart tightens in his chest all over again as you finally look at him, his breath catching in his throat. It’s almost painful how beautiful you look in this moment. Sitting here in the car with him, wearing his jacket, with the soft glow of the outside lights illuminating the planes of your face. As much as he’d like to deny it, you are right. He is the reason for your coldness toward him now, so how could he possibly blame you for it?

“You really want to go there?” he asks softly, his eyes not leaving your face.

“No, but you seem to be pushing me there,” the hostility slips out.

“Because you’re not being honest. Not to me. Not even to yourself.”

“You think you know better?”

“I think I know you.” He looks deep into your eyes. “You act like you don’t want anything to do with me, but look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing for me. Tell me and I’ll leave you be.”

You can’t. You couldn’t lie if you tried, not about this. You feel that bezoar of dread return to the pit of your stomach just thinking about cutting him out of your life completely. That’s about the last thing you want. “Why are you doing this? So you can humiliate me all over again?” Your whole demeanour softens, that naïve, lovestruck girl from ten months ago trying to claw her way out of the cage you banished her to.

He hates how hurt you look right now, all because of him. It breaks him. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know I did, but-”

“You raised your voice at me and told me you were sick of me. Not that you needed some time to yourself, not that you were having a bad day, not simply that you didn’t feel the same, but that I made you sick. Do you realize how fucking damaging that is, Leon?!”

He winces away from your outburst, his mind reeling at the memory of that night. It still makes him nauseous to think about it. He is ridden with guilt – has been for the past ten months. He takes a breath. “I didn’t say I was sick of you. I said I was sick of saying ‘no’ to you… Look, I know nothing I say can make up for speaking to you like that, but please… Just try and hear me out, okay?” He tries to reach for your hand gently, but you pull away. “You don’t have to forgive me or believe me for that matter. I just need to explain myself. You deserve at least that… It’s no excuse, but- but I was already stressed to my limit from things at home… And you-”

He sighs, looking dreamily into your eyes. “God, you made me feel. You made me feel so much that it scared me. I went to work and all I wanted to do was search for you in every room… You were so kind, so- so compassionate. I got attached and at some point, I started to feel guilty. I had my ex at home, but our relationship was rocky and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was like… like some emotional affair. I knew that wasn’t right – that it wasn’t fair to either of you, so I was stupid enough to think that distancing myself from you until I got my shit sorted out would be the lesser of evils… I was wrong. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hated rejecting you every time. I hated hurting you. A-And I guess it stressed me out so much that I just snapped…”

Tears glaze over your eyes. Do you believe him? You thought you were done crying over him. “H-How was I supposed to know what you felt- what you wanted?” You feel the warm tears slip down your cheeks.

He’s quick to lift a hand to wipe your tears. “You weren’t- You weren’t,” his voice is more delicate than you’ve ever heard it before. “That’s on me. That was my fault. You couldn’t have known,” he coos. “But I want you to know now…” You look up at him expectantly through wet lashes. “I want you to know that I wanted this. I wanted you. I still do.”

Your breath hitches. You’re surprised at how unsure you are about something which you thought you wanted more than anything. The hopeful part of you wants to trust him again – trust him with your heart. You remember how you thought of him before that night; gentle, caring, selfless… One mistake didn’t mean that that had changed. It’s not like you had never accidentally raised your voice at anyone before… A weight lifts off of your shoulders. Only he could lull out that old part of you, the one you had so carefully tucked away for safekeeping.

You open your mouth to scramble for an answer when the dark figure of a hooded man exits the suspect’s house. Leon follows your gaze.

“You got something?”

Making up your mind, you extend the hand that you had previously pulled from him. “Let’s go catch our guy, Kennedy.”

He takes it, his face lighting up. “I’ve got one condition.”

“What?” you ask confusedly. Your suspect was right there.

“In the morning, you let me buy you that coffee.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil 2 #fanfic #one shot #leon s kennedy #raccoon city #leon kennedy x you

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