#on sunday’ and i’m holding back tears… some things can’t be explained

[vlindervin7]

category five listened to a song attached to a special memory on the tram and almost started crying moment

[renecdote]

my dearest rennnnnn, whaaat if you did a combination of soft prompts; 22. reunion hug and 37. ‘I missed you’ <333

Hi Amy ily please enjoy this little piece of clothes thief Eddie fic <3

[Read on AO3]

They argue about it on Sunday night, bitter and low so they don’t wake the kids.

“Why does it have to be you?” Eddie asks, and he knows it’s not fair, he knows, but he can’t help the words. Can’t help the way he wants to tug on the thread that ties them together, tug Buck right into his arms and hold him, hold him, hold him.

“Why shouldn’t it be me?” Buck throws back, and it doesn’t mean the same thing it used to—it has to be me so it isn’t anybody else—but something that is harder to argue with: why shouldn’t it be me, when it has to be someone? when everyone else will be taking the same risks? when you’d do the same thing, if you could? when we’ve both done it before?

Eddie wants to argue that it’s different now. That they’re married now. That they have kids now. But it’s not like they’re the only ones. It’s not like Hen wasn’t married with a kid when she went to Texas with them. Not like Eddie didn’t have Chris to think about then as well. Not like any number of other firefighters aren’t in exactly the same situation, a lot of them without even the luxury of choice about being out there in the thick of it.

“I don’t want you to go,” is all he has to say. It’s not enough, not a reason, but if he could tear open his chest and rip out his beating heart to give Buck a reason to stay, he would.

The fight drains out of Buck’s shoulders first, slumping, then the rest of him. He closes the distance between them and pulls Eddie into a hug, holding tight.

“I know,” he murmurs against Eddie’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

But he doesn’t say he’ll stay.

Eddie doesn’t ask him to again.

****

The temperature in LA sits above ninety for a week straight. Most days, it pushes past ninety-five, the nights barely cooling down before the sun rises again and the heat rises with it. It’s far too hot for wearing layers or long-sleeves, but four days after Buck leaves to fight wildfires in Northern California, Eddie finds himself turning the A/C down a few degrees so the house is cold enough to justify pulling one of his husband’s hoodies out of the closet and putting it on, even if it’s only for a few hours.

“You’re moping, dad,” Christopher informs him at the dinner table, halfway to an eye roll. Only halfway, despite being well into his teenage years, because Eddie knows that he’s missing Buck as well. That he’s worried about Buck as well.

“I’m not moping,” Eddie tells him, even though they both know he kind of is. “Eat your broccoli.”

Christopher does roll his eyes that time, but he also eats the broccoli, so. A win for parenting. Eddie isn’t above counting even the smallest of victories there.

Isaac isn’t old enough yet to really understand where his dad has gone, or what he’s doing. He sits in front of the TV and talks to the news anchors as easily as he does to his cartoons, but it’s all just moving pictures. To his three year old mind, the wildfires are just on the TV. Eddie is torn between sheltering his kid and bracing for the possibility that the next time his phone rings, it will be someone telling him that he needs to explain to his sons why one of their dads is never coming home again.

“Buck will be fine,” Maddie Buckley tells him, sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee while Jee-Yun entertains her younger cousin with a puzzle in the living room.

Eddie wants to believe her. He wants to believe everyone who has said some variation of those words to him since the call for volunteers went out and Buck’s hand went up, but—

“How do you know?”

There’s something in the way Maddie smiles that makes her look like Buck. Somehow, even after a decade of knowing her, it surprises Eddie every time he sees it.

“He has to be fine,” she answers simply. “He knows he has to be.”

He knows he has to come home, she means. And Eddie already knew that, he did, but—it helps, hearing the conviction in someone else’s voice as well, even if they are both lying to themselves about how much control anyone, even someone as stubborn as Buck, can have over a wildfire. He hugs Maddie extra tight at the door before she leaves, and she doesn’t ask why, just hugs him back just as tight, both of them holding, holding, holding.

It’s too hot for layers or long sleeves, but Eddie sleeps in one of his husband’s t-shirts every night, closing his eyes and hugging Buck’s pillow to his chest, and lying to himself about how much it helps.

****

The heatwave has finally broken when Buck calls, ten days after leaving, and the first thing he says is, “I think I’ll be home soon.”

It’s another three days, though, before it actually happens. Eddie is stuck at work, driving everyone crazy with the anticipation crawling under his skin as he watches the clock tick down the last twelve hours of their shift. There’s a text on his phone from Carla: a photo of Buck kneeling on the floor, bag at his feet like he just came through the door, one arm around Chris and the other around Isaac. And another text from Buck, timestamped a few minutes later: I love you, I’ll see you when you get home.

“Go,” Bobby says, when the clock hits seven-thirty the next morning.

Eddie hesitates. “We still have half an hour—”

“Go,” the captain repeats. “Give Buck a hug from all of us too. Tell him you’re all coming to dinner at our place tomorrow night.”

Eddie stays just long enough to hug Bobby, quick and hard, and he doesn’t even bother changing before he grabs his bag and leaves the station.

****

The house is quiet when he lets himself in. Eddie toes his shoes off and drops his work bag in the laundry, then eases open bedroom doors to check on first Chris, then Isaac, both sleeping peacefully. He closes the doors as gently as he opened them, socked feet silent on the floorboards as he moves towards the master bedroom. Anticipation makes his fingers tingle as he reaches for the doorknob, a tiny part of him sure that he’s going to open it and find nothing but an empty bed. There’s the photo from Carla, and the text from Buck, and the phone call before his flight home, the text when he landed in LA—but that tiny part of Eddie’s brain can’t quite believe it until he pushes open the door and finds his husband sleeping on the other side.

He’s smiling wide enough to make his cheeks ache before he has even stepped into the room. Jeans and shirt are stripped quickly, and he should really shower since he didn’t do it at the station, but Eddie can’t think of anything except slipping under the covers on his side of the bed and getting his hands on Buck, whole and warm and alive.

“Hi,” he whispers, when Buck stirs under his touch, mumbling sleepily. “I missed you.”

Buck is smiling back at him before his eyes are fully open, blinking past the bleariness of sleep to bring Eddie into focus.

“Hi,” he echoes, fuzzy around the edges. “I missed you too.”

Eddie runs a hand up his side, half a welfare check, and pushes back his hair, cupping the back of Buck’s head as he leans in to kiss him. It’s not meant to be anything more than a gentle greeting, but Buck makes a sound in the back of his throat, aching and desperate, and pulls Eddie back in when he starts lean away.

They don’t surface for a long time.

Long enough that there is movement somewhere in the house—probably Chris, half-awake and hungry—and Eddie rolls quickly out of bed to lock the door before any children come looking for them, while Buck laughs at him from the bed.

“I haven’t seen you in two weeks, Eds,” he says, grinning, “locking the door should have been the first thing you did.”

Eddie finds a pair of boxers on the floor and throws them at him, but there’s a giddy kind of laughter bubbling in his chest as well; one part adrenaline from the race to the door, most parts joy at having Buck back and laughing in their bed.

“I was a little distracted,” he reminds Buck. “I haven’t seen my husband in two weeks, remember?”

He crawls back onto the bed and Buck pulls him in, stitching them together at every point, holding just for the sake of holding. Eddie kisses him again, because he can, on the lips and the tip of his nose and the pink smudge over his eyebrow.

“I love you,” he says quietly, so close Buck will be able to feel the words against this skin. He wants to say please don’t leave me to fight wildfires again but he doesn’t. Can’t. If it’s something Buck feels like he needs to do again, Eddie can’t be the person who stands in his way.

Buck smiles, fingers tracing the lines of Eddie’s face; the dark smudges under his eyes, the dimple in his cheek, the scar barely visible at the edge of his hairline.

“I love you too,” he replies, just as soft, and Eddie feels the warmth of the words against his skin.

There’s a distant clatter, the sound of pots or pans in the kitchen, and they both wait, listening, but there is no call for help. There is more clattering, but  it’s the controlled kind, an everyday cooking kind of noise, and Eddie guesses Chris is going to rope them into making pancakes any minute with a cajoling, see dad, I already got out everything we need.

They’ve got a minute before that happens though. Maybe two, or three, or four. Eddie closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of Buck’s shampoo and something else he must be imagining, something smokey and faintly sweet like young wood. It can’t be real, he knows Buck will have washed his hair at least three times before he even got to the airport, the same way he does after a house fire, scrubbing every inch of skin until the smell of fire is gone. He wouldn’t have hugged the kids until he was sure he didn’t smell like wildfire anymore, but Eddie still imagines he can smell it.

Those words are still sitting on the tip of his tongue—please don’t leave me again—but he swallows them back.

“We should get up,” Buck says, but he doesn’t move.

Eddie hums, half agreement, and holds him closer. “In a minute.” Or two, or three, or four. “We’ve got time.”

Buck’s arm is warm over his waist, his chest rising and falling slowly, his heart beating steady against Eddie’s. So much better than a pillow, or a sleep shirt, or a hoodie. Eddie takes a deep breath, breathing it all in, and for the first time in two weeks he holds, and holds, and holds.

Wrapped around him, the thread between them so tangled that Eddie can’t be sure where it begins and ends, Buck takes his own deep breath, breathing it all in, and hugs back just as tight.

[lamentingbrokenness]

Lamentations of a broken individual #1

I wish I could call myself a Christian.

I even wanted to, at a point.

As a man of logic and computers, it’s been both hard to believe in a God, but also hard not to.

There’s quite a lot of coincidences with how the universe works, quite a lot of special numbers that keep turning up like a bad penny, and things I oft can’t explain.

So, I assume there is a creator, and just one, because I know from personal experience a project like the universe could only be undertaken by one individual with a grand plan, if it were a group project- things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did.

I used to attend church every Sunday, and I used to read my bible… semi frequently, I still don’t read it often enough for my liking.

I’ve been baptized with water twice, but I also… I haven’t been living up to the godly standards I have for myself.

I’ve been in royal rangers, I’ve done bible merits, learned to tie knots… the like.

I’ve been in FCF, and I’ve earned the nickname Cornbread for when I might ever come back to FCF.

I’m a neurodivergent individual, an Autistic.

I have Autism, and I deal with it on the daily… and there’s my first issue with the Christians of my country.

It’s like none of them ever truly understand or try to understand, oftentimes they do the worst action for what a neurodivergent individual needs at a point where they’re stressed or just out of it.

My main coping mechanism has always been “I have to do something.”, I usually draw or multitask when I have to listen to lectures and church sermons because I can’t sit still, I can’t leave my mind to fester while I’m doing some sort of mundane task. I need to fidget, or create artworks, or just… *do* something.

Oftentimes, older style Christian individuals don’t understand that. They take and they limit, thinking “You just need to pay attention”, when that’s usually what I’ve been trying to do.

They aren’t equipped for those neurodivergents that are still on the same cognizant level as them, but have those quirky little differences bestowed upon them by circumstance or God.

And then there’s the other demographic I’m heavily involved with. The Queer. (I don’t mean this pejoratively, it’s just a quick way to describe the LGBTQ+, and I will use it for the rest of the doc.)

So many “Christians” have harmed so many people I know in so many ways, just because they are queer.

And there’s the ones I don’t know. The ones who had to endure the horrors of the pseudo-scientific conversion therapies.

They actively weaponize former members of the queer against themselves, they’ve tried to divide this wonderfully kind group of people against themselves.

I’ve oft seen queer people with more love for their fellow human then Christians.

So much of Christianity is so devoted to “STOPPING THE QUEER AGENDA”, rather then taking care of people and loving them for who they are-

Or letting God himself decide who they are.

Some Christians cherry pick the word (aka the bible for those not in the know), and use it against others like a weapon.

Christianity tears apart households and disowns children because they’re queer.

Did you know that even animals can be queer? Without human intervention?

And yet we’re the only species on this planet that are homophobic to such a degree it harms people.

And a good part of that is… Christianity.

It’s hard to be proud about being a believer of Jesus, when he is so misrepresented and so many people use his name to actively hate others.

I’m… sad.

Scared even.

I’m almost convinced I will die alone because I won’t be able to find a woman who shares my viewpoints and my ideals, one I can trust in this day and age, anyways.

It’s been getting better, sure, but women hold so much power over men, it takes just 4 false words to ruin someone’s life.

I’m scared to open up because I don’t want to be hurt.

I don’t want to wake up one day to find myself at odds with my spouse over the sexuality or gender of my child.

I don’t want to fight or yell at my spouse on a regular basis.

I’m not even sure if I should marry a woman, or marry at all.

Did I get sidetracked a bit?

I think I got sidetracked, I was talking about why I wish I could call myself a Christian.

I’m probably gonna be told some variant of “Suck it up buttercup”, by some people out there but I’m not comfortable around my hometown Church anymore.

The current pastor has never really understood me properly, and has oft pushed me into the spotlight during times I don’t want to be.

There was even one day where I was simply sitting in one of the chairs just minding my own business waiting for church to start, and he called me out to tell me not to be listening to anything on my headphones during the service, which I hadn’t intended to do at all, they were simply sitting around my neck, and I wasn’t going to put them on or anything. Even… my mother was a little upset because of that, him calling me out for no reason.

I’m glad my mom’s been on my side most of the time. She understands that I have certain needs, and when to let me figure out the best way to handle them.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to communicate because I have emotional regulation difficulties.

Oftentimes when I’m upset it hits hard, and I usually can’t communicate until I calm down.

Most Christians don’t understand that.

All my life, up until I hit college, I was constantly being judged or held up to some sort of standard by both my peers and my church.

In the college I attend, we have resources and things that allow me to function almost like a regular person, and nobody expects me to be incapable of managing myself.

I’m… actually treated like a real person.

… So many Christians treat their children like property, or something to live a dream through… when they just are a young, developing person.

You should allow your child some amount of freedom, but in most christian households it’s like there’s an iron flyswatter sitting on the wall to paddle you with for the slightest mistake.

So many christian households have those “perfect on the outside, rotten on the inside” looks to them.

So many Christians don’t even read the bible for themselves, letting megachurch pastors with agendas choose what they should think.

…

I’m tired, I’m not gonna have a proper ending note for this, but… Go ahead and tell me your stories, if any of you are listening.

I love nothing more then hearing about people’s life experiences, and because of my emotional irregularities… I’ll probably feel enough emotions about them for the both of us.

[anaknglard]

Last Entry(?)

Hey you. Yeah this post is about you. I decided not to write down your name because there are some people on here that might discover my page and realize its about you. but if you’re reading this and this is coming from me, you know who you are. 

Its Sunday, January 15, 2023. I’m writing this to express my regret, sadness and utter heartbreak of having to let you go. I still love you, dammit. I can’t fathom it right now but I really don’t want to let you go. I realize that throughout our relationship, we have gone through extremes to be with each other, and even though alot of the stuff that happened really hurt me, for some reason, it made me wanna love you even more. Why? Why do I feel this way? 

I have so much to say to you. I still love you. But I realize you don’t want to be with me anymore. I get that. I have to respect your decision, and I can’t force you to choose me. I get that you think that every single minute that I was with you, I was hurting. I wasn’t. There were moments, yes where I was hurting but... I loved you more than that. 

One part of me regrets bringing up that tweet that caused our breakup- I mean, falling out. A huge part of me wanted to shove that aside, my pride aside to finally start from square 1. I never was successful at that. I was so used to seeing you as mine that I did stuff that were irrational and stuff that didn’t even have a proper reason to happen. So now we are here. I don’t know what to do. I regret a lot of the insecure things I’ve done. I regret talking about myself when you opened up to me. I regret so many things. 

I regret not taking you back that one time we talked in the AMS Nest Stairwell. Seeing you cry, seeing you have that regret of doing what you did to me... I wish i could reverse time and take you back then and there. That was back in September. I remember letting go of your hand and you falling back, breaking down to cry. Fuck... Just writing about it now breaks my heart. You even brought with you Gabbi, I hope he’s still there with you, in your arms. It’s the only way I can imagine that I’m with you. 

All the paragraphs, all the long conversations we had, over text... I wish I had taken you back. I want you back. FUCK. I can’t do that to you. You’re tired. I can’t ask for you back. That’s fucking selfish. 

I regret not trusting you more. I should’ve waited to analyze your actions to see if they matched with your words. I guess I was becoming a bit too cynical then. I saw one thing then you had to explain yourself again and again. I completely understand how that could become tiring. I should’ve waited. 

I regret not reciprocating the same energy you gave back. I regret keeping my guard up. It hindered the process of you being mine again, and it ruined it. I regret it.  I wish I could have another chance. 

One huge part of me wishes that when you come over to my dorm on Wednesday, we watch the movie. Then we go into a conversation about our feelings again and the topic of giving another chance. I don’t think its likely, but I want that. For me to admit that I love you so much that I can’t let you go. I want to give you our rose again. It’s still sitting there with it’s counterpart, waiting for you. I want to give it to you again. I want to hold it with both my hands, hand it to you, then look into your eyes as my gaze softens. You do that to me. You make me softer. 

You make me weak. I’m happy being weak with you. 

But you don’t deserve that. I think you’re tired of me. Which deepens my despair. The idea that I still am holding out hope and my figurative flower for you, but you walking away because you’re too tired of me...

I understand why, but it’s gutwrenching. 

I don’t want to start writing about what I’d do if we did get back together, because inside, it will create false hope and I would get even more heartbroken if you leave me on Wednesday. 

but FUCK. I don’t want you to leave me. I can’t let you go. I still love you holy shit I still do. fuck i can’t do this. I alreadyhave tears falling to my shirt and my roommate is in the same room as me. He doesn’t know I’m crying. 

You’ve done so much for me, my love. What I’d do to feel your face again. What I’d do to feel you in my arms again. To kiss you. To dig my face into your neck again, smelling your signature scent of the blend of Talize and Value Village. Haha. I love your smell. 

Kelowna. The bridge. My dorm.

Damn, my dorm. That time when we were watching a movie and you randomly stopped it and told me to stand up-

“Play some music” - “Any music” - “Yeah.”

Then we started to slow dance. Fuck, that’s the most sensitive memory for me. 

Simple Love - Lindsey Lomis. 

The song that was playing when you pulled away from me and I saw tears streaming down your face. Fuck, I’m just thinking about it now and it’s intensifying my tears. You said that it was okay, and you pulled me in, hugging me so tight. 

I felt so warm in your embrace. I felt so much love holding you. I never wanted to let you go. Even now, I don’t want to let you go. Damn, the tears streaming down my face as I am typing this, It’s crazy. I’m crazy. For you. It hurts so much. To know that all those memories are going to be just in the past, and I can’t live memories like that with the person I love again. It is so gut wrenching. It fucking hurts and I am using all my might to not sob loudly. it hurts so much. I don’t want to let you go, please. I can’t. I can’t.....

I had so much plans for us. I had so many things I wanted to do with you but you’re gone. The man that loved me and wanted to be with me is gone. I realize now that I lost my chance with you and I regret it so much. It saddens me so much.

I don’t know why I didn’t take you back back then. All the regret you showed me, I don’t know why I was too selfish to take you back. I don’t know why. Even when I was with other men, you were always on my mind. I regret even being with them. You were the only person I wanted to touch me. Kiss me. Feel me. Love me. 

Wanderlust - Eloise. 

The “theme song” of our relationship, I’d say. I remember introducing this song to you for the first time, and I remember referencing it to you at times. I remember that one random poem I sent you in the middle of the night for you to wake up to. 

This was the song you played at the bridge. When you pulled me close and started singing to it. Even if your tone-deafness made you sing off key, I still thought your voice was the most beautiful thing I heard. You pulled me in for a hug while we slow danced in the middle of the bridge. Trains roaring overhead. 

It was just you and me, 

You were just you, and I was just me. Slow dancing on a bridge, like a movie. Looking into your eyes, I realized this was the love I wanted all along. 

But now it’s gone. this is the third time I brought up your love being gone, if not more times. I guess I’m just trying to drill it into my head that you’re gone. Your feelings for me are gone. The man that once did all the things for me, September to now, is gone. Every single sentence from this paragraph makes me cry even more. 

I know I said I wouldnt manifest getting you back... But it’d be nice. 

I will be the one now to comfort you. I will be the one now to listen to you. I will be the one now to be equal with you.

But thats assuming I get another chance with you.

I don’t think I will... But it’d be nice.

I have so much more thoughts that I can’t organize into words so this is what you’re gonna get. Maybe, I’ll get to discuss more with you on Wednesday. But the Lord knows how tired you are of that. So, I’ll try not to.

With everything, I just want you to know:

I love you. I miss you. and I’d do alot to get you back in my arms again.

Til next time, my love.

my cutie pie. 

my baby boy.

my Charlie.

- Formerly, your Nick. 

[princeblack]

her sobs are hard to hear, wishing he could take her pain away or even her lycanthropy. in a perfect world he wouldn’t because he loves all of her, even her wolf side, but he can see the pain it’s causing her. she nuzzles into his neck and he can feel her tears on her skin. some part of him enjoys how intimate this is, her body pressed to his as she cries against him, her words muffled. “i know you are, baby,” he murmurs, his hand firm against her lower back. “it’s okay to hate it.” he understands why she would— he really does, even if he could never hate any part of her.

he melts into her as she tells him he’s her comfort, giving her a gentle squeeze. she explains that she wanted to tell him, which he appreciates even if the situation didn’t bother him. “i understand why you didn’t,” he says softly, fingers playing with her hair as he holds her close against him. “we’ll be careful, about timing. but i’m not afraid of danger.. not when it means being there for you. you are my number one priority. i don’t want you to feel scared or alone out here.”

she sobs against him and he hugs her tighter, allowing his hand to rub soothing circles against her back. “it’s okay,” he murmurs gently, letting his fingers trace down her bare sides. “i know..” all he can do is whisper soothing words, touching her gently as she cries. “i’m just glad you’re safe.” anything could happen to her in her wolf form, especially out here alone. “we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

she asks about changing the laws and he nods as he strokes her hair soothingly. “dumbledore is chief warlock of the wizengamot and i’m going to be stronger than him, one day. when i have a seat, i’m going to repeal that legislation even if i have to threaten that harpy to get it done.” umbridge was the worst thing to ever happen to the wizengamot and she deserves nothing less than an early grave. he already hated her but now he hates her for bee’s sake as well, and all of the werewolves that have to suffer because of what she did.

he’s pulled away from his anger when she clings to him more, nuzzling into him and making him sigh again, squeezing her tighter. he’s hyper aware of how naked she is, trying not to think about it but failing as his hands travel down her back. “i could take your mind off of it,” he says in response to her comment about wanting to be a teenage girl again. “if you want to have fun.” he smiles a little, unable to stop himself from flirting with her when she’s in his arms like this.

she tells him she’s liked him for so long and he freezes up, heat spreading through his body almost in surprise at her words. he’s always flirted with her and it hasn’t exactly been a secret that he’s in love, but it never felt like his dream would become real. especially with his life as a death eater standing in the way– what will she think when she sees the mark? will she be afraid of him?

at the same time he can’t stand not having her, sure that he’ll wither away eventually. every time she wasn’t near to him, he felt like there was a hole in his chest. “there are things about me you wouldn’t like, bee… but i want you.” his voice is low, dragging his thumb across her lip. she licks her lip to clean up his spit and he makes a soft sound of desire, pressing his forehead to hers as their noses brush. “god, i want you so badly.”

his gaze is fixed on her lips, even as she starts to speak again. “there are no classes today, my tired wolf,” he says gently, a smile tugging on his lips because it’s sunday. “and at this point you’re going to have to beat me off with a stick if you want me gone.” he slowly lets go of her, hating the loss of her embrace. tugging the bag closer, he shows her its contents. “you can get dressed, if you’d like.” he smiles a little mischievously, looking at how she’s clutching the robe to her front. “i can look away… or not. whichever pleases you.”

eyes flicker up at him, her heart flutters at his words. the guy you've been in love with telling you that he pays attention to you so closely isn't something most girls could even dream would even happen to her. it makes her feel good, safe even. like if she ever to go missing completely he would notice instantly, he would go to find her in a dark forest and hold her if he had to.

there's so many emotions running through her and she can't stop crying, eventually sinking into his arms as he pulls her closer. she doesn't like being a monster, she doesn't like what she's done. she holds him tight, letting the tears fall down her cheeks as she sobs. she knows it wasn't her, she would never hurt a living creature especially not a sweet bunny but it still breaks her heart, making her sob loudly and hold on tightly to him. "but it still....it still died because of something in me." she cries, gripping him tighter as she nuzzles into his neck. "I hate this so much regulus...I'm so miserable."

one thing she always liked about regulus was his way with words, how he would rationalize things for her in such a way that she could understand and feel a little better about. he spoke in potery, touching her temple making her smile a little as she thinks about how he's so beautiful and collected, strong. she never knew how she ever got lucky to earn his affections but she would do everything in her power to keep his attention. "you are my comfort regulus." she sniffs. "I didn't mean to keep this a secret from you...I wanted to tell you I just...I don't want to put you in danger." she shakes her head, bee doesn't know what she would do if something happened to regulus especially not if it's her fault and he gets hurt because he wants to help something like her.

he tells her to let it out and she does, unable to stop the sobs now especially because the way he holds her is so comforting, nuzzling her nose into his neck as she cries and cries. she never knew her life would become this hard and it only felt like it was getting harder and more scary but regulus helps, he promises he won't leave her...even saying he's hers forever which she doesn't want to get the wrong idea but she kind of hopes that means maybe one day he will be hers. she wants to love him forever, if he'll let her. despite her issues and her curse. It was bad enough she wasn't pure blood but a werewolf? his family would never approve of a girl like her and regulus loved his family.

it doesn't change the fact her life is over, it's a matter of time till someone figured out her secret and even if regulus managed to make some kind of potion for her and save her life people would still treat her differently. he says something else though, how he would even work to change the laws, the ones preventing people like her and her father or her future children like they were some kind of criminals for existing. she thinks about what life would be like if he could change everything. "you'd do that for me? I mean not kill umbridge..I don't want you to get arrested or something but to change the laws? is that...is it even possible." she pouts. he holds her close letting her be consumed by his warmth, she feels safe in his arms, it's like her home now, right here in his arms. "I'm so tired of being strong, I just wanna be a teenage girl again." she wants her biggest worries to be about class and friends drama, going on dates with the guy she likes....she doesn't want to wake up in the middle of a forest covered in dirt and grime, wondering what happened and what she'd done.

she nuzzles into him a little, not minding the grass or the air for just a moment of being held in his arms and being taken care of. she wishes she could kiss him right now, and be touched by him....be his girl. she also can't wait to wear his clothes, knowing his scent will be amazing when shes wearing his fabrics against her frame. "I always want you to hold me...I've liked you for so long." she mumbles the words slip out but then he pulls away, making her miss his touch as she bunches up the robe against her chest, her eyes glued to him as she smiles sadly. "I wanted to be noticed by you so bad." she sighs. "I always noticed you too..." she hums. bee watches him lick his thumb again by this time instead of her cheek, he presses it to her lip. she feels like her breath is catching in her throat, looking down where his finger meets her lip and she can almost taste his spit. "o-oh." she hums, blushing softly. she kind of licks her lip a little. she wants to kiss him but not like this...not when she still has twigs and leaves in her hair.

"um, so i..." she giggles nervously. "well, my dad actually let me have his old hide out to use as kind of a safe place." she says. "it's the old shirking shack and it's not much but I kind of bee-ified it to make it feel more comfortable. if you don't have to go to class anytime soon maybe you wanna hang back with me for a bit? I kind of need the comfort."

[bunniesnuggie]

I know you are taking a break from stuff, but I wanted to recommend a possible fic idea or hc with cg! Eddie and fem reader with like playing dress up or dollies or tea parties and just the rough and tough metal guy holding out his pinkie as he sips real or imaginary tea from a plastic tea set....

Now I wanna buy a real people tea set.

a/n: AHHH YES I CAN THIS IS MY FAVORITE TROPE EVER, cue eddie in a tiara. watch as the scenarios get longer and longer :3 btw the stuffies featured here are some of my actual stuffies!

~ princess tea party ~

cg!Eddie Munson x (fem) little!reader

summary: what having a fancy tea party with daddy is like

warnings - readers clothing described as being smaller than eddie’s, over use of the term “princess”, not proofed

as always - sfw interaction only, this is not an ageplay fic. dni if dd/|g or k¡nk variant

• the first time you asked to play, eddie thought you wanted to play princess and knight, until you shoved a dress in his hands and a tiara on his head

he looked at you with wide eyes, you thought he was gonna shove it off and tell you that boys don’t play dress up. the thought made your lip wobble and you reached to take it off, “sowy….” he quickly pulled back and straightened the tiara. he looked at the sparkly purple dress, then to you, and ripped his shirt off then shoved the small dress on over his head. ignoring the small tearing sounds it made, only focusing on the huge smile you held.

• it’s a formal event, sunday best and sparkles are required. additionally you must act like gentleman or lady when at the table

eddie wrapped his fingers around the small pink cup before drinking the whole thing in one sip. “DADDY, NOO!” you shrieked, he jumped with wide eyes, his tiara falling to the ground, “oo gots tuh do lady sips, wif or pinky ups, see wash me,” you pickled up saucer as well as the cup by the tiny handle, with your small pinky held high and took a tiny sip, before placing it on the saucer and back on the table. “der see how fancy i was, dada! now oo try it pease!” you filled his teacup back up and looked at him with expectant eyes. he of course copied you exactly, lifting the saucer and cup with his pinkies lifted, then took the tiniest sip he could, “how was that princess? royalty approved?”

• you would have a tea party multiple times a week. it doesn’t bother eddie, he loves playing with you. he just doesn’t want to keep ruining your play dresses :(

“baby, i’m not saying we can’t play tea party, and ill wear the crown! i just don’t wanna keep ripping your pretty dresses, honey.” eddie frowned, trying to explain to his very pouty, teary eyed baby. you didn’t want to be a bad girl so you just nodded, sniffling and wiping your tears. eddie inwardly groaned, he grabbed the already ripped purple dress in one hand and scooped you up in the other. “okay how ‘bout i put on this one ok? it’s already got rips in it, you can help me fix it later and we’ll get dada dresses in his size, how’s that sound?” while he never, ever thought he’d go buy himself dresses in his life, the giggle and smile that came from you was totally worth it.

• that being said you have so many princess dresses and tiaras, wands, play jewelry. all of it. you have a whole dress up box full of princess dresses thank you goodwill

eddie walked through the thrift store, a pile of frilly dress in one hand and your tiny hand in the other. he felt you tugging on his arm every so often to get his attention, “oooh d- um eddie spaghetti wook” you mumbled quietly to him, fingers running along a pink and gold dress. he smiled and pulled you into his side, shoving his face into your neck to blow raspberries, “i see sweetie, wanna add it to the pile?” you giggled and nodded, shoving it into his hands before skipping off to the dressing room. everything fit great except for the last dress, which happened to be the beloved pink dress. you came out with a pout, drowning in the dress, “don fit,” :( eddie couldn’t have you being sad, that’s unacceptable. he took some safety pins off his jacket and pulled the dress tighter around you, pinning it in place. it was still kinda big, but have you the idea. “i’ll make it better princess, you can have your own fancy princess fitting, hmm?” you grin at him, “or dis one can be yours?”

• drink of choice is strawberry milk (or you favorite drink in little space) he would never let his baby handle hot drinks when so small and water is too boring

the eldest munson woke up to rummaging in his kitchen, padding out with furrowed brow he found his nephew pulling out every single box they had in the cupboard, eddie didn’t even bother turing around, only letting out a, “morning!” wayne just smiled, “good morning to you too, champ. uhh - what’re looking for there ?” eddie just let out an humm, not quite processing the question and continued digging. that’s when wayne looked up and saw a pitcher of milk with a spoon sitting in it, he realized what day it was, you were coming over to spend time with your dada (uncle wayne knows and supports bc he’s slay) he immediately knew what eddie was looking for, he pulled the pink and yellow container down from the top of the fridge. “she tried adding it to water last time you weren’t here, i put it out reach to avoid that again.” he laughed remembering your scrunched up face as soon as the potent water touched your tongue. eddie hugged and thanked his uncle before dumping a heap loud of the pink powder into the milk and aggressively mixing.

• gareth comes too of course, he stumbled upon you guys one day mid party, loosing his mind at his dungeon master and lead guitarist wearing a pink sparkly dress (in his size) and a tiara on his head, until you squealed and pulled him to join

the trailer door swung open and a boisterous laughter was heard, “garebear’s here!!!! yay!!!” you yelled and jumped up, ruining into the drummers arms. he immediately grabbed you and spun you in a circle, “wow! look at you, you look so pretty fairy!!” he gushed giving you kisses on your soft cheeks, “and so do you ed’s .” your dada just glared, making gareth laugh harder at the angry metal head trying to look intimidating in his sparkly dress. you clapped you hands, “oh he does?! doesn’t he! oo wan one too, garebear? gots lots of crowns!!” you were running off the the dress up box before he could answer, coming back with a tiara, clip on earrings with a matching necklace, and a tutu. grinning like the cheshire cat, he was ready to say no, until a steal toed boot came into contact with his shin, “ow- yea thank you fairy, of course i would like to play!” he smiled at you, letting you put the sparkly items on him. he just stated at the fluffy skirt for second before eddie spoke up, “put the dang tutu on emerson.” he pulled it on and flicked eddie in the head when you weren’t looking, making him lightly shove back. “dada!” he looked at you with big eyes, worried you saw that, “we gots to show em how to dwink it fancy!”

• your stuffies also attend, of course. in the proper attire because you have an amazing daddy with never ending skills

“dada can you pwetty pease gib pippa a cookie?” you asked oh so politely, with a large grin on your pretty face. “of course i can princess, does mr. sprinkles want one too?” he responded, putting a cookie on the small baby pink plate in front of your brown bunny, who was dress in her pretty pink and purple dress. you giggled and nodded, both of you knowing very well who was gonna eat those cookies in a matter of seconds. he smiled putting another cookies down, this time in front of you large white unicorn. “oo hab some too dada?” you grabbed a cookie reaching it out to eddie. he grabbed the cookie with his mouth, playfulling nibbling on your fingers, making you giggle and squeal. “why thank you my beautiful princess, that was delicious!” you happily flapped you hands and just continued your conversation with your stuffies, pouring them more “tea” and taking bites of the cookies on the plates. he just smiled to himself, he may be a rough and tough metal head but if his baby girl asks him to play princess’ and have a tea party with him, you better hand him a tiara.

a/n: i hope you liked this, sorry it’s a bit short. and sorry i haven’t written in forever, i just didn’t have motivation for awhile. i hope to work on jealous baby pt 2 some more cuz i’ve started it and i’m pretty excited abt how it’s gonna go!!

\\tag list\\

@bootlegmothman420 @angelbaby-fics @lil--baby--bat @stardancerluv @lulubooboo @leilanix19 @albino-otaku

(as always just let me know if you wanna be added!!!)

[donutloverxo]

Soooo there are many fics where reader makes steve jealous and it ends in rogh possesive fcking.. but what if steve tries to make reader jealous and it totally backfires and she becomes extremely insecure?? But please with a fluffy ending because my poor heart can’t handle anything less 🥺🥺

Hey. Thanks for the request and I hope this fits. *gif is not mine* Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs and welcome and much appreciated. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+. Please🙏🙏

"Um... yes?" You asked as you brought down the hand which was holding out a twenty dollar bill - since you thought it was the pizza you've been waiting for, for like the past half an hour, and not a blond, six feet and some inches,tall super soldier.

"Hi... doll," he smiled.

"My name's Y/N," you corrected him as you frowned, so fed up of men undermining you by calling you such 'sweet' nicknames. You knew Captain Rogers wasn't like that, but still you couldn't have him getting any ideas.

"Right," he cleared his throat as he repeated your name. "Sorry," he said with a toothy grin, which almost made your heart melt.

"How did you get my address, Captain?"

"Tony gave it to me. I would've asked you at work... but I wanted to do this the right way."

"Do what?" you quirked a brow.

"Um, I maybe people aren't as formal nowadays," he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, "But I can't really change who I am... not so late in life anyway," he cringed as he realised he was pretty rambling then, taking a deep breath he gathered enough courage, "I wanted to ask you to come with me, as my date, to the valentines party this Sunday."

You hummed at that, considering it because damn if Rogers wasn't convincing. Even when he wasn't as authoritative and dominating as he is when he puts on the suit.

It would be nice to be courted and treated nicely, and to not have to put up with the shit most men try to pull with you, you were sure Rogers would show you the time of your life. Besides, only an idiot would say no to him.

"No." You said with a finality that left no room for debate. "Is that all?"

"Uh... I... yes..." he stammered, not exactly prepared to be turned down so bluntly. "Can I ask why?"

"I don't shit where I eat."

"What?" his eyebrows cutely scrunching up.

You just knew you must've touched a nerve with your crass language. Tony, your boss, had told you about Cap and his 'language' incident.

"I don't date people at work... it can get complicated," you explained as he nodded.

It wasn't a complete lie. You didn't want to be known as the 'easy' girl or have others gossip about you. But that would be a sacrifice you'd willing make for someone like Steve. Who'd dare make fun of the Captains girl anyway?

You had been smitten with him from the moment you saw him, learning about his bravery and sacrifice as a kid you looked upto him and respected him, but when you met him in real life... you were a complete goner. Your stomach did somersaults every time he touched you, or hell even looked your way.

You tried your best to flirt, which was basically you stuttering and trying to make small talk whenever you had a chance to talk to him. Since he was born almost a century ago he would probably be offended if you were the one to make the first move.

You continued your back and forth for weeks before he told you about her. That he'll be visiting her over the weekend. You simply nodded, having a vague idea of who Peggy Carter was but not of what she went to Steve.

After some research you found out that she was an old flame of his, someone he couldn't marry and build a life with because he was frozen for decades. Upon seeing her many qualifications, and just how freaking brilliant she was, you knew one thing.

You may not be as smart as her, but you knew that you could never measure upto a woman that incredible. Someone Steve still visits after all these years. You were already afraid that he was out of your league but now you were sure of it.

"Did I do something wrong?" he wanted to know.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he shoved his hands in his pockets, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout, "It's just that you used to talk to me all the time... and now it seems as if you're ignoring me. Is it because of something I did? Whatever it is I never meant to hurt you," he swore.

You sighed. "It's nothing you did, really. I just realized how incompatible we are. I hope you find the one you're looking for, someone who'll make you happy and give you the world. It just won't be me."

You didn't let him say anything closing your door instantly as you kept your tears at bay.

At the valentines party

"Cap," Tony said, slapping a hand on Steve's shoulder, "I thought you'd have her on your arm tonight. What happened?"

Referring to his assistant. He wanted to play cupid this once, since it was the season of love, he wanted to see his idiot friends happy. He was sure you both would be disgustingly smooching and all cute at the party. But not only had you both shown up separately, you seemed to be actively ignoring Steve.

"She uh... rejected me," he said, looking down into his glass of whiskey. It didn't do much for him but it helped him blend in.

"Ouch," Tony winced, "I was sure she would go for you. But I guess I have been wrong before," he shrugged.

"Really?"

"Yeah. She goes all heart eyes whenever you're around. But I guess that's nothing unique since that's just how most women act around you," he scoffed. "You should read all the love letters you got today. I was going through them, you have quite a passionate fanbase of people who want to... what was it..." he pretended to think hard about it. "Yes, 'ride your bicep', I don't understand the physics of how on earth that would work, but I am intrigued."

"Tony," Steve rolled his eyes as he always does when he's around the billionaire. "I don't really care about all of them... they don't know me. I only care about her and I don't know why she said no, but there's nothing I can do about it."

"Whoa, you're accepting defeat so soon? Where's that I-can-do-this-all-day attitude?"

"This isn't a war, Tony. If she doesn't see me that way... then there isn't much I could do."

"Maybe she's just playing hard to get. There's absolutely no way to really know what goes on in womens heads, Rogers. They're so smart and sneaky... it's kinda scary actually."

"I don't think she'd play games..."

Tony had gotten distracted pretty quickly and left Steve alone to pout and only appreciate your beauty from afar. You had worn a pink dress with red hearts on it, and for some reason, you got more beautiful every time he looked at you.

"Hello."

He jerked when he heard the foreign voice, looking at the blonde woman next to him, with her hand out, he shook it just to be polite.

"I'm Crystal," she smiled, flashing her sparkly white teeth.

"I'm Steve."

"Of course I know who you are!" she laughed, "You're Captain America, everyone knows you," she playfully hot his bicep before squeezing it, "Oh my... you must work out a lot."

"Uh... yeah..." he nodded. He could never get used to how people perceived him so differently.

"There is something I need to know really bad," Crystal blinked as she looked up at him, "Do you wear underwear in those suits? They seem really tight, wouldn't it be uncomfortable?"

"Oh, um... we just sort of..."

You had never looked at yourself as a jealous person. Maybe things were different when it came to Steve... he was a pretty special guy.

When you looked at him, talking to some girl, dancing with her, laughing and having fun with her, it was as if you were on fire from simmering rage, at the same time you could feel your heart breaking in a million pieces.

You knew it was wrong. You had no claim to him, he can do whatever he wants. If you said no to him then it makes perfect sense that he seeked out someone else.

You just had to get away for some fresh air, so you wouldn't abandon all class and pull the girls hair and drag her away from your Steve.

You yelped when you heard him call out your name.

Looking over your shoulder you saw him staring at you, his brows scrunched up, he looked so worried. But why?

"What're you doing here? You'll catch a cold, doll," he takes off his blazer, putting it over your shoulders and then groaning when he realised his slip up.

"Right, sorry, old habits die hard. I won't call you that again, I promise," he said, crossing his finger over his heart.

"No... I think it's kinda sweet. No ones ever had such an endearing petname for me. I do like it."

"Oh," he frowned, "it's just that you said you didn't."

Tony, of all the people in the whole universe, was right. There was no understanding women.

"I guess I lied..."

"Why?"

"Um..." You were at a loss of words and nervous. Steve wouldn't tolerate lies, and you didn't want him to hate you. "It was easier to do that then tell you the truth."

"What's the truth?"

"I do like you... a lot. But I don't want to live in someone else's shadow. And I just think the whole thing would end in a disaster..."

"What're you talking about, Y/N?"

"Peggy. Your first and only love. I can't measure upto her, not in my wildest dreams, there's no use trying."

"Why would you have to measure upto Peggy?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but couldn't really come up with an answer. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I did have feelings for her, but that was a long time ago. I'm happy she lived her life, it just wasn't meant to be."

"So, you're not still in love with her?"

"No," he shook his head, "I wouldn't have asked you out if I was."

"Well, what about Crystal? You were practically glued to her the entire evening!" you huffed as you stomped your foot. Mad at your own stupidity. You could've simply told him the truth and asked for a straight answer. "I have to warn you, she had was pretty crazy in the last season."

"Last season?"

"Mm-hm, the last season of her reality show, I've seen all eight seasons. Maybe they just amp up the drama, maybe she isn't actually crazy, I wouldn't know," you shrugged.

"Doll," he smirked, circling a hand around your waist and pulling you into him, "are you jealous?"

"I am not!" you gasped, looking away from his eyes as you felt your cheeks heat up.

"I don't want anyone but you. Why would I? You're goddamn perfect. And... I want you to be my girl."

"I guess I don't really have a reason to say no now..." you murmured, your face still flustered as you played with the buttons on his shirt before he tilted your chin up to make you look at him, placing his lips over yours in the most tender of kisses.

"Got the job done, Tones... I'm pretty sure I saw him go after her, I have to say though, you look at Captain America, and you really don't expect him to be that awkward..." Crystal said as she sipped on her gin and tonic. "You owe me."

Tony only hummed, not too happy about being indebted to someone, but you both needed a necessary push in the right direction.

[shurisneakers]

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

Home

yandere!EraserMic x Reader

Mic skips a couple of steps and brings their darling home earlier than planned.

18+ only

tw: mention of blood, kidnapping, restraints

Hizashi felt panic bubble up his throat as he aggressively ran his fingers through his hair. This wasn't good, he wasn't good. He fumbled around trying to pull out his phone so he could message Shota.

-Sho, when are you getting home???

Probably in a few hours...-

why-

Shaking, the blonde continued:

-I brought her home

Hizashi was convinced he'd burn a whole in the rug with his pacing. Staring at his phone screen it looked like Shota was responding, then it stopped, started, stopped, and started. Finally after what felt like forever he got a simple reply:

I'll be home in 15 -

---

"Mic, what did you do?" Aizawa sighed. The grumpy man intended to scold his partner but he couldn't bring himself to do so when Mic was so close to a full on panic attack.

"She agreed to meet up with her ex, he was talking about getting back together and I panicked."

Aizawa sighed; he understood where his partner was coming from. Even though Hazashi had abandoned their plan to wait, he was no longer surprised by Mic's actions. There was an understanding between the pair as the atmosphere softened.

Mic lead him down the basement stairs, instead of using the overhead light there was already a dull glow from nightlight that allowed the Pro Heroes to see well enough. On the bed in front of them the comforter rose and fell along with the breath of their darling.

"She should be asleep for another hour or two," Mic whispered. "I only cuffed one wrist to the bed, I figured without her quirk she won't be too troublesome."

Aizawa lovingly rolled his eyes. His partner was such a softy. Nodding in agreement he moved the blanket aside to see the clunky metal quirk-cancelling cuff encircling her ankle. The two had plenty of equipment from their jobs that allowed them to make a "safe" space for their girl.

The couple had stumbled across you on accident; you worked at the new cat cafe that opened near their home. The two quickly became regulars and you snagged their hearts when you recognized them as cafe regulars. They went every Sunday, you had their orders memorized and even told them which cats seemed to miss them the most. Hizashi fell hard and fast. It wasn't until Aizawa found you crying in the ally after one of your shifts that your fate was sealed. You told him that one of the cats ran out of the cafe earlier that day got hit by a car. Learning about the death of a cat wasn't the only thing breaking his heart.

When he got home that evening he told Hizashi. They both agreed that you needed to be protected, shielded from the pain of reality, and never subjected to cat-death-by-car ever again. Essentially they baby proofed their home for you. Anything dangerous (from silverware to chemicals) was locked away. Eraserhead installed cameras throughout the house that streamed to both of their phones. The windows were locked and shatter resistant and they even installed a top of the line security system.

Then came the stalking, both kept tabs on you - in their minds they both casual about it. Aizawa even visited you (broke in) one night to bug your phone. This was how the learned about your ex. The breakup was amicable enough that you two occasionally checked in on each other. After all, you had been together from middle school all the way through your teens. The two of you just wanted and were ready for different things.

---

Sure enough, two hours later they could hear your faint scream travel up from the basement. Mic had taken care of the acoustics, of course. He made sure that not a peep could be heard from outside of the house; even before you were in the picture this was in place for his quirk. Between each floor of their house he also added sound minimizing flooring and installation. They needed to be able to hear you but also maintain their sanity.

"M-mr. Yamada? Mr Aizawa?"

Your wide eyes were filled to the brim with tears. As Mic sat on the edge of the bed you withdrew as far as you could from him.

Aizawa seemed more conscientious of your space; instead he knelt in front of the bed so he was at least on your level.

He was the first to speak, "There's no need to scream, y/n, you're safe here. It's just Zashi and I."

The tears finally spilled over. You tried asking them to let you go, that you wouldn't say anything. You told them you had work this evening (even if you didn't) and that they'd know something was wrong if you didn't show up. What made it worse was that the men just kept nodding, taking in every plea you made.

Finally Mic cut you off, "You don't have to worry about work anymore, me and Sho are gonna take care of you, it'll be great. We won't have to wait a whole week to spend time together."

"You can't," You hiccupped, "this is illegal. Once they find out you'll be in trouble."

It was as if they didn't hear you. Mic just kept rambling about what you three could do together and how perfect everything was and how you'd love living with them.

Aizawa on the other hand sighed and indicated to Mic that he should get off the bed. "It's a lot to take in right now, new environments can be scary. You should get some more rest, Zashi gave you a pretty strong sedative."

That explained the pounding in your head. You didn't bother to keep yelling as the ascended the stairs. Instead you focused on not crying. You kept telling yourself that now wasn't the time for tears. You needed to get away from your abductors. You had never been in handcuffs before, you tried pulling against the bed frame in hopes that something would give way. As you expected, nothing really happened. The cuff was secured tightly around your wrist and with every pull came a dull pain in your hand. There wasn't anything useful within your reach.

After crying on the bed for what felt like an eternity you were all out of tears. You thought back to a movie you saw last summer, this detective was cuffed to a furnace and he pulled his hand free. However, that guy definitely lost the flesh on his hand and probably broke something. Your stomach churned at the thought. Then your mind wandered to terrible things the men could do to you. What if they were cannibals? Or wanted to sell your organs on the black market? Weighing the pros and cons you began to pull violently away from the bedpost. The metal dug into your skin and you couldn't help but scream. Hopefully your captors wouldn't come until you were free. There was a small window at the very top of the adjacent wall maybe you could squeeze through.

The searing pain became too much and you stopped to collect yourself. There were already gashes along the base of your wrist and blood coated the handcuffs. You stifled a cry as you resumed your work. You let out a blood-curdling scream when you felt a pop. Instead of freedom, you felt even more trapped. Your thumb looks wrong and looked like it was caught half way in the handcuff and halfway out. Movies make everything seem so much easier.

Light poured in as the door to the basement opened. Panicking you concealed the evidence under the blanket. Both of your hands and parts of your clothes were painted with blood.

"Hey kitten," Aizawa cooed. "We brought you some water. Are you feeling any better."

It was Mic who noticed first. You flinched as his hands cupped your face, his thumb ran along your cheek and you felt something slick.

His voice was rushed and panicked, "Sweet girl, this is blood. Shota come here, y/n is bleeding."

The blonde man handles your face and neck trying to find the source of the bleeding.

You pulled the blanket tighter, "I'm okay, please let me go."

Then Aizawa noticed the specks of blood on the sheets. He tugged at the blankets until you couldn't hold on any more. You were really only holding on with one good hand. You couldn't recall seeing that much emotion on his face in the past.

"Mic go get the first aid kit, now," Eraser's voice was strained and quiet but it sent the other man scattering up the stairs. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the cuff. Instinctively your cradled the hand to your chest, crying for the umph-teenth time that day. The scruffy man pulled you on to his lap, cradling your head to his chest like you would a child.

"You're okay, Mic's gonna get the first aid kit and we're gonna get you all taken care of."

When it came to flight or fight involving direct confrontation, you chose the third option: freeze. You focus on your breathing as the man continued to soothe you. You could hear Mic nearly throw himself down the stairs as he made his was back to your side.

Mic was gentle with your wound, after cleaning the blood off the cuts were visibly deep but not as bad as it seemed. Aizawa told him that it looked like your thumb was dislocated and that he would fix it once the bleeding stopped.

As Hizashi continued to apply pressure you were able to hear him sniffling as he held back tears of his own. Aizawa reached over to comfort Mic as he continued his fawning over you, "You're safe, everything's okay now. We should've known that you would get scared, all by yourself down here. We won't leave you alone again, especially while you're adjusting to your new home."

[mooni-bunni]

AOT with a Black S/O

A/N: There are SO many characters I want to do so this is definitely going to be a part one. Please know that I’m going off of MY ✨black experience✨ so if I mention something that you don’t do or experience, then idk, write your own. 🤨

CW: Modern AU, Black!Reader, Reader is female oriented,

TW: some light racism mentions.

Eren Jaeger

I’m going to start this off by saying Eren is completely into ethnic women.

If it’s not the way your skin glows under the summer sun, it’s definitely the goddamn brown eyes that are just BEAUTIFUL MAN.

He won’t say it, but he is such a nerd for learning more about your culture. Learns a lot about black history and excitedly tells you the new stuff he learned. He gets so happy when he learns about inventions by black people too.

He gets really mad about a lot of social issues though. He’s a really good listener when it comes to you voicing your feelings about something that’s happened in the community. Definitely an unapologetic activist.

Take him to a predominantly black church, watch him be all awkward but tapping his toes. He’ll tell you after that he really enjoyed it and had a lot of fun. He may not be feeling the Holy Ghost, but he is definitely going with you on sunday just to enjoy it with you

Over all, he just loves you so much, he gets to experience so,etching new every single day and he loves it. Especially when it comes to music, food, and clothing. Dress him up please, he likes it. Use him as a wig stand too.

Armin Arlert

Please, he was doing research on black culture before you were even dating. 🤨🖐🏾

When you started dating, you were definitely surprised by how much he actually knows about black culture. It’s all because he wanted to make sure he never says anything to you that makes you upset. If he has questions about something, he is going right to those books and the internet. He’s also not afraid to ask you questions but he would prefer to not burden you with the responsibility of educating him.

If you grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood, he tries his best to make you feel comfortable about being your most authentic self and not washing yourself down for him. He doesn’t like it when you hold yourself back or fix your speech so that he can understand you better, he’ll fight you to be yourself. USE YOUR AAVE AND TEACH HIM.

He really likes the way you talk. He takes note of any little inflectional accented letters in the words you speak. He will use words like “bussin” and “Chile” in the wrong way, so please just… stop him, he’s trying his best.

He’s also really into African American protective hairstyles and why they are important

Definitely sits down with you and helps you with your hair. He’s not the best with it, but he is definitely helpful. Like he’ll at least hold stuff for you or let you use his hand as the pallet for the grease or gel. If you’re a wig wearer, he likes being the model while you shape it. If you’ve got an Afro, he’s buying you the cutest bonnets to wear at night.

Mikasa Ackerman

The thing she loves so much about you is how she’s able to swap cultural experiences with you. 🥺

She grew up in a half Asian household and has a lot of things to share. The fact that she gets to mix her culture with yours is incredible to her. Especially with food because traditional Japanese dishes with traditional African American foods is fun to combine

She is really into r&b music, too. Swapping music with her is so much fun because she finds some new artists she’s never heard of before. She really likes Destiny’s Child

Asks you a lot of questions, too. It’s always light hearted and she means so well. She wants to know more about your family, the dynamic, what kinds of struggles you went through, the celebrations.

Bring her to parties and family functions, she is a visual and hands on learner.

Calls you beautiful every single day. There’s not a single thing about you that she doesn’t love.

Jean Kirschtein

Jean definitely gets quite the culture shock when you first start living together.

Mainly because of the food. He is not used to any cuisine that as a little spice in it. The first time you cool all the fixings for him, he is overwhelmed. It smells so good and some is familiar, but he’s never had them in this way.

He’s eating all of it anyways honey. He’s telling you it’s BUSSIN. Every fuckin meal, bro, he is saying it. Y’all can’t even go to cookouts because he says it so loud, tell him to STOP. (But don’t because it sounds funny and he’s just trying to express his love for soul food.)

OH AND DANCING. BRO. He learns a lot about how dances were ripped off from black people and he asks you to teach him the correct way to do it, if you know how. If not, he’ll happily teach you. He loves the history of it, too.

He is very active as an ally and does a lot of work to make sure the community you guys live in is accepting and safe for you and everyone else.

It really does take him a minute to get into the swing of daily life, but he is so happy he met you and that you let him in.

Sasha Braus

You already know I’m going to say food with this girl.

The way she is tearing up a plate the first time you cook food for her is a little animalistic. She licks that shit CLEAN. Some soul food at a party is going to be nonexistent if you bring her.

She may not be the brightest girl, but movies are definitely her thing. She likes it when you show her some movies directed by black people like Jordan Peele or Tyler Perry. One of her favorite movies is Dream Girls.

She also asks a lot of questions. (Ahem, her with Onyankopon…) It’s always her trying to learn more but they sometimes come off as a little uhhhhh… you know…. Like that. Don’t worry though, explain things to her and she is immediately apologetic for even asking.

You might have to teach her a few things though, I’m not gonna lie.

Take her to a family reunion or a Juneteenth celebration party, trust me she’ll enjoy herself.

Levi Ackerman

Surprisingly the thing he enjoys the best is the music.

You’d think with his classical tea loving ass, he’d be a little weary with the music, but no! He actually really likes old hip hop and rap. New age is not his favorite, but he likes artist like Tupac, Biggie, Jay Z, Old Kanye. Don’t be surprised to see him rapping randomly. I’ll stand by this.

He’s also really good with hair. Like surprisingly good with it. Like, he could actually just do your hair and you will probably never have to go to a salon ever.

He saw you struggling with yours one morning and noticed how expensive it was for you to get yours done, so he literally went out to any black owned salon and asked if they could teach him how it’s done. For weeks he just spent his free time learning how to do textured hair, which products were good, which ones were harmful, how to style, all of it. He came home one day and saw you booking an appointment to get yours done and told you he could do it. Success.

He also learns your favorite soul food meals. Spends time with your family to learn how you like it.

Overall, Levi isn’t great with words but he shows you he loves you by doing these extravagant things for your that’s how you know he cares about you and how important your heritage is.

A/N: this was so cute wahhh. Idk why I’m worried about being canceled when I’m black- also sorry for any typos I miss.

[angeli-marco-writes]

Tom Hiddleston - Stripped Sunday

A/N & WC - I came up with this concept ages ago and only just got around to writing it, though it’s slightly short. I do not know Tom, nor do I claim to. 2k.

Warnings - Swearing (that's now just a given), definitely suggestive and nsfw but nowhere near explicit, just mentions of sex, nudity too. And unknowing exhibitionism I guess? 16+

Summary - Sunday's are always the best, especially when you and Tom walk around the house nude, but it's been a while. Too long a while. So, obliviously, you take matters into your own hands...

THOMAS WILLIAM HIDDLESTON IS A SIMPLE MAN, believe it or not. He likes meals he can cook in fifteen minutes, he likes his tea with only a splash of milk, he likes the simple pleasures of nature. He likes morning runs and evening walks, re-watching movies he’s seen a dozen times, cuddles on a cold night. But most of all, he likes it when you walk around nude.

It might just be the one singular thing in the great mystery of life that is inexplicable to him, the one thing he enjoys so bloody much he daren’t speak of it, lest he risk losing it. Just the sight of your beautiful body keeps him up night after night after night when he’s working away, plotting and planning ways to ensure he never forgets it for the second he returns home. He can’t even begin to explain the things it does to him.

So, he set up a Stripped Sunday, with the basic premise that you both have to walk around in your birthday suits all day. It’s essentially his unique, perverse, inventive way of seeing you naked all day once a week. Not every Sunday, naturally, but just on occasion, when he’s not working, he’ll jot it down on the calendar. Nothing too glaring, in case someone catches a glimpse of his calendar, but just scribbling down a winky face in a Sunday space, and you know what you’re in for.

In all honesty, you love it just as much as he does. It’s hard not to. Seeing him walking around the house with not a scrap of clothing on all day does things to you you’ve never been able to put your finger on—or his. If you were to get pregnant, Stripped Sundays would be the culprit with the amount that the two of you shag in a single day. And he always seems to have another round in the bank to wake you the morning after, hungover on dripping lust.

However, it’s been far too long without one of these days, you think to yourself. And you know that there are no plans for the day, seeing as there’s nothing in the diary or the calendar, where—upon Tom’s own decree—all arrangements have to be written down. Seeing as you and Tom have a somewhat secret relationship, one certainly sheltered from the press, and no one knows you’re together, let alone live together, keeping all plans written down is imperative. His work meetings are always good reasons for you to get out of the house for a few hours.

Today, however, Tom seems to have made a mistake. Today’s meeting utterly slipped his mind, and he completely forgot to tell you, let alone jot it down, that he was having a casual meeting with a few co-stars to discuss future production of some sort—of what, he was entirely unsure, since this was texted about weeks ago, now. Nothing too major, though.

Logically, Tom thought that, with how late you were currently sleeping, and how much you enjoy your lie-ins, he’d be wrapped before you woke up, and even if that wasn’t to be the case and you wake up, that you’d have the sense to dress, or even call for him at the very least, before going downstairs.

You aren’t so lucky.

—

Waking up to an empty bed is never much fun. Usually if Tom wakes up before you, he’ll only slip out to put the kettle on, or fetch a new book to read from the library while he waits for you to stir naturally… that is if he isn’t waking you up in other, more pleasurable ways. At most, if he does have plans and doesn’t want to wake you after a late night, he’ll leave you a lovely note, a voicemail, and a thermal mug of tea.

Today, however, you can smell the coffee machine on—no wonder after the late, and rather energetic night you had—and hear the machine whirring, signalling that Tom likely hasn’t long been awake. That’s when the gears begin to turn and your plan begins to formulate, a completely devious idea that creeps into your mind and quirks your lips into a smirk. No matter how enticing the idea to nuzzle back into the pillows is, your need for Tom is overpowering your clawing need for sleep, especially with your primal instincts telling you he’s within grabbing distance, his aftershave still on the sheets you’re wrapped in. So, you strip his shirt, now perpetually appropriated by you, off and get out of bed, stretching as you go, beginning to make your way downstairs.

“What’s that?” Tom hears someone ask.

Not hearing your footsteps on the squeaky stairs over the whirring of the coffee machine and the layered discussions, including his own laughter, he simply replies, “Probably the dog.”

You, however, aren’t lucky enough to hear this brief conversation before your bare feet land on the cold hardwood floor, sending chills throughout you that don’t seem to even mildly combat the overwhelming heat building all throughout you. With just a few more steps, keeping your footing light and avoiding Bobby’s various chewies and toys littered all over the floor, you’re entering the kitchen in nought but your birthday suit. Utterly, completely in the buff.

“Morning baby,” you call out, yawning, your eyes fluttering shut, your jaw wide.

Except, instead of the warm embrace and slatherings of kisses that you expect to receive, or even a simple “Good morning, Princess,” you’re welcomed with a deadly silence, a stillness you can’t quite comprehend.

Your eyes fly open in shock, opening to see three people, mildly familiar faces, with mouths agape and eyes wide, sitting around the breakfast bar with mugs between their hands. Tom looks as stunned as you’ve ever seen him, over by the coffee machine, his hands trembling. With a fixed gaze of his baby blue eyes, so piercingly alarmed, he looks you up and down, his eyes blazing over your nude form, his kissable mouth practically watering at the mere sight of you.

That’s before it clicks with him, the dire situation, and alarm bells begin to blare inside his head, causing him to jump into action. Almost instantly, he’s pulling his shirt off his strong arms and muscular torso with lithe fingers, and is tugging it over your head, covering your naked torso.

You can already feel the blush on your cheeks, your skin burning from the bruised base of your throat to the pierced tips of your ears, the blood in your veins rushing around so violently that it drowns out any other comments or noise within the room, within the situation, but you’re brought back to reality when Tom’s strong, callused hands fall to your arms, clasping the flesh before he’s all but lifting you off the tiled floor and steering you back out of the room. It snicks shut behind you, but all you can focus on is the kiss he gives you, slanting his thin lips over yours so intoxicatingly that you’re able to forget your humongous disaster, if only for a second. There’s an emptiness the second he stops kissing you, and you’re able to hear the previously shut out gossip from inside.

“Sweetheart, what the hell was that?” he commands, his tone soft.

Despite the austere authority he so naturally demands in a room, he doesn’t sound angry whatsoever. If anything he’s just a little exposed, his private home life revealed to people when he wasn’t in the least bit prepared for once in his lifetime, with a definite undertone of irritation, mostly that he can’t have his way with you instantly. His blood is roaring, his stomach an explosion of swarms of butterflies, his core pulsating. He can’t tear his eyes away from you, even now you’re covered, your hardened nipples poking through the fabric.

“I— I saw the calendar was empty, I wanted to impress you, have a nice Sunday because it’s been so long,” you confess, shuffling your feet on the floor, unable to meet his blue gaze boring into you, “I’ve felt… distant from you recently, you’ve been working so much. I don’t know,” you shift anxiously, tugging on his shirt wrapped around you, “I love you, I didn’t wanna lose you. I thought you’d like it.”

“Baby,” he says, “I love you and this so so much. Of course I like it!”

You let out a feeble cry against his chest, his arms knotting around you and tugging you into his chest in one swift movement. His hugs, the way he holds you and cradles you, always make you feel better, no matter what your troubles may be.

You sniffle a little, “Really?”

Any trace of hardness in his face just dissipates and is replaced with sympathy, empathy, love.

“I truly wish I could take you right now, Darling, and if they weren’t here, I’d be fucking you on that breakfast bar and you know it.” He sighs deeply. “But, I didn’t put down a special Sunday for a reason, love.” Leaning down, he kisses away your wry tears, and then the tip of your nose. “You are so thoughtful. It’s all my fault though, I must’ve just forgotten to write this down.”

How can you be mad at him when he’s being so thoughtful and heartfelt, confessing his mistake even when it was your rash thinking that’s gotten you into this mess?

Once you calm your breathing down, though, you realise that you’re actually not particularly phased by this at all. You don’t mind this; it was the sheer shock that passed over Tom’s face, the flash of terror he must’ve felt with his work colleagues in the room with him that scared you so. You know well enough that it’ll be a huge knock—monumental, even—for him, if this gets out. Your worry for your treasured boyfriend takes power over any of your own misgivings.

“I’m really sorry, Tom.”

“Don’t be,” he says hastily, “can you please pop up and get dressed, though, darling? Just some shorts, I don’t want you to feel exposed.”

You let out a soft chuckle, nodding, stepping away from him to make your way upstairs. Before you’ve taken so much as a step, though, he tugs you back by the bottom of his shirt, and ravels you into a searing kiss, everything he wants to say passes from his lips to yours.

—

You return a couple of minutes later, dressed simply, comfortably, his shirt in your hands, you find him waiting for you, standing outside the door with his hands clasped at his front. He greets you with open arms, prompting you to take his hands as he leads you back into the kitchen, your eyes connecting in a secret agreement before stepping inside.

The air is rife with anxiety, three panicked faces staring back at you, but thankfully, you’re able to recognise these people as ones he’s worked with for a while, people he knows really well; confidantes and friends more than co-stars or colleagues. However, by the inquisitive glint in their eyes and their parted mouths, you imagine they’ll still have a lot of questions, and this’ll still be a hit for Tom.

He wraps his spare arm around you, his head bowed as he meets the dead faces staring at him. That’s when you begin to wonder if something else has happened.

“Baby, everything okay?” you ask, cupping his jaw, caressing your thumb over the scruff of a beard shadowing his bone structure.

That’s seemingly when it hits him, his face paling, blanching, his grip around you loosening.

“It’s a good job you never got over the threshold, darling,” he says breathlessly, “or I’d be in much more trouble.”

You look to him, eyes searching his face imploringly as he viciously gulps. “We were live on Instagram.”

“SHIT!”

Well, it looks like Tom’s girlfriend is public knowledge. You can’t mind, though not as he dips his head and kisses you hotly, heartily. With this passion, the second these people leave, Stripped Sunday might just happen after all.

[babyboibucky]

Deserve Better

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky disappeared and came back only to say goodbye.

Word Count: 2,887

Warnings: angsty angsty angsty angsty angsty

A/N: Post-endgame timeline with lotsa angst! Included Andy Barber here because why the fuck not but he’s really not a major character lol

Deserve Better || Undeserving || Deserve The Best

MAIN MASTERLIST

-

The day you got Bucky back was the same day he said goodbye. He left you— said it was for the best— just as when your fingertips touched him for the first time after five years of longing.

Your reunion with Bucky after the snap was nothing like the movies, far from it actually. A lot of things happened when he was snapped back, in between the battle with Thanos and Tony’s funeral. Besides, you weren’t an Avenger; you didn’t work for SHIELD nor the CIA. In fact, you remained oblivious of the battle that was going on until the moment of chaos caused by the sudden reappearances of half of the world’s population.

And then you received a message from Steve, about the tragedy and the sacrifice of Tony Stark. He was inviting you to the funeral and as much as you felt devastated from the loss of a hero, you couldn’t help but focus your attention on the last line of Steve’s message.

Bucky’s going to be there too. He’s back. He needs you to be there with him.

It wasn’t until the funeral was over that you finally got to have Bucky all to yourself. You had locked gazes when you arrived and staring back into his beautiful blue eyes again made your knees weak.

Bucky was really back.

“Hi.” He greeted you first, his voice remained the same— soft and gentle.

One word was enough to make you feel the warmth of his existence. Hearing him, seeing him again felt like finally coming home after a very long, tiring day.

“Hi, Buck.” You whispered.

Bucky’s smile was all it took for the dam to finally break. You’d burst into tears right then and there and you were more than ready to feel his arms around you after years of hugging yourself to sleep during his absence.

But the warmth never came. If any, Bucky stopped himself from doing so. You frowned when he took a step back from you, extending his metal arm to keep you at a certain length away from him.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered, refusing to meet your gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I have to go.” He explained, gently squeezing your arm before rubbing circles on your skin using his thumb.

You didn’t understand why Bucky needed to go when he just got back. You just got him back. You had spent years crying over his disappearance only for him to come back and disappear again?

Bucky explained that he thought he got better but things have become so vastly different after the snap that it left him feeling broken and different again. He told you about Steve’s decision to go back in time, never to return again. How Tony’s death made him feel like it was too late to set things straight and how he would probably carry the guilt and regret from not being able to apologize for what he had done.

“I’ll help you, Buck. We’ll work through this together. I want to be by your side when things get better.” You insisted, tears blurring your vision as you tried to reach for Bucky, wanting to feel him again after such a long time.

But Bucky kept on moving away from you, he kept on pushing you away and you wanted to understand why he wouldn’t let you touch him.

“I’ll only hurt you, I don’t want that to happen. I want to get better because you deserve better. But I can’t do that with you because this...this is something that I gotta figure out by myself.” He further explained.

You shook your head, unable to accept his decision. “Buck...I don’t think I can lose you again. I just got you back...I can’t afford to lose you again, please?”

When you attempted to reach for Bucky’s hand, he finally let you. You quickly entwined your fingers through his metal ones and savored how they felt against your skin. They were cold as usual, but Bucky always oozed a certain warmth that made you feel safe.

But now they’re just that— cold and hard.

“I love you. I’ll wait, Bucky.” You murmured and tugged at his hand before he could even let you go.

Bucky smiled sadly at you, “You don’t have to, doll.”

You shook your head and brought Bucky’s hand to your lips as you cried, “I want to. And I will.”

Pressing one final kiss on his hard knuckles, you watched Bucky slip his hand away from yours before turning around to leave. You felt your chest tighten as if you lost all the oxygen in your lungs the same way you lost Bucky.

Losing him the second time around proved to be even more painful. Because this time, he didn’t just disappear.

He walked away.

-

You waited for Bucky to come home to you for days and weeks until they turned into months...and then years. Still, no Bucky walked through your doorstep but you never stopped hoping.

Sleep was such a rare occurrence to you since Bucky walked away. How do you honestly cope with the loss of someone when you haven’t even healed yet from his first disappearance? You wanted to get mad at him, curse him for suddenly deciding to leave you. But you felt selfish for even thinking about that, because Bucky left to better himself.

To be better for you. He said so himself.

So you kept waiting for him to come back. You made it your reason to keep going. You looked forward to the day you’d hear your door open followed by his heavy foot steps. You wondered, would he smell the same then? Would he still be using your favorite perfume on him? One that smelled like cedar wood and mint and well, Bucky. Would his hair still be of the same length? What about his beard? Would he shave them off before coming back home?

How about his gaze? Would his blue ones still look at you as if you were his moon?

As much as these thoughts made you miss him more, they were the ones that you held onto. They were like your glimmer of hope on nights you were the loneliest, on nights you cried and dreamt of his return only to wake up to an empty, cold space beside you.

You held onto these thoughts every single day in hopes of them becoming real soon enough.

People have told you to move on, to not waste your time waiting for someone who walked away just like that. But you trusted Bucky when he said he wanted to be better because you deserved better. You couldn’t move on, not from Bucky.

You love him with your entire being, so much that his absence caused you physical pain too. You couldn’t even find the right words to describe how much you love Bucky.

In the three years that you spent waiting, you’d met a lot of people too. People who showed interest but none of them really won you over.

You’d met a man named Andy through work. He was a lawyer and was dealing with his own divorce. The connection was there and you wouldn’t deny that.

Two people dealing with the grief from losing someone they love, it wasn’t that hard not to find a common ground. And you did find some solace in Andy and him in you. But it was just that, nothing more and nothing less.

“How has it been?” You asked Andy after he had settled into the booth across of you.

The restaurant was surprisingly scarce on a Sunday morning. Usually there were plenty of customers, their chatters overpowering the soft music playing in the background. Now, it was peaceful and the radio was turned off. There were only the clinks of plates of being set on tables and the footsteps of the staff walking around the place as they attended to the few customers around.

It was serene and peaceful, pretty much like Andy’s aura when he arrived.

“I wouldn’t say I’m fine but I guess I’m at a much better place now than before.” He said with a nod, as if he was finally agreeing with himself after questioning his emotions for the past few months.

You offered a kind smile and placed a hand on top of his, “It shows, Andy. I’m glad. I’m happy for you.” You said.

He had been going through a lot of emotions since he signed the divorce papers. He didn’t want to but knew it was for the best. Andy had a son, Jacob, and he didn’t want for his son to grow up in an environment where his parents no longer slept on the same bed. As much as he loved Laurie, the relationship was no longer working and was becoming toxic the more they stayed together.

“And you?” Andy asked back before calling the waiter.

You let out a deep breath, “Still waiting.” You chuckled as your stared at your hand that remained on top of Andy’s.

Andy spared you an apologetic glance but nodded, “I do hope he knows how lucky he is.” He said, turning his palm up so he could hold your hand.

To others, the gesture may seem romantic but it really wasn’t. You and Andy both knew that despite the similarities and the comfort you found in each other, the both of you were not meant to be together in that way.

Your heart still belonged to Bucky after all.

-

When you received an invitation from Sam Wilson, you felt confused and excited. There was going to be a huge gala at the compound to honor Steve Rogers’ legacy as Captain America.

You’d heard the news about Steve’s passing not long after he went back in time. He finally got to live the life he deserved and when he came back, it was as if everything had been corrected. He may no longer be the super soldier that many knew but he remained the same person— but he wasn’t the man out of time anymore. Despite his white hair and wrinkles, Steve looked the happiest he had ever been.

You wondered how Bucky coped up with such a huge loss, you always worried for him.

It sparked debate though, Steve’s decision to leave the Avengers. Some got angry, said that Steve was selfish for doing that. Others showed sympathy, that Steve didn’t owe the world anything. He’d spent a lifetime fighting for everyone. It was time that he fought for himself and what he deserved. And Sam fought just as hard for Steve’s legacy and finally, all his hard work finally paid off.

What confused you was whether Bucky was going to be there? Does he know about the gala? Was he finally back? If he was, why hasn’t he come home to you yet? You had so many questions that you wanted to ask.

The answers though, were literally in the palm of your hand— the invitation.

-

It was no surprise how big the gala was. Just on your way inside, you’d already come across a lot of big personalities. There were politicians and popular celebrities too. You felt intimidated given that you went by yourself and that you weren’t really part of their world.

You were just you, someone who had fallen in love with one Bucky Barnes who introduced you to the world of superheroes. The rest was history.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” You turned around and found Sam approaching you with a huge smile.

You embraced him and smiled as you pulled away, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” You told him.

It was Steve and Sam that you’d met first and they were nothing but kind to you. Despite being well, ordinary, they welcomed you like their own when Bucky had introduced you.

Sam’s expression changed at your response, “I honestly thought that you wouldn’t show up after Bucky said—“

“Bucky?” You immediately cut him off upon hearing his name.

“Bucky’s back?” You asked and Sam had never looked more confused as ever.

He carefully nodded, brows knitting together as he frantically looked around. “I thought you knew about it.”

“How long? How long has it been since he came back, Sam?” You probed, feeling your throat constricting at the unexpected revelation.

Sam merely looked at you with what seemed to be pity. Why? Why was he looking at you like he was sorry? And why didn’t Bucky tell you when he came back? Was he simply not ready? Or was he waiting for the right time?

“Sam, how long?” You asked again, voice firmer this time around.

“A year ago. He decided to join the Avengers but wanted to undergo formal training before taking on the responsibility of one.” He responded.

You opened your mouth to say something but it’s as if your whole body was paralyzed. He had been back for an entire year now...and yet he kept you waiting?

A hand on your arm pulled you back to the surface, looking up at Sam you shook your head in utter confusion.

“I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me.”

Sam sighed, “I thought you knew. He said he saw you and—“

Sam’s words died on his tongue when he saw that your attention was no longer on him. Following the line of your sight, Sam turned around and saw that Bucky had walked into the venue. He swallowed and couldn’t hide the guilt he felt from assuming that you knew about his return. Before he could apologize, you’d brushed past him as you kept your gaze on Bucky.

Why he didn’t inform you of his return was beyond you and to be honest, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about it for now. Because Bucky was right in front of you and it felt like forever since you last saw him.

A lot has changed. He chopped off his hair but he still sported some scruff. Bucky looked closer to his younger self back in the 40’s. You remembered the conversation you had with him about cutting his hair.

“Should I cut it?” Bucky stood in your bathroom, observing his long locks in the mirror as he ran his fingers through them.

You walked over to him, hugging him from behind and pressing your lips on his back before moving to stand beside him.

“Do you want to?” you asked.

Bucky scrunched his nose, “Maybe in the future. I do miss my hair back then.” he smiled.

You chuckled, “Back when Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes used to sweep the ladies off of their feet?” you teased.

Bucky turned to you and wrapped an arm around your wait pulling you closer to kiss your lips, “Hmm, I wanna see if that hair will have the same effect on you.” he said and kissed your cheek.

You hummed as you caressed his face with your delicate hands, “I’d like to see that too, but maybe you should keep the scruff.”

But it wasn’t just his hair that changed. It was his entire demeanor— his aura seemed a lot lighter now, he seemed happier and confident. You knew it for a fact because he wasn’t wearing a glove to hide his metal hand. It was out on display for everyone to see and shake, apparently.

You watched in awe as Bucky interacted with the people around him. He used to avoid eye contact with strangers but now he seemed relaxed doing so. Although he would still open and close his metal hand, something he did whenever he was anxious. The crowd still made him uncomfortable but he’s shown a lot of improvement since then.

The question as to why he never told you about his return continued to linger in the back of your head. But you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling from ear to ear, eyes brimming with tears as you quickened your steps.

Your Bucky was finally back.

And then the world seemed to have stopped when a certain blonde walked over to Bucky, her hand sliding over to his cheek as she leaned up to press a quick peck on his lips.

You knew her of course, Sharon Carter; and you knew about her and Steve. It was Bucky himself who told you about them and how proud he was that Steve finally decided to try his luck at romance. Which is why you felt even more appalled at the scene playing before you.

The way Bucky slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him and how he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. How he was smiling down at her, whispering to her ear as they laughed.

Bucky was in love with Sharon. You didn’t have to ask him that anymore because he was looking at her like she was his moon, his source of light in the darkness.

You knew that because he looked at you the same way, back when you still had his heart.

Suddenly, the questions plaguing your mind found their answers. You understood now why he never came home to you.

He did get better, you could tell that by the way he smiled and laughed.

Bucky was better now, but not for you. At least, not anymore.

-

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar  @bakugouswh0r3

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (2)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, hella nervous!bucky, dangerously sweet!y/n  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“What the hell do you mean ‘you’re not going’?”

Bucky shrugged, taking a bite of the bagel Steve picked up on his way to the apartment. He flinched as Steve flung open the curtains, expelling a cloud of dust as the sunlight invaded the living room, illuminating over months of untouched mail on the coffee table and crumbs in the carpet.  

Sam kept his eyes burning on Bucky from the other end of the table. “You can’t back out now, Barnes. She’s expecting you!”

“What’s this about again?” Steve asked as he slid into the chair beside Bucky.  

“Book club. Y/n. Barnes is being a coward again,” Sam explained a little too nonchalantly for Bucky's taste.  

“I’m not being a coward,” Bucky grumbled, avoiding Sam’s eyes and very much proving his friend’s point. “I’ve just— I’ve got better things to do.”

He regretted it the moment it left his lips because both Sam and Steve exchanged a less than subtle, irritatingly familiar glance.  

“Yeah, like what?” Steve scoffed. He extended his arms out to gesture to the empty apartment. “You got tons of plans this week? Think you might see sunlight again or did someone hang garlic in the hallway?”

“Shut up,” Bucky warned, rolling his eyes. It had been a few days since he’d ventured out to the VA for the first time and it was more than he’d done in weeks. It should have been enough for these two, but it never was. They always wanted more out of him. They couldn’t just leave him to rot in his apartment, could they?

“It’s Sunday, you know,” Sam said, devilish smirk rising on his face.  

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”  

“Come on, man!” Sam groaned, slamming his hand on the table enough to cause a ripple in the coffee mugs. “I saw the way you were looking at her. You can’t tell me seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go...”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed red. They burned hot on his skin and it only seemed to make it worse. He’d never been like this before he was discharged – flustered and easily embarrassed. He supposed before he came home with one less limb and baggage the size of his living room, he didn’t have much to be embarrassed about. He was a flirt, a bit shameless about it, too. He’d had girlfriends and hookups and never thought much about it.  

But now? The vague idea of even presuming to be interested in a woman was borderline laughable. What chance could he possibly have? He was washed up and broken, missing a few pieces, and half off his rocker. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d go for a guy like him. It was easier to just pretend like he didn’t care, give into the empty void he believed his heart to be, and waste away.  

“Seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go,” Bucky said flatly, much to Sam’s annoyance. It was a bold-faced lie, one all three of them were well aware of, but it didn’t mean Bucky needed to give them the satisfaction of admitting it.  

He thought of you in that sunset red sweater, holding a book tight to your chest with that sort of bright starlight look in your eyes as you listened intently to a retired vet go on and on about his personal connection to some corny book. He’d only met you for maybe a span of a few minutes, and still, he could somehow still picture your smile. He wanted to see it again.  

But there was a sharp pain in his left arm; it burned, enough for Bucky to reach across his chest and try to put pressure on it, only to slip through thin air and land against his ribs. The pain remained, like an extension of himself, on an arm that was no longer apart of him. There and not there all at once. He groaned.  

“It’s not a good enough reason, Sam,” Bucky repeated. “I’m not going. She probably won’t even notice.”

Another lie.  

Sam shook his head, the smile quickly leaving his face in favor of one Bucky knew all too well. Disappointment. Frustration. The thing was, it didn’t hurt as much when Bucky was purposeful in creating it.  

“I thought you liked her?” Steve asked cautiously, eyes catching Sam’s for only a moment before he turned back to Bucky. They’d been talking about him. He hated when they did that.  

“I don’t even know her, Steve,” Bucky shot back. He shouldn’t be getting angry with them. They were only trying to help. And yet here he was – pushing away the only two people left in his life that still managed to tolerate him. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, trying to push past it. “She’s nice, okay? She’s pretty. Is that what you want me to say?”

Steve sat back in his chair, exhausted. “I want you to be happy, Buck.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, well, shoulda thought of that before I got myself blown up.”

“Bucky--”

“Let it go, man,” Sam sighed, setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.  

Bucky felt like he could sink straight into his chair. Why did he always do this?

“I hope you change your mind,” Sam said simply, gathering up his things as he and Steve started to make their way to the door. “It could be good for you.”

Bucky knew what he meant by that, the underlaying message hidden just beneath the surface: she could be good for you.  

Right on cue, the pain started up again in his arm that was both there and not there, and Bucky tried to grit his teeth through it, though Sam could spot the tells almost immediately: his right-hand gripping to the arm rest, the flinch in his jaw, the short tense breaths.  

Sam sighed, pausing in the door frame. “We’ll be back in a few days. Try to clean up the place, will you? It’s a shithole in here.”

“Ma said she’d bake you cobbler if you promise to eat it,” Steve offered, too hopeful for his own good. It had been Bucky’s favorite once; the sort of dessert he talked about on desert nights when the mess hall served day old meatloaf and bland potatoes. He didn’t have much of an appetite these days.  

Bucky forced out a smile for his friend’s sake and nodded.  

A familiar silence swept over the apartment as the door closed behind them. It had been a comfort once; a darkness that swept around his shoulders like a blanket. It kept him isolated and suffocated and still, safe.  

Now, it mocked him.

He stared at the knob on the door, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. He’d done this about a dozen times before, trying to convince himself to do something more with his days than waste away in an expensive one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.  

Steve was right. What the hell else was he going to do today? Stare at the wall for a few hours? Pretend to watch TV and not catch a single word of dialogue? Make a meal he wouldn’t eat?

He thought of you again. How you might scan the room in search of him and a frown might pull at the corner of your lips to not find him amongst the crowd. He wondered if you’d be dressed in yellow or orange or if you’d resemble a cloudless sky as the sun touched over the peaks of the city in soft pinks and purples.

He wanted to know so badly it was killing him.  

“Fuck.”  

He dragged his feet to the bedroom to find something half decent to wear.  

***

It had been a less than ideal start to your day.  

The children’s reading presentation at the library got a little out of hand when the speaker – a local theater student – got caught up in the voices and scared half of the toddlers to tears as he took some interesting liberties with The Cat in the Hat.

Then, a rather unpleasant woman yelled at you for twenty minutes about a man sleeping on the bench outside the near the entrance as if it were a personal affront that this man, a little down on his luck, dared to catch a few minutes of sleep in a public place.  

The internet was shotty all day, leaving a few college students red in the face and with fat tears matching those of the toddlers in the next room over when hours' worth of work had suddenly disappeared in front of their eyes.  

And of course – the teenagers. A band of four boys who hid under the brim of baseball caps with skateboards tucked under their arms, who found it rather amusing to stalk out the adult section and flip through the sorts of novels with bare chested men on the cover until their snickering could be heard from the floor below.  

It warranted a coffee, at least.  

The only solace was that it was Sunday. Your favorite day of the week. It meant a few hours at the VA and catching up with the guys. You hadn’t seen Natasha in a while and you were hoping to see how her new job at the security firm had gone. She was exceptionally qualified and you were almost certain you had her interview answers memorized by the time you’d finished practicing together.  

But there was something different about this Sunday, something that left a few butterflies in your stomach where an easy contentment usually belonged. You were nervous, but there was an excitement, too.  

There’d be a new face in attendance.  

A beautiful face.  

A face that you imagined required a double take were you to see it for the first time on a busy street.  

“You’re smiling again there, darling.”

You looked up to find Mrs. Jefferson keeping a careful eye on you from over the top of her reading glasses. She wore a smile upon her face, one that blended into the laugh lines by her eyes. Her hand trembled with a familiar quiver as she reached up and slid the glasses off her nose. They rested comfortably on a purple beaded chain as they hung around her neck.  

“You always have so much going on inside that head of yours,” she quipped, chuckling to herself. She was a slow mover as she turned to the computer to begin typing in her code. “Have you checked out the books for the VA yet?”

“Already done,” you confirmed, your mind still a little in the clouds. Coffee would definitely need to be a requirement before you stepped foot in the VA.  

“Get a move on then,” Mrs. Jefferson said, gesturing to the door with a trembling hand. “I know you like to get donuts for the kids.”

You still had a few minutes left on shift, but Mrs. Jefferson was always so understanding. She had a son who was in the military once who saw about four tours. Always had a habit of going back, she’d said, like he was testing his luck. You weren’t sure how he’d died, but you knew he didn’t have the chance to go back for a fifth.  

She was a part of a group no one wanted to be in: those who have lost someone to war. Membership cost was steep and there was no going back once it was paid. It was a lonely group, one far too many people occupied. Your own membership card was heavy in your pocket.  

You glanced toward the door. The sun was shining bright on the pavement. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course, dear. Tell the boys I said hello.”

“Yes, ma’am!” you called as you gathered your things and the shoulder bag stuffed with books and quickly scurried out the door before another disaster could reel you back inside.  

The sun was warm on your skin and you took a minute to savor it before shoulders started to bump into you, forcing you off balance. You could see your breath in the autumn air, and still, the sun touched your cheeks and left behind a comfort there. Smile on your face, heavy bag draped over your shoulder, you resided to grab coffee and donuts at a café close to the VA before book club started.  

It was one you visited a few times before, right across the street from a painfully busy Starbucks. The quaint coffee shop was often empty inside, save for a few college students with headphones in, typing away at their laptops, and a regular you often saw nursing a black coffee by the front windows, watching the people as they walked by.  

It smelled of coffee beans as you stepped inside. Fresh. Aromatic. You took in a deep breath.  

“Ah, Y/n!” a voice called from the back in a thick Colombian accent. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Hi, Luciana,” you laughed as the woman who owned the shop rounded the corner behind the counter and ran out to give you a hug. She was a tiny woman, short and shout, but her hugs could render even a giant of a man to a puddle.  

“Donuts for your friends down at the VA again?” she asked, releasing you from her embrace, though she still managed to pinch your cheek on the way out.  

“Yes, please!”

“And coffee for yourself?”  

She knew you too well.  

“I could use a bit of a pick-me-up,” you admitted. She knew your order by heart.  

“You should see if that Sam wants to have some good coffee for a change at his next event instead of the bean water he serves our veterans now,” Luciana inquired as she pulled on a pair of gloves and began to stack your box with assorted donuts. She had that smile on her face you recognized well. She asked about Sam a lot.  

“I’ll be sure to get his thoughts,” you replied, trying to stifled a smile.  

“Have him come by,” she offered rather smoothly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen his pretty face and I could use a little pick-me-up myself.”

She winked at you and set the box of donuts on the counter. Then, your coffee; lid pressed on top, cardboard around the edges to protect from heat. You reached for your wallet but she snuck her hand over the counter and grabbed your wrist.  

“No, no, not today, my dear. My treat.”

You parted your lips to protest but she shook her again.  

“Tell those kids to come visit me every once in a while, okay? I’ve got a discount for ‘em,” she offered, bright smile over painted red lips. She waved you off and you knew there was no arguing with her.  

“That’s very kind of you, Luciana. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”  

“So will my business, dear.” There was that wink again.  

You laughed, heading for the door. “I’ll see you next week!”

The bell rang on your way out.  

The VA wasn’t more than a few blocks from Luciana’s, but the bag piled high with books was starting to weigh on your shoulder. It didn’t help that you had to weave expertly between the pedestrians to balance your coffee and the donut box, too; tourists walking about 10 mph too slow and locals stuck in their path with no qualms of shoving you out of their way if you managed to jump in their trajectory.  

As you approached the VA, the crowd began to disperse. There weren’t too many people who frequented this street as there was little more than the VA building itself to occupy the tourists. You were surprised to find a man standing in front of the doors, staring up at the building as if it offended him in some way.  

Dark brown hair tucked under a baseball cap, just barely peeking out at the nape of his neck. Right hand tucked deep into his pocket, rigid in his stance as he stared down the double doors. He was talking to himself, you realized, judging by the soft clouds of chilled air by his mouth.  

James Barnes.

Bucky.

A smile suddenly took over your face, enough that you had to bite down on the edge of your lip in an effort to suppress it. You’d hoped he would come, but Sam had talked about his friend Bucky long before you met him in the empty library of the VA a few days prior. He didn’t say ‘yes’ to much of anything and he seemed to be the sort of soldier that got left behind by the system when he returned home.  

But he was sweet. You could tell that just from the small interaction you’d had. Quiet. A little flustered. Maybe reserved. But he had beautiful eyes; blue, like they could capture even the faintest colors in the sky and the sweep of a current in the Mediterranean. He’d only barely lifted the corner of his lips to a smile that day and it left you wondering how lovely he was when it touched his eyes.  

“Bucky!” you called, moving a little quicker now as you approached, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Still focused on his staring match with the building, it seemed. For a moment, it seemed as though he might be turning to leave and your stomach twisted.  

You were nearly at his side, a little out of breath when you called his name again and it registered this time. Only, it must have startled him because an arm jutted out in your direction, knocking the coffee from your hands. You were too stunned to do much of anything about it as they coffee flung itself to the pavement, the contents spilling to the ground and over your sneakers. You clutched the box of donuts tight to your chest.  

Bucky froze, almost as still as a statue, his eyes focused on the coffee spilled on the sidewalk. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch and slowly, his eyes drew up to meet yours. He stared at you for a moment, mouth falling agape. His ears were burning red.  

Then, he seemed to come back to reality as he blinked a few times, his eyes darting from the shock on your face to the coffee on the sidewalk.  

“Y/n! Shit—fuck! I am—so sorry,” he started to ramble, his hand reaching out, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “I didn’t realize you were-- fuck—”

“It’s alright, Bucky,” you tried to ease him, a laugh in your voice. “Don’t worry about it. Probably didn’t need the caffeine anyway.”  

“I should, um,” he looked around desperately, scanning the street for the nearest coffee shop, his hand clenching and releasing at his side in a repetitive squeeze. It was really sort of sweet. “Let me buy you a new one.”

You smiled at him and he softened a bit. “That’s really not necessary.”  

He gritted his teeth as you bent down to pick up the empty cup and shook the excess coffee off your shoes. They were old sneakers anyway and you were looking for a halfway decent excuse to get new ones. Then came a shy ex-soldier barreling in from the sky with a strong aversion to your coffee.  

“I knew this was a bad idea...”  

He was talking to himself, grumbling under his breath, and you realized why he was staring at the building for so long. You took a step closer to him, studying the way his chewed on the inside of his cheek and shoved his right hand into his pocket.  

“Is it?” you asked.

Blue eyes flickered to yours, brows furrowed. He didn’t think you’d heard him. “Sorry?”

You just smiled at him, shaking your head. You’d been working at the VA long enough to recognize the man behind the soldier; one who’d been beaten and bruised and left to waste the second he was dropped back on American soil. Constantly beating himself up, constantly wondering if he was doing the wrong thing and struggling to be the version of himself he was before the war.

“So, James Barnes,” you grinned, “you decide if you’re coming in or not? It’s a little chilly out here. Don’t want you catching a cold.”  

Bucky stared back at you, unsure. But you could see the tension easing off his shoulders. His right hand was hanging back at his side again as his eyes flickered up to the doors again.  

“Come on.” You smiled at him again and you noticed pretty quickly that he softened when you did that. It made your stomach flutter. You took a step forward, hoping he’d follow behind. “There’s shitty coffee inside we can share before book club starts.”  

“I don’t even know what you’re reading,” he admitted, that sweet nervousness taking over again.  

“You don’t need to,” you shrugged and his brow scrunched up again, confused. You glanced back at the doors. “Well, I’m going inside. I hope I see you there.”

With that, you turned and shouldered your way through the doors, donut box clutched tight to your chest. You waited by the entrance until you heard the soft grumble of a graveled voice outside, and then, footsteps as they approached the door.

You smiled.

[fruitcoops]

Hi Eve! Just wondering if you could write a coops smut where one of them wears lingerie? You sort of explored the concept in the Valentines Day smut where Sirius wore thigh highs, but i was maybe thinking a fic where one of them wears a full set. Its all completely up to you!

How about both? Happy smutty Monday, folks! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for smut, subspace/ subdrop

It was Friday, and Remus was learning the glory of stockings on hockey thighs.

It was Thursday, and he began to wonder how to repay his lovely fiancé.

It was Sunday, two weeks after Valentine’s Day, and between flashes of thunder outside and damn near howls of pleasure into their traumatized pillows, Remus was still thinking about the socks.

It was Tuesday, a bye week, and the last piece of his plan clicked into place as Sirius hefted him further over the countertop by the muscle of his thigh with one hand keeping his chest flush to the cool marble.

It was Wednesday, and Remus smiled to himself as Sirius snuggled closer in the darkness of a quiet night in. He ran an absentminded hand through inky curls, relishing the soft puffs of Sirius’ breath on the hollow of his throat while their legs remained comfortably tangled. You have no idea what’s coming, he thought, letting his lips linger on Sirius’ forehead. No idea at all.

It was Sunday, and Remus had spent two minutes hyping himself up in the bathroom mirror. The rustling from their bedroom had stopped long before. “Alright, you can do this,” he murmured, leaning his hands on the edge of the sink. “You look hot. This isn’t weird. He’s gonna lose his fucking mind.”

“Mon loup?”

Anxiety leaped in Remus’ stomach. “One second!” he called back through the closed door. He stared at himself for a moment longer, then sighed. It was a stupid idea—there was no way Sirius would want to see him in something as silly as this. He looked ridiculous, and it wasn’t even worth it; any clothing would be off in a heartbeat anyway. Sirius always preferred skin-to-skin contact.

The lacy edge of the garter belt itched the peak of his hip as he blew out a slow breath. Did Remus still dream about Sirius’ thigh highs over a month later? Yes. Did that guarantee Sirius would have a similar reaction to seeing him in actual lingerie? Not necessarily.

Remus liked guarantees. They were safe. Soothing. Unquestionable.

“Are you alright?” Sirius’ voice floated through the door on a wave of concern.

Fuck it. The bathroom lights caught the silver buckles. It’s now or never. “You can’t laugh, okay?” he warned, closing a hand around the knob.

“I won’t. I have a surprise for you, too.”

That bit of curiosity gave him that last push of courage he needed to open the door and step out of the safety of the bathroom. His pulse skyrocketed, though whether it was from the sudden feeling of absolute exposure or the sight of Sirius waiting on their bed in some sort of sheer, lacy top, Remus couldn’t tell. Sirius stared at him, lips slightly parted. Remus cleared his throat and spread his hands. “Surprise?”

“Oh.”

“You look—you look great,” he managed lamely. There were a million better words to describe the lavender fabric cascading over the planes of Sirius’ chest, but his brain had been replaced by the blush prickling up his neck and face. Going for the basic black garter belt and underwear suddenly seemed subpar instead of classically sexy.

Sirius shifted on his knees and reached for him. “Viens ici.”

“It—” Remus faltered. His chest and legs were bare, save for the satiny clasps holding the garters in place on his thighs. Sirius was just staring, like he couldn’t believe his eyes. It had been a long time since he felt self-conscious around Sirius; every bit of missed embarrassment flooded back at once as he sat on the foot of the bed. “I liked your socks on Valentine’s Day, and I figured—I dunno. This is the surprise, by the way.”

“C’mere.” Sirius’ eyes finally flickered up to his face without a trace of judgement.

“I’m here.”

“Here,” Sirius repeated, tugging him over to straddle his lap with an arm around Remus’ waist. He kissed him, soft and slow but undeniably wanting, before he leaned back. “You look so handsome, mon coeur.”

“Yeah?”

“Ouais.” And, god, if Remus didn’t love the way his voice curled around that word, turning it into a million perfectly lazy syllables.

He rolled the hem of Sirius’ top between his fingers and hummed against his mouth. “This is new.”

“You like it?”

“Mhmm.” It was hard to tear his eyes away from the shadow of muscle beneath the delicate fabric.

Mischief flickered over Sirius’ face. “It’s called a ‘babydoll’. Thought you might get a kick out of that.”

“Babydoll for my baby,” Remus teased, kissing his nose with a playful tug to the lace edges. Sirius’ gaze slipped back down to his lap—no, his legs—and his fingers toyed with the seam of the accompanying underwear. Remus placed a light kiss to the shell of his ear, watching every twitch of his hands. “What do you want?”

“To look at you.” There was nothing but honesty when Sirius glanced back to him. The intensity of it sent a spark up Remus’ spine; he had grown so used to Sirius’ general aura of focus that he had nearly forgotten what it felt like wholly directed on him.

“And…?”

“And nothing. Just to look.” Nervousness flickered across his fine features as he settled back against the headboard and pulled Remus with him. “Just for a minute, and then we can do whatever you—”

Remus silenced him with a kiss, bracketing his waist with his palms. The babydoll was like water under his touch, but Sirius was as solid as ever. “This is for you,” he said when they separated. “You can look for as long as you like.”

Except Sirius didn’t only want to look—he wanted to touch. That fact was made clear within seconds, when the hands smoothing up and down Remus’ thighs in rhythmic motions began dipping beneath the straps of his garter belt and sliding up to his narrow hips, then hooked around the backs of his bent knees. Sirius pressed one palm flat over his abs and Remus shivered, trailing his lips down his neck. He wasn’t aroused in the lightning-fast please please I need you now kind of way, but more of an I’m about to float into space if you don’t keep touching me like a treasure buzz.

“Re, honey,” Sirius murmured. It was only then that Remus realized most of his breaths were coming in short pants instead of kisses. The nickname was one of his favorites, reserved for the times when he was well and truly gone; it was more tender than mon coeur, and worlds more intimate than his own name or even sweetheart. He nipped the edge of Sirius’ jaw and felt him gasp.

Remus licked his lips as he pulled away just enough to speak. “D’you want me to take it off?”

“Never.”

He smiled. “It has to come off if you want to fuck me.”

“Deux pièces.” The arm around his lower back tightened as one hand came to rest on his ass, which was still fully covered by lace-lined black fabric. Remus had opted for the ‘boyshort’ choice, as it looked to be the most likely to prevent slippage.

That, and it had fewer strappy bits. The buckles were hard enough to figure out—adding an accidental wedgie into the mix seemed like a poor idea.

“Yeah, but the important piece can only come off if I take the fun one off first,” Remus explained, snapping one of the ties. Sirius stared at it for a long moment before blinking slowly.

“Are you sure?”

“Giving me puppy eyes isn’t going to flip this inside out, babes,” Remus laughed. “Two seconds.”

“But you’ll keep the fun part on, right?” Sirius slid down to lay next to him while he wrestled with the garter belt, hissing curses each time the buckles pinched his fingers. It was, quite possibly, the least sexy thing he had ever done. That did not seem to deter his fiancé—if anything, watching Remus struggle with black satin strips in the dark while laying flat on his back appeared to be the highlight of Sirius’ day.

The fog in his head cleared a bit as he worked his underwear down his thighs, being careful not to mess with the garters too much. It had taken him five full minutes to get the damn things on in the first place, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood to waste another five that could be spent in much more pleasurable ways. “The ‘fun part’—” Remus couldn’t spare a hand to do air quotes, but he hoped Sirius got the gist. “—is a lot more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Nope.”

He paused. “You’re not the one losing a fight to a few scraps of fabric.”

Sirius met his eyes, looking every inch the fallen angel with his hair splayed over the pillow and his lavender whatever-the-hell-glory pooling at his mid-chest. “Do you want me to take it off for you?”

“I thought you wanted the fun part to stay on.”

“Here.” Remus barely managed to kick the underwear off his ankles before Sirius shuffled over to lay between his thighs and attach his mouth just beneath the left garter.

“Oh, fuck me,” Remus huffed, letting his head fall back against the pillows.

“Gimme a minute,” Sirius said into his skin while he licked a stripe up to the first buckle and carefully pulled it down to hook into its proper place. Remus arched his back, only to be pushed down a moment later as Sirius electrified patches of skin he didn’t even know he had. Teeth slipped along the curve of his muscle and nibbled just above the back of his knee; Remus clenched his hands in the sheets with a shuddering inhale and tried his best to keep his wits about him.

By the time Sirius moved on to his other thigh, he was a goner. He could practically feel his pulse through his dick and the fog had returned with a vengeance, blurring the world at the edges while he let go of the tension in his back. How could he possibly be stressed when Sirius was saying such pretty things? The warmth of lips on his thighs disappeared and he stretched his arms above his head, relishing in his own contentment and Sirius’ light laugh. “You’re lovely,” he mumbled. Really, it was the only appropriate word for the occasion.

There was a rustling sound next to him, but Remus didn’t bother paying attention to what it was—Sirius’ weight all around him was more than enough to occupy—

“Oh.” His eyes flashed open as a lube-slick finger pushed into him to the first knuckle. “Oh.”

“Were you listening?” Sirius sounded faintly amused. Remus smiled lazily; he must have missed a joke (or a warning) somewhere in the tumble of words from that lovely pout. He rocked his hips onto Sirius’ finger, stretching one leg out as the other remained bent and tilted away. It was only kept in place by Sirius’ free hand, but even the idea of being held sent a tingling feeling all the way to his toes.

“How many?” Remus asked, looping his arms under Sirius’ to pull him closer. He needed warmth, and the smooth familiarity of Sirius’s chest against his own. He needed the encompassing feeling of being covered, which had yet to fade, no matter how much more muscle he gained.

Sirius smiled into the side of his neck. “Two.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm. Are you still with me?”

“Sure.” The world zoomed back into 3D focus when Sirius’ fingers brushed his sweet spot and Remus gripped his shoulder blades with a hitch of breath—his free leg jerked inward at the sudden shift. “There. There, now.”

“I have other plans, sweetheart.”

“Now,” Remus insisted. He would give Sirius anything he wanted if it meant he could feel that thrill again. Their bedroom was dim, but the lights popping at the corners of his vision as Sirius closed a hand around his shaft and continued sliding two fingers into him were so very bright. Remus moved his hands down from Sirius’ shoulders to his hips, then lower to give him a hint. “Now?”

“I was going to do three—”

“Now,” Remus said, brooking no room for argument. He pushed Sirius’ chest until he rolled onto his back—bless the man for his quick thinking skills, because Remus’ new muscle still wasn’t enough to manhandle him properly—and settled himself into his previous position on Sirius’ lap.

A dark eyebrow arched, though his dilated pupils gave away Sirius’ true feelings. “Like this?”

“You said you wanted to look, didn’t you?” Thinking back, Remus couldn’t imagine how he could ever have been worried about this. He took a few deep breaths as he sank down, biting hard on his lip against the dizzy want prodding the edges of his mind. This needed to last. Sirius’ mouth was cherry red and wet when he glanced down, fully seated and feeling rather confident about the whole thing. “Then look.”

The first rock of his hips brought a whimper from plush lips and Remus grinned; he took Sirius’ hands and planted them on his thighs before bracing his own against the broad planes of his chest. Silky fabric parted under his palms and his smile widened into giddiness as he slid his hands beneath it to rest on warm skin. Sirius pushed the side of his face into the pillow with a huff of breath.

“No,” Remus panted as he continued to move, pulling Sirius’ chin back up. His hands were shaking when he cupped his face. “Look. L—look at me.”

Sirius’ brows pitched and his silver gaze flickered down to the garter belt; Remus let his head fall back as long fingers toyed with the straps, sometimes tugging gently, sometimes snapping fireworks through his legs. The power shift between them ebbed and flowed like the tide. He wanted a tsunami.

He worked the words around in his mouth for a moment, unsure of how to ask for what he wanted. One of Sirius’ hands traveled to his back and began moving in steady presses up and down his spine. “Fuck me,” Remus pleaded.

A synchronized roll of their hips made them both moan. “I am,” Sirius said breathlessly.

Remus licked his lips and made a valiant effort to get air back into his lungs. “Please.”

His expression must have made the message clear enough, because understanding rippled across the puzzlement on Sirius’ face in mere moments; with a firm squeeze, Remus’ hips stopped cold. Mistake, his brain thought immediately as Sirius’ dick rested directly on his prostate. Mistake, mistake, keep moving or you’re gonna—

“Remus.”

The whine that tore from his mouth would have been embarrassing if he had any self-conscious braincells left to spare. He bit his lip again, teetering on a knife’s edge while his thighs shook and his knees slid on the sheets.

“Deep breaths.”

One.

“One more for me.”

Two. He was wheezing slightly with the effort of keeping down his moans.

“Try again.”

A frustrated grumble built in his chest, but he obliged. Three. The air was warm and smelled like Sirius; it was intoxicating. His next breath was even deeper, and he let it fill him.

“Good job.”

Something in Remus perked its ears up and he managed a lopsided smile, blinking his eyes open to look down at Sirius. His face was still soft, but his eyes had a tarnished edge to them that sent a shiver down Remus’ spine and nearly undid all his hard work.

“Color?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Green.”

“Are you slipping?”

Slipping, slipped, gone for good, he thought. “Mhmm.”

Sirius laid him back down, catching himself from sliding out at the last second. Remus arched his back at the slow press in. “How do you want it?”

“I already told you twice,” he said, planting a kiss to Sirius’ upper lip. The warm touch around his thighs had not faltered yet. “Come on, Captain, you know what I want.”

Sirius positioned his legs to wrap around his waist and kissed him fully, stealing the breath from Remus’ body in one fell swoop as he began to move his hips again; the pace increased so steadily that Remus nearly lost himself in it. The lace of the garter belt no longer itched, but slid in a blissful rhythm instead. The bits of cold where the small buckles rubbed against his skin were a mind-melting contrast to the cocoon of warmth he sank into.

“M—” Remus didn’t even get the word out before Sirius gave him a hard thrust and pressed their tangled fingers further into the mattress. He muffled a shout into the dip of his shoulder and sucked a mark there between moans. “Oh, fuck, Sirius.”

His head was spinning with the mixture of sensations—he had been so focused on being full that he almost forgot about the hand still moving terribly slow along his shaft. One leg kicked out on its own accord and he twitched, one hip canting upward until Sirius held it back down without breaking stride. Remus’ breaths were little more than staccato moans; he knew bringing out Sirius’ dominant side was an easy switch to flip, but he hadn’t been expecting the change to be quite so sudden. Not that he was complaining, of course.

Sirius let go of his hand to drag his leg back up, fingertips digging in just below the garter as the new angle drew a desperate ‘holy shit’ from Remus and a squeak of protest from their bedsprings. He had forgotten how long it had been since Sirius truly railed his lights out—the tingling sensation racing through his thighs and up to his chest was a welcome companion.

And he began to laugh.

Breathless and practically hiccups, but a laugh all the same. He could see Sirius’ confusion in his mind’s eye despite the fact that he had given up on trying to keep his eyes open several thrusts prior. The movement slowed. “What?” Sirius asked. “What’s so funny?”

“I fucking love you,” Remus said between gasps.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know.” Something warm slid down his cheek. “It’s so good and I can’t—I don’t know. Keep moving, please, please.”

Sirius’ thumb swiped across his cheekbone and he picked up the pace again; Remus’ shocked laughter faded back into panting and babbling within a few seconds, but the pure elation didn’t slip until he felt his orgasm approaching and resorted to leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along the line of Sirius’ collarbone and neck. Sirius liked his mouth, liked feeling it on him, and Remus could tell that he was getting close by the heat building under his palms where he struggled to find a handhold.

“I l—I lo—I love you,” he managed, adding a love bite to his collection around a groan. They were both sweaty messes, but the salt on his lips was exactly what he wanted.

“I love you, too.” Sirius’ voice was just as labored as his own, buzzing against every pleasure center Remus had.

“I lo—” He broke off with a strangled shout as Sirius squeezed the sensitive part of his thigh at the same time as a thrust. There was nowhere for his mouth to go. He bit down hard on instinct.

Sirius hissed in pain and Remus immediately pulled away, feeling frantic and worried and awful. “Ow.”

“ ‘m sorry,” he said, still a little wild as he covered Sirius’ cheek in apologetic kisses and searched for a hand to hold. “ ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Sirius assured him, soothing his hands as they skimmed across his body. “Just surprised me.”

“Didn’t mean to hurt you.” Horror tried to push in around the tangle of joy-want-need-more, but there simply wasn’t room. Remus settled for running his trembling fingers through Sirius’ hair and kissing him gently. He hoped it would be enough.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Sirius said against his lips, rubbing circles with his thumb in the crease of Remus’ hip and thigh. The whirlwind in his head calmed to tv static—the world tunneled to them and their bed. Remus buried his face in Sirius’ neck and slid deep under.

He registered the pressure of Sirius’ hands and the feeling of his own throat pouring out nonsense; he felt his muscles clench and the slide of satin on sweaty skin before balling his fists so tight in Sirius’ babydoll top that it nearly tore. He heard his own breaths become shallow, knew it was Sirius’ hand running along the crown of his dick, and finally, finally shuddered apart with a hitching whine.

“Re, honey.”

Remus sighed through his nose and held him close. He was beyond comfortable, if not a little sticky. Again, his body suggested.

No, his brain answered immediately.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

No.

“I can’t,” Remus slurred.

Lips pressed against the corner of his mouth. “What can’t you do?”

“Go again.”

He felt laughter from the weight above him—Sirius, his brain supplied with a happy fizz down his back—and let his legs be pulled back down to the mattress. “Yeah, not a chance.”

The warmth inside him slipped away and he winced. “Put it back.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Cause we’re definitely done.” The laughter returned, bright as a summer day, and he rubbed his face in the hollow of angular collarbones where the vibration was strongest. “How are you feeling?”

“Noodle.”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

Remus closed his eyes and stifled a yawn; the world could wait until he was done with his nap.

“Hey.” Someone tapped his hip and he frowned. “No falling asleep yet.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know, but we need water and a shower.”

Remus squirmed around until he could fix Sirius with a look. “Can’t stand up.”

“You hate sleeping while you’re sweaty.”

Fair point. Remus became suddenly and harshly aware of how sticky he was and pulled a face, flexing his fingers on Sirius’ back. The high was softening; he felt more settled in himself already. He nudged Sirius until he laid down, then curled into his ribs with an arm and a leg slung over his body. The aftershocks raced in pops of lightning down his legs. “Teddy bear.”

“Hmm?”

“Teddy bear,” he repeated. “ ’s all you are, at the end of the day. I love it. I love you.”

Sirius pulled him closer and kissed his temple. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He stretched all four limbs and felt his elbow pop, then relaxed. “Much better. Alright, I need to get this thing off.”

If trying to put the garter belt on had been difficult, it was nothing compared to forcing his unsteady and sweat-slick fingers to get it off. “Do you need some help?” Sirius asked, amused.

“No.”

He struggled for a moment longer, spoiling the sweetness of the drop with frustration, before Sirius’ hands replaced his own and carefully untied each strap so he could get it off properly. “There you go.”

Remus kicked it to the floor and glared balefully at it. “I love you, but I’m never wearing that again.”

“Never?”

“Maybe one more time,” he conceded. The confidence boost had been dizzying. “As long as you keep this.”

Sirius looked down at where Remus’ fingers were tugging with the hem of his slip. “I really like it, too.”

“The color’s nice.”

“C’mere.” Sirius wrapped his other arm around Remus’ shoulders and drew him in for a snuggle, rubbing his back with one hand. “Let me know when I can get us some water, okay?”

“You can go, if you need to.”

“Really?”

He hesitated, then moved his head to rest above Sirius’ heartbeat. “No.”

“D’accord.” Sirius kissed his forehead again.

Remus lasted three minutes before he couldn’t stand the tacky feeling of the lube any longer, but those three minutes were the coziest he could remember. Sirius was warm and traced patterns over his bare skin; his soft lips decorated Remus’ face, simultaneously lulling him and keeping him from falling asleep. With a sigh, he detached his arms. “Okay.”

“I’ll be right back,” Sirius promised. The room was darker without him—the bed stayed warm. Remus scooted over into the indent he left and basked in the memory, cataloguing his aches. Abs? Sore. Arms? Still good. Thighs? A bit chafed from lace, but alright. Neck? Scattered with love bites he couldn’t recall receiving, though that was a fairly common occurrence.

“That was quick,” he mumbled when the other side of the mattress dipped.

Sirius shrugged. The babydoll shift was tragically absent. “The usual two minutes, actually.”

“Must have zoned out,” he hummed, leaning into the cool washcloth on his face. A few tears always slipped out when they dipped into rougher territory, though he never felt sad. It was just…overwhelming, in the best way.

Sirius cleaned his thighs with the same careful touch as his face before handing him a cup of water. “Are you hungry?”

“Nope.” Remus downed the glass in two gulps and opened his arms. “Bedtime.”

“No pajamas?” Sirius asked with a laugh, though he obliged and let Remus laminate himself to his side.

“Unnecessary.”

“No shower?”

His instinctive response was god no, cuddles take precedence and I’m dead on my feet, but a shower did sound nice. Sirius washing his hair, scrubbing the last bits of shakiness and his drop away, going to bed clean…

“Alright,” he agreed grudgingly. “We’re probably going to need to change the sheets, too.”

“That can wait until we’re done.” And before he could even attempt to stand on his own, Sirius gathered him into his arms and hoisted him off the bed. If he wasn’t afraid he’d fall flat on his face without help, Remus would have protested. “Mon dieu, I forgot how muscly you are now.”

“Says the man who can’t stop ogling me whenever I take my shirt off,” Remus teased, then frowned when he saw the purpling bruise on Sirius’ neck. “Holy shit, my dentist could identify me with that thing. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Sirius paused in the bathroom doorway and kissed him hard, stirring the last dregs of arousal in Remus’ gut. “You have blanket permission to do that whenever you like.”

Remus gaped at him, speechless. “Well, that’s not fair,” he managed. “I’m tired.”

“Not a bad way to spend a Sunday night,” Sirius mused. His sneaky squeeze of Remus’ ass did not go unnoticed. “In my personal opinion, of course.”

“Of course,” Remus said drily. Maybe a shower wasn’t the worst idea after all. His knees weren’t nearly sore enough yet.

[arrowflier]

Oh! I have a prompt. Post-series, Mickey and Carl: destructive due, but like juuuust this side of legal and definitely morally ambiguous. Extra points if Mickey is protective because family's family

Okay this is definitely not what you were expecting but I was having such a hard time thinking of something for them to do lol. Of course now that I've done it I have more logical ideas but too late.😅

“Fuck, get the fucking—”

“I’m gettin it, I’m gettin it!”

“Well get it faster, I’m bleeding the fuck out over here!”

Ian groaned at the loud voices coming from the kitchen, stirring awake from where he had been napping on the living room sofa.

“The fuck is going on?” he muttered, sitting up and wiping at his dry eyes. The voices in the other room had stopped, but were replaced by loud crashes and slamming drawers as someone searched for something and, apparently, didn’t find it quickly enough.

Ian pushed himself to his feet, letting the scratchy hand-made blanket slide to the floor, and wandered on stiff legs toward the noise.

When he got far enough to see into the kitchen, he stopped and rubbed his eyes again, just to make sure he wasn’t having some kind of weird dream.

“Mickey?�� Ian asked, and his husband started, looking both surprised and guilty. Mickey sat at the kitchen table, clutching a raggedy old towel around one hand, a towel that was slowly turning red with seeping blood.

“Mickey, what happened?” Ian prodded, waking up enough to realize that this was not a normal thing for a Sunday evening. They had come by the house for a late lunch and stayed to hang out and play with Franny—how had Mickey ended up bleeding in the kitchen when Ian had left him just 30 minutes ago to shut his eyes for a spell?

“Nothin’, man, everything’s fine,” Mickey answered gruffly, not meeting Ian’s eyes. “Just had a little incident, it’s all good.”

“All good?” Ian repeated, voice rising. “Mickey, you’re bleeding!”

His husband just shrugged.

“I mean, yeah, but not that bad.”

Before Ian could tear into his husband for playing down his apparent injury, Carl was returning from the bathroom off the kitchen, first aid kit in one hand.

“Found it!” he cried, waving the thing around like a victory flag. “Let’s get you patched up before Ian…”

Carl trailed off, seeing that Ian was, in fact, already awake and aware.

“Before Ian what?” Ian himself asked lowly, and Carl glanced at Mickey before offering a too-casual shrug.

Ian sighed, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes, and gestured to Carl.

“Give it here,” he ordered. “I don’t know what you two got up to, but at least let me fix it.”

Carl passed the first aid kit over without a word, throwing Mickey an apologetic glance. Ian just opened the box and set it on the table, digging through it for alcohol wipes and gauze, and sat in front of Mickey to unwind the towel from his hand.

“You promised me you’d stop doing stupid shit, you know,” Ian reminded his husband, and Mickey scowled.

“No, I promised I’d do less stupid shit,” he corrected, “and this wasn’t fuckin’ stupid.”

Ian raised an eyebrow at that claim, but Carl was ready to back Mickey up.

“It was so badass, Ian,” he gushed immediately. “You should’ve seen him!”

“Seen him do what?” Ian asked cautiously as Mickey avoided his gaze some more. Finally removing the last layer of the towel, Ian winced when he saw the cuts on Mickey’s hand. “Seen him slice himself up?” he added, but Carl shook his head.

“Nah, that happened after,” he said, then frowned. “Or during, I guess? But it wasn’t his fault, that thing had it out for him!”

Dare he ask? Ian wondered. Or, knowing his husband and his brother, perhaps the question should be dare he not?

Thing?” he made himself question, and Carl pounced on the opportunity to tell the full story. Or at least, the Carl version.

“Yeah, so there was this drone, right?” he started, and Ian was already feeling a groan coming on.

“A drone,” he said flatly, ignoring Mickey’s hiss as he wiped his hand clean.

“Yeah,” Carl went on, oblivious to Ian’s tone. “It’s been flying around here for days, always sneaking up on Debbie and Fran.”

“And did you report it?” Ian asked, already knowing the answer.

“The fuck would we do that for?” Mickey chimed in, and Ian rolled his eyes when Carl nodded his agreement.

“Carl, you’re a cop,” Ian said, exasperated.

“Yeah, but they don’t take shit like that seriously,” Carl defended, and well, Ian had to give him that. “But anyway, it showed up again just now, hovering around the pool while Franny was swimming, so we took it down.”

Ian let out a heavy breath, and closed his eyes.

“You took it down,” he said slowly. “Meaning you shot an unlicensed firearm, in the middle of the neighborhood, to destroy someone else’s personal property. And there’s probably video footage of you doing it.”

He reached for the gauze and started wrapping Mickey’s hand, tugging it just this side of too tight.

“Geez, fuckin’ relax, okay?” Mickey urged. “I didn’t use a gun, and I got it from behind. Besides, they were fuckin’ trespassing.”

“He’s right,” Carl agreed. “He got up on the roof outside our window, took it down with his knife once it was close enough.” Then Carl winced, and scratched at his head. “It just, uh, kind of caught his hand in the rotor when it went down?”

That explained the injuries, at least.

“Fine,” Ian relented, stroking a hand softly over the finished bandage and raising it to his lips for a brief kiss. “But if you ever do something like that again—”

The doorbell rang.

All three of them looked toward the front of the house, then at each other.

“Uh..” Carl voiced, and then they were all moving. Carl to throw the bloody rag in the bathroom and shut the door, Mickey to grab the knife that Ian now saw was sitting right there at the edge of the table, and Ian into the living room to answer the door.

Ian looked back once he got there, making sure Carl and Mickey were ready, and then opened the door with as casual an air as he could muster.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to see on the other side, but it wasn’t a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a thin-lipped expression.

“Uh, hi,” Ian greeted. “Can we help you?”

“You can,” the man said huffily. “I’m looking for—”

Mickey came up behind Ian, laying a steadying hand on his hip, and the man’s eyes went wide.

“You!” he hollered, pointing a shaking finger right in Mickey’s face.

“Me what?” Mickey grouched. “You got a problem, grandpa?”

“You killed my drone!” the man continued. Ian tensed, but Mickey just shrugged, unconcerned.

“So what?” he asked, not bothering to deny it.

“So I could have you arrested for destruction of property!” the man spit out, and Mickey laughed right in his face.

“Yeah right, man, try again,” he goaded. “You got no evidence.”

“I have footage,” the stranger hissed. “Of your face, when it fell.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” he asked. “What else you got footage of, huh? My sister?” He stepped around Ian, halfway through the door, and added lowly, “my underage niece?”

The man went white. “That footage is…it’s purely academic…I…I could…”

“What, you could what?” Mickey countered. “Get lost, man, and find a new hobby.”

He started to close the door, but the man shoved his foot in, wincing when the heavy wood hit it and bounced back.

“I saw your knife,” the man tried in a last ditch attempt. “You can’t have things like that in public, I could have you arrested for carrying a blade!”

“What, this one?” Mickey asked, taking the aforementioned knife out of his waistband and holding it out. The stranger shrank away from it, but Mickey held it out further.

“Go on, take it,” he urged. “And get out your ruler, asshole, ‘cause even if this weren’t private property, that thing’s within legal requirements for concealed carry.”

Ian finally interrupted, pulling Mickey back and taking his place in the doorway again.

“You heard the man,” he said to the stranger’s shocked face. “Sorry about your drone, but we have other things to worry about here.”

Then he slammed the door shut.

Ian stayed facing it for a moment, just breathing, before turning to look at his smug husband.

“That was the stupidest,” he started, stepping forward, “most harebrained—”

“Hottest?” Mickey suggested.

“Hottest,” Ian continued, then shook his head when he realized the trick. “How did you know you’d get away with all that, anyway?” he asked instead, and Carl spoke up from further in the house.

“Like you said, I’m a cop,” he cut in with a smirk. “And I don’t think that guy’ll bother us again, since he basically just admitted to spying on Fran.”

Ian blinked. “But we’re the only ones who heard that,” he pointed out, and Carl grinned wider as he showed them both his phone screen, where a recording app was paused.

“Single-party consent, bitch,” he said, and met Mickey’s high five easily.

Ian sighed again, and Mickey patted him on the shoulder in commiseration.

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Mickey said. “If I do stupid shit with your brother, I won’t go down for it.”

“Because he’s a cop?” Ian asked, and Mickey snorted, shaking his head.

“Nah,” he replied in an overdone stage-whisper. “Because he’d be easy to pin it on.”

Ian thought for a moment, watching Carl trip over the coffee table on his way back to the kitchen, then shrugged.

He couldn’t really argue with that either.

[reidsconverse]

Spencer gets a cold and hes so dramatic about it and makes a point to highlight this is why he doesn’t shake hands! Lol with Spencers phobia of germs, he’d have the worst man-cold reaction ever (you know when men get sick and act like the world is ending lol)

you hated when spencer got sick. not just because it sucked to see him in pain and struggling. but also because he somehow managed to the biggest baby whilst also being extremely stubborn. it was impossible to deal with him

it was a monday when he first woke up feeling poorly. "spencer, you can't go into work." you told him that morning. of course he refused, stating that he was fine...that it wasn't a big deal. but it was. he was a mess the whole day... falling asleep all over his paperwork, working through 3 boxes of tissues and finishing all the tea in the break room. still, he protested against everyone telling him to go home.

when you both got back to the apartment, he'd asked you, very politely, to sleep in the other room. "so you don't get sick as well." he explained. you thought it was ridiculous, but you agreed, not wanting to stress him out. as the days passed, he'd took more precautionary steps. covering his lower face with a mask, sanitising everything he touched, refusing to touch anything on the train without a pair of gloves. when you asked him why his response was simple, "no one else should have to feel like this y/n." he whined.

you'd noticed a pattern in the few times you'd seen spencer sick. the first few days, he would try and tough it out, wanting to be independent and work through the cold. this obviously only made things worse. then after the period of stubbornness was over, mr clingy showed up. you loved mr clingy...though that may have been something to do with your constant need to be needed.

it was thursday morning when spencer knocked on your door, standing in just a plain t-shirt and a pair of patterned boxers. his hair was messy and eyes heavy. "i threw up." he whispers, and though it's not funny, you have to hold back a laugh at the way he says it. you take him back to the bathroom, grabbing a headband to move his hair out of his face, he's grateful for this. as he recovers from emptying his stomach, you run to the kitchen to gather everything you would need; water, some dry snacks and a hot and cold compress.

when you get back upstairs, he was lying down. his covered back pressed against the cool tile of the bathroom floor. "spence.. here baby sit up." you said, tilting the glass towards him and helping him drink. he smiled at you the best he can as you stroked his back gently. you lifted him off the floor, moving him to bed. his body relaxed as it fell against the cool sheets. "keep drinking this." you told him. he listened.

"how did this happen." he whined as you placed the cold compress against his burning forehead. you had a faint idea. he'd left the house without his scarf the other day, one of the coldest of the year so far. and when he'd gotten back, he'd been a little sniffly. but he has his own theory, "i bet it was that guy on the train, the one who kept coughing into his hand... the germs y/n...i hate germs." you let him have his theory; he needs it.

he sleeps for a while after. you manage to call hotch and let him know neither of you would be coming in. he understands, simply glad that spencer finally decided to give in and rest. you promise to collect the paperwork you'd miss, but he tells you not to worry, it can be done another day. with that sorted, you get to work making spencer some soup. he'd refused to have any the past few days, "i'm not sick y/n, soup is what sick people have."

but when you brought it up to him a few hours later, he finished the bowl in record time. "i like this soup." he says, and you smile, glad he's finally allowing you to take care of him. he doesn't say no when you crawl into bed with him, resting his head against your lap as your run your fingers through his hair. a documentary is playing on the tv, but neither of you is paying attention. "i'm sorry." he whispers, voice a little hoarse from coughing.

"for what?" you asked, confused. he sniffles momentarily, and you're not sure whether he has a runny nose or if he's crying. either way, you pass him a tissue.

"i should've listened to you." he admits. and it's hard to not feel a little 'told you so' moment is occurring. you don't say it, though, just wiping away a stray tear from his cheek, telling him it's ok.. that you're here to take care of him.

you take the rest of the week off, using the few days to help him get back to his usual healthy self. you shouldn't enjoy babying him as much as you do, but you can't help it. you know he's spent so many years doing everything by himself, struggling alone... so now, when you have the chance to let him know he's not alone. you take it.

sunday night rolls around quickly. spencers feeling much better, and you confirm with hotch that you would both be in tomorrow, he's glad to hear it. the two of you get ready for bed, making sure to check spencers temperature one last time, the screen turning green to let you know he was back to normal. it's a welcome sign.

the following morning, you both get dressed and head off to work. spencer keeps his mask and gloves on though you refuse, not wanting to look so out of place. he shrugs, "you'll get sick." he says, almost knowingly, and you laugh it off.

the next few days are regular, slow workdays. you're feeling a little tired; you chalk that down to the dull masses of paperwork you have before you. but then your throat starts to tickle, and your nose starts to itch. you ignore it, after all, it is allergy season. but then something happens.

"achoo."

the noise is barely out of you before it captured spencers attention. he looks up at you from his desk, sighing as he rummages through his drawer before walking over to your desk. he hands you a mask, keeping his distance from you, "here, i told you...." a smug look is plastered on his face. "...the germs." is all he says, and you shake your head as you put on your mask.

germs.... you hate the germs.