#sorry to the 5sos followers

[means-nxthing]

[herrscherofinsanity]

End Up Here

And when I wake up next to you I wonder: how did we end up here?

Fluff

Ning Ning (Ning Yizhuo) x fem!reader

Word count: 3.4k

This was totally inspired by 'End Up Here' by 5sos.

____________________

The bass thrummed through the walls, vibrating through your ribs as you pushed the door open. You weren’t exactly sure how you ended up here—one of those parties where everyone seemed effortlessly cool. A friend had dragged you along, promising “It won’t be that wild, I swear.”

You dodged a cluster of people who seemed way too comfortable dancing in a narrow hallway, clutching your drink for dear life. Your friend had vanished into the crowd within minutes, leaving you stranded in the ocean of strangers.

Deep breath, you reminded yourself. You can do this.

Stepping into the main room, you tried to look casual, like you belonged here. The kind of person who didn’t overthink how they held their drink or where to stand. But confidence was a fleeting thing, and before you could find your footing—

Thud!

Your shoulder bumped into someone, and cold liquid splashed down your hand. You gasped, horrified, looking up to apologize.

And immediately forgot how to breathe.

Ning Yizhuo. Ning Ning from aespa. Her bright eyes widened slightly, then softened with a smile. She was radiant, dressed down in a simple black top and ripped jeans, her fiery hair catching the party lights just right.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” you blurted out, heat rushing to your cheeks. You stared at the spill, wondering if you’d somehow just ruined her night. “I didn’t see you there, I—”

“It’s okay.” Her voice was warm, and to your disbelief, she laughed—a soft, melodic sound that made your stomach flutter. “Honestly, I needed to cool off a bit.” She glanced at her hand and then at your shocked expression. “Are you okay?”

Was she seriously asking if you were okay? After you’d just spilled your drink on her?

“I—yeah, I’m fine. Mortified, but fine,” you admitted, squeezing your eyes shut. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It happens.” Her smile widened, and she tilted her head, her gaze lingering on you. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Your brain stalled. Did Ning Ning just call you cute?

You opened your mouth to respond—probably with something brilliant like “Uh”— when she reached out, gently taking your now-empty cup from your hand.

“Let me get you another drink,” she offered. “It’s the least I can do after you’ve had such a… memorable first encounter.”

You nodded, unable to stop the nervous grin forming on your lips. She leaned in just slightly, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ve got a feeling tonight’s just getting started.”

And for the first time all night, you stopped wondering how you ended up here—and started wondering where the night might lead.

-----

You followed Ning Ning through the crowd, heart pounding like the bassline in the background. How was she walking so effortlessly through the chaos while you stumbled like a baby deer? She glanced back to make sure you were keeping up, flashing that smile that made your knees feel like jelly.

At the makeshift bar—a kitchen counter cluttered with bottles and cups—she handed you a fresh drink.

“Here you go. No more spills, I promise.” Her fingers brushed yours, and you were pretty sure the warmth that spread up your arm wasn’t just from the drink.

“Thanks,” you managed to say, hoping your voice didn’t crack. You took a sip, trying to regain some composure. “So, uh… do you usually hang out at parties like this?”

She laughed, leaning her elbow on the counter, chin propped in her hand. “Not really. My schedule’s usually packed, but tonight’s a rare night off. I figured I’d see what it’s like to be just… Yizhuo for a bit.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “Well, I’m glad you did. I mean—” Your eyes widened as the words stumbled out. “I just meant it’s cool you’re here. Not that you’re not usually cool. I—”

She giggled, her eyes crinkling. “Relax. I like talking to someone who doesn’t have a rehearsed script.”

You exhaled, a smile tugging at your lips. “Good, because I think I lost the script a long time ago.”

“Perfect,” she said softly, her gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. The noise of the party seemed to blur and fade, leaving just the two of you in sharp focus.

Suddenly, her eyes sparkled with an idea. “Come on,” she said, grabbing your hand. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

You didn’t protest as she led you through a side door to a quiet balcony. The chill of the night air bit at your skin, but the warmth of her hand in yours made it easy to ignore.

The city lights stretched out before you, twinkling like a million little possibilities.

She leaned on the railing, her fingers still loosely intertwined with yours. “You know,” she said, glancing at you sideways, “I was starting to think tonight would be boring. But then you bumped into me.”

You chuckled nervously. “I guess clumsiness has its perks.”

“Apparently,” she agreed, her smile softening. “Sometimes the best things happen when you least expect them.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah… I think I’m starting to believe that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It felt like the kind of quiet where something good was just on the edge of happening.

She tilted her head, eyes meeting yours. “So… wanna see where this night takes us?”

You squeezed her hand, a smile breaking across your face. “Absolutely.”

-----

Soft morning light filtered through unfamiliar curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. You blinked awake, your mind fuzzy, the warmth of the blanket and the scent of something floral grounding you to reality. You stretched slightly, feeling a presence next to you.

You froze. Wait…

Turning your head slowly, your eyes widened as you took in the sight of Ning Yizhuo, her fiery hair tousled against the pillow, her face peaceful in sleep. Her lashes fluttered slightly as if she were caught in a dream.

How did we end up here?

The events of last night flickered back like snapshots: laughter on the balcony, whispered conversations, the way her hand never quite let go of yours. The world had blurred away until it was just the two of you.

You swallowed, the thrill and disbelief colliding in your chest. You hadn’t planned for any of this. You’d gone to a party expecting to stand awkwardly in a corner, maybe sneak out early. Instead, you were here, waking up beside someone who seemed worlds away from your own reality.

And yet… it felt right.

A soft murmur pulled you from your thoughts. Yizhuo’s eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep. When she saw you, a slow, lazy smile curled her lips.

“Morning,” she whispered, her voice low and sweet.

“Morning,” you echoed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I—uh—”

She laughed softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You always overthink this much in the morning?”

“Only when I wake up next to, you know… an international idol,” you teased, though your voice shook slightly.

Her eyes twinkled. “And here I thought I was just Yizhuo last night.”

You smiled, relaxing a little. “You were.”

She shifted, propping herself up on her elbow, her gaze searching yours. “You know,” she said softly, “I’m still her. Even when the lights and cameras go away.”

You nodded, your heart swelling. “I’m glad I got to meet her.”

She leaned closer, her face inches from yours. “I’m glad you did too.”

For a moment, the world held its breath. Then she pulled back, stretching with a yawn. “Come on,” she said with a grin. “I’m starving. Let’s get some breakfast.”

You laughed, the tension breaking into something light and easy. As you got up and gathered your things, you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

You still weren’t entirely sure how you ended up here—but for once, you didn’t mind not knowing.

-----

The clink of cutlery and hum of conversation buzzed around the café as you stirred your coffee for the fifth time, the spoon clinking against the ceramic mug. The warm scent of pastries mixed with the chill of morning air wafting through the open window. Across the table, Yizhuo sat, casually popping a piece of toast into her mouth, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

You were trying very hard to act normal, like it was just another breakfast. Like the most stunning person you’d ever met wasn’t sitting across from you, her eyes sparkling each time they met yours. You told yourself not to overthink it. But your brain was already two steps ahead, cycling through everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.

This can’t be real. She’s so far out of my league.

Your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your spiral. You glanced at the screen—a message from your friend, the one who dragged you to the party last night.

Whaaaat??? You left wITH NING NING?? HOW?!

Another message popped up.

You better lock that down before she figures out you’re a mess and bolts.

Your stomach knotted. You glanced at Yizhuo, who was casually sipping her tea, completely unaware of the chaos your brain was brewing. What if she's right? What if this is just some fluke, and she’s going to realize it any second now?

“Everything okay?” Yizhuo’s voice cut through the noise in your head. She tilted her head, concern flickering in her eyes.

You plastered on a smile. “Yeah! Just my friends being… you know. Friends.”

Her brow arched playfully. “Let me guess. Something about me being ‘out of your league’?”

Your face went hot. “Uh… maybe.”

She set her cup down gently and leaned in, her eyes locked on yours. “You really think that?”

You swallowed, suddenly finding your coffee cup very interesting. “I mean… look at you. And look at me.” You forced out a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s like a rom-com cliché, right?”

Her hand reached across the table, her fingers brushing yours, grounding you. “Hey,” she said softly. “I don’t care what they think. I’m here because I want to be.”

Your heart skipped. “But why?”

Her smile softened. “Because you’re real. You’re not trying to impress me, or fit some perfect image. You’re just… you.” She paused, her thumb tracing lazy circles on your knuckles. “And that’s who I like.”

Your chest tightened, a mix of relief and disbelief swirling inside you. “You don’t think I’m going to mess this up?”

She laughed, a bright, carefree sound. “Maybe. But so what? I’m not going anywhere.”

Before you could respond, she leaned across the table and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to your lips. The world melted away for a second, the café, the doubts, the noise—all of it fading into the background.

When she pulled back, her eyes shimmered with quiet certainty. “I’m here to stay. If you’ll let me.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through you. The voice of doubt quieted, just a little. Maybe your friends were right that this was unexpected, crazy even—but maybe crazy was exactly what you needed.

“Okay,” you whispered, gripping her hand a little tighter. “Let’s see where this goes.”

She grinned, and suddenly, everything felt possible.

-----

The glow of the TV flickered across the dimly lit room. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that was almost big enough for two. Yizhuo sat beside you, legs tucked under her, eyes fixed on the screen as the suspenseful music swelled.

You tried to focus on the movie, but your attention kept drifting to her. The way her eyes narrowed when she was concentrating. The way she absentmindedly chewed on the edge of a popcorn kernel.

And then—bam! A jump scare.

You yelped and flailed, popcorn flying everywhere.

Yizhuo burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Oh my god, you scared me more than the movie did!”

You pouted, cheeks hot. “Not my fault the ghost popped out of nowhere.”

She grinned, picking a stray piece of popcorn from your hair. “You’re adorable when you’re terrified, you know that?”

“Glad someone finds my panic attack cute,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

She leaned in, her voice soft. “Come here.”

You scooted closer, and she tucked the blanket around both of you. Her warmth settled against your side, her head resting on your shoulder. The movie played on, but neither of you paid it much attention.

In the quiet, you felt it—the sense that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

-----

Sunlight filtered through the window, casting lazy patterns across the bed. You stirred, the world still soft around the edges. A weight rested on your shoulder—a familiar one.

Yizhuo was still asleep, her hair a fiery mess spread across the pillow, her face relaxed and peaceful. You smiled, your heart swelling as you traced the gentle curve of her cheek with your eyes.

You didn’t want to wake her, but your stomach had other plans. It growled, loud enough to break the silence.

Her eyes fluttered open, a sleepy smile curving her lips. “Was that you or a bear?”

You laughed softly. “Definitely me.”

She stretched like a cat, her fingers brushing your arm. “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes,” you agreed.

Neither of you rushed to get up. Instead, you stayed tangled together a little longer, soaking in the quiet, the warmth, the feeling that time had slowed down just for you.

Eventually, she murmured, “You know, I could get used to mornings like this.”

You squeezed her hand. “Me too.”

-----

The rain drummed steadily against the windowpane, the world outside blurred into shades of gray. You and Yizhuo sat on the floor, backs against the couch, a forgotten board game between you. The room smelled of warm tea and the faint scent of her vanilla perfume.

She sighed, watching the raindrops race down the glass. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a normal life.”

You tilted your head, surprised. “Normal how?”

She shrugged, a small, wistful smile on her lips. “Like… being able to go out without disguises. Not worrying about cameras or what people will say. Just… being free.”

You reached for her hand, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry. That sounds… heavy.”

She looked at you, her eyes softening. “It is. But then I remember I get moments like this.” She smiled, lacing her fingers with yours. “And it makes everything worth it.”

Your heart fluttered. “Even with my terrible board game skills?”

She laughed, leaning her head against your shoulder. “Especially with those.”

The rain kept falling, but inside, everything felt warm and right.

-----

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, pulling at the hem of your shirt. The party was already in full swing downstairs, the distant thump of bass vibrating through the floorboards. You were supposed to be mingling with everyone else, but instead, you were here, second-guessing everything.

Your eyes drifted over the outfit you’d chosen. It looked fine—okay, at best—but standing next to someone like Yizhuo, who seemed to shine effortlessly, you couldn’t help but feel… less.

Call me lucky, you thought bitterly, because in the end, I’m a six and she’s a ten.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Why did she keep coming back? Was it just a matter of time before she realized you weren’t enough?

A soft knock pulled you from your thoughts.

“Hey,” Yizhuo’s voice called gently. “You okay in there?”

You hesitated, then opened the door just a crack. Her face peeked in, brows furrowed in concern. “Why are you hiding up here?”

You shrugged, eyes dropping to the floor. “Just… needed a minute.”

She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You took a shaky breath. “It’s just… sometimes I don’t get why you’re with me. You’re you—beautiful, talented, everyone wants to be around you. And I’m just…” Your voice trailed off, embarrassment crawling up your neck. “I’m just me.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then she stepped closer, her hands cupping your cheeks, forcing you to meet her eyes.

“Stop that,” she whispered, her gaze fierce but soft. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

You swallowed, the warmth of her hands anchoring you. “How do you see me?”

Her thumb brushed gently across your cheek. “I see someone real. Someone who doesn’t care about my status or my fame. Someone who makes me laugh, who listens, who makes me feel like it’s okay to just be Yizhuo. You don’t realize how rare that is.”

You blinked, your vision blurring slightly. “But what if I mess it up?”

She smiled, leaning in until her forehead rested against yours. “Then we’ll figure it out together. I’m not here because you’re perfect. I’m here because you’re you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and she kissed it away, her lips lingering just long enough to make your heart ache.

“You’re not a six,” she whispered. “And even if you were, I’d still pick you. Over and over.”

You exhaled a shaky laugh. “You’re too good at this.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know a good thing when I see it.”

The music downstairs shifted to something slower, the bass softer now. She took your hand, fingers threading perfectly with yours.

“Dance with me?”

You nodded, a smile breaking through the doubt. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

She pulled you close, the world outside fading as you swayed together. In that moment, the numbers didn’t matter. The doubts faded away. All that remained was the simple, undeniable truth: she was here, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

-----

The city lights blurred outside the cab window, streaks of gold and red painting the night. You leaned your head against the glass, your heart still fluttering from the evening’s events. The party had been a whirlwind, laughter and music swirling around you, but all you could focus on was her—Yizhuo’s smile, her fingers laced with yours, the way her eyes sparkled when they met yours across the room.

She shifted beside you, her hand finding yours in the dark. “Tired?” she whispered.

“A little,” you admitted, though the adrenaline of being next to her hadn’t quite faded. You turned to her, the cab’s dim interior casting soft shadows across her face. “But it’s a good tired.”

She smiled, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Tonight was fun.”

“It was,” you agreed, pausing for a moment. “I still don’t know how I got here. How I got you.”

Her eyes softened, and she leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Maybe you should stop asking how,” she murmured, “and just enjoy that we’re here.”

You smiled, her words settling into the quiet corners of your heart. She was right. Whatever twists of fate had led to this moment didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were together, against all odds.

The cab pulled up in front of your apartment building, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence. You turned to Yizhuo, suddenly reluctant for the night to end.

“Do you want to come up?” The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. “Just for a little while.”

Her eyes searched yours, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’d love to.”

Hand in hand, you climbed the steps to your door, the night air cool against your skin. The world felt different somehow—lighter, brighter—as if all the doubts that used to weigh you down had melted away.

You unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar comfort of your space wrapping around you. Yizhuo followed, her fingers never leaving yours. She looked around, taking in the details of your life—small things that made you you.

“It feels like you,” she said softly.

You laughed. “That’s because it is.”

She turned to you, her eyes glowing with a warmth that made your heart ache. “Good. I like being where you are.”

You felt the last pieces of disbelief slip away. Whatever doubts lingered, whatever insecurities whispered in the back of your mind—they didn’t stand a chance against the way she looked at you, the way she chose you, again and again.

You smiled, leaning in until your foreheads touched. “I’m glad we ended up here.”

She laughed, her breath mingling with yours. “Me too.”

For a moment, the world held its breath. Then she kissed you, slow and sweet, and everything fell into place.

____________________

A/N: Please tell me you know this song. I tried using second person pov for this one instead of my usual third person, but I'm not sure if I like it. Anyway, Aeri next?

[romana-after-dark]

heyaa!! for your follower fundraiser game i have found 4 titles!! (i hope im doing this right)

ghost of you (5sos), yellow (coldplay), apple (charlie xcx), and burn (ellie goulding)

if i got all those correctly, can i request for Logan howlett please? i would love anything dark about him. thank you!!

Hi Hi Hi!!!!!

Roman's 1000 follower fundraiser game

Thanks so much for playing! ghost of you is actually from MCR, and Apple came out (i think?) after Apple did, but yes to the other two!

thats 200 words for you, and $2 to smile train! After writing, this still ended up 550 words lol

Here is some dark Logan for you! I expanded on dacryphelia logan I did months ago

Let it Out

Logan Howlett x gn!reader

Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

Follow @romana-updates and click follow, join my tumblr community or ask to join the tag list to keep up!

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Summary: You're crying to Logan about your family rejecting you as a mutant. Logan isn't helping.

Warning: Dacryphelia, maybe some trauma kink? But shes not talking about sa or anything. jerking off subtly. Nothing sexual really happens to reader. mentions of family not accepting reader as a mutant, (lgbt allegory?) Logan doesn't non con or anything but she's not consenting to what he's doing, even if they are mostly unaware. He's kinda goofy and silly in this one I won't lie.

******

"I just don't understand, I'm their child!" You sob onto Logan's plain white T-shirt as the two of you sit on the couch. Love is Blind is forgotten in the background, your attempts to reach out to your parents after years of rejection leaving you a sobbing mess.

Unfortunately, the sight of you had him rock hard in his pants. It wasn't his fault, really! He can't control when he gets a raging erection. He can't control that he gets it while you cry against his shoulder, so vulnerable and trusting...

Your parents had rebuffed your latest attempt to reach out, rejecting you for being a mutant and you were distraught, no reason for him to get bricked up on a Tuesday afternoon. And yet. here he was.

He needed to take care of business before you noticed he was hard. Logan reached down, rubbing his aching cock as his other hand cradled your head, trying to be comforting but also kinda holding you there.

"I know baby, I know... I sorry..." His voice hitched a little bit when his palm ram down the length of him, full pressure, trying to make himself cum in his pants as quick as possible. He glided over himself, feeling cock desperately twitching in his jeans, begging for your mouth as salty tears ran down...

"He was never there for me, I think he kn-knew something was wrong with me even before my mutation showed..."

Faster, harder. Logan's breathing grew a little ragged as his release neared, getting harder by the second when he could feel your tears on his peck. "It's not fair. He was always gonna b-be mad at you, no matter what you were... hmm..."

"Lo, are you okay?" You tried to lift your head up to look at you, but he holds you down shushing your worries in a strained voice.

"Don't worry bought me baby, just m'old bones creaking. Just let it out." I'm so close... he thought to himself. Part of him wanted to drag it out, relish in the pleasure of how good your voice felt crying to him, his own hand making himself feel good... but you were already calming down. He needed to make this quick. He needed to egg you on a bit. "I mean, he tried to kick you out even before they knew you were a mutant."

Bringing up this trauma caused a fresh bought of tears from you, leaving you wracked in sobs in his arms.

Rubbing himself quickly, Logan bit his lip HARD as he came, stifling the moan but not his abs flexing in the process. Warm filled his leg and he felt embarrassed, wondering how he was going to get out of this was a wet spot now. Oh well, a problem for Logan a few hours from now, not for Logan now. Now, he revealed in his release, the ache releaving as he stroked out every last drop he had in an attempt to prevent his short refractory period from causing issues again.

Now Logan had his baby in his arms and could relax and try to make her feel better.

"It's okay sweetheart... I'm here for you now."

***********************

@tomhockstetter7-111 @hornystan @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @madamerubrum @journal3sposts @and-claudia @yeaiamme2 @xoxabs88xox

[hischierdevils]

Teeth | N.H.

note: inspired by the song Teeth by 5sos. I’ve been working on this one for a while and I’m still not happy with it but here you go.

summary: you get a little attitude with nico but he puts you in your place

warnings: s m u t, spanking, slight captain kink

wc: 2.1k

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Nico had just gotten home from a roadie earlier in the day and you were excited to finally have him all to yourself. When you got home, he told you that Jack had invited the two of you to dinner. While you loved Nico’s teammates, you were a little upset. Jack had just seen Nico for ten days in a row. Why couldn’t you have him to yourself for a night?

As you and Nico took the elevator in your building down to Jack’s floor you stuck tightly to his side, unable to keep your hands off of him for even a moment. He grins when you stand on your tiptoes to ask for yet another kiss. “You gotta behave yourself, baby.” He warns before giving into your demand. 

“I am behaving.” You pout as he pulls away from you. “We’d be naked in our bed right now if I wasn’t.” Nico bites his lip as he shakes his head at you. Unimpressed with your idea of behaving but slightly turned on anyway. 

You’re surprised when a blonde girl opens Jack’s door after you knock. She introduces herself as she lets you and Nico in, making polite conversation as you follow her to the kitchen. Dawson and his girlfriend are also in the kitchen talking with Jack. “Are we babysitting now?” You grumble to Nico as you attach yourself to him by wrapping your arms around his waist. 

He wraps a heavy arm around your shoulders and kisses your forehead. “Don’t be a brat, y/n.” Nico mumble’s back. 

You roll your eyes at him. “Fine.”

Nico flashes you a look, warning you to check your attitude before you all take your seats at the table. The look makes you squeeze your thighs together as flames erupt in your belly. He hasn’t seen you in a week and he’d rather spend time with his teammates than have alone time?

The six of you sit at the table, passing the food around as the guys take turns telling funny stories from their trip. The two other girls at the table seem familiar with each other and quietly chat to one another. “Y/n?” Jack’s date calls your name and you realize you’ve been staring at Nico. 

“Sorry, what?” You turn your attention to the blonde girl, trying to remember if you saw her before tonight. You feel slightly guilty for not remembering her name but Nico looks so good in his dress shirt. How are you supposed to think about anything else?

The girl giggles. “I asked you how you deal with Nico being away for weeks at a time.” 

You glance at Nico who’s looking at you like he also wants to know the answer. “Lot’s of phone sex.” You say with a smirk. 

The girl's face turns red as Dawson and Jack howl with laughter. Nico places his hand on your thigh underneath the table and squeezes, digging his fingernails into your skin through your leggings. 

“Is that why you never go out with us?” Jack asks after he takes a deep breath. Dawson wipes a tear from his eye and takes a sip of his beer.

“I go to dinner with you all the time.” Nico scoffs. 

Dawson starts giggling again. “But you gotta run back to the hotel for dessert, eh?” 

Nico nudges your knee with his underneath the table as he moves his hand higher up your thigh. “I love my girl.” He leans over to kiss your temple. “Look what you started you little brat.” He whispers for just you to hear.

The look on his face lets you know that you’re getting punished for that when you get home and your body shivers with anticipation. 

You barely touch the dinner that Jack’s new girlfriend made. The pasta is delicious, but your stomach is in knots as Nico continues massaging your thigh. He eventually gets close enough that his pinky rubs up against your clothed heat and it makes you jump. Reaching for your wine glass, you take a deep gulp as Nico smirks at the blush on your cheeks. 

“Are you alright, love?” There’s a twinkle in his eye as Nico questions you. He’s enjoying this. 

You tug at the hem of the sweatshirt you’re wearing, which also happens to be his. “Yeah, it’s just a little hot in here.” 

His eyes darken as he watches you take another sip of wine, your tongue darting out to catch the last sweet drops on the rim. The rest of the table chats animatedly, unaware of the silent conversation you and Nico are having. 

Fight so dirty, but you love so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

When it’s time for you to leave, you practically jump out of your seat. Nico says goodbye to Jack and his girlfriend, thanking them for dinner as you wonder what’s in store for you once you make it back to your own apartment. 

You end up riding the elevator with Dawson and his date down to your floor. You stand next to Nico’s side without touching him but your body is so aware of him that you can tell every time he shifts his weight or fidgets. 

“Have a good night you two.” Dawson smirks at the two of you as the door to the elevator opens on your floor. You politely say your goodbyes before following Nico to your door. 

As soon as he gets the door open, he’s pulling you inside and pressing his mouth to yours. You kiss him back eagerly as he guides you backwards so you’re pressed against the wall of the entryway. Your body becomes putty underneath his touch as his right hand fists the hair at the nape of your neck and his left hand slides underneath the sweatshirt you're wearing. 

He bites your bottom lip as his calloused fingers graze over the soft skin on your stomach moving up to cup your breasts over your bra. “You were a little brat tonight y/n.” He comments before lowering his head down to your neck and sucking a hickey into your delicate skin. “What am I going to do with you?”

You palm him over his jeans and smile when it elicits a moan to fall from his lips. “I guess you’ll have to punish me.” You whisper as you kiss his jaw. 

He picks you up before you can say anything else, throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to the bedroom. As soon as he sets you on your feet he’s pulling your leggings down your legs. “Teasing me all night like you won’t have any consequences.” He mutters as you step out of your pants. 

You give him a sly smile before taking his sweatshirt off your body, revealing the matching bra and panty set you had put on just for him. “You’re the one who delayed my plans, Captain.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed. Biting his lip as he takes in the sight of you. His gaze is so intense that you’re practically dripping from arousal before he even touches you. “Come here.” He demands after what feels like an eternity. 

You walk over to him slowly and when you’re finally within reaching distance, he throws you over his lap so your ass is in the air. He’s still wearing his clothes, and his jeans rub against your bra, giving your sensitive nipples some delicious friction. You whine as he slowly brings his hand up your leg and over your ass before resting it on the small of your back. He uses his other hand to gather all of your hair in a makeshift ponytail so he can see your face. 

“I think thirteen is a fair number, don’t you, love?” His voice is deep and you can tell that he’s just as turned on as you are. 

“Yes.” You breathe as you shake your ass, begging him to do something. 

He digs his fingers into your ass cheek, causing you to jump. “Yes, what?” 

“Yes, Captain.” You stutter. 

He massages your ass cheek before pulling your underwear down. “I want you to count, pretty girl. Ready?” His hand slaps your ass before you can respond and you jump a little in his lap. The slight sting mixes with pleasure and your body begins to shake with a need for relief. “Count.” He reminds you. 

“One.” His palm hits your other cheek before the word is even fully out of your mouth. “Two.” 

He goes on, alternating ass cheeks until you reach ten. You’ve been squirming in his lap so he pauses to check on you. “What do you need, love?” 

You can feel his erection in his jeans and you’re dying to get your mouth on it. “I need it harder, Captain.” 

This time when his palm comes down his fingers hit your soaked hole. You bite his jean clad thigh to keep from crying out. “Is that what you want, baby?” He asks as he spanks you again, his fingers sliding inside of you easily before he removes them. “You’re just dying for me to touch you aren’t you?”

“Nico…”

The final time his hand comes down, he slides two fingers inside of you as he unclips your bra with his other hand. As soon as your breasts are free, he rolls one of your nipples between his fingers as he works his other hand inside of you. “This is all you wanted, isn't it baby? You wanted me to make you cum?”

“Yes, Nico…please…” You’re a moaning mess in his lap as he expertly fingers you, adding a third finger to give you more friction. “I want you inside me.” You groan.

He lets go of your nipple and moves his hand to your clit. You moan as he begins to rub circles on it and you bite down on his thigh again. “Be a good girl and cum for me.” He applies more pressure to your clit and you’re seeing stars in no time, orgasming as he holds you in his lap. 

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

“So perfect and good for me, baby.” Nico praises you as he brushes your hair out of your face and pulls you up so you’re sitting in his lap. “You did so well.” 

You kiss him until you’re both breathless and then stand on shaking legs. “It’s my turn to make you feel good.” You pull at his belt and he stands up quickly, helping you to get him out of his jeans and boxers. 

You sink to your knees before him once his erection is free and take his large cock in your hand. The tip is already shining with pre-cum and you lick it up with your tongue before pulling him into your mouth. “Fuck.” He mutters as he tangles his hands in your hair. 

You hum in satisfaction causing the vibrations to travel along his thick member. He pushes into your mouth until you gag and then pulls out. “Mmmm I’ve wanted to do this all night.” You admit as you wipe the drool off of your chin. You go to reach for him again but he steps back out of your reach. 

“I’m not going to last baby and I want to be inside you.” He tells you as he moves the pillows and sits down on the bed with his back pressed against the headboard. “Come ride me.” 

You don’t have to be told twice, scrambling quickly to get on the bed and swing your leg over him. You bend down to kiss him as you trail your fingers down his chest before gripping the base of his cock so you can sink down on top of him. You both moan as he stretches you, filling you up completely. “I’ve missed you being inside of me.” You whisper as you start to bounce up and down. 

He brings his hands to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he tries to slow your movements. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” You run your hands through his hair tugging softly at the roots as you grind down on him. He lets out a string of curses in German letting you know he’s not going to last long. 

You press your forehead to his as you pick up the pace. He wraps his arms around your torso, holding you flush to his chest as you grind against him, bringing yourself close to the edge again. “You feel so good, baby. So good for me.” He kisses you again and the praise is all you need to come undone around him. 

He tightens his arms around you as he thrusts up into you. “Open your eyes, love. I want you to look at me.” His forehead is still pressed to yours and he looks into your eyes as his thrusts become erratic. “Fuck, y/n.” He stills as he reaches his orgasm, coating your womb with his cum. 

Once you’re both spent, you rest your head on his shoulder. You try to move your leg so you can get off of him but he quickly grips the back of your knee, keeping you in place. “I want to hold you.” He murmurs before kissing your cheek. 

“Okay.” You give him a lazy smile before relaxing into him. Cuddling with Nico is easily your favorite thing in the world. 

Tag list: @mikayladavis @cammie1634 @cellythefloshie @nowandkei @hughesmedicine @huggy-hischier4394

[dangerpronebuddie]

Hiiii Maggie 💕💕💕💕

For Spotify wrapped writing game: 7

-❤️🪐

Hiiii Saturn!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

#7. Teeth (5sos)

This was tough to do for the boys, but then it dawned on me I could do what I did for the Severed Artery title lol. Have some (admittedly goofy) whump my dear! 

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

Buck turns the corner onto South Bedford street, smiling at the small bouquet in his hand. Eddie said he didn’t want any fuss made about his birthday- which he says every year- but Buck couldn’t resist getting him some roses from the flower stand near the house.  The house.  Buck still can’t believe he gets to call it that. Call it his. The Diaz house has been his home for longer than he’s been allowed to call it that, but the thought that he belongs somewhere never fails to make warmth bloom in his chest like the roses in his hand.  He’s so distracted by the fact he gets to love Eddie Diaz that he doesn’t see the man running out of the house he’s passing. The guy collides with him, taking them both down to the sidewalk. Buck’s shoulder slams into the concrete, the air leaving his lungs in a rush as the man lands atop him.  “Shit, I’m so sorry!” the guy says as he scrambles up. He offers a hand to pull Buck to his feet. “I didn’t even see you. Are you okay?” Buck takes stock of his body. He’s gonna have a nasty bruise on his shoulder and his arm is scraped up and bleeding on his torn shirt, but he’s relatively fine. The shirt is beyond saving. Apart from the bloodstains, the sleeve has ripped all the way down his arm, comically flapping in the breeze.  “All good, man. Are you okay?” The guy nods. “Embarrassed to hell, but I’m physically fine. Do you want to come inside, get cleaned up a bit?” “No, I’m two houses down, I’ll be fine,” Buck says. He looks at the bouquet on the ground. One lone rose survived the tumble. He’ll have to make it up to Eddie (who he knows will insist it’s not necessary). He picks up the rose and sighs.  “Shit, I’m so sorry,” the guy says. “Were those for someone?”  “My boyfriend,” Buck says, a proud smile on his face.  “Damn. Let me make it up to you, please-” “Don’t worry about it, dude,” Buck chuckles. The poor guy’s gonna give himself an ulcer this way. “I promise.” With one more apology, the guy sets off for his run. Buck debates going back to the flower stand, but his arm is starting to ache and the scrapes need tending to, and the fabric, tacky with blood, is starting to stick to him. He’ll just have to think of a different present for Eddie (and he already has some ideas in mind).  He trudges home, much more aware of his surroundings, and finds Eddie in the kitchen, humming along to their curated playlist as he unloads the dishwasher. He looks up and smiles at Buck, but worried shock quickly takes over the expression.  “Baby, what happened?” He’s in front of Buck in a second, hands checking for injury.  “Our new neighbor brought me down in a flying tackle,” Buck sighs. He holds up the rose, the tattered sleeve of his shirt dangling at his elbow, and Eddie’s face softens. “Happy birthday, Eds.” Eddie chuckles and takes the rose before standing on his toes for a kiss. “Thank you, honey.” “I had a whole bouquet, but it became collateral damage,” Buck says. “Not to worry though. I have other ideas in mind for your present.” He waggles his eyebrows and Eddie giggles. “I’m sure you do, baby.” He places the rose delicately on the table. “Let’s get you cleaned up first.” “Why?” Buck grins. “We’re just gonna get dirty again.”  Eddie rolls his eyes, a gesture so fond Buck’s heart flutters, and heads for the bathroom. Buck picks up the rose, places it between his teeth, and follows after his boyfriend. 

Spotify Wrapped drabbles!

[bartxnhood]

why won’t you love me? a.f.i & c.t.h

calum hood x fem!reader, ashton irwin x fem! reader.

summary: after finding out calum had left you, ashton came to your rescue but he had his own secret

warnings: oh god there’s so much angst, strong language, angst, and did i mention angst? oh and no happy ending.

a/n: hi guys !! it’s been a while song i had an original work but this is all for my 5sos ppl <3. i hope you enjoy !! feedback is appreciated !!

disclaimer: this in no way shape or form represents calum hood as a person. this is strictly fiction and written for entertainment purposes. thank you.

requests open

not proofread

Copyright © 2023 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵ ✵

you stared out the passenger window feeling like you had just lost everything in your body. the only thing you felt was numbness. no pain, no sadness, nothing. you had cried out all your tears, you were left numb

ashton looks over at you from the driver's seat, his heart aches knowing how hurt you are, and how he made you like this. it broke him. ashton was your best friend and he tried to do everything in his power to be there for you and protect you.

but he just couldn’t protect you from this. from him.

“stop blamin yourself.” you manage to get out, looking over your shoulder at him. he looks confused, you had been silent the whole car ride and he was sure how you know his thoughts without him verbally telling you.

“what?” he questioned.

“you’re blaming yourself for this” you stated, followed by a drawn-out sigh and looking back towards the window. “you always do it when something happens. you couldn’t have known he’d do this.” you hear him sigh, but it was a long drawn one. “i should’ve thought. i was there, i was on tour. i could’ve stopped him. i just..” you hear the frustration in his voice and it makes you feel so small.

“ash..” you trail off but he interjects, “no, y/n!” he punches the steering wheel, “i had all the opportunity to stop him if i had just known he..that he’d do that to you i wouldn’t have let him do it.” his voice breaks, a lump getting caught in his throat.

“stop it, ashton.” you sit up in the passenger seat, now facing him. “i..” you breathe, feeling that lump in your own throat now. “it isn’t your fault, you couldn’t have known.” you drop your head into your hands. tears want to fall but you had cried out everything in your body. “he’s… he's always been this way. i should’ve known better than to trust him being gone for most of the year.”

you watched as his knuckles turned white, gripping the steering wheel. ashton shook his head, “no..it just isn’t fair to you.” he was beyond mad, he was furious. he’s pissed that his best friend, or who he thought was, would do something like that to someone as precious as you were. “i know, ash. but there’s nothing we can do now. it’s done.”

calum loved you. at least, he thought he did. he bought you a ring, thinking it was the right call. he loves your laugh in the middle of the night when he made a stupid joke, he loves how much you admired his work and supported him.

he loved how you looked when you went out to a party. how you’d dress up for him. but deep down he wasn’t in love with you. deep down he knew his heart belonged to someone else.

his distance began to become noticeable after a couple of months. it seemed he had already checked himself out of the relationship a while ago. you were left self-conscious wondering why he didn’t love you anymore, or why he abandoned you, mentally.

you knew something was going on with him, but you never thought it would be something that would ruin your relationship or what the two of you had planned.

you weren’t expecting the call from your best friend, brandy, to call you one morning saying she was sorry you had to find out like this.

you looked at the link she sent you which had detailed photos of your fiancé and another woman, spotted many times.

in that moment, everything fell into place. his absence, how he suddenly didn’t treat you like his partner anymore. it was because he was seeing someone behind your back, actively.

“cal?” you speak up, walking outside to the patio where he sat smoking a cigarette.

“hm?” he hums, looking up from his phone eyebrows slightly raised.

“what’s this?” you question as you shove your phone into his face.

he takes a moment to examine the pictures and you see the look of realization and relief wash over his face. “well?” you interrogated.

“who told you?”

you blink, laughing dryly. “brandy just called me”

“oh.” he answers, then falling silent and goes back to his phone.

“‘oh’? is that really all you have to say?” you ask, turning your phone off and stuffing it into your pocket.

“what do you want me to say?” he asks, not bothering to look at you.

“that’s it i’m leaving.” you say, walking back inside from the patio

he’s silent, staring at his cigarette. “where are you going?”

“anywhere but here. i’ll call ashton.”

he scoffs, taking a long drag of the cigarette and blowing the smoke from his lips. “it’s always ashton” he says under his breath.

you soon around and stare blankly at him, “what?” unable to even come up with the right words.

calum looks at you with cold eyes, “it’s always ashton. you’re always by his side or he’s always by yours.” he dunks the cigarette in the ashtray putting it out. “pretty sure you were screwing him behind my back”

you dryly laugh, “i gave you my life calum hood, and you ruined it. i trusted you with everything in me because that’s what a good fiancée does. she trusts her partner to not cheat on her while he’s on tour!”

he laughs dryly running his hand over his head. “just tell me, cal” you’re mindlessly throwing stuff into your suitcase. “tell me why is it so hard for you to love me back? why won’t you love me? i’ve given you everything.”

“i never asked you to give me everything.” he’s looking away from you, sighing heavily. “it’s not that i don’t love you. i can’t love you”

you stare at him blankly, mascara staining your cheeks. you felt like your heart had been ripped out, looking at the man you thought you had loved. the man you wanted to give everything to. “what?” you blink, and he finally looks up at you. “i can’t love you, because i love her. she’s the one i want to be with. it’s always been her, y/n….” he pauses,“i tried loving you. but you just aren’t her.”

you cover your mouth, in shock. unable to comprehend his words which struck you like a knife. “i can’t believe you..” you muttered through your tears as your turned around and began your way upstairs to the bedroom.

you can feel him following you a few steps behind, his eyes linger on your figure as you mindlessly threw clothes into your duffle bag. just enough to do you for a couple nights until you can get the rest of your stuff. “they warned me about you..and i should’ve listened” you say, not bothering to look at him.

“who?” he asks coldly. you turn around, meeting his dark eyes staring into your soul. “everyone. luke…ashton…your sister…mike..everyone.” you say, closing the duffel bag. “just don’t even worry about it now. we’re done.”

you grab the bag and begin walking past him. but, you pause looking down at your hand where the ring lays. you turn around and throw it at him. “i never want to see you again.”

he watched as you proceeded down the stairs where you exited the house. finding ashton waiting in the driveway.

ashton watched as you sat on the sofa, brows furrowed while staring at your empty ring finger. “it’s late” he says, coming up behind you. you just shrug, “can’t sleep” you hear him sigh and he walks around the sofa to take a seat next to you. you see him peer around, brushing your hair from your face. “talk to me..” he whispers.

you finally look up at him showing the makeup staining your face. “i don’t know what to say..” you croak.

he nods, “i have the guest bedroom ready for you, the bathroom is set with towels and-“ he starts but you cut him off, the pain in your chest is too great. the excruciating pain you felt every time your heart pumped made you want to throw something, you felt like your whole world was crumbling.

“i can’t be alone” you shake your head looking at him, “i..i can’t. i’m gonna go crazy..” he nods, hushing your cries. “shh, it’s okay..shh..” he pulls you in and holds you close to him. “just breathe.”

he holds you for as long as you need, his heart aches at each broken sob you let out. he holds you as tight as he can he can’t stand to see you like this.

ashton loves you. it is so easy for him to love you that it frightens him. he’s never been good at anything. but hes never wanted anything so much as he wants to hold you every waking minute. he’s at home when you’re around, he feels himself falling more and more in love with you.

ashton knows it’s wrong, he knows he shouldn’t feel this way when you’re in so much pain. he knows it’s selfish to think of himself as a savior. but he knows he isn’t.

you’re suffering and all he can think about is how much he loves you.

“cmon, we need to get you ready for bed..” he says into your hair, quietly. you nod and let him help you off the chair into the master bathroom. he sits you on the toilet as he gets you some extra clothes and towels. you sit there emotionless and when ashton returns he looks down at you, reaching for a rag, baby wipe, or something to take your makeup off with.

he succeeds, finding some makeup removers and then bends down to your level. “can i?” he asks and you nod. he nods back, opens the package takes out a wipe, and begins cleaning off your day-old makeup. you say nothing and he says nothing. just carefully removing the makeup with his gentle touch. he thought that even though you are exhausted, in pain, and very miserable you still look so beautiful.

“i’ll run the water now, i’ll leave you to get cleaned up,” he says as he stands up throwing away the used makeup remover towelette. you nod, watching as he turns the water on and connects the shower head. “if you need anything, i’ll be right outside.” he smiles, closing the door behind him.

you didn’t know how long you were sitting there, you don’t even remember undressing and stepping into the shower.

you were probably in there for close to an hour, just standing there but ashton waited for you. he occupied himself with his phone but it didn’t do much considering he was so worried for you.

when he heard the door unlock and open, his eyes shot up from the phone screen and landed on you.

you had looked so defeated, your hair was still damp and dripping on some of the clothes he had given you.

“feel better?”

you shrug, walking over and plopping down next to him on the bed. “i don’t know..” you answer just above a whisper. he nods, sighing as he stands up from the bed. “well, i’ll let you be. i’ll be across the hall-“

you cut him off, “no” you look up at him. “please, just stay. like old times.” he looks hesitant but ashton walks back over to the bed and crawls back on the bed. “of course” he says softly.

“i’d never leave you”

you continued to stay with ashton for the next few months, even though you were searching for an apartment he still insisted on having you stay. one, because he loved your company and he had just gotten so used to you being around.

he watched you heal, he helped you heal and honestly, you just weren’t ready to be alone just yet. so, he let you stay for as long as you wanted.

life had slowly begun to improve, ashton kept you afloat and made sure you were safe. he didn’t let you go one day without making sure you were doing something to occupy your mind, so you don’t slip into your mind.

often times you were sat next to ashton in the studio as you occasionally help him write songs the guys had started. you didn’t have the talents like the other four, but ashton would ask your opinion and even using some of your ideas.

you sat bored on your phone, eventually dropping it to your lap as you stare at ashton’s back as he was humming melodies to himself. you stare at all of the papers sprawled out on the table and floor, your brows furrowed reading some scribbles that were supposed to be lyrics. your eyes land on a piece of paper with the lyrics, We're together, all alone tonight So helpless from the other side So why won't you love me?

you feel tightness in your chest, your eyes gloss over with tears. all the memories of you and calum flood back and you. you drop the paper and ashton hears your sniffles and he looks up.

he’s met with your swollen and puffy eyes, “y/n?” you look up at him, and break down. broken sobs filled the studio as he rushes to your side “what is it?” he asks wrapping his arms around you, letting you cry into his chest. “why won’t he love me?” you say, followed by a loud sob stuck in your throat. “why couldn’t he love me?”

you continue to ramble incoherent sobs and ashton tries his best to soothe you. but, he knows he can’t fix everything.

you deserve so much better, even if ashton isn’t what you need. he will always love you. as he’s rubbing your back, hearing your broken sobs he feels heartbroken and helpless.

“i love you..” he says quietly into your hair.

“i love you too, ash” you say, sniffling.

ashton falls silent for a moment before sighing. “no, y/n. listen to me” he pulls you away from his chest, his hands on either side of your face as his thumbs while away your tears. “i love you” he’s looking into your eyes now, and you don’t know how to take what he’s telling you.

“i’m not asking you to love me more than just your friend, but you need to know that i do love you. you’ve been the only constant in my life, y/n. you deserve the best, even if it isn’t me. i’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to, but you need to know.”

ashton knew it was wrong of him to drop the ball on your so suddenly, after calling it off with calum just a few months ago. ashton was sure you probably would hate him after this but he needed to get it off his chest or else he might explode.

“ash..” you sigh, your eyes close and had only hoped that this was some kind of joke, because if he had told you before getting serious with calum, you feel even more crushed hearing the confession spill from your best friends lips.

“im sorry. i really am, and i know you don’t want another relationship but i will always wait for you..” ashton follows, still looking into your eyes.

you fall silent for a moment, admiring his hazel eyes while your heart continues to ache with each beat.

“y/n?” you don’t answer, you just sigh as you shake your head. “just.. just hold me ashton. please.”

ashton pulls you in, letting your head rest against his shoulder and his finger draws circles on your back. you close your eyes, your mind is racing and you just want to turn it off.

“im sorry, y/n..” ashton’s says quietly.

[campbyler]

What are Mike and Will’s top three artists? (Idk if you’ve mentioned it before sorryy)

oooh i don’t think we’ve named specific favorites for them before!! i don’t know if we’ll be able to just name Three (edit: coming back to proofread after typing out this ask. i did not just name Three), bc to me acswy mike and will both have pretty varied music tastes — i think they’d both listen to a lot of different genres and artists, especially music that their friends/family/assorted loved ones introduce them to that might not be something they’d usually go for.

mike: we did mention in ch2 that mike has a demon days poster above his bed in the blue cabin, and while i don’t think gorillaz is one of his Favorite groups by any means, i do think he 1. listens to them a lot while driving specifically and 2. just reallyyyy loves their album art. to me mike is also such a pop punk enjoyer, so i think some of his go-tos include bands like all time low and paramore and blink-182, probably with a little midwest emo thrown in bc the boy did literallyyyyy grow up in indiana. i do also think he has a soft spot for feel-good pop, especially boyband music like 1D and BTR, and i think 5sos is not technically a boyband (or that they don’t like to be called one? iirc? maybe?) but i think he would listen to them quite a bit as well! really and truly i think mike would just like a little bit of everything, and his fav artists probably rotate a lot depending on his mood.

will: always a jeff buckley enthusiast across universes to meeeee, and the clear answers here are also the cure/the clash and other oldies rock OBVIOUSLYYYY but i think he would also totally dabble in typical 2020s Male Manipulator Music lol with likeeeee peach pit and the backseat lovers and the strokes especially. i think he’d also be into midwest emo (cannot escape his fate), and maybe also deftones and ptv a little bit (<- self indulgent and me projecting but i am not sorry). i think he also has a soft spot for pop, but not really in the same way mike does — for example, el definitely makes him listen to a lot of carly rae jepsen and the like when they’re together, and he also has a lot of good memories of listening to older pop songs with his mom when he was younger! like. he hits shuffle on his liked songs and it’s destiny’s child followed by radiohead followed by jenny by studio killers. he contains multitudes i’m afraid

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter forty seven

close to home | chapter forty seven

plot: the reader arrives at the Kingdom

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,502 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!! I'm going to Boston this weekend to see 5sos and won't be home till Monday, so I won't be updating again until early next week--sorry lovelies!! Gonna try and update twice today if I can

When the horse led you through the gates of the Kingdom, you truly did feel like you were entering one. You felt more level-headed when they’d given you food and water on the ride back. 

There were people around, and you tried to take in as much as possible. Gardens and schoolchildren were sitting outside. There was a choir singing somewhere. And there was laughter. So much laughter. 

When you saw Morgan standing with a blond haired boy, you wanted to cry at the familiar sight. You climbed off the horse and set Tora down before running to Morgan. 

“(Y/N),” Morgan laughed when you crushed him into a hug. You were never particularly close to him, but he was a part of your group and your family. 

“Dianne said Daryl was here and supposed to stay here. Where is he?” You asked desperately as you pulled away from the hug. 

But the look on his face was enough to tell you he wasn’t here. “He left this morning. I’m sorry. “

You laughed, though, for the first time in a while. “It’s okay. It’s okay. He got out. He went to Hilltop, right?”

Morgan nodded and smiled at you. “Yes. Come on, we need to have the doctor look at you. And you will need to meet the King.” 

You looked at Morgan in confusion as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “The who?”

***

After getting an all-clear from the Kingdom’s doctor, and scarfing down as much food as you and Tora possibly could, Morgan led you to where the King was. You learned his name was Ezekiel, and he was a bit out there. 

But Morgan vouched for him, so you followed him into the ‘throne room’ with Tora by your side. When you walked into the room, your eyes widened, and you grabbed Morgan’s arm at the sight of a tiger. 

“What the fuck?” You breathed out. 

“Fair maiden,” King Ezekiel shouted, “I am honored to have you a guest in our fair Kingdom. I welcome you. And your furry beast.” 

You glanced at Tora, and started jogging up to catch her before she ventured too close to an animal that could kill her in a second. “I uh, um, thank you, sir. Your honor. King.” You stumbled over your words. 

“Our dear friends from the great Alexandria told me of your situation, and what happened. Although the Kingdom did not play a part in your troubles, you have its sorrow and thought.” King Ezekiel said. 

“Thank you,” You said, running your hand through Tora’s fur and trying to keep her settled. “I like your tiger.”

King Ezekiel smiled, “Her name is Shiva. And yours?”

“This is Tora; she’s been with me since before. Shiva?”

“The same as you,” The king said. He stood up and quietly told the man to his right something. You assumed it was to put Shiva somewhere because the man took the chains and led the big cat out of the room. 

Then he gracefully jumped from the stage and approached you. You got a better look at his face and admired it for a moment as he scratched Tora behind the ear. “I invite you and Tora to spend the eve with us here at the Kingdom. I can imagine you must want to get to the Hilltop as quick as you can. But I insist you take the night to recover.”

You glanced at Morgan, and he nodded, so you did as well. You were almost friends. You knew it. You knew in your bones that you didn’t have anything to fear from the Kingdom or its people. Morgan was here; he obviously liked it here. You were with friends. And that made you smile the biggest smile. “We can stay.”

***

King Ezekiel requested your presence after Morgan settled you in a room across from his. You opted to leave Tora in the room for a little while because you weren’t sure where the tiger was and didn’t want to risk it. 

Dianne came by with the message from the King, and she also brought you a fresh set of clothes. You’d never been more thankful when she told you to wash up first and brought you to the showers. 

So now, twenty minutes later, you were dressed in a black tank top and a flannel, leggings, and a near pair boots.They were used, but it made it better, because they were already worn in. 

The King sat across from you, and Morgan and a guy named Jerry sat with you. 

“Tell me, miss (Y/N), how you came to be with your group? I would love to know your tale.” 

You didn’t have any hesitation about telling him. Aside from the fact that you already considered him a friend, you felt like you could trust him and this place. So you told him about your life before and after the world's end. You told him about the prison after it ended and watched their horrified expression as you told them about Terminus. 

You didn’t tell them about the people you lost because even though it’s been some time, all the wounds reopened when discussed. 

And then, finally, you told them about Alexandria, how you got there, and what happened afterward. 

Your story took you through dinner, an assortment of chicken, and the freshest vegetables you’ve had in a long time. It was mouth-watering. You made sure to fold plenty of the chicken into a napkin, so you could take it to Tora. 

“Your journey is of greatness, and I am honored to have such a warrior amongst us,” The King said. 

“Do you like cobbler?” Jerry asked you. 

“Jerry,” The King said. 

Their exchange made you laugh, and you looked at Jerry, “Yes, I do.”

***

You sat with the King, Morgan, and Jerry for quite some time before the King suggested he give you a tour. You weren’t sure there was a point to it because you would be leaving in the morning, but you accepted because he made you feel like a friend. And with Sherry gone and not seeing your family in weeks, you desperately needed it. 

King Ezekiel showed you around the Kingdom, with Jerry and Morgan following closely behind. He pointed out the gardens, the apartments where most everyone resided. He should you the wells for water, in case you needed some, and the training ground for their ‘royal army’. You could see how proud he was. You believed him to be an accomplished leader. 

The sun was nearly set when the tour ended outside the building you would be staying in. You thanked both Jerry and the King profusely. 

“In the morn, I will have Dianne pack your supplies for the road and give you a weapon. I cannot, in good conscience, let you go out without one.” King Ezekiel said. “And, of course, my people know the way to the Hilltop. I will have a map provided and see if they can get you a car.”

“I don’t know how to repay you for this, but thank you, King Ezekiel.” You told him. 

He and Jerry bid their goodnights, and you and Morgan entered the building. 

“I feel like I’m in a fairytale here,” You playfully joked. “But I actually like it. It’s fun.”

“Many people do, I think that’s why they go along with it,” Morgan told you as you walked. 

When you got to the doors, you looked at Morgan. “Rick was here to get them to fight, wasn’t he? And the King said no?”

Morgan nodded, and you could see the contemplation on his face. “The Hilltop stands with Alexandria. Rick asked me to talk to the King about joining, but…”

You nodded, knowing how he felt about killing. “I think he will. He just needs to be pushed. Goodnight, Morgan. I’ll see you in the morning.”

***

Dianne brought you a bag with more than enough supplies in the morning. Enough to last you for at least a week. You made her take a decent amount of it back. You couldn’t take advantage of their hospitality like that. 

You met with the King for one last meal together, and while he tried to persuade him to stay, you wouldn’t budge. So he led you to the front gate, where a few guards were waiting. They succeeded in bringing you a car. 

“Thank you, King Ezekiel. Really.” You said. “I don’t think I’ve met someone like you for a long while. I really hope I get to see you again.” You told him. 

The King smiled and bid his goodbye, and you gave Morgan and even Jerry a hug. Then you and Tora climbed into the car. With one last look in the rearview mirror, you left the Kingdom, and headed towards home.

[yxngbxkkie]

art exhibits (h.h)

the song tears! by 5sos really help me finish this angsty fic for hyunjinnie 🤭 i hope you guys like it!

"Do you like art?" Ji-hun asks you, snapping you from your daze. You hum and glance towards the taller man. He smiles softly at you while taking your hand in his. "Do you want to go check it out?"

"We don't have to," you mumble, your gaze moving towards the art show that's currently happening. "I know art isn't your thing."

You try to continue walking when your date pulls you back, causing you to stumble. "Oh, come on. We've done the hobbies I like for the past two dates. It's your turn," he winks playfully before tugging you along.

A sigh leaves your lips as you follow him into the museum. You didn't know whose art was being showcased, but you couldn't care less. Art is art.

The two of you slowly walk around the first floor, spending at least five minutes at each art piece. "This is gorgeous," you whisper, taking in the woodsy scenery that's painted.

"Who's the artist?" Ji-hun whispers as well, his lips near your ear.

Your eyes shift to the name plate that sits underneath the canvas, your heart skipping a beat. Hwang Hyunjin. You swallow thickly and look back at the guy you're "seeing." "Can we go?" You ask him, not wanting to run into your ex-boyfriend.

Ji-hun furrows his brows and prevents you from walking towards the exit. "What? How come?" He asks, noticing the sudden change in your mood. "What happened?"

"I-"

"Y/N?" A familiar voice cuts you off, causing your back to stiffen.

You clear your throat and you turn to face Hyunjin. "Hi," you shyly greet him.

His brown eyes move from you to the man standing behind you. "Who's this?" Hyunjin asks, glancing down at your conjoined hands. "Your boyfriend?"

"Nothing's official. We've been on a couple of dates," you say vaguely, tucking some hair behind your ear.

"I'm sorry," Ji-hun interrupts, capturing your attention. "Who is this guy?"

Your ex-boyfriend holds a hand out to your date, a fake smile on his lips. "My name is Hwang. An old friend of Y/N's," he says with gritted teeth.

"We should get going," you pipe up, feeling the need to get out of here. "Congratulations on the art exhibit. You finally made it."

You bow your head slightly before pulling Ji-hun out of the museum. Hyunjin watches you leave, his heart sinking into his stomach.

"Was that Y/N?" Yongbok asks the brunette, looking up at him.

"Yeah, it was."The two don't say anything else to each other before Hyunjin walks away. Yongbok frowns, noticing the heartbroken look on his friend's face.

He walks out of the museum, hoping to catch up with you. Yongbok stands on his toes, looking over the sea of people that are walking along the sidewalk.

"Y/N!" He spots you and calls out your name, raising his hand. Your eyes meet him for a split second before he rushes over to you.

You're saying goodbye to the man beside you when he makes it to you. "Yongbok, what are you doing here?" You ask him, your fingers playing with your purse.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," he laughs, trying to lighten the mood.

"It was Ji-hun's idea. I-I didn't know it was Hyunjin's art exhibit," you tell him the truth.

Yongbok watches as your eyes keep glancing towards the art museum. "Did you want to go back inside?" He asks you with a small smile.

"I don't know what I want, to be honest," you whisper loud enough for him to hear. "I didn't think we'd be broken up when he finally achieved his dream."

The black-haired man rests a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. "I know that you guys aren't together anymore, but I think he'd appreciate you being there. You were his muse," he reminds you, offering you a small smile.

You nod your head as you think about all the times you spent in his studio with him. "You're right, Bbogi. Can you come with me?" You ask him, your fingers grabbing a hold of his shirt. "Just until I can muster up the courage to face him alone."

"Of course. You know we're always here for you," he smiles at you and he brings his hand to your hair, petting it lightly.

You wrap your arm around his waist as Yongbok drapes his over your shoulder. The two of you walk back into the museum and you notice Hyunjin standing with Bang Chan, a smile on his lips.

Chan nudges Hyunjin and motions towards you. His eyes meet yours and your heart starts beating fast. "I'll be right back," he mumbles to the older member before taking a sip of the champagne in his hand.

"I know you still love him and I believe he still loves you too. Talk to him," Yongbok whispers into your ear, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

You nod your head and take a deep breath. You meet Hyunjin halfway, grabbing a glass of champagne along the way. "You came back," he mumbles.

"I couldn't miss your art exhibit could I. Not after everything you went through to make it happen," you say with a tight-lipped smile.

"I'm glad you're here," Hyunjin sighs, his free hand reaching out to grab yours. "This wouldn't be possible without you."

You shake your head, a light laugh coming from your lips. "It would. You're an incredible artist, Hyunjin," you correct him, glancing down at your conjoined hands.

He squeezes your hand, his gaze moving to the floor. "Can we talk? Alone?" He whispers before looking around, noticing other people's eyes on you.

"Y-Yeah."

Hyunjin laces your fingers together, leading you away from the crowd of people. The two of you enter an empty space before the tall man in front of you turns to face you.

"So, you're dating now?" He starts off, causing you to let out a sigh.

"Is this what you wanted to talk about?" You ask him, not really wanting to go into this topic.

He drops your hand and begins to pace in front of you. "Do you know how much it hurt? Seeing you with another guy at my art exhibit?" He asks with furrowed brows, a frown on his plump lips.

"Jinn-" you cut yourself off and clear your throat. "Hyunjin, I didn't know it was yours. He just asked me if I liked art and I tried to get him to do something else."

Hyunjin sits down on the bench before dropping his head into his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him. You start to feel your chest clench as you always hated seeing him like this.

You slowly walk over to him before combing your fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you," you whisper, tears brimming your eyes.

He nuzzles his head in your hands and he takes deep breaths. "I hate that you left. Why did you leave?" He sobs, lifting his head to look at you.

Tears stream down your cheeks, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I-I thought you'd be better off without me…" you trail off, gently biting your lip.

"Do you really believe that?" He questions, wiping the tears from his face. "You're the only one I want, Y/N. Now until forever."

You stop a sob from leaving your lips and avoid making eye contact with him. Forever? Hyunjin stands up from the bench, placing his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

"Do you still love me?"

"Of course," you answer without hesitation, leaning into his touch. There's no going back now… You think to yourself as Hyunjin rests his forehead on yours. "You're the first guy I fell in love with."

He strokes your cheeks, a pleasant sigh coming from his lips. "Let me be the last guy you fall in love with," he pleads, moving to press kisses on your face.

You dip your head, your hands grabbing a hold of the blazer he's wearing. "I'm going to be honest," you mumble, finally meeting his eyes. "There's nobody that could replace you."

Hyunjin smiles down at you before pulling your face closer to his, his lips finding yours. Butterflies swarm around your stomach as you kiss him back. The kiss doesn't last long, and the brunette moves his hands to your waist.

"I'll have to tell the guy I've been seeing that it's off," you chuckle. Your heart feels like it's going to explode inside your chest.

"You're mine again."

-

tagging: @thewxntersoldier @spacegirlstuff @reddesert-healourblues

[fluentmoviequoter]

Teeth

Pairing: Vicious fic w/ EO!fem!reader (nonspecific to preserve the feel/suspense!)

Summary: The war between Victor Vale and Eli Ever is just beginning, and you find your place in it.

Warnings: spoilers for Vicious, graphic depiction of open heart surgery, violence (not exactly torture but it's on the bloodier side of things), angst, fluff at the very end

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

A/N: I got this idea while listening Teeth by 5SOS. I used the lyrics and highly recommend the song because it's great.

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Victor Vale Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Steady,” you demand. “It has to be all the way to the heart. Without direct access, this will never work.”

A moment later, you can see into his chest cavity, his heart beating within reach. As you place your hand around it, his life becomes yours.

Eli Ever gasps as he wakes. He sits up, breathless, before he realizes it was just a dream. You would never do that to him, he knows. Eli looks over his shoulder, and you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. Beside him, peaceful. You stir as he turns to face you, smiling in your sleep as he brushes his fingers over your cheekbone.

“Some days you’re the only thing I know,” he whispers. “Only thing that’s burning when the nights grow cold.”

“Nightmare?” you ask without opening your eyes.

Eli hums, and you place your hand on his and encourage, “You’ll heal from it. Just like you heal from everything else.”

“Yeah,” Eli agrees under his breath.

As he lies down, he can’t look away from you. Something inside of him pushes him to beg you to stay, make you promise to be there when he wakes up in the morning, but as you move closer to him, he knows he doesn’t have to beg. You’ll be there.

“Eli!” you yell from the other room. “Focus.”

Eli follows your voice, then pauses in the doorway of your shared bedroom to watch you. On the bed, you’re leaning forward with your head in your hands, whispering something to yourself.

“You okay?” Eli inquires.

You chuckle and answer, “I’d be better if I could get a moment away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh before you stand and turn toward Eli. “I’m sorry.”

Eli shrugs, and pressure builds in his chest when you reach out for him. “It’s fine,” he assures.

“No, I… I guess I’m just feeling lost. That’s no reason to push you away. Stay with me?” You smile as you brush your fingers through his hair. “Please stay with me, Eli,” you whisper.

Eli can’t speak, the pressure around his heart turning into a gripping pain. He nods and pulls you close. Immediately, the pain disappears, and he’s left with nothing but you.

You can feel Eli looking around as if he thinks something is missing. Moments like these are becoming more frequent, and you’re unsure how to deal with them. One wrong step, and you know he could leave you forever. Or worse.

“Stay with me,” you murmur against his shirt, speaking directly to his heart. “I’ll beg you to stay, Eli.”

“Sometimes you’re a stranger in my bed!” Eli accuses. “I don’t know if you love me or you want me dead.”

You clench your jaw and pull your arms tightly across your chest. There’s a hatred for Eli inside you, and you’re powerless to hide it.

“Something in the way you’re looking through my eyes…” Eli adds. “I don’t know if I’m gonna make it out alive.”

“What do you want to hear, Eli?” you ask. “If I tell you I love you, you’ll think I’m lying, but if I agree and say I hate you and want you to leave, you’ll say I’m baiting you! I can’t keep playing this game.”

“You’re the best thing in my life, I look at you and I see my wife. Then you turn into somebody I don’t know.”

You step toward Eli, daring him to come closer and say, “Take what you want, Eli. You and I both know you’re too scared to ask for it and this relationship was doomed from the beginning. So, take what you need and run. I won’t be surprised if I wake up alone.”

Eli’s arms drop as his gaze hardens. For a moment, you think this is the end. Then, he mumbles, “I just need some air. I’ll… I’ll be back tomorrow.”

As the door closes behind him, you sigh. There’s a photo from Lockland on the table beside you, and your smile between Eli and Victor’s masks makes you reconsider everything. But tonight, you have something important to do. Then you can call Eli and apologize. If he answers.

Your leg bounces as the phone rings. Your relationship with Eli isn’t new, but there’s still so much you don’t know about him. Like if he’ll accept your apologies or the lies you insulate them with.

“Hey,” Eli answers.

“Hi,” you greet, pulling your knees toward your chest. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have said those things to you- to anyone, because they aren’t true.”

“No?”

“Of course not. I love you, Eli. I love you more than anything else in the world. But if you decided that there’s something else, someone else, out there that would be better for you-“ you pause and take a shaky breath – “then I love you enough to let you go.”

Eli is silent for several seconds after you finish. He muses, “You said you’d call me in the morning to apologize and every little lie gives me butterflies. Better is with you, you’re the only thing saving me from myself.”

“You’re coming home?” you ask, avoiding looking at the picture of Victor beside you.

“Yes. In a while. There’s something I need to do first.”

“Oh, okay. Be careful, Eli. I love you.”

The line beeps as Eli hangs up, and you look down at your empty hands, pristine despite the feeling of blood running between your fingers.

Eli knocks on the heavy wooden door, then steps back to wait. He knows the woman who lives here, yet he’s never been inside. Something about her makes it hard to argue and easy to tell everything. Maybe that’s why she’s such a good listener and gives worthy advice.

“Eli Cardale,” a woman says as the door opens. “Or is it still Ever?”

“Serena,” Eli greets. “You look good.”

“I know. Here for personal reasons or is this another Midnight Incorporated thing?”

“No, no, business is great,” Eli assures. “It’s personal.”

Serena smiles as she opens the door wider. “By all means, come in, then.”

Sitting in her home library, Serena offers Eli a cup of tea before she sits back to listen to his worries, stories, and everything else he never planned to share but seems to let slip. The first time he came by, he accused her of lacing the tea with something to inhibit his control. She laughed and brushed him off, and as he shares the details of his relationship with you, he doesn’t even remember that encounter.

“It’s like she… she’s the kind of person who can fight so dirty but her love’s so sweet, talk so pretty but her heart’s got teeth,” Eli explains.

“And last night?” Serena presses. “What did you think during your argument?”

“That she was a late-night devil,” Eli answers. “But even when she’s like that, pushing me, hating me, the only thing I ever want to do is beg her to put her hands on me.”

“It’s sounds like you think she has some kind of power over you. Here I was thinking Eli Ever couldn’t get hooked by a pretty girl.”

Eli scoffs as he raises his cup. “You’d know, huh?”

“We had good times together, you and I,” Serena defends. “But this is about you, here and now. What are you going to do about the girl you see a future with but can’t survive twenty-four hours with?”

“I need her,” Eli admits. “But there’s these moments, a sense of clarity, where it seems like everything is fake, something she’s manipulated me into believing to keep me in this- this vicious love.”

Serena sets her mug aside, leans forward, smiles, and encourages, “Then make your own reality. If you want the clarity, grasp it and pull until her love shatters around you.” She leans back and shrugs. “But if you want the future, figure out how to make it yours.”

Eli nods as he stands, not because he feels ready to leave but because something urges him to. He knows what he wants, and while Eli has the clarity to see that you’ve been manipulating him, hooking him into a false love that makes it impossible for him not to return, he pulls. And everything shatters around him.

When Eli blinks his eyes open, you are standing above him. He tries to smile, but then he sees the look on your face. The look Victor gave him after Eli killed himself. Like he’s a monster.

“Welcome back,” someone says on the other side of the room.

You step back, and Eli tilts his chin to watch you. His eyes widen when he sees you and everything else in the room.

“Back to what?” Eli asks, his throat dry and scratchy.

“Reality.”

There’s blood on your shirt, a rose in Victor’s hand. You’re looking at him like you don’t know who he is. When Eli left your manipulative reality, he wasn’t expecting to come to this.

Blood on your shirt, a heart in your hand, Eli thinks. My heart.

“What did you do?” Eli demands.

“Nothing you didn’t deserve,” you answer carefully. “Tell Victor thank you for the get well present.”

“Oh, no,” Victor interjects. “Thank her. She’s the one who decided you should have something beautiful.” He twists the stem, raising the flower toward the light. “A desert rose. Poisonous, perfect, and deadly.”

“You said you loved me,” Eli says, his eyes on you.

“I said a lot of things,” you reply, putting pressure on Eli’s heart. “The only time I meant what I said was when you thought I was lying. I’ve never loved you, and no one ever will.”

You shift and lower Eli’s heart back into place. Blood covers your shirt, runs down your arms, and drips from your fingers as Victor lays the poisonous rose across his exposed ribs. He removes the clamps holding Eli’s incisions open, and the skin begins knitting itself closed over his heart.

“Try healing around that, Cardale,” Victor says.

“What was it you told sweet Serena?” you ask, faux sympathy on your face. “That my heart has teeth? Well, there’s one thing you didn’t learn. Those teeth bite. And now that your heart has poison in it and thorns wrapped around it, we’ll see who’s really the monster.”

“Victor,” Eli grits out. “When I get out of here-“

“I’m shaking in fear,” Victor deadpans, “but I’m going to stop you right there. You’re not going anywhere. Welcome to purgatory, Cardale. Enjoy dying, over and over and over.”

As you follow Victor out of the sterile room, you grimace at having any trace of Eli on your skin.

The last thing Eli hears you ask is, “Vic, do you think insanity is spread through bodily fluids like hepatitis?”

On the other side of the door, Victor thanks you for your help, then tells you to leave.

“Yeah,” you agree sarcastically. “One thing you should learn from that is I don’t give up. And you’re stuck with me until Eli meets his true fate. I just determined his fate for three days; I’m not walking away yet.”

“You heard her,” Sydney calls from the end of the hall. “And from Eli’s girly screams, I’d suggest not picking a fight for her.”

Victor sighs but waves for you to follow them. Holding Eli’s beating heart in your hands was a good start, but this fight is just beginning. Luckily, your heart, teeth and all, is still beating.

[nuclearplutonium]

Dividers

Ello! I’m Robin.. buuut you can also call me Elliot, Orion, Rory, or Moth :D

more info about me: https://en.pronouns.page/@CH4R71Z4VRVZ

Check out my new and totally awesome strawpage!

Alterhuman therian and fictionkin, my theriotypes are black wolf, snow husky, and a T-Rex <33

I’m an artist and a little bit of a violinist (I mainly speak English but I also speak Russian!)

I am a MINOR!!! I am ok if adults (NOT THE SEX BOTS) interact with my blog or me in general just don’t be creepy or kinky about it please..

My blog is not meant for younger audiences, therefore I am telling you all that this is a 13+ BLOG. mainly because I’ll post art with mildly suggestive themes in it or reblog something weird.. whatever it may be, I just want to protect the little itty bitty babies that happen to stumble upon this beautiful yet horrifying tumblr blog .-.

currently locked in @thesillygoober7’s basement (GO FOLLOW HIM PLEASE THAT MIGHT MAKE HIM FINALLY LET ME OUT OF HERE)

taken by Thomas MWEEEHHEHEHEHEHEHEH

old acc is @charlibugg T_T

Here’s most of the stuff I like ! Purple = ION💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

Blue = VERY VEEERY VERY VERY VERY VERY VEEERRYRYYY HYPERFIXATED

Green = LOVE ITTT

Orange = Cool cool I like it

Red = Eh… I mean it’s fine.. II/III, I.O.N/И.О.Н, TNM, BFDI/BFB/BFDIA & TPOT, EEE/THREEEE, BURNER, 5SOS, ONE, CFMOT/ИНМТ, Objectified, TDOS, LoTS, Animatic Battle, Bugbo, Dreamophrenia, Sprunki, Max Design Pro, Warrior Cats, Smiling Friends, ATHF, Gravity Falls, Villainous, Countryhumans, DHMIS, Electric Dreams (1984), Ride the Cyclone, Pink Corruption, Homestar Runner, 13 Карт, Regretevator, Great God Grove, Mouthwashing, Homestuck

besides fandoms I hyperfixate on time to time… I also LOVE nuclear reactors, dinosaurs, cats, epic guitar solos in music, whatever the hell plutonium jazz is, and I just genuinely love learning ANYTHING about nuclear physics and energy :3 (oh and lollipops, I love lollipops)

Some games I really like (not Roblox games) are In Stars and Time, JSAB/Just Shapes and Beats, Fallout 4/Fallout: New Vegas (IM SORRY FALLOUT 76 IS SO BORING AND BUGGY AAAAA), Omori, Mouthwashing, Sims 2-4, Tomodachi Life, Miitopia, Cardpocalypse, Wobbledogs, Pikuniku, Ooblets, Great God Grove, Splatoon 2-3, Dragon Quest: Builders 1-2, Minecraft, Wandersong, JSAB, and AC:NH :3

and most of the bands/artists I listen to (current hyperfix band will be written in bold) are MSI, sElf, Will Wood/Will Wood and The Tapeworms, Human Zoo, The Scary Jokes, Sodikken, Machinery of The Human Heart, Lemon Demon, Tally Hall, And One, Nine Inch Nails, STOMACH BOOK, Ken Ashcorp, KSB Muzic, LiteralHat, YFM, Limp Bizkit, Insane Clown Posse, Gorillaz, Tyler the Creator, System Of A Down, Foo Fighters, That Handsome Devil, Sacri, They Might Be Giants, Oingo Boingo, Weird Al, Jhariah, MAMA RUSSIA, Lenin Was A Zombie, and Drive45!

I have Autism, ADHD, (I have some sort of Anxiety disorder too, forgot what it was called though) and Depression.. so sorry if I don’t talk/respond to asks or dms quick enough or I don’t answer them properly… I’m a very shy person. So please text me first if you want to dm me, if you’re a mutual I’d love to talk to you! ^_^

ask box will close down sometimes, it is not a mistake usually, I just don’t feel like taking asks (or I’m being swarmed by donation asks and I feel overwhelmed) :3

I do not have a set DNI, but I will block who I choose to block without warning (I don’t normally block though, I find it kind of rude 0n0)

Places I inhabit:

YouTube: Charlizardsb - CharlieSB

Spotify: Tonsillitis (yes that is my actual name on there shut up)

Pinterest: LIZARDWAZAZOMBIE - charred corpse

Instagram: Charlizardsb

Wattpad: spagheetee

Discord: (please DM me if you want my username)

TikTok: lizzardz.0n.steroidz

(Created: 1/15/24)

(Last updated: 1/6/25)

I reblog WAYY too many posts so if you’re willing to find my art search #bugs goof art

#Charlizard’s rabble ransoms - for random posts that are just filler or me going on a whole rant (will also be tagged for long posts too sometimes)

[serafilms]

song 23! try hard (5sos) + park sunghoon (spotify wrapped event)

she’s so out of reach, and i’m finding it hard ‘cause she makes me feel, makes me feel, like i try, like i try, like i’m trying too hard

happy birthday sunghoon! wrote this one especially without being requested because 23 is his jersey number and i wanted to celebrate him today :) hope he has the best day + year

Today starts out just like any other: Sunghoon wakes up thinking of you. Actually, technically his first thought was ‘Wow, I’m one year older today,’ but his next thought was about whether or not you’d wish him a happy birthday, so it still counts.

He checks his phone and fights his disappointment when he doesn’t see a text from you. Instead, he’s flooded both in the group chat and his private messages with well wishes. He sends polite ‘Thank you’s’ to his relatives, tells the guys to ‘fuck off’ in their group chat, and laughs at Jake’s very lengthy and emotional private text, which Sunghoon is sure his friend cried while writing.

Riki facetimes him seconds after seeing that he’s awake and tells him he’d better have his house ready for their joint birthday party tonight.

“Seriously, if your backyard is a mess when I get there, I’m going to clog your toilet so people piss in the yard and then you have to clean everything properly.” Ah, what an angel. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks, Riki.”

Then the younger hangs up, leaving a promise that he and the others will arrive before lunch for their planned ‘pre-party group only birthday pizza party’ and to help set up for the ‘real party.’ Sunghoon looks around his bedroom. It’s a little messy, because he lives in it so of course it is, but he knows the rest of his house is in order.

He already obsessively panic cleaned the whole place three days ago, when Jay confirmed that he’d sent you an invite. Man, he hopes you show up tonight. Not that he cares that much, of course (he cares very, very much). Because caring too much is bad, Sunghoon thinks. He can’t show his weakness, even when he is extremely weak. He wonders if he really has gone too far in his delusions and might now be descending into madness.

You care about him, or at least he thinks so, but you always seem so far above him, out of reach (“Is Y/N out of my league?” he asked once, chewing on his burger. “Yes,” chorused his friends. Lovely).

Sunghoon sighs and looks around at his room then begins to clean it up. He can’t have you seeing this mess (not that he’s being presumptuous in assuming you will be in his room or anything! This is Purely Hypothetical).

It’s only after he’s finished, and opened his presents from his family, and received the cake that his mother had delivered for him and the guys to enjoy that he finally opens the door and sees their faces.

Jake immediately tackles him in a hug, and Sunghoon feels like he can’t breathe as he squeezes him and shakes him around. His chest warms with happiness though, and through Jake’s shaking he glimpses Jungwon, Riki and Sunoo in front of him. Jake finally releases him and speaks.

“Sorry we’re late! We stopped for churros.”

Sunghoon furrows his brow. “You brought churros for the party?”

“No, I wanted churros,” Sunoo says, then takes a big bite. “Wan’ some?”

“I’m good,” he replies.

Riki pats Sunghoon on the back, then barges past him into the house and immediately begins examining it like some sort of teenage home inspector.

“Happy birthday,” says Sunoo, then follows Riki inside and immediately throws himself on the couch to finish his churro.

Jungwon repeats the sentiment then adds, “Jay and Heeseung are picking up the drinks and pizzas, they’ll be here soon.”

Thank god I made friends with Jay all those years ago, Sunghoon thinks, feeling very touched, Who else is rich enough to fund their friend’s birthday party?

“Very cool,” he replies, then drags Jungwon and Jake inside.

The other two arrive soon after and they enjoy a nice party without interruption for about 20 minutes until Sunghoon checks his phone and feels himself frown at it being void of notifications.

Are you busy, or did you forget his birthday? Do you just not care about him? If so, you should. He wore ripped jeans to impress you. He bleached his hair in the hopes you’d notice him (though that was also because he lost a bet with Jay). Is he just trying too hard?

“What’s up with you?” Heeseung asks him as he slaps a slice of pizza on top of another to make what is effectively a pizza sandwich.

“Nothing,” he mumbles.

Riki snatches his phone out of his hands and looks at the screen, where Sunghoon’s texts with you are open. “He’s pissy his girlfriend hasn’t texted him yet.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Sunghoon says sadly, and Jake gives him a pat on the back in consolation.

“Don’t even stress,” says Sunoo airily. Sunghoon doesn’t like how unaffected he seems. Shouldn’t everyone wallow in his despair with him since it’s his birthday?

The younger continues, “I asked her yesterday and she said she’ll definitely be here. So we just need to make sure you look super hot tonight.”

He feels a flicker of hope arise in him.

“It’ll probably take a lot of work, but we’ve got time.”

The flicker sizzles and dies. He glowers at Sunoo. “Gee, thanks.”

However, true to his word, Sunoo makes sure that Sunghoon does look super hot. It’s actually insane how hot he looks. He admires himself in the mirror. Maybe being a try hard isn’t such a bad thing if he ends up looking as gorgeous as this.

The party starts without a hitch and is soon in full swing. His friends are all starting to get very drunk (except Jungwon and Riki, because Riki is waiting until midnight for the sake of integrity and Jungwon is a Good friend who is waiting with him) and Sunghoon feels himself getting a little cloudy minded too. But as he stumbles a little through the hall, he still can’t see you.

But there is someone who looks just like you at the end of the hall and in the kitchen right now. He walks towards them, squinting a little and hearing them laugh and say goodbye to someone who’s evidently leaving the kitchen. Wow, they even sound like you. As he enters the room, the person perks up and greets him, and when he blinks the blurriness out of his eyes, you appear in front of him.

Oh. “Hi Y/N,” Sunghoon says, flushing.

“Hey Sunghoon, happy birthday.” God, your smile is pretty. Your outfit is pretty too, and your hair and your face and your hands, where…

There’s a wrapped box in your hands, and you follow his gaze down to it, then start in surprise as if just remembering it. “Oh, yeah, this is for you! Where should I put it?”

Sunghoon is still trying to comprehend that you’re really here and talking to him as he tells you, “Just on the table is fine.”

Okay. This is his chance. Now or never. “Do you want to go to the backyard for a bit? I need some air.”

Maybe he’s hallucinating a little because of the alcohol (or delusion) but he swears you blush. “Sure.”

You follow him out to the back. He’s surprisingly steady for someone who’s had as many drinks as he has, and stops out on the back porch, turning to face you.

You clear your throat as he tries to get his pounding heart under control. “So how’s your day been so far?”

He can hear it beating in his eardrums, and hopes you can’t hear it too. “Yeah, good, good. Um, can’t really complain. I ate pizza.”

Sunghoon is really not sure what to say now. But apparently the alcohol in his system does, as he’s speaking before he’s even processed the words.

“Can I kiss you?” he says at the same time as you say, “I have another present for you.”

The both of you stare at each other for a moment, not having heard the other’s words. “What?” you ask.

Sunghoon feels his stomach churn and hears an alarm go off in his head. “Um, it’s nothing. You go first.”

You look away shyly for a second. Yep, you’re definitely blushing, he thinks. “I said I have another present for you. I was kind of waiting for the right time to give it to you.”

He’s surprised, if nothing else. “You didn’t have to get me two presents.”

He’s also curious. “So what is it?”

“Can you close your eyes?” You’re avidly avoiding his gaze.

Sunghoon obeys, and the darkness behind his eyes makes him all the more aware of the sound of his heart. He’s nervous and scared and anxious and frightened, and then all of it is melting away because your lips press themselves to his and you’re kissing him. You’re kissing him, and he’s kissing you. Sunghoon’s stomach flutters and he brings his hands to your waist. It’s a very good kiss, and he can taste a little bit of cake on your tongue as it deepens.

Then you’re pulling back and Sunghoon is metaphorically and literally breathless. You kissed him. He kissed you.

“Happy birthday, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon’s face breaks out into a grin and he takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. He tugs you into his chest and looks down at you. “Thanks.”

And he kisses you again.

[writtenbygracewilliams]

Ranking my fics from this year

This is for funsies and also my own rankings of my own fics. If you have a fave, I would love to hear what and why. Also thank you so so so much.

[This is only new works I’ve posted on ao3 this year, up until The People We’re Made Of which I only posted yesterday. All are complete. No tumblr drabbles are included, nor is my baby Obligated].

15. Last Night

Written in 48 hours of January 2020, I pulled this Calum Hood x Jake Peralta one shot from the vault. It’s not my best writing, but it’s fun. I’m loyal to my unhinged crossovers, but it was the only one I posted this year!

14. Beautiful Night

Also from the deep vault, this was a Mashton one shot written in late 2022. It’s a bit left field, and mashton are easily the least popular 5sos ship, but I do love soft and fluffy so this is that. Soft bois, as the series is titled.

13. you only wanna love me in the dark

This is very emo and angsty mcdanno, which is sometimes what we need, but it makes me sad :( it’s based off the PeachPRC song Secret, that I had on repeat for weeks after it came out and related to a bit too much.

12. Appropriate Workplace Behaviour

Mcdanno I’m sorry for another low ranking, especially because I do really love this one shot. This is where the ranking got harder. It’s silly goofy fun, and one of my go to feel good fics. Chin is an icon, Lou is as sassy as ever, and Joons and Tani are traumatised. Steve and Danny just love each other, that’s not a crime. (It might be.)

11. My Delicate Flower

A sequel to @sissytobitch10seconds fic! As a long time mpreg lover, I was deeply hooked on the idea of Anthony carrying Hyacinth and had soooo much fun expanding on this idea and universe. I have another follow up very slowly moving along in my drafts.

10. Never Been Kissed

The sequel to Strawberry Kisses, this is another silly goofy feel good short story. This is a bit crack, but honestly had such a fun time writing and creating this fic and thus spreading the Nikki Webster agenda. Also, farm life Kanthony???? Yes.

9. Laws of Attraction

This isn’t even my favourite suits fic that I’ve written (though it’s still the only one I’ve posted 😭) but I value not only it being my first suits post, but also the speed at which I wrote and posted it. I overthink things a lot and lock fics in my vault, so writing, editing and posting in under two weeks was liberating for me. It is peak stupid idiots to lovers marvey.

8. Alignment

There is such tight competition in the top ten I love all my darlings, so it’s a shame this is as high as mcdanno got. I actually wrote this mid 2023, a year before I posted it, but it holds a special place in my heart for lots of reasons. It’s the longest fic I’d written and finished in a while, helping get me back into the groove of multi chaps, and it’s also the first thing I’d done using my beloved world building from ease but in a completely new fandom and setting. Soulmates will always be my fave trope.

7. touch me ‘til I find myself

White Collar!!!! Neal Caffrey and David Siegel are in love, it’s true. I had lots of fun exploring their relationship, and how and why David is in many ways the only perfect person for Neal. I want to do it again.

6. Strawberry Kisses

Narrowly missing out a top 5 spot, Strawberry Kisses (and Never Been Kissed) were incredibly self indulgent and supported by the lovely @newtonsheffield. This fic reignited my childhood in a way that made me soft and gooey on the inside. Nikki Webster you will always be famous.

5. Ignorance Is Bliss

Maybe it’s recency bias, because I just reread this a couple days ago, but I truly love this fic. It’s written quite differently to most of my other stuff, which made it fun. One of my favourite things about writing is exploring techniques and styles, and this allowed and captured that. I’m also an ABO lover, and writing Kanthony ABO in a way that felt very authentic to canon was so enjoyable.

4. Bittersweet

The first Bridgerton fic I posted!!! And it’s lesbian!!! And I wrote and posted it within 24 hours!!! Of course it made the top five. I’m an Edwina lesbian truther, so Franwina felt like a natural experiment to do. Had fun, might revisit the ship in a less emo setting.

3. Ja Pense A Toi

TAFFREY. MY BABIES. Truly no one will ever understand what Neal Caffrey and Gordon Taylor mean to me, but I am trying to spread the agenda. I have two more WIP’s for them, but I digress. Writing their adventures in Paris felt very natural, and I like to think that the two versions of Neal I have (him with Siegel or Taylor) are the devil vs the angel in him.

2. The Compensation Explanation

Maybe a left field choice, as the only big bang theory fic I have posted and probably ever will post. It’s the first thing I posted in 2024, which is sentimental in itself, but this one shot is just special. It’s sad, a little angsty and soft around the edges. It’s a story of being comphet from a deeply religious upbringing and mother, even if she always has and always will love you deeply, and about both the mother and son grappling with relationships—her with god and her son, him with his mother and boyfriend. It feels like a hug in fic form, and it’s one of my own things I reread the most.

1. To Commandeer a Husband

It would be unfair to put anything except this baby as number one. It was my longest (completed) fic in years. The first Bridgerton fic I wrote, how I got my first mutual and beta on here (@tofanasmuse thank you ilysm) and fundamental in building so many parts of my community. Even if it was largely built out of my bottom Anthony agenda and powerful women kink; I love these characters, their dynamics and their relationships so much. Also, writing a Whistledown to start every chapter was so much fun. I promise I’m working on a benophie sequel lol.

Thank you to anyone who read anything I wrote this year, let alone this post that is mostly just for fun. I wanna turn this into a game??? Everyone please rate your fics from the year, I’m so curious and I think it’s fun. You can rank them using whatever metrics you want. You can rank WIPs, smaus, tumblr fics, whatever you like!

I’m tagging @newtonsheffield @hydriotaphia @tofanasmuse @harnitbee but please truly anyone can do this I promise the last thing I’m doing is gate keeping. Let’s all celebrate the year we’ve had, and art we’ve created!

–GW xo

[indianamgc11]

prompt list

crossed out = already done

it is listed if it is in progress or if it has another part

angst:

- “the worst part of all this is that i still love you.”

- “i’m playing the villain, just like you wanted.”

- “from the day we met, i knew i’d hurt you eventually.”

- “i told you not to get too close to me.”

- “it was always going to end like this. wasn’t it?”

- “please tell me that at least a part of it was real.”

- “i gave up in you a long time ago.”

- “i wanna say that there’s still hope, but sometimes, things just don’t go our way.”

- “you didn’t call. you didn’t text. nothing.”

- “i hope someday you get a taste of your own medicine.”

- “i don’t know where we are.”

- i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.”

- “i’m sorry i’m not who you thought i was.”

- “swear it to me.”

- “he had it coming.” (in progress; luke hemmings x reader)

- “i can’t even act mad at you.”

- “i don’t care. i’m not leaving you.”

- “you’re playing a dangerous game. my game.” (in progress; luke hemmings x reader)

- “don’t tell me there was nothing.”

- “this can’t be goodbye.”

- “you didn’t miss me the way i missed you.”

- “you didn’t love me, did you?”

- “don’t go anywhere that i can’t follow.”

- “you don’t deserve me.”

fluff:

- “i hope you know how much you mean to me.”

- “i like my shirt on you, it looks cute.” (Ethan landry x reader)

- “yes, i have feelings for you. moving on…” (in progress; Ethan landry x reader)

- “hold my hand. you’re going to be fine.”

- “your hair is really soft after you wash it.”

- “you can ask me as much as you want, i’m gonna say that i love you each time.”

- “oh, just shut up and let me take care of you!”

- “i love your smile”

- “safe and sound, hm?”

- i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still.”

- “you must be freezing— here, take my jacket.”

- “would you just let me take care of you?”

mixed/miscellaneous:

- “you taste like my new addiction.”

- “was that supposed to happen?”

- “i’m here for business— not pleasure.”

- “you look like you’ve got something to say.”

- “makes me want to wreck you.” (pt. 2 coming soon; Ethan landry x f!reader)

- “text me when you get home.”

- “would you like a distraction?”

- “it’s okay, you can touch me, i won’t break.”

a/n: i might keep adding to this, depends.

i write for 5sos, jack champion, ethan landry, and spider socorro

I will still take requests for prompts already completed for another person :)

(ex: if a prompt was written with Ethan already and you would like it written with a different person, you can request it with that person, for example with Michael)

[hischierdevils]

Lover of Mine | J.M.

note: big thank you to @rowdyhughesy for encouraging me to finish this! I love writing for john and I’m so glad I have someone to talk about him with. Inspired by Lover of Mine by 5sos.

summary: a late night storm brings out some secret fears

warnings: lots of fluff, slight shark slander

wc: 1.3K

Lead to where your secrets are

Where we've been a thousand times

Swallow every single lie

Take all of me

A crack of thunder jolts you awake in the middle of the night making your heart race. You roll over searching for comfort, only to be met by empty sheets. “John?” You whisper into the darkness as you catch the time on his bedside clock. Where could he be at three in the morning? The bed is cold so you know he didn’t just run to the bathroom. 

A flash of lightning lights up the room as you get out of bed and pad across the floor to the door. Even though you’re expecting it this time, the next crack of thunder still causes you to jump. “John?” You call again softly to the dark apartment. 

You find him in the living room, standing in front of the big window watching the storm light up the sky. He jumps slightly as you wrap your arms around his waist from behind but then he relaxes and turns in your arms to face you. “Hey, baby. Why are you awake?” 

He smooths down your hair on both sides of your head before bending down to place a kiss on your forehead. “The thunder woke me up and you weren’t there.” You pout, hoping he’ll give you a kiss.

He obliges before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight to his chest. “I’m sorry.” He kisses your head again and you can tell something is bothering him. “I’ll come back to bed.” 

“Why were you out here?” You force yourself to pull away from his warm embrace so you can look at his face. Most of it is in shadow but the faint light from the window allows you to see the worry lines around his mouth and the way his eyes are downcast. You bring your hand up to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch immediately. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” He lies before turning his head to kiss your palm. “I just couldn’t sleep.” 

“John.” Lightning flashes throughout the room so bright you have to close your eyes followed closely by a rumble of thunder so loud it sounds like it hit your apartment building. You jump and he tightens his hold on you as he moves you both away from the window. “Talk to me.” 

“I had a bad dream.” He admits so quietly you almost don’t hear him. 

Your heart clenches as you look up at him. You know he’s been stressed with the trade deadline approaching. His name hasn’t come up in any trade rumors but that doesn’t mean it’s not a possibility. “What was it about?” 

“I got traded…” he confirms your thoughts. “...and we broke up.” 

If my name never fell off your lips again

I know it'd be such a shame

When I take a look at my life

And all of my crimes

You're the only thing that I think I got right

Confessing to his bad dream causes John to relive it all over again. In the dream, you had told him that you were tired of following him around the country for hockey. That you didn’t want to start over in a new city again and that you couldn’t keep doing it year after year, wondering if he’d get traded again. Dream you had told him that it was over, you had to break up with him.  He woke up in a panic with tears on his face as he looked over at your sleeping form. 

You were the best thing that ever happened to him and he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. The two of you met at Harvard and you had followed him to Pennsylvania and now New Jersey. He knew it wasn’t fair to you but he loved you and couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. 

“I’m not going to break up with you just because you get traded, bub.” You assure him as you reach up to play with one of his curls. “I love you.” 

He smiles and bends down to kiss you. “I love you too.” 

“I’d follow you anywhere.” You tell him as you relax against his chest. “You should know that by now.” 

Doubt continues to creep into his mind. “What if I get traded to Vancouver?” 

You laugh as you step out of his arms and walk to the couch. “I’d prefer somewhere warmer. Maybe San Jose?” John follows you and sits beside you. “You look so good in red though and I don’t like their colors.” 

“Oh yeah?” He laughs as you curl into his side. 

“Yeah.” You yawn. “Maybe Anaheim will be a better color scheme for you.”

He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back as you rest your head on his shoulder. “I love you so much, y/n.” 

“I love you too, pretty boy.” He blushes from the nickname, burying his face in your neck as you run your fingers through his curls. “You’re stuck with me forever.” 

“I’m okay with that.” He mumbles into your skin, causing you to giggle. 

He picks his head up to smile at you and you quickly boop his nose. “You have the cutest little nose.” You tell him. “Hopefully one day our kids have it.” 

“Kids?” His hands tighten on your hips as he looks at you in surprise. “Our kids?”

“I wanna have your babies someday.” You explain as you trace the mole on his cheek with your finger. “Is that okay with you?” 

“It’s more than okay, baby.” He tips his head down to kiss you as he tugs slightly at your hair so you’ll open your mouth for him. He pushes his tongue through your parted lips as you move in his lap so you’re straddling him. He moans softly against you as you begin to rock your hips but a loud crack of thunder causes you to jump off of him. 

He stands up to pull you in for a hug, remembering you said that the thunder woke you up to begin with. “Will you come to bed with me?” You ask him quietly as you rest your head against his racing heart. 

“I have a better idea.” 

Dance around the living room

Lose me in the sight of you

I've seen the red, I've seen the blue

Take all of me

You watch him curiously as he walks over to the stereo and turns it on. A Taylor Swift song that you were listening to earlier starts to play and John walks back over to you to take your hand. “Dance with me.” 

“Bub, it’s the middle of the night.” You hesitate as another flash of lightning lights up the room, illuminating John in a white glow. “You have practice tomorrow.” 

He tugs on your hand, pulling you close to him so he can rest his free hand on your hip. “I wanna dance with my girl.” He gives you a quick peck before spinning you around. 

The sound of your giggles makes him feel like his heart is about to burst. “You’re such a goof.” You tell him as goes to dip you. 

“But I am your goof, forever.” He tells you once he’s holding you a few inches from the floor. 

You smile, a little breathless before he brings you back up. “And I'm yours, bub.”

As the two of you dance around the living room, you wonder how you got so lucky with him. He’s on the quieter side most of the time and more reserved than most of his teammates but he’s always given all of himself to you. 

Moments like this, dancing around the dark living room at three am with a thunderstorm as music, is what made you fall for him in the first place. It’s what you think about when he’s on the road and what keeps you following him city to city.

[castieltrash1]

summary → patience is a virtue and you show bucky barnes he’s worth waiting for

word count → 17k

warnings → angst/comfort, pining, insecurity/jealousy, partial soldat!bucky, mentions of violence, ptsd/nightmare references, ambigious pre-wakanda timeline, alcohol, wanda/vision mentions, reader is non-gendered but gets called “sweetheart” “doll” “darling” and “kid,” bucky is scared of thunderstorms, physical scars and canon-level violence, basically just a big ball of emotion with a happy ending 

a/n → yes guys it is, in fact, finished. i’d like to thank the academy aka my bucky anon and @f1nalboys​ bc without them this fic would’ve never seen the light of day </3 this one is for yall MWAH !!

+ each section of the fic is kind of based on a different song so u can listen to those [here] hehe :3 but the whole fic is based on the song outer space/carry on by 5sos (the title is from lyrics hehe)

---

I. The Archer; “And I don't see an end to this, so I'll enjoy the fire.”

Bucky enters the kitchen almost silently, the slosh and drip of his drenched clothes giving away his sudden presence.

You turn your head just in time to watch a few drops hit the floor, water collecting into a murky puddle of shadow on the tile around his clunky boots.  It takes an eternity of a stretched second for you to recognize him. Everyone had turned in for the night, supposedly. When your brain registers who’s standing in front of you, your eyes widen, heart skipping a beat. Even with everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve watched him do, it still doesn’t feel right to see him in this state.

He’s already stalking off with a rubbery squeak when you grab a spare dishtowel from the counter and rush over to him. For a moment you think he’ll ignore you, but then he stops in his tracks, albeit without sparing you a glance. He’s not all there -- stance stiff, eyes glazed in a way that disregards the usual sliver of warmth in his deep blue gaze. But he’s polite -- obedient -- regardless.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologize -- for not being fast enough, not noticing him; anything he might take offense to in this sensitive state. “I didn’t realize you were still out... I thought…” He doesn’t reply, but his jaw ticks as water trickles from his hair to his cheek. It lets you know he’s not completely numb. Not yet. You lift the towel, but he grabs it from you before you can get any closer.

He drags it across his eyes, forehead, nose, before shoving it back into your hands. When he slicks his hair away from his face, you take note of the blotchiness of his skin; concentrated around his nose and under his red-rimmed eyes. They’re bloodshot, and the veins are bright against his grey expression.

He offers you no more than a sniff as he brushes past, heading towards the bathroom.

When the door slams shut behind him, you break from your stupor and trace his wet footprints back to the puddle that’s begun to seep into the lines between the tile. You sacrifice the already dirtied towel to clean it. Bucky will feel bad for the mess eventually, even if he’s apathetic now. The searing hot shower will slowly bring him back, steam opening the guilt-filled pores that hide under his scarred skin. He’ll come out and scrub the grout until his hands bleed.

The water is still running when you reach the bathroom door to wipe up the last of the mess, just a heelprint of thinned mud.

As you retreat to your room, you text Steve. He’ll be the first one up, and the only one equipped to deal with the emotional hangover. He’ll be the only one who really cares.

You let him know that Bucky just got home, hoping he’ll note the late timestamp of your message. And you tell him Bucky seems tired. Tired. It does little to encompass everything -- all the exhaustion, fear, and confusion he’ll wake up with. But Steve will understand. He always does. And you do your best, even when there’s not a single recognizable part of Bucky left.

Steve catches you by the wrist in the lounge the following early afternoon, tugging you to the corner of the room. A soft smile spreads across his face as he wipes away the sweaty remains of his morning run; all warmth, skin glowing in a way that only happens after a good workout.

His eyes scan the rest of the room, a movement almost too fast to catch. He lets out a heavy, relieved sigh when he realizes you’re alone, and brings you to the nearest couch.

“I got your text,” he says lowly, hesitant to breach the topic in person. “I wanted to thank you.”

You see the nervousness in his gaze and scoot closer to pat his shoulder. “Of course. I know he can be… Unpredictable. You deserve a heads-up if you can get one.” Steve’s been caught off guard before; you all have. It’s easy to think Bucky is just being distant, just being him. And then he’s sleeping too late, saying too little. His dinner plate will stay untouched, but the kitchen will be ransacked at midnight once everyone’s gone. Steve can barely catch up, and you doubt Bucky can either.

Steve shifts, letting out a shaky breath. “I want to help him.”

“You do more than any of us,” you reassure, truthfully. “Bucky trusts you -- he loves you. I think your presence is all he needs most of the time.”

Everyone else has to put more effort into their support. Natasha peels back the scars of her past in hopes of sharing the pain. Bruce spends weekends hunched over his desk trying to make sleeping pills that Bucky’s metabolism won’t immediately digest; tired fingers shaking as he tries a new dose, a new capsule, a new something.

But Steve’s existence alone is more of a contribution than anything.

“He knows you help, too,” he finally says, staring in a way that makes you squirm. It’s the hardened soldier’s gaze that leaves no room for argument. Whatever he’s telling you is a belief buried deep in his soul, an unwavering promise.

It makes your chest clench. Steve confirming that Bucky pays you even an ounce of attention is enough to make your heart race. “I’m just trying to be a friend.” You stress the last word, hoping it’s not visible that you’re curled around the ledge of a maybe more.

“He’ll notice eventually,” he tries, but his determined gaze is gone, and he’s holding onto hope just as much as you are.

The surface of Bucky’s healing has barely been scratched. There’s an entire life for him to uncover, remember, forget, and relive. It’d be selfish to expect any more than that from him. You know that, Steve knows that. A part of you hopes Bucky does too -- that someday he’ll realize his existence isn’t at the expense of others, even if that expense is love.

Steve stands with curled lips and a gentle double-pat on your leg that’s too comforting for something you shouldn’t even be disappointed about. It makes you feel like you’re mourning, but maybe you are, and maybe he’s just the only one who realizes it.

II. Studio 6; “I reached out to wake you but I learned that he'd taken you back.”

Group dinners are impossible, but there’s always a good handful of you in the kitchen at one time.

Tony will sip something bubbly that’s worth a mortgage, while Bruce tosses a salad fit for two; perpetually charged with thinly veiled green anger. Clint will scarf down a slice of week-old pizza and Nat will scrunch her nose at the unpleasant sounds she can never seem to avoid when he’s within range.

And, if Steve’s around, so is Bucky. The latter has only made an exception for Sam if his prior friend is on a mission for too long that he can’t sustain a hunger strike.

No one questions it or why his presence is more likely to exist when the dining room is crowded. He seems more inclined to show up when he can sink out of a conversation without anyone noticing, without any eyes on him -- except yours. He always catches onto your staring quickly though, feeling the heavy and uncomfortable weight of your focus.

But tonight, his chair by the corner of the room is noticeably empty. No one dares to disturb it, even if the extra seat is needed. No one says anything either -- at least not too loudly, though you catch some distant mumblings between Sam and Tony. They’ve chosen to forget (or purposely ignore) the fact that Steve, who’s sitting beside them, has beyond-perfect hearing.  

And he’s quick to hear the vibrating of his silenced phone, brows furrowed as he discards his fork to reach for the device. Normally, he’d scold you for ignoring table manners, but when he reads your hasty message, he understands.

“Have you seen him eat today?”

Steve gives you a tight-lipped frown and discreet shake of his head as a response.

You’re quick to stand from your chair with a sigh, the room quieting as everyone’s eyes focus on you. “I’m done, so I’ll do dishes tonight.” All of them happily agree without question, piling their plates onto yours. Wanda smiles in gratitude, whereas Clint presses a messy kiss to your cheek in thanks. Steve, who usually has clean-up duty, just nods, giving you permission for whatever you’re planning.

Thankfully, the kitchen stays empty for a while. Laughter and voices echo from the lounge, and you half listen to the retold stories as you load the dishwasher. Everyone is still going strong by the time you finish cleaning and grab a new plate from the overhead cupboard.

You hope Bucky won’t take offense at the basic sandwich; certainly not the homely dish of meat and potatoes he might think of as a family dinner. No silverware, no mess. The fridge is mostly stocked, if you ignore the Asgardian leftovers and the three-hundred-dollar block of cheese, so you pile up what you can.

The sliced tomatoes wobble while you walk down the hall, dish balanced in one hand. Light spills underneath Bucky’s bedroom door frame, but when you knock softly, there’s no response. You tap a bit harder, and call out: “Bucky… I have some food for you.” Try as you might to keep your voice steady, there’s a waver that makes you grimace. Contrary to what he may believe, it’s not him you fear -- not in the way others do. He still doesn’t answer you.

You leave the plate on the ground; a pathetic offering of inclusion and peace.

It’s just a sandwich.

When you’ve retreated to your own room, you send him a text letting him know what’s waiting for him. And even though it stings when he doesn’t reply, you feel a silent weight lifted off your shoulders. You played your role today, just as you did last night.

If there’s one emotion Bucky has never evoked in you, it’s guilt.

You don’t check your phone until you’re making coffee the next morning, barely awake as the smell of roasted beans fills the air. The sandwich and its recipient feel like a half-forgotten dream. Only when you’re a few sips into your drink do you see the notification, and the one word it bestows.

Thanks.

It catches you off guard, and you busy yourself by rinsing the pot for the next person, a ceramic glint catching your eye. The stainless steel sink is home to a single plate -- the plate. There’s still a smudge of mustard on the corner from when your hands shook, and the squeezed condiment missed the bread.

You scrub at the dried stain, a much easier mess than the mud-covered floor. It’s just a small task, just a sandwich, just a friendly gesture.

It’s clear Bucky thinks nothing more of it either. The following weekend he’s fine in his own way. After an episode, the air around him feels off; a thick aura that makes your gut instincts fire up. He’s a human timebomb, one wrong step away from mass destruction.

And then he smiles at Steve,  you overhear their conversation about Coney Island, and suddenly all that fear is gone.

His laugh is more of a throaty chuckle than anything else, but there’s a flash of his pearly whites when he jokes about taking Steve on the Cyclone (a story you’ve all heard countless times) and time seems to slow. You hang onto the sight of him like a single frame in a movie; the sway of that one curl on his forehead, the slow upturn of his lips. It’s almost like he’s not there, not really, because he’s someone entirely different -- and not in the ways you’ve seen before.

It feels like you’re standing in the museum again, looking at all the Sergeant Barnes plaques and pictures. Not a hint of Winter Soldier, not even Bucky, just… James.

You must be grinning like the lovesick idiot you are because Steve finally nudges your shoulder. “Don’t you start laughing now. You’dve thrown up too if you went on that thing.” It takes a second for you to realize they’re still talking about roller coasters, and you just shake your head.

“Whatever you say, Cap’.”

“C’mon, Buck, back me up here!” He’s reverted to the past just as much as his friend, though less noticeably. Just a shift of the shoulders and a stance that fits a skinny Brooklyn kid, not a trained Avenger.

“Nah.” Bucky laughs again, stifled now that you’re involved in the conversation. “Steve’s just a chicken.”

“Oh, eat it,” Steve retorts. “I had stomach ulcers! Of course, I threw up.” He acts truly offended, but there’s no malice in his tone. He loves a good row, even when he acts otherwise. You pretend not to catch his barely visible smirk even as he walks away to go talk to Sam, who’s just entered the room.

You lean closer to Bucky, hand covering the side of your mouth, voice lowered. “He’s just bluffing. I heard he screamed over a spider yesterday.” There’s not much space between you two, and your head spins as you realize he must’ve leaned in too. Just a little. Unconsciously, perhaps, though a hopeful part of you thinks he calculates every moment, no matter how small.

He laughs, enough for you to see his chest puff, but too quiet to cover the whirring of his metal-plated arm. Making him laugh gives you a feeling that’s unmatched by any other form of euphoria. It’s a baby step, a sign of comfort, a realization that maybe, just maybe, you’re enough. Enough for him.

Your heart skips a beat, and when his eyes dart to watch your upturned lips, you wonder if his does too.

III. Sign of the Times; “Why are we always stuck and running from the bullets?”

A part of you is beginning to believe good and bad luck are destined to come hand-in-hand.

It’s an odd feeling having Bucky next door to you, even with the heavy, soundproof wall border. There are simultaneously mere inches and a world apart between you. His steps are silent and his door is always closed, but his presence is still there, and you don’t know if you’d still feel it if you weren’t head over heels for him.

Considering the rest of the building’s layout, you’ve been blessed with this corner of the facility. Steve’s across from Bucky, Sam from you. Despite the square shape, they’re a tight-knit triangle most of the time, even if you consider yourself somewhat involved in their friendship. But it’s partially relieving to not always be included since they can be a handful otherwise.

And that much is proven true when a loud clattering wakes you up at four in the morning.

The sound would wake anyone up, but your job and training are responsible for the way you jolt, heart racing. Any remaining sleep is blinked away as your fingers drift to the side of your bed, where you know a knife is sandwiched between the mattress and frame. No one can get in or even close to the facility without Tony’s knowledge, but the smooth metal feels reassuring against your fingertips regardless.

Silence follows for a few seconds, long enough for you to wonder if the disturbance was just a vivid nightmare. And then you hear one door open, and another; both slammed into the wall behind them. Steve’s voice echoes down the hall, calling your name, and you slide off the bed to your door, forgetting your disclosed weapon.

Steve’s halfway through your name again when you enter the dark hall, finding him standing in Bucky’s doorway. He’s bleary, blue eyes clouded with an uncertain look you’ve only managed to see once or twice; most notably, on the freeway that fateful day. He’s forced to adjust to the situation quickly, you realize, when you join his side and peer into the room.

Everything about Bucky is wrong.

His chest heaves, and when Steve shifts forward, he growls. It’s not a warning, but a threat. If his mouth could foam, you’re sure it’d be dripping down his chin at this point. He’s an offensive predator at first glance. And then you notice the little clues: disheveled sheets, sweat gathered on his brow, the broken vase by his bed stand, and the water dripping from his flesh hand.

Bucky suddenly becomes a wounded, scared animal.

You inch closer, Steve grabbing your wrist when Bucky reacts with a snarl. But you don’t halt, forcing yourself past the threshold. One checkpoint at a time.

“Bucky, it’s me.” You stand, palms face out. “I don’t know what you dreamt of -- I’m sure it scared you. But Steve and I are here, ok?” His eyes flicker between you, respectively, and a glint of recognition flashes in them. “Can you sit back down on your bed?”

His expression trembles, metal fingers curling and stretching repeatedly.

You rack your brain for any idea of ways to de-escalate the situation when he doesn’t follow your suggestion. And then it hits. He doesn’t need a suggestion. He needs an order.

With a deep breath, you steady your tone and catch his gaze. “Bucky…” His eyes glaze, but you try again. “James.” He twitches, just a small shift, but you grab onto it. You want to use the least amount of soldier-related words you can and if his legal name works, you’re not going to push your luck.

“Sit down on the bed, now.” You can feel Steve burning holes into your back, but you ignore his presence, and keep your eyes trained on Bucky. His shoulders drop after a moment and he blinks a few times before shuffling backward until the underside of his knees hit the bed frame. His recline is slow, but he finally sinks into the soft mattress with a heavy breath.

When you walk closer, he doesn’t react at all -- just watches your movements. And when you sit beside him, he continues to stare at you curiously. Steve’s still watching as you grab Bucky’s warm hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of his palm in a soothing repetitive motion.

You begin to murmur affirmations while you continue, not daring to initiate any more physical contact. And he slowly, almost unnoticeably, begins to react to it. Steve sandwiches Bucky’s other side and grabs the latter’s fluffy thick blanket from the middle of the bed.

“He’s sweating,” you whisper to Steve, and he nods, but adjusts the fabric on his friend’s shoulders anyway.

“He doesn’t like the cold.”

You swallow down the quickly forming lump in your throat.

Bucky blinks away the fog a few silent moments later. His fingers grip yours and he looks down at them, tracing your arm up to your face. He says your name quietly.

“Hey, Bucky.”

He scrutinizes you for a second, making your heart flutter, and then his gaze shifts to Steve.

“Steve?”

The blond smiles and nods, patting Bucky’s back gently. “Hey, punk. You alright?”

He swallows thickly, too many words and not enough answers. His fingers are still within your grip. “Yeah. I think.” The wavy strands of hair around his ear are slick with sweat and his tongue darts across his chapped lips in a nervous tick.

“Steve, can you get some water?” you ask, and Steve seems taken aback by your control of the situation, but he finally stands and makes his way to the door. When his steps grow quiet, you return your focus to the man beside you.

“I’m sorry if we scared you,” you begin, but then Bucky jerks his hand from yours as if your touch is the red-ringed surface of a hot stovetop.

His vulnerability shrivels away and he covers the rest of it with his blanket as he shifts toward the other end of the bed. If he notices your hurt expression, he doesn’t mention it, and you do your best to hide it as you stand from his bed.

You slowly drop to your knees, beginning to pick up the remains of the shattered vase; counting each thread in the carpet to take up more time. The flowers that fell are already shriveling, stems cracked into stringy vertebrae, petals smashed into the woven flooring.

“Why do you do that?” Bucky suddenly asks, voice gruff, but with a hint of hesitance. When you look up at him, your breath catches; the table lamp behind him is a warm yellow halo, and you can’t dismiss the feeling of kneeling before him, rose gathered in your palm as you pray he loses the solemn look that covers his face.

“Do what?”

He gestures his chin toward the floor. “Pick up my… messes.”

Steve’s promise rings through your ears. He’ll notice eventually. Your hands shake, and you look back to the floor; constant and unchanging, unlike his expressions. “It’s not a big deal. We all make messes sometimes.” And while that’s true, both of you know there’s no one else you’d be picking up glass shards for at four in the morning.

“You don’t,” he says, before continuing in a hushed tone, almost so you don’t hear, “make messes, I mean.”

His words make you still: what does he perceive? What does he know about you, what does he see that you overlook? What has he pieced together on how absolutely ruined you are for him?

Steve walks in with a cup of water, and the questions silence.

He feels the change in the air quickly and grasps your shoulder with his free hand. “I got it. Go back to bed.”

You toss the glass into the trash, pocketing a few of the intact flower petals to press and save.

When their quieted murmurs and sounds of cleaning continue, you dare a glance back. Bucky pulls his blanket closer, chasing as much warmth as he can take. His hair is almost dry, but the shorter and thinner strands are still stuck to his forehead with sweat. When you blink, he looks the same as the night before last -- wet from the rain and too uncomfortable in his own cold skin.

His reaction to the rain suddenly makes all too much sense.

IV. worldstar money; “Don't hate me, am I crazy? So tenderly you watch me burn.”

It turns out that the nightmare is the peak of Bucky’s episode, and his outburst ends quickly after. He returns to nightly dinners -- with Steve in tow -- and you don’t wake up to either of them yelling again.

Coincidentally, his plateau of emotions also lines up with Thor’s periodic arrival. His presence is always a date to anticipate and the team can spend up to a week preparing if they’re given the time. The god is not a handful, per se, since he’s more than capable of entertaining himself. But, at this point, it’s a tradition that his appearance is paired with a party. The few times one hasn’t been organized before he shows, Thor’s taken it upon himself to create one spontaneously; with no regard to his surroundings. Tony’s already lost a few pieces of furniture to Asgardian liquor stains and he won’t make that mistake again.

As the preparation begins and the excited trainees at the facility are informed of the event, your mind drifts back to Bucky. His attitude change seems too instantaneous. The decline and regrowth can take weeks. A part of you hopes it’s a sign of healing - the fast recovery. The logical side of you thinks he’s simply hiding his discomfort since everyone is busy, too busy for him.

Thankfully, Wanda keeps you distracted. Whenever something normal like a party happens, she’s the most excited, and it’s hard to not feel infused with her radiance. Even Natasha becomes more playful, talkative. Despite popular belief, it seems that redheads have the most fun, especially ones who crave some regularity in their lives.

“What about this one?” Wanda pulls the nth dress from her closet, both you and Natasha lifting your heads from where you’re lying on her purple bed. It’s a simple red piece, with a small flower pattern and flowy skirt.

Natasha sighs, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Too simple.”

“You only wear little black dresses,” you retort, sliding up to her side. “I think it’s pretty, Wanda.”

“Hey, it’s a staple to any good wardrobe.”

“Nat?” you playfully jab. “Are you hiding a secret stylist side of yourself from us?”

Wanda clears her throat and you glance back at her. “Nat’s right. I’ll order something new.”

You frown at their obvious attempt to gang up on you. “I thought I was right!”

Natasha chuckles and Wanda attempts a sputtered excuse before she ends up laughing as well. You flip both of them off, but they see the smile gracing your face regardless.

“Fine. What about you, Nat?” You rest your head on her shoulder, feeling her shrug.

“I don’t plan for this stuff.” A total lie, but you let it slide.

Wanda looks over her shoulder as she returns the dress to her overfilled closet. “Picked something to seduce Bucky in yet?” Her accent deepens as she fakes a sultry tone, sending a mascara-lashed wink your way.

“Oh my god,” you groan.

“I think you should get something to highlight your ass,” Natasha muses, playfully tapping her chin. “That’s a pretty obvious hint, don’t you think?”

“Not you too!” But she pulls you into her arms regardless. Wanda jumps on the bed a few seconds later, curling up to your other side. You’re so close to them, and not just physically. You feel like you could reveal anything, admit any secret, and it’d stay in this group of minds forever. A Bermuda Triangle friendship for your confessions.

You can’t help but mumble: “Why doesn’t he notice anything I do?”

It still feels selfish to think, let alone say out loud, but there’s no judgment in response. There’s not the pitying comfort from Steve or the teasing grins of the others who don’t understand the depth of the situation. Natasha pats your arm and Wanda squeezes you a little tighter, and they don’t need to offer an explanation because just having them listen is enough. You know that’s how Bucky feels with Steve and you wonder if, in some other dimension, he trusts you just as much.

Natasha leaves first; off to the shooting range with Clint, and you follow soon after.

“Hey, Wanda,” you call, halfway through the threshold. She looks up from investigating her heeled-boot collection, red waves of hair crashing over her shoulder. Her thin brow lifts in question, and you smirk.

“I think Vision would like the flower dress, just saying.”

You don’t look back, even when you hear her sputter a retort, because you already know her face is flushed to match the outfit hanging in her closet.

V. sex money feelings die; “Trade love for one night, two pills and a red wine.”

The air in the facility only changes when Tony Stark is in charge. Routines, workouts, meetings -- they’re all forgotten and replaced with tipsy staff and good music. An inkling of professionalism remains in the lounge, but it’s discreet; fancy champagne, expensive suits, and a few public heads lingering in groups. But as a whole, it’s nowhere near the usual stiffness of your daily life. The facility may be your home, but it’s your workplace as well. Except for during moments like these.

You’re able to spot everyone quickly. Unlike the previous Stark Tower parties you attended a few years back, the guest list tonight is much smaller. Natasha is holding her own in a conversation with a few snobby businessmen and Clint lingers on the balcony behind her looking like he’d rather jump off than engage in any small talk anyone has to offer.

Wanda, in all her flowered-dress glory, is a tad tipsy, but Vision stables her with a hand on her waist, and you can see her cheeks flush from across the room.

Tony is with Bruce at the bar, and Thor is surrounded by excited trainees who’ve only heard stories about him. A second later, your gaze lands on a group of three: Steve, Bucky, and Sam. The last catches your eye and waves, heading your way before you can take a step in their direction.

He stumbles on his path, which means he’s drunk. Sam Wilson is not a lightweight, but deep inside his body lives a frat boy who only appears when he’s had too many shots to remember.

“Hey!” He grins and pulls you in for a hug, the type he’d usually give you after a two-week mission away, even though it’s been two hours since you talked last. “I didn’t see you around. Thought you decided to skip.”

You chuckle. “You know me. Just… Lingering.” And watching for Bucky.

Sam raises his brow cartoonishly high. “I think you’re partying wrong. You,” he starts, grabbing your hand before you can blink, “should be dancing.” He extends your arm above your head until you appease him with a spin.

He whistles, then sighs. “You know, I hate to admit it but I think Barnes would be a better partner. Dude’s how old again?” Sam laughs, palm warm as he squeezes your hand. “Seven decades of dance moves. Hell, you think he can moonwalk?”

It’s a nice thought: Bucky, not yet greying due to his years on ice, being free in the eighties. His hair fluffed with hairspray and a neon earring dangling from his lobe. But that’s another life. Another era he’ll never live.

“Hey, you alright?” The new wave illusion fades away and you’re left staring at Sam’s toothy smile. “You have too much to drink?”

“No, actually.” You play off the spaced-out moment and Sam is too inebriated to notice. “I haven’t had anything yet, really.”

He immediately gets a playful glint in his eyes. “Steve got his hands on some of that God beer, or whatever -- if you wanna try.” Despite internally refusing the offer, you don’t dismiss Sam. Mainly, because Bucky is still standing by Steve, and you can see the invisible walkway leading up to them. You nod, and Sam heads back in their direction with you trailing behind him.

Steve pulls you to his side the minute you’re within reach, breath hot and sweet against your cheek. “Wondered where you wandered off to.” He loosens his grip but lets his weight rest on your shoulder, enough to keep you warm. He flashes his flask at you, silver metal and dark brown leather, but you shake your head.

Before you can politely decline, Sam reaches over to take the offer from Steve’s hands. Three sets of eyes watch, with bated breath, as he tosses back a shotful, complete with a face-scrunching cough. “Is it that bad?” you ask, but Sam’s too busy clearing his throat to respond, and Bucky grabs the flask.

He makes Sam look like an amateur as he takes his own drink. It goes down smoothly, the veins in his neck tensing as he swallows without hesitation. None of his other muscles even twitch. You marvel at him in quiet awe as he licks away the last golden drops clinging to his lips.

Bucky’s eyes catch yours when he’s done. Tonight, he stares, like he’s trying to understand your gaze for once. A part of you wonders how he can struggle to profile emotions as visible as yours. Another part of you wonders if he remembers what attraction and amazement look like to the naked eye.

You don’t have time to consider it before the man of the hour is pushing his way into the conversation, sliding a toned bicep around your neck to pull you in. He grins, sends the other guys a nod. “My favorite human,” he starts, though you’re not sure if that ranking was decided pre or post-Jane. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, Thor, thank you.” He pats the small of your back in response and then directs his attention to the others -- distant chatter of mead and parties fading into the background. You’re in the midst of zoning out when a gentle, but direct, cough alerts you of someone’s presence. Thor doesn’t pay you any mind as you pull from his grip, turning to face a guy you think you recognize. A security guard, maybe -- or a media reporter?

You’ve got a superhuman soldier on one arm and a God on the other, but this, presumably mortal man stays rooted in his place. “Good evening,” he starts and throws your last name out like the idea of being beneath you socially crushes his already crippling ego. “I know this might be, well, quite forward, but…” In the back of your mind, you realize the others have halted their conversation to watch how this will unfold.

“I’ve been waiting to see you all night.” You give him a polite smile and hope your cringe isn’t obvious.

“Thank you…” He is optimistically brave and you know that letting him down without a fight is unavoidable, so you play along to save face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.” His grin is bleached white, a staggering contrast against his dark suit and brown eyes.

“Well, now that you’re here,” but he can’t finish the tacky line before Sam snorts, only silencing when Steve jabs him in the side.

You feel downright sick. His intentions aren’t pure, obviously, but you wonder what his motive is. It always starts like this -- a nice, albeit forced, conversation, and next thing you know, he’s asking which Avengers are fucking behind closed doors (or whatever other gossip is trending at the moment.)

“Anyway.” You brace yourself; here it comes. “There’s a private gallery showing downtown next weekend. I was hoping you’d be interested in going with me?”

Oh. Oh.

“I’m sorry?” You’re still not convinced. “Are you asking me on a date?” The word leaves your mouth and you faintly feel Steve take a step closer, gentlemanly instincts kicking in. He’s watched the others be tempted by similar propositions, only to be ambushed by paparazzi or caught in a pre-planned scandal.

“You could call it that, if you’d like,” the guy responds, a flirty lilt in his tone. “I understand if you’re not available -- a lifestyle like yours doesn’t leave much in the schedule, I assume.” He rustles in his suit’s breast pocket before pulling out a card, off-white with a dark grey print. You catch a glance of his name -- Tom -- before he’s speaking again.

“If you end up having time, I’d love to take you.”

You nod dumbly, still not sure how to process the situation at hand. But if his disinterest towards your opinion wasn’t obvious before, it’s clear when he’s already walking away with a grin before you can attempt to respond.

When you finally turn around, all four men are staring at you with different expressions. Thor is impressed, it seems, even when he falls into a bout of surprised chuckles. Sam’s slightly more annoyed, but not enough to stop himself from laughing either. Steve is staring daggers into Tim -- Tom’s -- departing figure, and Bucky is… You’re not sure. His jaw is clenched, tightly, and his stance is far more predatory than it was before; shoulders squared, chest puffed. He’s the perfect picture of jealousy, but you know he’s probably just put off by Tom’s cocky demeanor.

Regardless, the change in the air is palpable, and you end up excusing yourself before you can choke on the tension. You rescue Natasha from her painfully dull conversation and pull her onto the balcony to relax with Clint. He’s staring off at the landscape below, and you both press against the railing with him. His gaze doesn’t shift, but a smirk becomes visible on his sharp profile. “Nice escape in there, you two. Barnes and those businessmen were really shaking their heads.” Natasha scoffs, but you tense.

“Bucky?” you ask, and Clint huffs, faking surprise.

“Yeah, Bucky. Thought the old man was about to go into cardiac arrest when that other guy asked you out.”

“What guy?” Natasha cuts in.

At the same time, you say, “How did you know he was asking me out?”

Clint isn’t easy to annoy, so he continues to answer your questions. “I know because Barnes looks jealous as hell. I can hear his heavy breathing from here, and in case you’ve forgotten,” he gestures towards the purple aid lodged in his ear. “And since you’ve gotten over here, he’s taken it upon himself to finish off Steve’s flask.”

“Gross,” Natasha groans. “I wouldn’t touch that shit if it were the last drink on Earth.” She accentuates her words with a sip of her bubbling champagne, long red nails tapping the glass flute.

“Whatever you say, Barton,” you chuckle, but there’s a hesitation in your words; a silent gap waiting to be filled with more questions. Was Bucky really jealous? Is Clint just humoring you? The thoughts drift around in your head, and your friends let the conversation flow into another topic, saving you from dwelling for too long.

As they begin to playfully argue over something -- like always -- your eyes drift back to the party. It’s reached a quiet buzzed state, the energy of the room coming to a lull. The calmness is enough to leave you feeling dazed, letting the cold breeze coat your skin with goosebumps. You silently hope that Bucky is watching from afar, indulging in your shadowed silhouette against the darkening night. But when you examine each partygoer to find him, you land on Steve instead; with that look.

Natasha finally notices, or at least announces, your distraction: “You alright?”

“Yeah…” You trail off, watching as Steve and Sam glance around the room; searching, worried. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bring more drinks on your way,” Clint suggests, but his favor leaves your mind the second you head inside.

VI. SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK; “Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms.”

Your shoes clack against the floor and Steve lets out a sigh of relief when you enter his line of sight. “Thank God you’re here,” he half-jokes as if you can’t see his flustered expression. “I was just about to call you. Bucky wandered off and... I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right. He’s not in his room -- Sam checked.”

“Bathroom?” You ask, but Sam, approaching, shakes his head. He looks like he’s a second from toppling, his earlier shot taking a visible toll.

“Looked there first.”

You raise a disbelieving brow. “Geez, I’ve barely been gone five minutes and he just disappeared on you both? Isn’t that what he does?” You discreetly gesture around to the crowd, gritting your teeth. “This isn’t really his scene.”

Steve’s concern doesn’t lessen. “No, I know. He just, he somehow got buzzed. I don’t think he’s slept in days and… I don’t know...”

You know his ability to burn off alcohol is unparalleled, but unlike Steve, Bucky hasn’t touched the stuff since ‘42 -- not even one of Tony’s mild wines at dinner. If he was drinking as much as Clint said, there’s a fair chance he could be slightly inebriated; just enough to throw him off his perfectly calculated balance.

You can’t leave him to his own devices, so you let out an exhausted huff. “Fine. Take Sam to his room, though. He’s about to pass out.” Said drunk sends you a glare, then promptly stumbles in place. “I’ll make the rounds in the meantime. Text me if you see Bucky on your way.”

Both men nod, Sam’s head bobbing in a way that makes you dizzy. They head off, attracting a few whispers along the way, but make it down the hall without too much of a scene. You sneak away in the opposite direction, towards the other half of the facility. It’s eerily quiet as the voices fade away until there’s just silence. The lights automatically flicker on as you walk, turning off behind you when you leave their range.

The closest rooms are the lounge and some storage closets, but they’re all empty, along with the pool. He can’t be in the shooting range or armory, since they’ve been locked up tightly for the night; FRIDAY can’t even open them without Tony’s approval.

But there’s another set of bathrooms down the hall; less used, without everyone’s necessities inside. When you walk past the door, a few sounds catch your attention: a drunken mumble, squeaky boots, and water running. There’s a possibility it’s a public hookup since it’s practically a mile-high achievement to fuck at a Tony Stark party. At least, it was, back in 2011.

You push open the door slowly.

Bucky is leaning against the sink, face flushed and dripping water. It’s been unceremoniously splashed against his skin, dripping down his neck and spilling across his maroon dress shirt. The patches of wet fabric cling to his chest, and you barely manage to pull your gaze away from the smooth outlines of his torso. His jacket is draped next to the faucet, freckled with stray droplets like a garden flower.

His eyes catch yours in the mirror, blue drifting into a hazy grey.

“Hey…” You trail off, closely monitoring his expression. “Steve wondered where you ran off to.” You refrain from mentioning your own concern; a good choice, considering Bucky gives you a tight smile in return. You’re just thankful for more than a grimace at this point.

“It’s pretty loud in there, right?” you continue, looking away as you grab some paper towels, thin white, masking your palms like sheet ghosts. Bucky’s eyes are still on you when you turn back, making you jump. You try to play it off by taking a step closer, slowly raising your hand. “Is this alright?”

He doesn’t respond, but his chin juts outward. When he’s steel-faced like this, you can’t tell who you see more: Sergeant or Soldat.

His reaction seems like a yes, albeit a stubborn one. His skin is warm even through the napkins as you gently pat his face, drying it off. He’s completely still, and it takes a second for you to realize neither of you is breathing. You’re sure your heart is beating much faster than his. You dab his cheekbones and when you move to his forehead, he tilts toward you. It’s tender and trusting and your heart melts; dripping over your rib bones and living jitters in your stomach.

Bucky’s lips pout as you press them once, twice, and you savor the indirect kiss.

And then you pull away, and he leans back.

You smile, and for a second it looks like he does too. “All dry.” He’s quick to grab his jacket, slinging it over his broad shoulder. Right as you move aside to let him leave, he takes an unbalanced step, hurriedly adjusting himself. The sight of Bucky tripping over his own feet is enough to make you giggle, and the quieted sound makes his cheeks flush a shade darker.

“Are you drunk?” you press, and he scoffs.

“Can’t get drunk. You know that.” But the corner of his lips upturn just barely, and you know only a drunk Bucky would ever smile at you.

“Whatever you say…” You pull his jacket onto your own shoulder. “But I’m taking you to your room. Steve’ll put me on dish duty for a week if I don’t.”

VII. Out Like a Light; “If I betray our lonely nights spent out like a light, with no kiss goodnight...”

Bucky is quiet the entire walk to his room, but his presence is warm and comforting behind you; thick like drizzled honey. You don’t have to look back or strain your ears just to feel him, to sense him. You don’t mind that he doesn’t utter a single word or attempt to sync his steps next to yours -- you just make your way down the hall, distantly noting Sam’s door being open a sliver. It’s a habit of his, like many others, that you’ve grown to recognize. He can be overly cautious, sometimes to a fault, but you’re relieved to know he got to his room with a few screws left intact inside that wild head of his.

“And here we are, safe and sound.” You extend your arm to Bucky’s door with a cheesy grin: “Home sweet home.” When he tenses at your words, you try not to falter -- even when you know home to him is a century away, in another life, and another world. Even if home to him means young laughter, warm cooking, and a scratchy record. You can’t apologize for wanting to be home, for hoping the occasional laughter of Peter and the motherly nagging of Pepper are enough to makeshift a family.

Bucky gracelessly stomps into his room, immediately falling back into his unmade bed. Any other night, you’d close his door and walk far, far away. But tonight he’s still got his shoes on and you know one wrong move will track God knows what across his sheets. You can’t help but wonder how many messes Bucky Barnes will make before you finally give in and kiss him.

Without another thought, you close the door behind you, causing Bucky to look up with a raised brow.

“I’m not gonna let you fall asleep fully dressed,” you tell him, voice stern, and he’s half-asleep by the time you’re untying his second shoe, tugging it off his socked foot. He managed to undo one button on his shirt, but promptly gave up, leaving his arms beside him.

You murmur his name and he groans. “Buck, c’mon. What do you normally wear to bed?” He answers by rolling over, muttering something into his pillow.

It’d be frowned upon to go through his drawers, but you’ve got no other choice. You quickly grab a t-shirt and some sweats. You don’t stare when you pull off his button-up and slacks, and you don’t ogle when you pull his impromptu pajamas on. You don’t glance at his scars or his chest or his stomach because he trusts you.

He’s as vulnerable as you could ever hope for, but he’s also stumbling drunk, and bound to forget this encounter tomorrow morning. He will never trust you like this again, so you cling to the moment as you tuck him in and brush his bangs from his face.

The thought of his upcoming headache sends you to the bathroom to fill a glass of water, thankful the tap is filtered. You set the cup on his bed stand, next to his toppled prescription bottles. He’s got a memo pad, unmarked but indented from previous writings, and a silver pen there too. You scribble a note telling him to drink water and take his meds in the morning. You add a little heart, stick it on the glass, and resign yourself to the fate of this being a blurry moment for the rest of your life.

You’re finally about to walk away when Bucky grabs your wrist, completely catching you off guard. His eyes flutter open, drowsy blue and thankful in a way that reminds you you’d do anything for him. “Please, don’t leave me.” He blinks, glossy and unfocused, and you sit next to him with a gentle nod. His hand stays locked in yours, even when he shifts to rest on his side. Your thumb rubs his knuckle while his opposite metal one clicks into place with a soft rattle.

“‘M sorry,” Bucky mumbles, but when you ask why, he just shakes his head and dozes off with a few slurred words. Something like thank you, and then a gravelly rumble of Russian -- Золотце.

A part of you wishes you didn’t understand it. Another part of you is glad Natasha has called you darling so many times before.

VIII. Even If It’s a Lie; “And I know you don't love me so, but please say it once before I go.”

If Bucky remembers anything from that night, he never acknowledges it. The others joke about the party in their sober states, reminiscing and reliving all the antics you missed while you spent the night baring your heart and soul to the man who now can’t stand to look at you.

“I wish I’d drank more and forgotten that night,” Clint jokes before the mention of alcohol jogs his memory and he glances over at you. “You never brought back our refills, so I’m blaming you.” You can tell he’s playing around, and you hope his words will fly under everyone else’s radar, but then Nat nods, growing suspicious. You’re all having dinner -- one of the good ones, where everyone is warm and full -- so you hope she won’t prod. But you can feel the shift in her energy as she leans in, raising a sharp brow.

“You’re right, Barton -- for once in your life.”

“Thanks.”

“Where did you go?” Her cherry lips curl on one side, and Wanda can’t hide her amusement as she snuggles up to Vision on the loveseat; unlike you and Bucky, they’ve barely left each other’s side since that night.

Instinctively, your gaze darts to Bucky, and you’re surprised to catch him already staring back. A hint of something lies in his gaze -- something more unrecognizable than usual. It’s neither embarrassment regarding your time together, nor a glare warning you against speaking up. If anything, it’s almost a silent plea, though not one rooted in regret. He’s asking this to be your secret and yours alone.

“Sam got hammered,” you start, rolling your eyes jokingly. Bucky physically relaxes, you note, watching him from the corner of your eye. “I had to help him get to his room -- with Steve, who did most of the heavy lifting. Literally.” Everyone seems appeased with the answer and you’re relieved to have made the right call.

Someone -- you’re not paying much attention at this point -- remarks how difficult it is to get drunk nowadays; between being on-call and not being able to enter a bar without ten different security precautions. You don’t doubt the gratitude the team shares, both for each other and the satisfaction of saving people. But it comes with a certain yearning. You see it at Steve’s apartment when he makes you dinner and talks to you about the weather like you’re just his neighbor. Or when Wanda paints her nails before missions, even when she knows they’ll be chipped bare by the time you return home.

Everyone wants what they don’t have; a normal life -- a chance at something different, mundane, peaceful.

And you… You want Bucky.

Considering his usual aversion to your presence, it takes a while for you to realize he’s purposely ignoring you. You’d hoped your white lie to the group would build you some rapport in his mind, but the awkwardness builds up until it rolls off him in waves whenever you walk by.

The silent-stand off reaches unbearable levels until Bucky ends up assigned to a day mission. It’s a sad realization, but you can tell the entire facility relaxes at the lack of his presence. No one’s gotten the hang of being around him, so it’s easier when he’s just...gone. If anything, he’s usually in a better mood when he gets back. The alone time, the structure, and the familiarity of burning knuckles and bloody lips calm him in a way nothing else can.

Steve pulls you into his room that late afternoon. He’s all furrowed brows and pouty lips; his thinking look. You sometimes forget he doesn’t have all the answers, despite appearing old and wise. He’s navigating the same life as you are. He’s lived two eras, but so few years. He doesn’t always understand.

His room is clean and stark, bare walls and pristinely tucked sheets. It’s still warm, in all the right ways. It smells soft and sweet like him -- a woodsy linen scent -- and there’s a cream, knitted blanket draped across his bed that drowns you whenever he lets you borrow it.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he starts, sitting on the edge of his bed with you. His broad frame takes up most of the space, but you don’t mind. “How did things go that night, with Buck? I asked him how he got to his room, but he said he doesn’t remember.”  

The single spark of optimism you had for keeping that night a special secret fizzles away without another word. Within a mere second, the realization hits you. Bucky’s not cherishing some romantic rendezvous because that’s not what it was. If anything, he’s probably ashamed at how easily he opened up to you after too much alcohol.

You can’t help but scoff to hide your pain. “Lucky him,” you joke, nudging Steve’s side. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he frowns, immediately scooting closer to you.

“I’m sure you don’t mean that.”

You’re blinking back some form of emotion -- heartbreak, anger, the burning feeling of your conscience sneering I told you so. I told you this would happen. “I just got him to bed, that’s all.” It’d be easier to believe that, to gaslight yourself until the memory is nothing more than a faded delusion. If Bucky refuses to acknowledge it, why plague yourself with the isolated recollection?

With the tone of an overbearing mother, Steve sighs. “I know that’s not true, doll. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be crying.” And then you feel your wet cheeks and the faint taste of salt gathering on your lips, tears streaking without you even noticing.

“He called me… Darling -- in Russian.”

“What?” Complete disbelief. “Are you sure?”

You know he’s just as surprised as you were, but the question burns: Why would Bucky ever call you that? It’s what Steve’s secretly asking. “Nat,” you answer. “She’s used it with me before. I recognized it right away.”

“Darling...” Steve muses, the world pulling out in a Brooklyn drawl instead of a Russian purr. “Well, I can’t lie and say I was expecting that, but…” He tilts his head with a smile, blond wisps curled around his ears, glowing white in the setting sunlight. “That’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

You go to wipe your eyes, but Steve beats you to it, rough knuckles brushing the tears away. “I don’t think so. He won’t even talk to me now. I think he’s ashamed -- but he shouldn’t be, right? It was just a drunk mistake. We all make those.” You know your tone isn’t convincing -- you’re still trying to prove it to yourself, and Steve’s face morphs into a look of pity. His features are drawn with guilt, and you don’t know when you both began to take the fall for Bucky’s faults.

“I’ll be honest.” Steve sighs, leaning forward. It’s hard to see him like this, so unsure. “I can’t always tell what Bucky’s thinking -- not anymore.” He shakes his head. “Maybe back then, before. Things were less complicated. It was easy to understand him.” He reaches for your hand, cupping it between both of his, and the contact steadies your wavering heart. “Sometimes, I think he’ll handle things like he used to, you know?” Sergeant Barnes -- the flirt, all confidence and smooth words. He’d treat you differently, but that’s not what you want, who you want.

“But that doesn’t mean you can doubt yourself, ok?” Steve’s words aren’t a cure-all, but they soothe the growing ache in your chest. He’s a terrible liar, so you know he’s being honest, and his reassurance means more than most people’s.

“Whatever Bucky decides to do - that’s his choice. You’re not doing anything wrong by trying to offer him love.” He doesn’t hesitate with the last word, which burns in every way possible; relief, knowing he understands the depth of your feelings; pain, that even with that knowledge, he only has hope. If Steve, with all of his unwavering optimism, is hanging by a thread, you know you’re past saving.

“Thanks, Steve.”

He says nothing else, just pulls you closer, and lets you rest in his arms for a few beats while you take in his natural scent and warm hands. In another life, he’d be easier to fall for. You’ve snagged a part of his heart, just like the others, but whoever gets it all… That’d be a type of love you’re not sure you could ever wrap your head around.

“I’m gonna go for a walk - try and clear my head. Alright?”

“Yeah, doll. Get to bed soon though, ok?”

You nod, and the sun has set by the time you make it down the hall, incoming moonlight lighting your way up to the balcony.

IX. Two Slow Dancers; “It would be a hundred times easier, if we were young again.”

The outside air is crisp, occasional winds biting into your arms and coaxing goosebumps from your skin. It’s the type of weather that leaves you alone with your thoughts, too sharp to let you zone out into an unfeeling haze. Everything lingering in your mind confronts you when you’re cold like this, and you wonder if that’s why Bucky hates the midnight chill so much; if it forces forward the memories that aren’t really his, the guilt of his subconscious actions.

You’ve all made countless mistakes, misjudgments. It’s part of the job. When you rely so heavily on instincts and adrenaline, slip-ups are bound to happen. But at the end of the day, you have yourself to own up to, not a foreign entity wearing your skin. Bucky isn’t the Winter Soldier, but the Winter Soldier is a part of Bucky, in a way that can’t be denied. To consider them separate entities would be ignorant, but to blame Bucky would be cruel.

Bucky mirrors your route at some point in the night, quietly joining you. The cold is making your body ache, much like your mind, but you can’t find it in yourself to turn around and go back in, especially when you see him. He’s still in his mission clothes, dark and clinging to his sweaty skin. He looks untouched, though you’re sure he’s got a few cuts and bruises you can’t see.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until the morning,” you state, with a slight chatter of your teeth. The stars above shine brighter than they did at the tower, unobstructed by city lights and various forms of pollution. They feel closer, almost as if they’re listening to every word you say and whispering amongst themselves.

Bucky busies himself by tugging his leather gloves off. “Got done early. Steve said you’d probably be here.”

Bitterly, you acknowledge he didn’t check on you because he felt inclined. Rather, he’d been put up to it. Instead of giving him a verbal response, you hum. Your mind races with what Steve must’ve said, how it led to this. You know you’re being given the conversation you spent nights begging for, but instead of joy, you feel fear. A sour bile rises to your throat. Bucky has dirt caked on his clothes, you’re half-freezing in the dark night, and the universe is cruel for deciding now is the moment.

“I know what you’re doing.” He’s straight to the point, just like always. No flowery language or attempt at sugar-coating, which you find both a blessing and a curse. He won’t say anything that could be misconstrued, but his statement is vague enough to lure you into your own admission.

“Yeah? What’s that?” The crest of fresh tears burns your already irritated eyes. You feel the end of all ends coming, but you won’t be the one to start it. Your pride was what kept this infatuation going for so long, even though it’d been predestined to fail. And your pride is what keeps you from giving in, even with the settling realization that Bucky never intended to treat you differently or give you a chance.

His hands, and their now visible bruised knuckles, curl around the balcony railing. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you, yet he’s never felt so far away. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself,” he says gruffly, and it sounds worse coming from him than anyone else. Less comforting, more pitying.

“Look at me.” You hesitate before obliging.

The sight catches you off guard. You know what Bucky looks like when he’s uncomfortable; seen it countless times - this is worse. He’s gone through Hell and back, yet he still looks more tortured glancing at you than at any time in his past. Why he wants to see you when he does this, you don’t know. Sadistic is the best word for it. Why must he gouge a hole in your chest while giving you those baby blues?

His eyes are dark, stars catching in their reflection as the colors swirl like a galaxy. The celestial vision is only yours to enjoy for a moment before he squints, brows furrowing. He must see the tears, the pleading look on your face that you no longer bother to hide. “Doll?” Like a stab to the gut, he delivers the one word you’ve imagined falling from his lips so many times before. There’s no warm sun or shy smiles or soft kisses to accompany it, only a pitying gaze and the gloomy sky.

“Please - don’t call me that.” You attempt to be stern, but your voice wavers, words barely coating a stifled choke. The second you turn away, Bucky latches onto your wrist, calloused fingers pulling you close; finally wanting you to invade his space.

His lips form a tight line. “Won’t you at least listen to what I want to say?”

“Why should I?” you ask, voice sharpening into a bite. “I know what you’re gonna say. I can tell just by looking at your face.” Chest heaving, you continue. Now that the confidence to speak has hit you, you can’t seem to stop. “I’ve known every day since you came here, Bucky. I know you don’t like me, but I don’t know why you seem so determined to rub it in my face.”

Ripping your wrist from his clutch, you rub away a fresh set of oncoming tears. Bucky blinks, wide-eyed, but composes himself quickly. “You think…” He almost laughs in disbelief. “You think I want to hurt you?” For a second, your stomach churns with guilt, but it dissipates before he speaks again. He is hurting you, whether he intends to or not. “I’m telling you this because I want to protect you.”

Voice trailing into a barely restrained yell, your chest bubbles with frustration, spreading like wildfire. Every word slices through the icy air with a hiss. “Protect me from what?”

Bucky shakes his head, brown waves of hair swaying with the motion. “You don’t know what you want,” he says, sternly. “You think you know how you feel, but you don’t. You… You don’t realize the things I’ve done -- what I’m capable of.”

A second of silence passes before the dam inside you breaks. The tears dry up, scorched away by the anger in your veins. “We all know, Bucky,” you retort, not missing the flash of hurt on his face. All you can think of is Steve, Tony, everyone who’s lost in the name of the man in front of you. They’ve worked tirelessly to push aside the past, putting their trust in the future, in the one who has caused them so much pain. “And we are the ones who have given you a second chance, despite it all. You’re the only one who can’t forgive yourself.”

His chest heaves, letting out a low breath as your words sink in. “You’re right,” he admits, lowly. “Which is why I can’t let you shoulder that burden.”

“Stop assuming you know what I can and can’t do,” you snap, lip curling into a snarl. “This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that you refuse to think anyone can see the good in you!”

“That’s because there isn’t any good in me!” Bucky yells, finally managing to startle you. He steps closer, chest puffed and jaw twitching. For a moment, you imagine this is how his victims must’ve felt in their final moments. “It’s the ugly truth and you’ve gotta face it. I can’t ever be what you want.”

At that moment, you realize it’s never been you that he’s disliked; only himself. The thought makes you spiral, and you immediately soften, voice hoarse and hushed. “You are what I want,” you tell him, hoping he understands. “Just as you are, Bucky. Why can’t you accept that?”

“You’re…” He shakes his head, strung so tight his body shakes. “You’re being unrealistic. I - I can’t see you with hope now when I know that there’s no future where I’m the person you’re imagining.” He’s entirely resigned to the fact, despite all you’re willing to give him, every possibility ahead.

You have to remind him of the light at the end of the tunnel. “What about all the work we’re doing? The therapy, the meds? Steve’s even making negotiations with Shuri… I… Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“What if it works?” Bucky questions and the thought makes you stop. “Are you going to follow me there? To Wakanda?” he asks, and it’s almost sad how quickly you come to a decision. For him, and the chance of something more, you’d leave it all behind.

“I would,” you admit, keeping your voice steady. “If there’s a chance - why… Why wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t you?”

Bucky doesn’t even consider it. “It doesn’t matter… It’s something I have to do alone.” He’s burrowing himself into a pit of isolation despite your pleas. Every time you hold your hand out to help, he’s just inches away, fingertips brushing yours. Just one reach and you can pull him to safety.

“I know I can’t heal you, Bucky - that’s not... That isn’t what I’m trying to do. I just… I want you to know I’d wait for you, every step of the way.”

He stops, thinking about his next choice of words. Somehow, you already know what he’s going to say. “What if…” His voice is hesitant, almost as if it pains him to speak. It’s going to hurt you even more. “What if I don’t want you there?”

Finally, it hits; the admission you’ve always been preparing yourself for. The excruciating buildup slams into you with a deafening crescendo. The letdown, the pure collapse, is unavoidable. Not a cell in your body can fight it. Any chance of convincing him is over -- completely and utterly so. It’s the sharpest ache you’ve felt in so long, but you can’t break in front of him - not any more than you already have. You can’t allow him the satisfaction he’s been waiting for since he demanded you look him in the eye; the fact that he is wholly, unequivocally, and painfully right.

“Okay,” you finally exhale, trembling but not looking away. “If you… That’s all you need to say. If that’s what you want.” You don’t think you’ve ever seen Bucky regretful, because the emotion held in his eyes is not something you recognize; downcast eyes, slumped shoulders. This is one instance where the guilt is entirely his own. “I care about what you want too, Bucky,” you tell him, unsure of how he could ever think differently with all you’ve given him. “Just because I feel a certain way… I-I’d never force you to feel the same.”

The balcony falls into silence, neither one of you having anything left to say. The last bit of warmth disappears as Bucky retreats to the doorway, gentle winds brushing his hair back for just a second; long enough for you to see a light gloss of tears coat his eyes. He blinks them back, features relaxing on instinct as he shifts into the perfect picture of numbness like he’s been trained to do. Any hint of emotion is washed away in one crawling, desperate wave.

He stops halfway through the threshold, one final consolation on his tongue. “It wouldn’t have been forced,” he admits, and, for a second, it’s like the dream you’ve always imagined; his soft eyes, the chance of him feeling the same. But the confession is for another life, a different version of yourself that you can’t quite imagine.

Bucky gives you a trace of a smile, and your frustration spills away as quickly as it came. All that remains is the longing for what could have been -- for what will never be. “Thank you,” you tell him, and this time you mean it. He leaves quietly, almost as if he’d never been here to begin with.

You’re left standing in the cold, nose burning, and fingers numb. The stars stare down from above, twinkling and all-knowing. You can’t help but wonder how many heartbreaks they’ve witnessed in all their years, finding yourself grateful for a finite lifetime of them. One streaks across the sky and you let a silent wish cling to the bright white tail, hoping and begging to never take its place in the universe. You’re not sure how many more broken hearts you can handle.

At the very least, not an eternity’s worth.

X. Strange (Instrumental)

The night on the roof slowly fades away, word by word, until you start to forget exactly what Bucky said, and in what tone. The emotions linger in a way akin to sickness; a tight chest, twisted stomach, clammy skin. At the very least, the physical reactions are easier to hide, covered by excuses like a sparring match gone wrong or spoiled leftovers.

To most, you seem entirely fine. No one knows about your conversation beneath the stars, though a few begin to suspect something happened after Bucky’s return. He’s calm. He’s participating. He sits at dinner with everyone else, passing you the salt when you ask and listening intently to your repetitive drones about training. Natasha and Wanda watch with wide eyes, not bothering to muffle the sounds of them smacking each other under the table every time you and Bucky so much as glance at each other.

You neither confirm nor deny their suspicions, partly so you can revel in their happiness. They deserve the relief of thinking your silly little crush is over, even if they do believe it ended in a more favorable conclusion.

Your fork has barely touched your finished plate when Steve picks it up for you, stacking it upon his own scraped dish; three servings packed away in his super soldier stomach. Dinner cleanup is usually his chore, but he’s prematurely eager about it tonight. Everyone is still sitting around the lounge and kitchen, forgotten bites dangling off their cutlery between conversations.

“I got it, doll.” He presses a gentle kiss against the top of your hair before heading to the sink and you don’t miss the curious glances sent in your direction; Tony, halfway through a bite of pasta, focuses his brown eyes on you like a laser.

You know exactly what Steve is doing. Steve knows you know. He’s been stuck to your side like glue for going on a week now, and you’re equally thankful and sick of it. His footsteps sync with yours on the way to the gym, the pool, and even your shared hallway. At night, you curl up into his blanket, which he lent you with a silent acknowledgment. It’s soft and easy to cry into, even if it doesn’t heal the painful cold that fills your body.

Faintly, you wonder if Bucky’s blanket does; if, when he dreams of the blood-stained snow, it warms his metal heart.

Your facade lasts another couple of days before it begins to crumble. Bucky is completely unaffected and, for once, you find yourself envious of him. It’s disgusting to admit, to tell yourself you’d rather feel his aching numbness than the deep pit of sorrow nestled in your stomach, but it’s true. Everyone else praises his change in attitude: That’s three nights in a row that Barnes has come to dinner. Isn’t that great? The words seem to echo in every room you enter and you want to scream, revealing to everyone that the only thing different in Bucky’s life is you. He’s finally rid himself of you, cut you from under his skin like nothing more than an obsessive parasite.

Thankfully, it’s easy to come up with an excuse. In your line of work, everyone gets burned out from time to time, retreating to different areas of the world. Clint goes home while Tony visits the beach. Bruce drops off the grid entirely.

“And you swear you’re alright?” Tony asks, again, watching as you pack an overnight bag. You know he’ll drop it eventually, begrudgingly respecting your privacy, but it’s obvious you’re not being entirely truthful about why you want to leave. If you want to admit it, now’s the time.

You stuff Steve’s blanket into your old duffle. “I’m sure, Tony. Just tired, you know?” He scoffs, nods, and gives you a slight smile -- in that order -- silently agreeing; I’m Iron Man, kid. I’ve been tired since 2008.

He finally relents, clapping his hands like he always does when filling an awkward silence. “Alright, well… I’ve got a driver downstairs for you. He’ll take you wherever you want to go -- which is where again?” You give him an unamused look and he huffs. “What?”

“None of your business,” you remind him, with a smile. “Thanks.”

He waves you off, suddenly humble, and goes to leave the room, actually making it halfway down the hall before his steps audibly reverse. Tony sticks his head back in your doorway with a hesitant look; an expression you’re not used to seeing. “If you want me to, uh, take care of Barnes while you’re gone…” He drags his index finger against his neck in a cartoonish gesture, his smile softening after your laughter quiets. “Just let me know.” His expression isn’t aggressive or vigilante, closer to what you assume is his attempt at fatherly protection. I’m here for you, he says silently.

You’re thankful he leaves before you have a chance to respond, unsure of what you’d even say. You’ve always known not to underestimate Tony, even with his questionable social skills, but another part of you knows you’ll never fully grasp him, and not just in the way you’ll never truly get anybody but yourself.

If everyone is a grain of sand, Tony is a speck of snow. No matter the weather, you will never understand a blizzard.

XI. Outer Space/Carry On; “And the rain, it came too soon, I will wait for you to love me again.”

The door to your apartment swings open with an old creak, wood bouncing off your jutted hip. It smells like dust and there’s a distinct humidity filling the rooms. Your complex is far from dingy, but you do have to smack the air conditioner a few times before it switches on; probably from a lack of use. When you do visit, the electricity and water are usually questionable for a day or so, but the landlord never questions your absence -- a perk of Tony’s bribing.

You drop your duffle on your bed, which, while unmade, is still relatively clean. Knicknacks flood the surrounding bookshelves and your socked feet rub against the old rug tucked under the slatted frame. It’s a far cry from your room at the facility, which is fitted for everyday use. It holds your most worn clothes, all of your life’s necessities. Your apartment is more complex, deeper memories lingering in the walls. It has all the things you couldn’t box up and take with you. There are pictures of old friends on the walls, their voices long forgotten, and belongings from your childhood slipped under your bed in undisturbed nostalgia. Bucky’s question from that night suddenly hits you in full force. If he had to go to Wakanda, could you leave here behind?

You don’t have an answer and soon his voice fades away too. For the first time in a while, you sleep well, only stirring awake once, at around five in the morning. The room is filled with that early blue filter and your sheets are extra cold, your body tingling in its barely awake state. The world is quiet, and you think only of the eyes that match the outside sky.; steel, with icy highlights, and the mist of unshed tears and almost rain.

The weekend morning greets you with dark clouds rolling overhead. Rain drizzles lazily as you walk to the nearest bodega, a couple of stray bills stuffed in your coat pocket. It’d be smarter and safer to order takeout, but you crave the normalcy of buying groceries and cooking dinner, especially now that you’re alone.

The shop is relaxed. Radio music and news announcements overlap in dull robotic voices, patrons harmonizing as they talk amongst themselves; arguing over deli prices and which cheap wine to pair with dinner that night. No one looks at or speaks to you, and you feel invisible, which is somehow a relief. Again, you think of Bucky. He has so often tried to fade away -- usually bringing more attention to himself -- but you finally get it. The ignorance of the customers is your much-awaited bliss.

It seems, you realize, you’re understanding Bucky more every day.

You follow the speckled tile floors to the cashier, who gives you little more than a glance. Her glazed eyes focus on the box television behind the register, hands blindly scanning your items out of instinct. She mutters your total with a heave of nicotine breath, but you barely notice. You wish she understood how much her disinterest means to you.

The plastic straps of the grocery bags dig into your wrists the entire walk home, but you’re just happy to be free.

The storm reaches its full, beautiful, raging glory by the time you get back to your apartment. Lightning strikes, illuminating the living room with flashes, followed seconds later by heavy rumbling. The windows streak with tear-like drops, each one chasing the other to the bottom of the pane, and you feel like a child again, betting on which one will win the race.

Thunder shakes your apartment lightly, and the droplet you watched connects to the one beside it, gravity pulling them both into a long splotch. On the coffee table, your phone blinks awake, unread texts rolling in one after the other. The messages are all similar declarations of missing you, but each one makes you smile, even if you’re a bit surprised no one’s noticed your absence until now. Then again, you’ve been guilty of the same, even with Bucky; not realizing he’s disappeared all day until everyone gathers for dinner. You’re used to sharing confused glances with Steve across the lounge or in the kitchen, two pairs of hands deep in the soapy warm water filling the sink. You did the same thing right after Bucky moved in, cowering and suspicious like a stray dog.

“Is he going to be ok?” you’d naively asked Steve, scrubbing away the soup-dried bowls from dinner.

He had simply smiled, the back of his hand meeting yours beneath the water. “I think so.”

At that moment, you’d dedicated yourself to the cause; to saving Bucky Barnes -- if not for himself, then for Steve. In your eyes, there were two lives lost, two souls who’d gone through Hell and back just to reconnect in an equally cruel and gracious act of destiny. They both deserved a second chance, especially considering they never got a first.

“I can help if you two ever need anything,” you offered, brimming with confidence. Steve nodded, and the conversation inevitably trailed off to some other topic. Bucky was just a casual discussion, one with too many questions and too few answers. You’d both gravely underestimated his recovery, a process that everyone else knew would be difficult. If anyone were to expect miracles in Bucky’s name, it was bound to be Steve and you.

You’d always felt like you’d known Bucky before he came home. The minute Steve found out he was still alive, you’d been the one he confided in, sharing his stories. The countless memories spilled from his lips with intricate details, coming to life before your eyes. He spoke and you could taste the cotton candy of Coney Island, see the wonders of the 1943 Stark Expo, and even smell the bloody battered war.

A part of you was aware Bucky wouldn’t be the same, and Steve had always been prepared for some version of that reality. When he was younger, though, his earlier doubts revolved around war-related PTSD or combat stress reaction, as he called it. Bucky had gone through much worse -- seventy years of torture and an unending abyss of pain.

He didn’t walk into the facility with a suave wink or smooth-as-butter Brooklyn tone. You weren’t disappointed, even as pre-war Bucky dissolved right before your eyes, leaving a hardened man in his place. You just convinced yourself this was like Steve. He was no longer a sick, scrawny boy, right? But Steve was the same, in many ways. His mannerisms and language were stuck in another century, and when he laughed, the insecure sound of a young kid squeaked out. He’d been Captain America for so long, but still hit his head on short doorframes and bought clothes a few sizes too small, always remaining shocked when they didn’t fit.

Bucky was not the same. He didn’t flirt or dance. He didn’t laugh, joke, drink, or brawl, and you failed to imagine how this was the same man that tried talking the red dress off of a young Peggy Carter. Finally, it had hit you that Bucky’s early life was long gone and no years of healing would bring it back.

Even now, curled up on your couch, you can’t fool yourself into thinking he could ever truly be fixed. There would always be more levels of healing to endure, more coping mechanisms to learn, further ways to grow. Sometimes, he didn’t seem driven to take any steps toward bettering himself, content with his internal and external scars being all he had to show for his trauma. He was determined though -- had made it all of these years somehow. Even if his stubbornness worked against him, it had to count for something.

You’re about to let yourself wallow over him once more when a thump echoes loudly through your apartment, rattling the walls with its intensity. You will yourself off the couch, leaving behind a half-eaten bowl of pasta, and glance out the back window, seeing nothing but sleet-streaked streets. It takes an admittedly long time to realize someone’s knocking at your door, but you don’t need to look at the clock to know it’s way too late for visitors. Some animalistic instinct warns you to be cautious, but you have little confidence in whatever criminal has decided to pay you a visit in the pouring rain.

You unlock the door with a sigh and swing it open, cold air chilling the tip of your nose instantly.

“Bucky?”

The immediate sight of him evokes a nauseating sense of deja vu; hair slick against his forehead, lips nearing a shade of purple. When he awkwardly shifts his weight, you hear the telltale squeak of his wet boots and it lets you know he’s nervous since you wouldn’t hear him otherwise.

He exhales in obvious relief. “You’re still here.”

You’re thankful the overhang blocks the rain from reaching him since you don’t feel too inclined to welcome him in. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask, but barely listen for his answer as you take in his exhausted expression. His chest is heaving, and you glance out to the road expecting to see his motorcycle in the distance, but the street is bare.

“I thought…” He must think better of whatever assumption he’s brewing since he quickly shakes his head. You flinch at the cold water that speckles your skin. “It doesn’t matter. I need to talk to you.”

He must be stupid to not realize he’s the reason you left. You need to be away from him and inviting him inside your otherwise isolated apartment is far from the best idea. “What is it?” you ask, not budging. “Is everyone okay?”

It’s clear he’s expecting a different answer, though you can’t entirely blame him. If he’d shown up any day prior to now, you’d be laying out a red carpet. Instead, his features melt into confusion, and it’s one of the few expressions you’re still not used to seeing; his brows soft, lips plump with a heavy sigh. “You had that date tonight,” he answers, and you’re too distracted by his mouth for the words to register.

When they do, you’re confused. “Wh-”

“I was gonna stop you from going.”

The rest of your question catches in your throat, words lodged in your airpipe. The night of the party fills your head and you breathe in the smell of alcohol and heartbreak. “Tom?” you ask, racking your brain for his name. The single utterance results in a sour expression from Bucky, one that you mirror quickly. “Jesus, Bucky. Did you really think I’d go out with that douche?”

He goes to speak, but you cut him off, irritated. “Even if I did, how the fuck does that have anything to do with you showing up here? Christ, did you walk here? You’re soaked.”

“Ran, actually,” Bucky corrects, and your heart skips a beat. “Can I come in?”

The sane and logical answer would be to slam the door in his face, so you open it wider and step aside. You have to know why he ran in the middle of a storm to check on you, even if a hopeful inkling deep in your heart has already come up with a reason. You probably just worried Steve by running off, but your curiosity gets the best of you. “Alright…”

The second Bucky steps inside, your carpets are soaked with dark boot marks. “Fuck,” you curse, cringing at the sight. “Let me get a towel.” You can’t stand to be next to him for another second anyway, so you race down the hall before he can argue. When you catch a glance of yourself in the bathroom mirror, your nerves are more than visible; your skin losing color by the second, eyes strained with overthinking.

It’s easy to start coddling him once you return, patting away the water on his face before sandwiching his hair between the folded towel and squeezing the strands dry. “I know you do a lot of stupid shit, but running through New York City during a storm has to be one of your worst ideas yet,” you scold, but your touch is gentle and, for once, he allows it. “And I know you hate cellphones but could you really not call? Or get a taxi, at least?”

You know you’re rambling, but you’re keenly aware that if you don’t talk, neither of you will, and that silence will make you spiral. Chest pounding, you start to talk again, before realizing Bucky is gripping your wrist, pulling you from him softly. “Doll,” he murmurs, and this time you’re too nervous to correct him. “It’s okay.” With a slight tug, you yank yourself from his grasp, shaky fingers digging into the wet towel. You use the last dry corner to pat his damp palms, ignoring how large and rough his hands are against yours.

“I told you to stop doing this,” Bucky reminds you softly but doesn’t interfere. “You’re always trying to fix people… patch them up. You gotta take care of yourself, too.” Still, he lets you finish his other hand before he steps back, and you glance at him.

“No offense, Buck, but me coming here -- alone -- was kind of my attempt at that,” you tell him, frowning.

“I… I know, I’m sorry-”

“Bucky.” You’re not sure you can take another second. “What are you really doing here?”

He inhales sharply, and when he begins, you can immediately tell he’s not going to answer your question right away. Knowing he’s a man of very few words, you latch onto the way he seems to be opening up. “Every day, it’s like…” He shakes his head, trembling. “I don’t know who I am or if any of this is even real. It feels like every day is my last and everything is catching up to me all at once. I didn’t want you to be stuck in that, too.”

Bucky glances at you and his eyes soften; white ice cracking to reveal soft blue water underneath. When he reaches for your hand again, you’re in too much shock to deny him, even when he’s squeezing so tightly it hurts. He’s not just scared you’ll be taken from him, he’s scared you’ll willingly leave.

“You deserve better than that, doll.” His voice cracks around the nickname this time and you can hardly believe what’s happening. “I… I won’t ever be able to give you what you deserve.” Your fingernails leave crescents in his palm, and you’re not sure if you’re trying to hold him closer or scare him away. “I just can’t go another day without you gone,” he finally admits, and you gasp.

“Bucky… I don’t-”

He inches closer, face flush with insecurity. “I know. I fucked up -- I fucked up so bad. I don’t blame you if you don’t want this… If you don’t want me, I understand. I just -- you deserve to know how I really feel. I can give you that much, at least.” His grip finally loosens, and you realize he’s shaking, but not from nerves.

Your lips part, and his eyes glimmer with hope. “You’re freezing,” you finally say, and he visibly deflates. “You need to -- um, just sit down for a second.”

“...I’m fine.”

“Please? For me?” The second his chin tilts in a hesitant nod, you’re stalking off toward the bathroom with him in tow. You throw the dirtied towel in the hamper and rustle through the cupboard for a few more. Your bathroom is small, and when Bucky squeezes in behind you, his damp chest presses against your back for a second too long.

When you turn to face him, your noses practically touch. “T-these should be enough,” you stutter, clearing your throat and handing him the fresh towels. “You can hang your clothes up on the towel rod,” you tell him, inching back. He raises a brow and you quickly answer his silent question. “I have some spare stuff you can wear, I think.” And, before he can ask anything else, you push past him, shutting the door behind you.

You have mere seconds to contain yourself, so you rush to your room, mind racing. As you search through your spare drawer, a million questions run through your head. Is Bucky saying he wants to be with you? Does he even know that’s what he’s saying? Is he here on his own accord, or did Steve and Tony send him to ease your heartbreak and lure you home?

You can hear him rustling through the wall and you blindly grab at the only t-shirt and sweats you think could fit; extras left behind by one of the other guys. Hopefully, they’ll work long enough for you to dry Bucky’s clothes and kick him out. He can’t just decide he’s ready, especially not after how he turned you down. You’ll do the polite thing and let him stay until the storm ends, but then he needs to leave.

The bathroom door creaks open the second you step in front of it, Bucky peering out with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Just like the last time he was shirtless in front of you, you will your eyes to stay above his neck. Still, you can’t ignore the fact that now he’s allowing himself to be in this state with you, completely vulnerable.

“I found these,” you squeak, handing the carefully folded clothes to him.

He doesn’t take them. “Whose are these?” Silent envy drips from his tongue and you shiver at the thought of it; Bucky being possessive of you, yearning to fill the small drawer in your wardrobe. Swallowing heavily, you rustle the shirt to see the tag.

“Steve, probably? Maybe Clint…” You spot the letters and shake your head. “No, it’s an extra large. But the sweats are definitely Clint’s. Steve never wears them.” Bucky listens amusedly to your rambling, and you quickly clamp your mouth shut. You practically shove the clothes into his hands, stumbling backward. “I’ll just be in the living room.” The door doesn’t click shut until you’re out of view.

It’s hard not to collapse on the couch the second you reach it, overwhelmed with a sense of relief of a wall separating you two. Try as you might, you still can’t comprehend what’s currently happening. As much as you want to kick Bucky out and never see him again, pure delight has started clawing at the inside of your chest, eager to be let out. If he confesses to you once more, you don’t think you’ll be able to turn him down.

When Bucky emerges from the bathroom, your heart pangs at the sight of him. He sinks into the chair across from you with an air of domesticity, like he’s always meant to be here. It’s like you bought that chair with him in mind because it fits him perfectly, and he fills it just the right amount.

“You look better already,” you comment, with a shy smile.

He huffs out a disbelieving laugh, glancing up at you from between falling strands of hair, and he’s never seemed more beautiful than in this moment. “I feel better,” he admits. “I’m not a big fan of-”

“The cold,” you finish for him. He blinks in disbelief and you sputter out an excuse. “Sorry. Steve told me.” Then, deciding against putting all of the blame on the one who’s kept you sane this whole time, you continue. “I mean, I’d already kind of guessed so because of that night in the kitchen. He told me later.”

“I don’t remember much from that night,” Bucky confesses, sheepishly; not embarrassed, ashamed.

You’re not sure if it will make him feel any better, but you agree: “I don’t either, actually.” Surprisingly, you mean it. A few days ago you could’ve recalled every small detail from that memory. Now it’s just a dream inside a dream or a  blurry image, abroad a ship, stuffed deep in the bottleneck of your glass brain.

Bucky showed up on your doorstep and it’s like he’s never left.

It’s a slightly unconscious action, but when you shift to make more space on the couch, Bucky takes the silent invitation. His gait is wide, a few silent steps until he’s lowering himself beside you. The line between cushions acts as a border. Even next to you, he’s like an opposing magnet, slowly inching further and further away. He’s toeing over the edge of a cliff, waiting for you to let him fall or tug him back into your desperate arms.

“Bucky-”

“Can I touch you?” His words overlap yours, which isn’t hard considering you’re choking on a whisper, and he’s finally letting the depths of his soul speak without reservation. There’s no context for his question, no way for you to decipher what he’s insinuating. You don’t care. You decide to step off the ledge with him.

“Yes.”

His fingers are grazing your chin, calloused tips warm and rough and gentle. Your pulse thrums against the thin skin of your throat, a lump of emotion gathered in a swallow you can’t force down because Bucky is staring, seeing you for the first time. You don’t blink, and neither does he, blue eyes dew with the first rainfall of spring. You watch winter melt away beneath his fluttering lashes.

“You are so soft,” he murmurs, and you know he doesn’t mean just physically, even when his palms are like sandpaper against your jaw. His grit flattens the rest of your apprehension, and your hands find the sharp angle of his scruff-peppered chin. When your thumb strokes the indentation below his lips, his mouth parts just barely, enough for you to feel the shaky hot exhale he sighs in silent relief.

When he begins to lean in, you don’t budge; not until he’s a hair width away and you feel the tips of his fingers shaking, one hand ice cold, the other burning hot. Then, you close the gap, hungry for the taste of his bleeding heart. The kiss is desperate in its own way, lustful for vulnerability and the satisfaction of finally.

Bucky is the one to press harder, nose harshly digging into your own as his face tilts to fit into the curves of your features like a missing puzzle piece; knocked haphazardly onto the floor when the box is first opened. You can feel his hair, still damp, against your forehead. His metal arm clicks into place, fingers adjusting their grip, and an unfamiliar sensation shoots up your spine. Fear.

He’s never been so close. His hand could easily wrap around your throat and take you out, without him even sparing a second glance. A moment of desperation and your lack of resistance would be all he needed. One kiss is all it would take.

Instead, he pulls away, though not without leaving one last sweet peck on your pursed lips. When your eyes flutter open, he’s blinking in the sight of you with a genuine smile painted on his face; tongue quickly darting between his teeth and catching the last taste of you on his mouth. He lets out a disbelieving laugh, a stifled chuckle that’s just enough to have you joining him, until your cheeks burn from grinning.

“Did --  was that okay?” Bucky asks, lines around his lips deepening. “I thought you were gonna pull away for a moment there.”

“No!” you answer quickly, feeling your skin flush at the admission. “It was… nice. Very nice.” He’s clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words, especially when he strokes your cheek to further fluster you. “G-great, really.”

“Great,” he echoes. “I haven’t kissed anyone since 1945.”

You can’t help but laugh at his secret. He’s kissing you and only worried he wasn’t good enough. Bucky, the playboy, Barnes, is worried some seventy years of inexperience could stop him from stealing your breath with a single touch. Thankfully, he knows your reaction isn’t out of dismissal or jest, and soon his face is red with cheerful exertion.

“Can I ask you something?” He questions, quieting down but not losing any of his warmth. “Will you come back? To the facility, I mean.”

“No,” you start, watching his face fall before you can finish. “But only because I bought enough groceries to last me the whole weekend and I don’t want them to go to waste. But you can stay with me if you want.” His eyes are wide, brows raised. “My place is big enough and I think I have more of Steve’s clothes lying around…”

“You’d…” He swallows the lump growing in his throat. “You’d actually be okay with that?”

You let out a soft sigh. “Of course.” You force yourself not to backtrack or shy away. Not now. “We could rent some movies? It’ll probably storm the next couple of days so there’s really no point in heading out. Unless you want to?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No. I don’t… I’d want to stay in if I stay. I want to stay. Can I?”

“Yes.” You grab his hand in yours and squeeze. “Yes, Bucky. Stay with me.”

The air settles but you see an unanswered question lingering on his mind. You’re about to press, but then he’s asking, shyly: “Will you let me kiss you again?”

It’s such an easy question, so effortless, and yet it holds the weight of months spent alone. You wonder if he has suffered the same aching coldness as you, desperate for someone else’s warmth. You want to tell him he can kiss you forever, until forever, after forever. “You can kiss me whenever,” are the words you finally settle on, and it’s clear they appease him.

“I’ll take the couch, tonight,” Bucky says a moment later. A small relief, since it’s too soon for anything like that. Personal space is something you’ll need to work on. Not tonight.

But you’re still curious: “What if you have a nightmare?”

He huffs, albeit with the ghost of a smile. “If you don’t hear me, I’ll wake you up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Later, after so many bowls of pasta you realize you’ll have to order takeout eventually, Bucky sinks into the couch; toes pressed against the arm, a thick blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. You excuse yourself for a moment to go turn on the heater, setting it a few degrees higher than usual so he doesn’t get cold. Your phone beeps softly from the pocket of your pajama pants. It’s Steve.

“I told you he’d notice.”

When you hear the tell-tale sigh of a snore, and realize Bucky has drifted off, lights still on and arm dropped off the side of the couch, you have to smile.

“Took him long enough.”

---

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