#strangely enough i do have a name for him

[moonstruckme]

Hello! I find myself unable to stop thinking about fae Sirius, so here's another drabble about him as sort of a continuation to the first :)

cw: brief, vague allusion to sex

fae!Sirius x whimsical!reader ♡ 745 words

You’re scanning the earth for small, white flowers when there’s a rustle in the bushes nearby. You turn, expecting the orange streak of a fox vanishing into the brush or a bird taking flight, but you see nothing. The forest is quieter today, as it has been for you lately. Stiller. The sort of place with secrets. 

You draw in a breath as arms snake around your middle, catching you in their snare. 

“Hello, my little naïf,” says a familiar voice, smooth and lovely as the rock in your pocket. “What are you doing wandering about by yourself?”

You turn in Sirius’ arms. He grins down at you, and you press your smiles together in a gentle kiss hello as your own arms wind around his middle. He likes spending a lot of time pressed close together like this; you didn’t know you’d enjoy it so much until you did. 

“I’m looking for chickweed,” you answer him. 

Sirius’ eyebrows raise. Like most of him, they’re beautiful, finely shaped things; you reach up to trace your finger underneath one. Sirius very dignifiedly does not preen over it. “You’re not looking for me?” 

You shake your head, though you both know it’s a lie. You’ve always enjoyed this particular forest, but you visit twice as often since you met him. You’re never not thinking about Sirius, finding things for him, wishing to see him. It’d be embarrassing if he weren’t the same. 

“I was looking for you,” you confide to appease him. 

He tuts softly, a smile curving one side of his mouth. Sirius loves when you’re plain about your feelings for him. He doesn't always return the courtesy, but that’s alright; you can tell that they’re there whether he does or not. He wouldn’t have given you his name otherwise. 

“And what have you brought for me today, lovely thing?” 

“Do I always need to bring you something?” you ask, teasing. “Am I not enough by myself? You never give me anything.” 

Sirius’ eyes flicker with amusement, because this too is a lie. Sirius has given you many, many things. He’s taught you how to listen to the moods of the wind and shown you how to entice butterflies to rest in your palm and brought you unimaginable pleasure one long afternoon by the creek. Not least of all, he’s given you his devotion, proven in a thousand tiny ways. 

You’re unable to conceal your smile as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the rock you picked up this morning. It’s oval, worn to perfect smoothness by the rushing waters of the river you found it near, and a grayish blue that reminds you of Sirius’ eyes (when they stay still for a while, that is). 

Sirius takes the rock from you, studying it. He rubs his thumb across the top. “This is pretty.” 

“It is,” you agree, basking in your own private pleasure. You think he’d still say the same thing even if he did know why you chose it for him, but you enjoy keeping this to yourself. Sirius’ eyes slide to yours like he can tell you’re keeping secrets, but he doesn’t push. 

“Not,” he says, “as pretty as you, however.” His hold tightens without warning, drawing a surprised giggle from you as your bodies come flush together. “You’re more than enough of a gift.” 

You hear the sincerity in his tone and repay it in kind, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I know.” 

Sirius’ eyes squint the way they tend to do when you particularly delight him. Just before he calls you strange or silly or my lovely little oddity. He doesn’t say any of those things now; only, “You won’t find chickweed around here, you know.” 

You frown. “If I knew, why would I be looking?” 

Sirius heaves a great sigh and presses his lips to your temple before loosening his hold on you. He guides you away from your little patch of bushes by your hand, moving with otherworldly grace. “There’s chickweed by the meadow. We’ll find it for you there. Do you use it for something?” 

You nod. “Pesto.” 

His brow furrows. 

“It’s food. I’ll bring some for you to try.” You give him a sweet look. “Thank you for showing me where to find it.” 

A low hum. “What would you do without me?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll never have to find out.” 

“No,” he agrees, fingers winding between yours like vines, “you won’t.” 

[godmadeaterribleerror]

It's Been Calling Me

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, light angst, shameless smut (oral f receiving, p in v sex), fluff, soulmates, dreams, told over many years, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams.

So sure, until you're not.

Author's Note: I love this one. I love using fake Marvel science logic. I love putting sad men in situations where they can't escape love. I love semi-linear storytelling. Enjoy!

Word Count: 10.9k

“I get… dreams.” You mumble, staring at an odd point over Dr. Raynor’s head. It’s always better than looking her in the eyes. “They’re weird.”

“The very nature of dreams is to be strange.” You can see the shrug of Raynor’s shoulders, hear the neural expression that must be on her face. “Although if you feel they’re worthy of note-“

“They are.” 

Raynor hums. She’s probably raising her brows. You still won’t look.

“You sound quite certain of that.”

“I am.” You tuck your knees up to your chest, frowning at the air. “It’s- They’re not new.”

“Ah.” Raynor pauses, then says your name. In the gentle but firm therapist way that you really hate. It makes you feel like a child. “This conversation may be easier if you would look at me.”

“No thanks, I’m-“

She says your name again. A little harsher. “We’ve discussed this. You’re here of your own volition-“

“That’s not true.” You mutter. “Court-ordered isn’t volition.”

“Well you could’ve chosen the inpatient ward.” Raynor’s shrugging again. “Look at me.”

You let out a long breath, and meet her gaze. You’d been right. She was raising her brows.

“Good work.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile and small nod of approval. “Tell me about these dreams.”

It takes a minute to find the words. Not because you don’t have them, but because you’d never expected to use them. You’ve rehearsed them in the mirror a million times, but they always sounded insane, and you didn’t need another reason to be called crazy.

“I’ve had them my whole life.” It’s easiest to start there. “But it’s- they’ve changed. Over time.”

“Changed how?”

“It’s hard to explain-“

“Try.”

You scowl. “I am trying, Christina, but there’s kind of a lot to say-“

Raynor sighs, giving you the patented look of disapproval that you might hate more than how she says your name. “How about telling me when they started. Is that do-able?”

It takes a long, deep breath, but you nod. “I was- I think I was ten. I fell asleep, and it was the first dream I’d ever had. The first one that I remembered when I woke up. It was…” You swallow, and there’s a sting in your nails as you rip more skin away. “Really vivid.”

——

This isn’t your body. It’s too big, too tall, and you’re not nearly strong enough to rip a door off its hinges. This body is sprinting across ice without ever breaking pace or falling flat with a crunch. You can’t even walk up stairs without tripping over thin air.

But this doesn’t really feel like a body at all. It feels like a shell, or tool. Hollow and pressed down, moving so mechanically you’d think it was a machine if you couldn’t hear its heartbeat in your ears. There’s a lot of pain in it. Strangely numb pain, as if the owner of this body doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it, shuttering it off to the side as he moves.

You’re pretty sure it's a he. There’s hair in your eyes, but men can have long hair, and when the body’s arms swing into view they’re big and muscular. You’re also pretty sure there’s something between your legs that wasn’t there when you went to sleep.

And you can feel him. Very, very deep in your head, he’s bellowing and scraping at his own scalp. He feels like a caged animal, but this is his body. He’s roaring things that are more like feral sounds than actual words, and every time he gets loud enough for you to make out a real voice something clamps down on your skull—his skull—and it all goes quiet.

You can see another man in your line of vision. He’s on his knees, trembling and begging, but the noise is muffled and static. As if there’s a filter pushing anything coherent out of your head.

A gloved fist that’s attached to your body—but not yours to control—reaches out and grabs the man by his throat. It squeezes. 

He’s desperate. Locked down and furious, the ‘he’ who you’re possessing is almost pleading with himself to stop. 

But he doesn’t. 

And there’s a sickening snap that will echo in your ears for a long time after you wake up.

——

Raynor’s looking at you like you’re insane. You don’t love it.

“Did you…” She pauses, scanning over you with a small frown. “Did you see the hand?”

You blink at her. “Yeah, I just said-“

“Without the glove.” She clarifies. “The one that snapped the man’s neck. Did you ever see it without the glove.”

It’s an oddly specific question. And she seems to be looking for a certain answer, because in all your time of working with Raynor she’s never looked so obviously invested in a story. 

“Not for a while.” You keep your words slow, watching her wearily. “He always wore the gloves. And when he didn’t, he wouldn’t look at his hands-“

Raynor frowns. “So how did you know he wasn’t wearing the gloves?” 

“Because he knew.” You shrug. “I lived in his brain like, every night.”

“Every-“

“Night, yeah. That’s what I fucking said.”

Raynor hums, and you think she’s going to grab the notebook to write something along the lines of patient has lost her goddamn mind, but she just keeps staring at you. “You said you didn’t see the hand for a while. When did you see it?”

“When I was sixteen. The first time the dreams changed.”

“Changed from-“

“Being in his head.” You pull your lip between your teeth, weighing how much you want to reveal. Too much feels like a violation of his privacy, even if they’re your dreams. He’s a private guy, it took you years to get him to tell you anything, and if you’ve realized turns out to be the truth, you don’t want to ruin anything. “It’s- it was about six years of seeing everything through his eyes-“

“Everything?”

You wish Raynor would stop saying the word every like that. Like it’s a lie.

“All the murders.” You mutter. “There were a lot of murders.”

Raynor nods for you to continue, and you have to take a long, steadying breath.

“One night I went to sleep and he was… attacking some blond guy. We couldn’t really see his face. Then I fell asleep the next night, and it was different.”

——

You can see him. You’ve never seen him before. 

He’d never looked in a mirror, or described himself in his head for you like he’s a Wattpad character. He’s only ever been a body that moves out of your will, and a pained voice deep in your brain that didn’t seemed thrilled with what was happening either. 

But you’re not in his head, or his body. You’re standing in a bathroom—in your own body, wearing the same clothing you’d been wearing when you’d crawled into bed—and looking at him. 

He’s a lot more attractive than you’d anticipated. And you’d anticipated attractive. You’d built an image in your head of your imaginary dream assassin, basing it purely on a level of hotness that would justify all the murders he’d been up to. It had been a little fucked up, but you’d also been so goddamn sure he wasn’t real. That this was just a really odd and worrying coping mechanism for all the messed up shit in your real life. 

But he seems pretty fucking real right now. And almost impossibly handsome. Strong features that look like they’d been carved from marble, an almost hulking frame that’s somehow bigger when you’re looking at it from outside, and tangled, greasy hair that’s really working with the whole tortured expression on his face.

Because he does not look okay.

He’s gripping the sink and glowering at himself, scanning over his own face like he recognizes it less than you do. He’s bent like there’s a weight on his shoulders he doesn’t know how to shake off, and that’s impressive, because you’ve seen him pick up a car. 

The porcelain of the sink cracks, and he flinches back, looking between his hands and the rubble with wide eyes.

His eyes are blue. A really pretty blue. You’d always thought blue eyes were overrated—big whoop, you’re more sensitive to light—but there’s something silver in this man’s eyes that you really love. It feels like a deep storm you’d like to chase.

He’s really pretty. 

He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would like being called pretty, but he is. In a natural and powerful way. Like something heavenly that’s burned through the atmosphere in a dreadful fall.

Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty hands-

Metal hand. 

One metal hand.

——

Raynor looks worried now. You wish she’d go back to thinking you’re just batshit crazy. 

“Do you-” she clears her throat, sitting a little taller in her chair. “His name. Did you ever learn his name?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Does that matter?”

“Yes.”

It’s a flat, tense answer. It makes something coil in your throat. 

“I-“ You rub your own calves, soothing yourself in the careful way you’ve always practiced. “I didn’t, for a while-“

Raynor says your name, her tone short and clipped. “Stop telling me something didn’t happen for a while. If I ask a question, it’s because I need to know the answer. Not the buildup.”

You frown. “Need to know?”

“It’s…” Raynor sighs. “It is very important that you give me a name.”

“Why?”

“Therapist reasons.”

You give her a flat look. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes, it is. Name.”

“If you need the name,” you say, raising your chin slightly. “You have to sit through my for a while.”

Raynor gives you a look of disbelief, shaking her head and muttering something that sounds like God, I can’t take two of them, before raising her voice. “Fine. What was for a while.”

“I couldn’t talk to him.” You explain. “For like, two years after I got out of his brain, he still couldn’t see me. When I tried to talk to him it was like I was in a- sort of a one-way mirror? And it’s not like he was just walking around telling the air I’m Bucky-“

“Bucky?” Raynor looks downright distressed. “His name was-“

“It’s Bucky.” 

He still is. He’s not a was, Bucky is.

That’s part of the problem.

“And how-“ Raynor swallows. “How did you learn this?”

“He told me.”

——

This is new. You’re not on a street or in a half-empty apartment—the two places you’ve grown most accustomed to seeing in your sleep—but in a field. A very big field with huts and brush and goats.

There are a truly staggering amount of goats.

And there he is. His hair isn’t greasy and unkempt anymore, but looks almost soft, pulled back in a half-up half-down situation that makes him look clean. His metal arm is gone, but he doesn’t seem that bothered by it. He’s standing taller than before, like the weight you’ve grown used to seeing finally has begun to lift.

His outfit is new too. It looks like something traditional and well-made, rather than the off-brand baseball hats—you too are a big fan of the American baseball team, the ‘Doggers’—and shitty polyester t-shirts.

You’re taking him and scenery in, trying to place where your brain could’ve possibly taken you this time, when he does something you’d never expected.

He turns and looks at you.

Not through you. Not around you. Not in your general direction.

At you.

He can fucking see you.

“Hello?”

You’ve heard him speak before, a few times. His voice has always been low and gruff and heavy.

It’s smooth and richer now. You don’t know if that’s because it’s directed at you—setting off small sparks over your ribs—or in relation to that vanished weight, but you like it. It suits him better.

“Hi.” You whisper, your body frozen in place as he moves forward.

He’s right in front of you. Staring at you. 

He’s always gotten prettier every time you’ve seen him. This is different.

This is knocking the air out of your lungs with just the sight of him, because there’s a light in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and it makes something deep inside of you glow.

“I’m, uh, I’m Bucky.” 

He holds out his hand, and you tilt your head at him.

“That’s a weird name.”

He blinks at you, his hand still frozen in the air. “I guess, yeah. Never thought about it. It’s just a nickname.”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. “Sorry. That’s- I just never thought you as- never mind.” 

Bucky frowns at you, opening his mouth—likely ask you what you mean by that—but you say your name and shake his hand because he gets the chance.

He has a nice hand. It warm, and calloused, and fits really well in yours. 

“Why can you see me?” You blurt, and there goes any pretense of containing the truth. 

Bucky frowns at you. “Should I… Not be able to see you?”

“You’ve never seen me before.”

“Before? What do you mean-“

“It’s- It’s weird. And complicated.”

He just stares at you, waiting for you to continue. 

You’re holding his gaze. You’ve never held anyone’s gaze before. 

It’s kind of electrifying.

“I’ve dreamt about you before.” You mumble. “And you’ve never seen me.”

“About me?”

He doesn’t sound like he believes you. You get that. It’s not really a reasonable or believable statement.

“Yeah. But you had two arms. And there weren’t goats.”

Bucky nods slowly, and seems to reach a conclusion in his brain that you don’t get to be privy to. 

It’s enough for him though. Because he gives you a small, almost nervous and apologetic smile. 

“Do you wanna, uh, do you wanna meet the goats?”

You blink at him. You’d expected more questions, or some doubt. But he’s just looking at you, something in his pretty blue eyes almost hopeful.

“Are they...” You trail off, glancing at the goats over his shoulder. “Your goats?”

“They’re community goats.” He shrugs. “But Shuri says connection with life will help my recovery, and I don’t really want to connect with people.” His voice lowers, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “They don’t really like connecting with me.”

You don’t know who the fuck Shuri is, but you nod anyway. “So goats?”

He gives you another odd look, like he’d expected you to say something else. 

“Yeah. Goats.” 

“Did you name them?”

He frowns. “They’re goats. They don’t need names.”

You click your tongue, shaking your head. “Wrong. Everything needs a name. I named my car, and my phone.”

“You named your phone?”

“Yep.” You grin at him, and it’s a wide, teasing grin you haven’t given anyone in years. “Bertha.”

“That’s…” Bucky’s still staring at you–he seems to do that a lot—but there’s something like amusement in his eyes. “Bertha is not a good name.”

“Better than Bucky.”

He chuckles at that, and it’s a beautiful sound. Deep and heavy, like a bass drum in your chest.

It’s the sort of thing that could be addicting, if you’re not careful. Worse, it’s the sort of thing you wouldn’t mind being addicted to.

“You’re kinda mean, doll.”

“Yep.” You shrug, ignoring how ‘doll’ makes you feel fuzzy in your gut. “And I’ll be meaner if you don’t let me name your goats.”

He hums, scanning you over with an intensity in his eyes that reminds you of that storm you’d see all those years ago in the bathroom. This time, you’d like to do a little more than chase it.

You think it could be really easy to get wrecked by it. 

“Will you come back if I let you name them?”

He keeps saying things you don’t expect. Of course you’ll come back. You don’t have a choice.

But you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Only if you promise to actually use the names.”

He nods, giving you another smile. “Deal.”

———

“Did you ever learn his last name?”

You shake your head. “I never asked. He mentioned his real name was James at one point, but then I asked why he was called ‘Bucky’ and we got off topic.”

“One… point?” Raynor’s words are slow, and you’ve really never seen her looked lost like this before. You’d be proud of yourself if it wasn’t a bad sign. “Exactly how frequently did these dreams occur?”

———

“You’re back!”

Bucky looks genuinely happy to see you. He does every night. The same surprised joy in his voice, shock always written over his face like it’s truly odd and lovely to see you here.

Like you’re not here every night, for three to four hours, standing in his little hut and wandering the fields.

You’ve worked out that you’ve put him in Africa. Wakanda specifically, likely because you’d seen it all over the news and it seemed pretty interesting. Shuri was the princess, and the guy T’challa Bucky had mentioned a few times was the King. You’d almost certainly heard their names during all those UN conferences—the ones you put on in the background just to hear some noise that wasn’t ringing in your ears—and your brain had just decided to run with it.

At least, you think it’s just your brain. You’ve always assumed this was all in your brain, because this feels like the exact kind of fucked up shit your brain would pull. And Bucky never aged. He’d never really changed, for six years. He’d had just been another way to cope for the longest time, but now—as you actually get to know him—he seems dangerously like a real person.

He looks like he broods less than when you see him hunched over a toilet or glowering at his reflection in a window. His appearance has started to shift in a way it never really had.

The metal arm has permanently departed. He seems fond of keeping his hair out of eyes, and his wardrobe finally has diversity. He talks to you, and he has a personality. An adorable, grumpy, endearing personality that would play into your idea of ‘made up in your brain’ if he couldn’t be so annoying.

He stares. He grunts a lot. He doesn’t get any of your references. If you made up an imaginary dream man to feel more loved, he would like all the things you like and hate all the things you hate.

But he doesn’t.

And it always draws you in further, because he truly does seem like just a perfectly insufferable asshole. 

That’s cruel. He’d been right. You could be mean. 

He never seemed to mind.

And he’s more like a dog anyway. One that escaped the pound and follows you around, not even bothering to beg for scraps because you offer them with a grin.

You like his company. You like his voice. You like that he’s annoying and you like more that it’s your exact type of annoying.

You like that he’s really fucking hot, and get hotter every time you visit. 

You mostly just like him.

“Of course I’m back.” You shrug, kicking a rock with the tip of your foot, watching it bounce through the dirt. “I’m always back.”

“Yeah. So far.” You see Bucky shrug in your periphery, and when you look up, he’s staring again. “Could change.”

“Won’t change.” You counter, giving him a pointed look. “Sorry, Buck. You’re stuck here until I die.”

That’s the first time you’ve called him Buck. He tenses for a moment, seems to shake something physically off his body, and nods slowly.

“Should I be worried about you dying?”

“Not right now, no.” You hum. Another rock gets kicked. “Death doesn’t agree with me.”

He chuckles. “Don’t think it agrees with anyone, doll-“

“Shut up.” Third rock. This one hits a goat, and you cringe slightly. “Shit. Sorry, Bubble McBubbleface-“

“Bubs will be.” Bucky rolls his eyes, moving to your side. He’s standing really close. You can almost feel a phantom heat from his body. “And I still can’t believe you talked me into that name. I had to tell the king of the damn country that his goat was named Bubble McBubbleface.”

You giggle, and Bucky shoots you a glare.

“You think that’s funny? I had to like pretend it was my idea,” he grumbles your name, and you always like how he says it. Like it’s some sort of answer. “I had to look the council of elders in the eyes and tell them that Bubble McBubbleface got Lady Gaga pregnant-“

Your eyes widen. “You let the goats get pregnant?”

“Course I let them get pregnant, doll.”

“But-“

He gives you a dry, amused look. “Would you rather I interfere? You want me to cockblock Bubs?”

You blink at him. “You know what cockblock means?”

Your brain had given him the personality of an eighty-year-old man. You don’t know why, but you stopped asking questions like “why” and “what” a long time ago. You just know that he shouldn’t know what cockblock means, for consistency.  

“Of course I know what it means. You taught it to me.” He winks at you, and you’re pretty sure you’re flushing.

This is meant to be a dream. You shouldn’t be able to flush, or feel a little flutter and hum in your heart, or something molten in your gut when he leans a little further forward to grin down at you.

This seems less like a dream every night.

You’d be worried about that if you had the energy, or foresight, or care.

“Are goats births gross?” You ask, and he chuckles again. The sound has started to inflict a sort of high on your brain, and every color in this dreamworld seems brighter. 

“They’re fucking disgusting.” He leans a little further down. You have to stare at his nose to pretend the proximity isn’t going to make your fall over. “But if you let me show you one in here, I’ll let you name the babies out there.”

You nod kind of stupidly, the whole world shifts into a barn—goat births are disgusting, but Bucky gets a look of intense focus you’d like to see re-aimed in your direction—and four months later Bucky tells you little Oz The Great and Powerful, Donald Duck, and Pants McPantsface have been welcomed into the world.

———

“So you’d see him in… Wakanda.” Raynor takes another long breath. If you didn’t think it would make everything worse, you’d tell her to try some deep breathing exercises. “Did the location ever change? Did you witness any more of those murders from before?”

You feel something spark in your chest like an electric wire, and you sit a little taller. You haven’t seen Bucky kill anyone since you’d been trapped in his brain. He’s a good man. And, as far as Raynor knows, a figment of your imagination. She has no right to fucking imply-

“It’s important that I know,” she says slowly, and you think your oddly blinding and righteous anger had been painted all over your face. “So I better understand what’s been happening to you. Please,” she says your name, leaning somehow further forward in her seat. “Answer my questions.”

You nod, letting out a slow exhale. “No murders. But he did start coming into my brain.”

Raynor frowns at you. “Was he not always-“

“Not like this.”

———

“This is new.”

You whip around, taking a stumbling step back that would’ve landed you on the floor, had Bucky not looped his one arm around your waist.

“Hey, doll. Pleasure seeing you-“ He frowns, glancing around your apartment. “Where the hell am I?”

You don’t answer, only reaching up to touch his face. His beard is soft. His hair is softer. When you trace the line of his nose it does feel like a nose, and when you poke his cheek it seems pretty cheek-like- 

“What, uh,” Bucky say your name, scanning over your face with concern. “What’s happening here.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You whisper, poking his cheek again. Just to be sure. “You’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, figured that one out myself-“

“No.” You shake your head, placing one hand on his chest. It fits well there, slotting right over muscle and warm skin. Every part of him seems to fit perfectly against you, and you’ve never been this close before, but you don’t have any urge to move away. “You don’t get it, Bucky. You’ve never been here. It’s been ten years, and you’ve never been here.”

“I know, doll. Doesn’t seem like there’s much to-“ He pauses, giving you an odd look. “Ten years?”

“Yeah.” You mumble. There’s not much else to say.

He just stares at you, and shakes his head slightly. “Huh. You gonna tell me where I am?”

“My apartment.”

“Your-“ He starts slightly, but you never shake in his arms. “You live in this place?”

You nod, and he pulls you to your feet, scanning over your home. 

The silence wraps around your heart and lungs, and the room is spinning slightly. You’re asleep. You’re pretty fucking sure you’re asleep. You locked the door, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed, so you’re asleep. Bucky’s never been here before, but he’s not really here because this is a dream and he’s not real.

You think. 

You wouldn’t bet on that anymore, though.

And nothing has ever been as important as Bucky liking your room, because the longer he just scans over the space around you the more your skin heats, the more your eyes blur, the more your throat constricts and your heart aches and pounds-

“It’s very… you.” He finally says, and every bit of nerve vanishes into the air.

He’s right. You’ve been very deliberate in making sure your home is yours.

And you’re not sure why you bothered worrying at all. He fits here, just as well as he fits in every other part of you.

“Can I get the grand tour?” He raises his brows, and you nod, leading him through your space, making jokes and feeling your heart do a little flip and spin whenever he chuckles.

And things always do change. Frequently out in the real world, and carefully and easily in here.

And at least with Bucky, the change seems adaptive. You grow, he grows with you, until you’re twined and rooted into each other, and every color in this dreamscape is so vivid it’s the only thing that still tells you:

None of this is real.

———

“It was split after that.” You say. ”Half the dreams in Wakanda, half in New York.” 

You’re watching Raynor carefully. Still on the edge of her seat, legs braced like she’s ready for a fight, a tight expression on her face that Bucky calls the moose in headlights expression.

———

“You got that moose expression again, doll.”

You frown at him. “Stop calling it that, it’s just my face-“

“No. Your normal face has a dimple here, and your brows rest like that.”

He’s touching you as he explains, moving your features to match his words. You’d smack his hand away if his touch wasn’t soothing and flaring all at once. If you didn’t really love the idea of him looking at you long enough to know exactly how to adjust your face, and how to be right about it.

“But it’s not like that now.” He finishes, giving you a pointed look. “You got moose-face.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Moose-face is worse, Bucky. And it’s still not a real thing-“

“Yeah it is. Most people got a moose face.” He shrugs. He’s staring again. It’s taking a lot of effort not to melt forward into him. “Tight expression. Like a deer in headlights, but they think they’re too good to be in the headlights. They’re gonna go down fighting.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “Can I see your moose face?”

“I don’t have a moose face-“

“Liar.” You poke his ribs, narrowing your eyes. “You said everyone has one-“

“I said ‘most people.’” Bucky shrugs. “Moose face means you’re gonna get hit, you just don’t believe it yet. I know how to not get hit.”

“Sounds like something someone with a moose-face would say.”

He chuckles. You’re sitting down, and you’re going to fall over. “No luck, doll. I got other faces, but no moose face.” He frowns at the air. “Never could afford to have one.”

There’s suddenly something heavier in his eyes, and it makes your whole body feel wired and heavy. It’s suffocating and crushing and rotten, and it’s just an expression but everything feels worse when you see it—when his shoulders hunch and his face becomes set like stone, just like all those years ago in the bathroom—so it needs to stop right now. 

“What about a wolf face?”

Bucky blinks at you. “What.”

“You said no moose face.” You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly. “Do you have a wolf face?”

“I don’t know what that is-“

“So suddenly you’re the only one who’s allowed to make up expressions?”

You hold is gaze for a long second—you’ve gotten really good at doing that, but only when you’re dreaming of Bucky—until his lips twitch slightly.

And everything feels alright again.

———

“How much of New York appeared in your… dreams? Was is like Wakanda, where you wandered?”

You frown at the air. Raynor’s indulging in this, but not like you’d hoped. Not shutting you down or telling you that you’re crazy. You’d really hoped to hear some validation that you were just plain crazy.

“Not really. I mean, there was one night where we were at my job, a few at the coffee shop I usually go to, and maybe like, five at the park, but we were mostly my apartment when I was showing him stuff.”

“And what did you-“ Raynor’s whole body tenses, and the last part of her question is pushed through her teeth. “What did you show Bucky?”

You flush, your gaze dropping down to your hands. “Stuff. In my apartment.”

———

You don’t know exactly what gives. What straw completely desolates every single bone in your body, and ends with you here.

Maybe it was that you’d finally mentioned all the murders, and you’d never seem him look horrified before, but the sight has dislodged something along your ribs that hadn’t mended until he let you move his head to your lap. Stroking his hair as he stared at you, telling him about your day.

Maybe it’s that you always tell him about your day. That this—whatever this is—has shifted from trading teasing comments and trying to learn about each other, into pure and comfortable understanding, and now that’s how most nights are spent.

Bucky’s reports are short. The goats are being goats—that’s all they know how to do—he doesn’t like a song someone tried to make him listen to because it’s too loud, and Shuri brought him some food that made his face feel like it was going to fall off, but in a good way. You pretty sure he only gives them because you insist upon it, but he always puffs out his chest a little at the end, when you smile at him and start to tell him everything you can remember about your own day.

Maybe it’s how he always hangs onto your every word. Like it’s gospel or scripture, and to do anything but listen and watch would be a higher sin than any blood you’ve imagined on his hands.

And maybe that’s it. 

Maybe it’s how you really don’t believe it anymore, when you remind yourself that he’s not real. That he’s just a figment of your mind, manifested to evolve as you do and always be exactly what you need. 

You still tell yourself the lie, night after night.

But you’re certain it’s a lie. That Bucky is just like that. Meant to be here, with you, the exact same way you’re supposed to be wherever he is.

And now you’re here.

You’d started it. You’d slammed your mouth to his, and he hadn’t moved. There had been a brief moment where you’d been worried you’d made a mistake, but the second you’d tried to push back on his chest and apologize, he’d kicked into gear. 

And wet dreams are supposed to be hazy. Cast in a misting light and more of a halo that brings your body high than an actual, nameable feeling.

But you can really feel this. 

And it’s heaven.

You’d expected Bucky to kiss slowly. Deliberately. It’s how you’d always seen him move and speak, and you hadn’t been against the idea of being kissed in a methodical and careful way.

You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Bucky kisses you like you’re air and water and every good thing in the world. All passion and spit and burning desire, where you can feel every bit of want in his movements. His mouth is demanding as he traces his tongue over your teeth and groans your name down your throat, his arm snaking around your waist to hold you steady against his chest. When his knee presses between your thighs you have to wrap your arms around his neck for balance, and it’s all you can do to return ever bit of want he throws at you as he walks to backwards to your mattress.

It takes effort to pry your mouth from Bucky’s. He doesn’t want you to go, even a few inches, and when you start to palm him through his pants—smiling against his lips and squeezing his bulge in a silent request—he hisses against your lips.

“You-“ He groans, nipping at your lower lip as you smile, repeating the movement. “You don’t- Shit, doll, you don’t know what you’re doing to me-“

You hum, bumping your nose with his and swaying in his hold. “Maybe. I’d like to do more.”

Bucky chuckles, and the sound rolls right into your core. “Think you could take more, sweetheart? Cause I’ve been a gentleman, but if more is on the table-“

It’s easy to cut him off with a heavy, deep kiss that has him half growling down your throat and his hips jerking against your movements.

“Want more.” You whisper, combing your free hand through his hair and trying to pull yourself impossibly closer. “Want you.”

Bucky tenses against you, and when you lean back to meet his eyes he’s staring again. Looking at you like you’re glowing, kneading your skin under his hand like he’s checking that you’re not going to vanish. 

“You want me.” He mutters, scanning over your flushed face. “You sure about-“

“Yes.” You nod, giving him a small, soft smile. “Only if you do, obviou-“

Bucky cuts you off with another bruising kiss, and before you know what’s happening he’s lowering you onto the mattress, kneeling between your legs, and shoving your thighs apart with a wolf-like grin.

You don’t know when you ended up naked. You can’t really care though, because Bucky shoves his face right into your pussy, and your mind empties of all thoughts that aren’t his name. 

It’s another point in favor of this being a dream. Bucky’s mouth against your cunt feels so amazingly real—licking and biting and eating you out like he’s been starved for a hundred years—but this has to be a dream, because no real man has ever made you feel this good. He knows every single way the plunge his tongue in and out of your pussy until you’re squeezing your thighs around his head and tugging at his hair, and his beard scrapes and tickles at your thighs in a way that’s driving you out of your mind, and fuck, he keeps moving his attention to nip at your clit, sucking it between his lips and letting his teeth graze against you, and-

“Bucky-“ You moan, grinding shameless into his face, trying hopelessly to remain upright with one hand, your fingers fisted into the sheets below you. “Please- I’m gonna- Fuck, I’m so close-“

He growls against you, flatting his tongue against your clit and squeezing his hand on your thigh, and that does it. You cum with a scream of his name, warmth washing over your body as your knees clamp around him and your eyes roll back in your head.

He’s ruined you. All Bucky did was eat you out in a dream, and you’re panting and flushed and drunk on him. You don’t know how you’ll manage to move on from this in real life.

You don’t really care. Not as Bucky runs his hand over your dripping, fluttering cunt with a look of open awe on his face, presses a kiss right over your clit that makes your hips jerk, and moves to his feet.

He’s naked now too. 

And he’s perfect. 

His cock is big and thick, standing at proud attention and jerking slightly as you run a hand up his thighs, your fingers trailing over his balls and a little drool falling out of your lips as you lean to take him in your mouth-

Bucky’s hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back to meet his eyes.

He looks just as wrecked as you feel. Chest heaving and eyes blown with lust. You’re going to lose your mind.

“Bucky-“

“Not now.” He mutters, pulling you a little further back. “Need to be inside of you, doll. Please.”

You’d have to be insane to say no.

You crawl back on the mattress, spreading your legs in silence invitation, and something hot and powerful flashes in his eyes as he takes you in. 

“You-“

“I’m sure.” You squirm in the sheets, running your hand between your legs and starting to rub your clit in slow, strong circles. “God, I’m so fucking sure, please-“

He’s shockingly fast for such a large man. It might be the whole dream thing, but you barely register him moving to kneel over you, swatting your hand away with a darkened gaze a set jaw.

“I do that,” he grunts, running two fingers up and down your cunt, smirking at you high whine. “Legs open, doll, want to see how wet I’m making you.”

You nod, falling flat on your back, and pour all your focus into his order. “Fuck, Bucky-“ He shoves the fingers into your pussy, and your back arches off the bed. “Shit- I- Please-“

“You want my cock?” He drawls your name, and you can only nod dumbly at the ceiling. “Come on, tell me you want it-“

“Want it,” you gasp, hugging your body as he starts to pump his finger, crooking them at the exact right spot deep inside of you. “Fuck, Bucky, you said- You said you’d fuck me-“

He clicks his tongue. “I said I’d be inside of you-“

“But- But I want you to fuck me.” You start to roll your hips as his pace picks up. “Please, Bucky-“

You whine as his fingers vanish, leaving you clenching around only the air, but it’s a short-lived pain.

Bucky slams into you with one thrust, and you’d been wrong again.

He hadn’t ruined you. He’s destroyed you.

You’ve never been so full in your life. You’ve never been fucked like this in your life. With a fervor that should be painful, but just makes you feel wanted. Cared for. Bucky’s every thrust is brutal and rough, and his mouth on yours is that same feral kiss from before, but he’s pressed his body over yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world, and he’s groaning your name down your throat like it’s a hymn.

You’d say his name too, if you could remember how to speak. But Bucky’s hitting every right spot deep in your pussy, and you’re so high the world is just color and light and Bucky, and when he starts to suck and kiss a line down your throat, along your collarbone, and over your tits, you’re sure you’re going to fly out of your skin.

Then he takes your nipple into his mouth, and the sound you make is almost inhuman. Your release crashes over you like a wave, Bucky groans against your breast as you squeeze around his cock, and a burning warmth coats your thighs and cunt as he cums with a roar.

You make a small noise of content as Bucky pulls out, kissing a soft line back up your jaw before dropping his brow to yours and letting out a long, slow breath.

“That was…” He trails off, moving his hand to hold your hips, drawing firm patterns with his thumb that might drive you out of your mind.

“Yeah.” You whisper. “It was.”

He nods, and neither of you move for a really long time. Usually you’ve woken up by now, but no part of you is eager to go, eager to leave where there’s still a little buzz in your heart from the pleasure, where you can feel a perfect ache between your legs and you’re so happily trapped under the warmth of Bucky’s body-

Happy. 

You’re happy. 

This isn’t real, but under Bucky’s body you’re safe and warm and happy. And you don’t want to go. 

Almost as if he can read your mind, Bucky clears his throat.

“Thank you.” He mutters, his breath hot and soft over your ear. “Needed this.” There a long pause, and his hand squeezes on your hips. “Needed you. And I know it’s dumb to thank you, because-“

“It’s not.” You cut him off with a kiss to his neck, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “And I needed you too.”

He lets out a dry laugh that you don’t understand, but doesn’t push on it. Just kisses your brow and rolls onto his back, taking you with him and clinging to you like you’re a tether to something a little more important than just a dream.

And you really don’t know why he’d laughed. 

You do need him. You’re growing more and more certain every night that you need Bucky more than you need anything in real life. That he’s more than anyone else, and that he maybe, possibly, could be real.

He feels real, beneath you with a calloused hand squeezing at your skin and your finger tracing over the scars near his arm. 

He sounds real, when you finally ask why he only has one arm, and he takes a very long breath but mutters that he fell off a train. When he tells you that bad people found him, and he wasn’t really the best guy either, for a really long time. 

He tastes real when you kiss him for comfort, and smells real when you bury your face in his neck as he continues. 

You know he’s not telling you everything, but you also know he’s not lying. 

And you really do know that, in some strange and impossible way, this might be real.

———

“I see.” Raynor swallows, and she won’t stop staring at you. “Did those, ah, occurrences happen again?”

You nod, staring at your hands. “Pretty much every time after.” A smile tugs at your lips. “One time we used the barn.”

“I-“ Raynor sighs. “Understood. How long, exactly, did this continue?”

“They never stopped, not until-“ Your nails dig into your skin, and a heavy stone lodges itself in your throat. “The, uh, the blip.”

———

These have been the worst five years of your life. And they haven’t been amazing for anyone, but no one else has to feel this like you do.

And that’s selfish. A little narcissistic. Incredibly crude.

But it doesn’t make it any less true.

Because everyone lost people. Everyone watched loved ones vanish right in front of them, witnessed the world fall and crumble around them as half of humanity vanished, and got left in the rubble to pick up the pieces. 

But no one else seems to feel this. Nobody else seems to be falling apart at the seams from nothing at all like you are. Because Bucky was probably never real. But he’s gone. 

And you don’t know how to move on.

It’s odd to grieve a dream. It makes living impossible. You go to all the support groups and listen to everyone share their own pain, and it makes your heart ache for them but nothing in you ever seems to heal. It’s as if a piece of you had been ripped out and ground to ash, and mending over it would be blasphemous. You don’t want to fix it. You need to, because this is no way to exist, but it feels wrong every time you try. As if even your body can’t just admit he’s gone, and you need to keep going. But everything feels artificial. Every breath is mechanical, and every beat of your heart feels shallow and deliberate, like it’s only doing just enough to keep you alive.

What’s worse is that you can’t tell anyone why you’ve become a sunken, hollow shell. You’d sound insane. You’re already not winning any points in the sound of mind department, and you do have a record, so if you went to one of the countless therapists who have been making their living off of everyone’s loss and said ‘see, doctor, the person I loved only existed in my dreams, but he vanished with the snap and now it feels like I’ve been cleaved in half’, you’d be locked up in an asylum.

You hate that you’re only realizing it now. That the overwhelming sense of warmth and peace you felt in your dreams with Bucky was love. That you’d fallen in love with a piece of your own mind. You’d basically fallen in love with your reflection. Your annoying, handsome, grumpy reflection that you’d rip your spine out of your body to reshape it back into his form, to bring him back to your side.

And the dreams still happen. He’s just not there, and it’s the worst thing in the fucking universe. You keep coming back to a forest, and there’s a little ash that’s always drifting around in the air, that feels really important.

It all always feels like more than just Bucky being gone. It feels like you’ve missed a train, or taken a wrong turn, and lost a key that double as a compass, and now you’re stranded at the bottom of the ocean. 

Alone. 

You’ve spent your whole life with only yourself to rely on, but you’ve never felt more alone.

———

“And after the blip?”

“He came back.” You’re going to cry. You really hate crying in front of Raynor—she always tells you it’s going to be okay, and you fucking know that—but you can’t stop it. Because Bucky really did come back, and it’s still the best thing that ever happened to you.

———

During the past five years, your sleep has gotten fucked. You get about four hours a night, because that’s just long enough to keep you functional but too short to allow you to appear in the forest.

So it took a while to pass out. You’d curled up in your bed, drank tea, done yoga, followed every ‘how to fall asleep fast’ internet guide until your eyes drooped, and you were gone.

When the dream takes shape around you, you’re not in the forest, but in a sleek, hospital-like room that you don’t recognize. 

And he’s there. 

Bucky’s right fucking there.

You make a small, choked sound, and his eyes shoot to yours in an instant. 

He’s moving in a second. Half launching across the room to grab you before your knees give out, holding you to his chest as you cling to his shirt and press your face into his neck. 

“Hey,” he mutters your name, and you can hear the low horror in it. He’s putting together why you’re crying. Why you’re scratching at his neck and trying to half climb up his body. “You’re alright. It’s all good, doll, everything’s good now-“

You cut him off with a long, heavy kiss, and his hand moves to cup your head. 

He has two hands again. You don’t really care why.

Because Bucky’s rubbing circles on the skin of your waist, and letting you cry without making a big fucking deal about it, and nothing mended. Nothing’s ever mended. You’ve been a little fucking broken for a long time, with or without Bucky. But it had been a kind of broken that had folded and shaped with him, and when he’d been gone it was like half your organs had been frozen and crumbled in your body.

But he’s back. And you feel real again.

———

There’s a long silence in the air, and you know what’s coming. The question. You’ve known she’s going to ask it the whole time—you’d honestly expected it a lot sooner—and you’ve been prepared. You have a very long speech about how Bucky had changed again—short hair, kept the new arm, appearing in his own, mostly empty apartment and trading the Wakandan clothing for jeans and jackets—and that he’d told you how much he hated some guy named John. 

He’d said he despised the asshole. That he was everything Steve had hated—you’d had a pretty good idea who Steve was, based on context and a theory but you hadn’t be quite ready to it yet—and nothing sounded better than punching his lights out. 

And you’re ready to explain that you’d had the news on in the background, a few words had broken from static background noise, and your whole world had shifted. John Walker had been announced as the new Captain America, they’d run a stupid little fluff piece on the life of Steve Rogers, and there was Bucky. Captain America’s best friend and ally, the assumed cause of that whole the Avengers are breaking up thing, and the former Winter Solider. 

You’d mostly stared at the screen for a really long time as everything feel into place—you’d looked him up after, and it was a little embarrassing it had taken you this long given that he has a Wikipedia page—before calling Raynor, and preparing for the question.

But when she asks it, your mind goes blank, and all you can’t think to say is the truth.

“May I ask,” Raynor says carefully. ”Why are you only discussing this now?”

“Because he’s real.”

———

Bucky has dreams. Not nightmares.

Dreams.

He dreams about Her. She’s the only constant in his life, the only solace and purely good thing he knows, and She’s not even damn real.

Bucky’s pretty sure She’s not real. It wouldn’t make any sense for Her to be real. He’d spent most of the years assuming that She was simply a result of him being able to dream again, a trick of his mind that was both a comfort and a torture, because he needed those dreams—needed Her, in a strange way that lived in his chest and was soft on his skin—more than he’d ever needed anything, but they also reminded him of what he’d never have.

A life in a simple apartment, filled with his own presence in a way that was easy. He always loved that about Her apartment. How everywhere he looked, She was there. The colors and furniture and posters and trinkets on the shelves all screamed Her, and no one could ever replicate that if they tried. 

He didn’t know how to do that anywhere. How to just be him in a way that didn’t feel like something was strangling him. His apartment was barren. Every time he spoke it felt like he should be apologize immediately after, because barely anyone seemed to like him, let alone want to hear him.

Bucky understood that. He wasn’t exactly his own biggest fan, and the only time there was no part of him trying to escape his own body was when he was asleep, and She was at his side. 

He liked being himself with Her. It was simple, and natural, and never a labor. She never flinched away from him—She seemed to like being close to him—and Bucky never really wanted to wake up. Part of him always hoped that this time, when he fell asleep and She appeared once more, he’d wake up in Her apartment, and it would all be real.

A very small part of him needed this—needed Her—to be real. It would be really amazing if She was real. It wasn’t something he deserved to ask for, to plead with the universe about, but he did. He kept trying to come up with reasons She could be real.

She felt real, in his dreams. She spoke and acted like a person, and not a doll or shell his brain may have created to get him through his de-programming. She was always saying things and making references he didn’t get until she explained them, things he was certain he hadn’t heard in passing. She was way prettier than anyone Bucky had ever seen, which would contribute to Her being only a dream if he wasn’t so certain that he simply wasn’t that creative.

He could imagine a pretty girl.

He couldn’t imagine Her.

Smart and funny and gorgeous, fitting against him like She’d been molded to, teasing him in ways he’d never thought of and kind to him ways he couldn’t be kind to himself. 

She was never disgusted by the arm, and Bucky was sure that—if She was only a part of his mind given shape—she would know about the whole Winter Soldier thing. But he’d had to explain all he could to Her, and when he’d left certain, darker parts out She hadn’t said but that’s not the truth, is it, James.

She seemed to like Bucky. That was the most concrete proof he had that She had to somehow be real. Nobody liked him. Not in to raw, unrelenting way She did.

So She had to be real.

Bucky really hoped, against all odds, that she was real. 

It would fix a lot of problems if She was real. Sam kept trying to get him to date, and he didn’t want to. He always felt like he was betraying Her. It wasn’t sustainable or logical, but logic didn’t really matter here, because Bucky’s gut would wither and his hands would curl into fists every time he had to try and flirt with another woman. They didn’t fit against him as well as She did. Their teasing would either bite too hard or not bite at all, and the night would end with Bucky falling back into Her arms. 

He asked Shuri—very vaguely, he didn’t want his brain to be poked and prodded again—what reoccurring dreams could mean.

“Reoccurring?” She’d frowned at him over the video call. “You’ll have to clarify, reoccurring can mean many things.”

“Uh,” Bucky had swallowed, glancing at his mattress across the room. “A dream you have every night. And it could change, but it’s always the same person in it?”

Shuri had given him an odd look. “Have you been having a dream like that?”

“No.” His answer had been too fast. He needed to keep it together if he was going to sell this. “Sam has. He mentioned that he kept seeing some lady in his dreams, and she felt real but he’d never met her before. Thought I’d do him a favor and ask about it.”

It wasn’t the best lie he’d ever told, if Shuri look of doubt had been any indication. But she bit, and kept moving.

“Well, it looks as if Sam,” she’d given him a pointed look, and Bucky had forced his face to remain completely neutral. “Has found his soulmate.”

Bucky had stared at her for a really long time. His vision had blurred, there had been a ringing in his ears, and time had seemed to still as Shuri’s words sank in.

Soulmate.

“I thought, uh,” Bucky had cleared his throat, his voice a little hoarse. “Soulmates aren’t real-“

“Of course they’re real.” Shuri had shrugged. “Soulmate is an archaic term for two brains that emit the exact same neuroelectricity, their nerve paths aligning completely. Often they will have differing personalities and lives, but the tie of the biology will link them in sleep, and they will experience incredibly vivid lucid dreams. Like this video conference, but if our minds and bodies were built to fall in love with each other. It is rare, but not impossible.”

Bucky had frowned. “But I- uh, Sam said he’s only had these dreams about four years-“

“Sam’s brain underwent severe rewiring and torment.” Shuri’s voice had been dry, her expression flat. “He would do well to remember that his connection may have been slightly mauled, and only after a certain genius princess fixed him would he have been able to reciprocate the bond fully.”

Oh.

The first time Bucky had appeared in Her apartment, She had said ten years. When She’d appeared to him for the very first time, She’d said she’d dreamt of him before.

Bucky had assumed that had been another way his brain was comforting him. Telling him he could be the type of person a pretty girl like Her dreamed about.

But when he thought about it—clenched his jaw and drew up the heavier, blood-stained memories of the Soldier—there had sometimes been someone in his body with him. Not the Soldier, but the third presence that wasn’t hostile. Wasn’t really foreign. Just was. 

“Could the-“ Bucky had swallowed, watching Shuri carefully as he spoke. “Sam said he could sometimes feel the gal while he was awake. Is that a thing that could happen?”

“If Sam was not himself, and the soulmate was not of full maturity, yes.”

Bucky had felt himself pale. “What do you mean, full maturity-“

“You are a hundred years old, Mr. Barnes.” Shuri had raised her brows, and all pretense of Sam had dropped. “There would have naturally been a point where your soulmate was a child, as that is how most people begin their lives. It is likely that you were still under the control of Hydra in your soulmate’s youth, and she would have only been a growing presence in your mind until she was a full person, and you were no longer only the shell of a man I met after my father’s death.”

“So she- Would she have seen what I did? As the Solider?”

He knew She had. She’d told him She had.

Bucky still didn’t want it to be true.

Shuri had given him a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, yes. She would have. But if she is what you say, she is a perfect match to you in every way. She will not care what you were before, under the control of Hydra.”

“But-“

“It is not something worth protesting, Bucky.” Shuri had sighed, leaning a little closer to the camera. “This is not something that can be severed or changed, so please do not bother to ask. And remember that she is real. Her own person, with her own pain. I would recommend you attempt to find her, but that is something you will have to decide for yourself.”

And now he was here. Staring at the dark screen where Shuri’s face had been moments before, his head still spinning around the word. 

Soulmate.

She’d made is sound scientific. Possible. Bucky could have a soulmate. 

He didn’t deserve a soulmate. Not one he’d likely trapped in his mind, forced to witness the brutal atrocities he’d committed as the Winter Solider.

And he wanted to find Her. Bucky wanted to touch Her and kiss her and keep her longer than just the night. To wake up and see Her next to him, tangible and all his. 

He’d liked the idea of something being his in a way that wasn’t a curse. In a way he could throw his all right back to Her, and she’d catch it. 

But there was still the sour, molding feeling over his heart that—since She was real, and probably had Her own issues to deal with—She wouldn’t want him in her life. Not Her real life, where everything was more complicate than just them in a literal dream.

He shouldn’t find Her. She’d be better off without him. Bucky would do nothing but make Her life more complicated, and he could get through this know that She was real and safe, far away from him but still haunting his dreams in the best way possible.

He was so lost in his head he misses the first phone call. And the second one.

It was the third one that got his attention—buzzing and ringing on the table next to his computer, Dr. Raynor flashing across the screen—and the fourth one he actually managed to pick up.

Bucky didn’t bother to hide the tension in his voice when he spoke. He really didn’t have the time or energy for this, not right now. “Doc, I’m not due back for another four days-“

“I’m aware, James, I keep a calendar.” Raynor sighed through the speaker, and Bucky had never heard her sound so tense. It was a little concerning. “However, I am going to have to request you come in today. It’s an emergency.”

He scowled. “What emergency, I haven’t done anything emergency worthy-“

“It’s not only about you.” Raynor snapped. “And I’m changing it from a request to an order. Office in twenty minutes.” There was a long pause, and then a whispered, “Please.”

That wasn’t good.

“Did I get in trouble?” Bucky asked, his grip on the phone tightening. “Cause I’ve been following all the stupid rules, and if Sam says I did something he’s just being a dramatic dick-“

Raynor sighed, and Bucky could picture the thin look of exhaustion on her face. “You are not in trouble, James. It’s not- I can’t explain over the phone. It may be better for you to see.”

“See what?”

“Just come to the fucking office.”

Bucky blinked, and the line went dead.

Raynor couldn’t make him go. But he also had never heard her swear like that. Or order him to come in before an appointment.

He was a little curious. And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do today but drown in the knowledge of what Shuri had told him, trying to work out how he’d face Her tonight.

So he went to the office. Chances are it was nothing. Bucky couldn’t imagine it would be something. He spent the whole ride trying to think of an idea, came up blank, and decided that Sam had mentioned something to Raynor about how Bucky had been brooding more than usual, and he was just going to have to explain the whole I’m not brooding, I’m just sick of Sam’s blind date bullshit and also maybe have a soulmate thing. Then he’s kick Sam’s ass, and everything would be fine.

Bucky entered to office with a whole speech ready. His chin raised high and his arms crossed, because he was already having a very weird and complex day, and he didn’t need this. 

All the words were knocked out of him the moment he opened the door, glanced around the room, and saw who was on the couch.

Her.

In person. 

Very, very real, and in Raynor’s office, and here.

Raynor said Her name. The name Bucky knew Her by, and her last name. 

It was a nice last name. Barnes would suit Her better, but the idea that she was real enough to have a last name was already bringing Bucky to his knees, so he’d have to save that thought for later.

“Meet James Barnes.” Raynor was probably looking between them. Bucky couldn’t be sure though, because he couldn’t stop staring at Her.

She was moving to Her feet, and seeing Her in person was somehow even better. She was sharper around the edges, and more colorful in small, bright ways, and nothing about Her felt like it could ever slip between Bucky’s fingers.

She wasn’t mist. She wasn’t an illusion, or a coping mechanism.

She was real.

Walking towards him with wide eyes and an open mouth, reaching a hand up to poke at his face. Tracing his nose and running fingers over his cheekbones, Her eyes never leaving his.

Bucky caught Her hand right as it brushed over his lips, and She made the prettiest gasp he’d ever heard.

“You’re real.” He said, because it was all he could think of. Nothing about this was a dream. Bucky would not have a dream where Raynor was watching him restrain himself from kissing Her until she collapsed in his arms.

“I’m real.” She whispered, and Her voice was better in real life too. “You’re here.”

He nodded. “I’m here.” He paused, scanning over Her open features. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere, doll.”

Her face split into a wide smile, all teeth and light and joy. For Bucky. 

There was adoration on Her face, and it was all for Bucky.

“Good.” Her smile grew, Her fingers tangling with his metal ones. “Because I’m not either.”

End Note: Save me Bucky Barnes raising goats. Bucky Barnes raising goats, save me.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @Youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco

@Ambiguous-avery @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka

[gyu-tori]

The Only Gift That Matters | Y.JW

A Birthday Special

Pairing: idol!jungwonx fem!reader Genre: FLUFF!!

Summary: After his final tour performance, Jungwon expects a simple celebration—until he walks in and finds you waiting for him. With the help of his meddling members, you’ve flown across the world to surprise him on his birthday, turning an ordinary night into one he’ll never forget.

Word Count: 6.4k

The deafening cheers of thousands of ENGENEs still echoed in Jungwon’s ears as he walked offstage, his heart hammering in his chest. The adrenaline of performing had yet to fully subside, leaving his body buzzing with energy despite the exhaustion creeping into his limbs. Sweat clung to his skin, the fabric of his stage outfit slightly damp from the hours of dancing and singing under the bright, flashing lights.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling deeply as he stepped into the backstage area, the distant sound of fans still chanting his name beyond the arena walls. The final show of the tour was over. Just like that.

Jungwon felt a strange mix of pride and relief settle in his chest. The months of rehearsals, traveling, and performing in different cities had been exhausting, but it was all worth it for the moments he got to share with the fans. Now, as the weight of the past few weeks settled on him, he realized just how drained he was.

The other members were already backstage, toweling off sweat and chugging water bottles as staff buzzed around them, congratulating them on another successful concert.

“Damn, that was crazy,” Jay muttered, shaking out his arms as he collapsed onto one of the couches. “The energy tonight was insane.”

Sunghoon nodded, still catching his breath. “I swear, they were even louder than last night.”

“Louder than every other stop, honestly,” Sunoo chimed in, giggling as he wiped his face with a towel. “My ears are still ringing.”

Jungwon smiled at their words, a sense of warmth spreading through him. He loved that no matter how exhausting things got, they could all share these moments together.

“You good, Won?” Heeseung’s voice broke through his thoughts, drawing his attention.

Jungwon blinked, realizing he had been standing still for a moment too long. “Yeah,” he nodded, offering a tired smile. “Just taking it all in.”

Ni-ki slung an arm over his shoulders with a grin. “You should. It’s your birthday, Hyung!”

Jungwon chuckled at the nickname. It had started as a joke because of his leader status, but over time, it had stuck. He shook his head playfully. “It’s just another day.”

The members collectively groaned.

“Bro, don’t say that,” Jake protested, nudging him. “It’s your birthday, AND you just finished performing for engenes. We have to celebrate.”

Jungwon laughed, shaking his head again, though he appreciated their enthusiasm. “We’ll see.”

Unknown to him, his members were all exchanging knowing glances. They were doing their best to act casual, but Jungwon was too exhausted to notice the small smirks, the barely concealed excitement in their eyes.

Something was definitely up. But for now, Jungwon was just grateful for a moment to breathe.

Earlier that day, long before Jungwon stepped off the concert stage drenched in sweat and glowing with the high of performing, you had landed in the city, excitement and nerves warring inside your chest.

You had spent weeks planning this trip, coordinating your schedule around his tour, booking flights, and making sure everything was set up perfectly. The hardest part, though, had been keeping it a secret.

Jungwon wasn’t the type to ask too many questions, but he always had a way of sensing when something was up. That’s what made this surprise so difficult to pull off—because if anyone knew you well enough to figure out when you were hiding something, it was him.

Luckily, you had an accomplice.

“Flight’s on time. You should be landing in the afternoon,” Heeseung had texted you the night before. “I’ll make sure Jungwon’s distracted.”

You had smiled at the message, grateful beyond words. Heeseung had been your lifeline in pulling this off.

And now, after hours of flying and navigating through airport crowds, you were finally here, standing in a quiet hallway backstage, hidden from view as the concert continued just beyond the walls.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, fingers tightening around the handle of your small carry-on bag. Even though you had traveled all this way, the nerves had only grown stronger.

What if he was too tired to enjoy the surprise? What if he was overwhelmed? What if—

“Stop overthinking,” Heeseung’s voice cut through your thoughts, his usual teasing lilt present as he approached you from around the corner.

You let out a breath, forcing a small laugh. “I can’t help it.”

He smirked. “You think Jungwon’s not gonna be the happiest man alive when he sees you? Please.”

The words made your heart warm, but the nerves remained. “I just want it to be perfect.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes playfully, then reached for your bag. “Come on, let’s get you set up before he gets suspicious.”

You let him take it, following him as he led you through the backstage area with practiced ease. The energy in the venue was electric—staff members moving in and out of rooms, the faint sound of Jungwon’s voice echoing from the stage as he spoke to the fans.

The reality of just how close you were to him hit you hard.

A whole month had passed since you last saw Jungwon in person. Video calls and texts only did so much when all you really wanted was to be by his side, to feel the warmth of his presence, to hear his laughter without a screen separating you.

And now, in just a short while, he would be standing in front of you again.

Heeseung must have sensed your growing emotions because he nudged you lightly. “Hey, don’t cry yet. You still gotta make it through the surprise.”

You let out a watery chuckle, wiping at your eyes. “I’m not crying.”

“Not yet,” he corrected, grinning.

You shook your head at him, but you were grateful for his humor—it made everything feel a little easier.

Heeseung led you to one of the smaller backstage rooms, where a few staff members were already setting up the decorations. The other members had given their input earlier, making sure everything was just right.

A string of warm fairy lights hung around the room, casting a cozy glow. A table had been set up with a beautifully decorated cake, simple but elegant, with “Happy Birthday, Leader Won!” written in icing.

A large banner stretched across one wall, displaying the same message in bold, playful letters.

The sight made your heart swell. Jungwon wasn’t the type to demand grand celebrations, but that was exactly why you wanted to make sure he had one. He deserved to be showered with love, to be reminded of how much he meant to everyone around him.

“You guys really went all out,” you murmured, taking it all in.

Heeseung shrugged. “Of course. We have to make sure our leader feels special.”

You smiled, running your fingers lightly over the edge of the table. “He’s going to love this.”

Heeseung clapped his hands together. “Okay, so here’s the plan. Jungwon’s still out there, finishing up the concert. Once he comes backstage, he’ll head to the dressing room to cool down, right?”

You nodded, already knowing his post-concert routine.

Heeseung continued. “While he’s in there, we’ll gather everyone here, and when he walks in, we’ll hit him with the surprise. You’ll be hiding behind the curtain until I give you the signal.”

Your stomach flipped. “Got it.”

He gave you a once-over, then smirked. “You look nervous.”

“I am nervous,” you admitted with a small laugh.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me, the moment he sees you, he won’t care about anything else.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, nodding. “I hope so.”

Heeseung grinned. “Oh, and by the way—you owe me for this. Big time.”

You laughed. “I’ll buy you dinner, okay?”

“Dinner and bubble tea.”

“Fine.”

Heeseung looked satisfied with that, then glanced at the clock. “Alright, we have about fifteen minutes before he comes offstage. You ready?”

You took a deep breath, placing a hand over your rapidly beating heart. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Fifteen minutes felt like an eternity.

You stood behind the thick black curtain in the small backstage lounge, nerves bubbling under your skin as the final notes of the encore song faded. The sound of thousands of ENGENEs screaming filled the venue, their voices blending into a beautiful, deafening chorus.

Jungwon was still out there, soaking in the last moments of the tour with his members, saying his final thank-yous to the fans. He was probably bowing now, flashing that tired but grateful smile that you had seen so many times in videos and pictures. Only this time, you weren’t watching from a screen. You were here.

Heeseung had disappeared momentarily to check on the progress, leaving you alone in your hiding spot. Your hands trembled slightly as you smoothed down your outfit, making sure everything was perfect.

The thought of seeing Jungwon after a whole month had your heart racing. Would he cry? Would he be too overwhelmed? You knew how much he tried to hold back his emotions sometimes, especially when it came to himself. He always put others first, always prioritized his members, his fans, his work.

But tonight, tonight was about him.

A soft rustling sound snapped you out of your thoughts, and then Heeseung’s voice came from the other side of the curtain. “Showtime.”

You swallowed hard. “He’s coming?”

“Yup. He’s in the dressing room now, freshening up. We have about five minutes before he walks in.”

You nodded, inhaling deeply to steady yourself. “Okay.”

The room outside was already set. The other members had gathered, all of them doing their best to act casual, but you could hear the suppressed excitement in their voices.

“Don’t act weird, guys,” Jake whispered. “He’ll know something’s up.”

“Dude, just stand normal,” Sunghoon replied.

“What does ‘stand normal’ even mean?” Jay shot back.

A soft whack sound followed. “Ow, Sunoo!”

“Shut up and just smile,” Sunoo hissed.

You pressed a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh. It was almost funny how much effort they were putting into this. Jungwon would probably be too exhausted to even notice at first, but knowing how sharp he was, you wouldn’t be surprised if he picked up on their energy.

Still, the setup was perfect.

The fairy lights gave the room a warm, inviting glow, casting soft shadows on the walls. The cake sat neatly on the table, an elegant white-frosted design with subtle gold accents. The words Happy Birthday, Captain! were written in neat cursive, surrounded by tiny edible stars. The members had insisted on keeping the decorations simple—nothing too over-the-top, but still meaningful.

And then there was the banner.

A large, hand-painted sign stretched across the back wall, filled with personal messages from the members. Little doodles of Jungwon’s favorite things were scattered across it—his favorite snacks, his beloved cat-shaped drawings, even a small, cartoon version of himself.

It was the kind of effort that showed just how much they loved him.

You smiled to yourself, already imagining the look on his face.

A sudden shuffle of footsteps in the hallway made your breath hitch.

“Oh, oh, he’s coming—”

“Positions, everyone!”

You quickly pressed yourself further into the corner, holding your breath. The curtain concealed you entirely, and from this angle, you had a perfect view of the entrance.

The door handle turned.

For a moment, silence filled the room, thick with anticipation. Then, the door swung open and the room fell into an instant hush.

Jungwon stepped inside, still towel-drying his damp hair, his oversized black t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame. His post-performance glow was evident—cheeks flushed, eyes slightly dazed from the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

He blinked at the sight before him.

The members stood scattered around the room, trying way too hard to act normal. Jay was casually leaning against a table—except his elbow slipped, nearly knocking over a bottle of water. Sunghoon looked suspiciously stiff, like he had rehearsed his “natural” stance too many times. Ni-ki was covering his mouth, eyes already sparkling with suppressed laughter.

Jungwon frowned slightly. Something is up.

Then, his gaze landed on the fairy lights, the cake, and finally, the massive Happy Birthday, Leader Won! banner staring back at him.

Before he could process it, the members erupted into cheers.

“Surprise!”

Jungwon flinched at the sudden noise, nearly dropping his towel. “What the—” He looked around, squinting. “What’s going on?”

“You really thought we wouldn’t do anything for your birthday?” Jake smirked, stepping forward to throw an arm around Jungwon’s shoulders.

Jungwon scoffed. “I knew you guys were being weird today.”

“Define weird,” Sunghoon said innocently, shifting slightly to block the suitcase near the couch.

Jungwon narrowed his eyes. “You were all too normal.”

“Bro, we’re always normal,” Jay deadpanned.

“I stand by it.”

The members cackled.

Heeseung, who had been standing off to the side with his arms crossed, finally spoke up. “Actually…” He smirked. “We have one more present for you.”

Jungwon groaned dramatically, rubbing his face. “Please tell me it’s not another embarrassing video montage—”

“Oh, it’s better.”

Before Jungwon could question it, Heeseung gave a small nod toward the curtain.

That was your cue.

You stepped out, heart hammering against your ribs as you finally locked eyes with Jungwon.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

Jungwon’s entire body went rigid. His mouth parted slightly. His hands, which had been resting at his sides, twitched like his brain was struggling to send a signal. His chest rose and fell with an unsteady breath.

The members were watching eagerly, as if they were witnessing a dramatic K-drama finale.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Jungwon finally found his voice.

“…Wait.”

His voice cracked slightly.

Ni-ki snorted.

Jungwon’s gaze darted from your face to the suitcase near the couch, then back to you. His lips parted again, but all that came out was:

“HUH?”

The room erupted.

Sunoo doubled over, clutching his stomach. Jake fell onto the couch, wheezing. Ni-ki looked like he was about to pass out from laughing.

Jungwon, however, remained frozen.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as you stepped closer. “Surprise.”

That was all it took.

Jungwon suddenly lunged.

He reached you in seconds, wrapping his arms around you so tightly that your feet nearly left the ground. A startled laugh escaped you as you stumbled backward slightly, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“You—You’re really here?” His voice was muffled against your shoulder, trembling slightly.

You nodded against him, your heart swelling. “I’m here.”

Jungwon pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes wide and glassy. “You… You really flew all this way? Just for me?”

You smiled. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss your birthday for anything.”

Jungwon exhaled sharply, like he was still trying to process it. Behind him, the members were still enjoying the show.

Jake wiped away fake tears. “This is beautiful.”

“He’s in shock,” Sunghoon whispered.

“No thoughts. Head empty,” Ni-ki added.

Jungwon ignored them, his hands still gripping your arms as if grounding himself.

“You okay?” you asked, pressing a hand to his cheek.

He blinked slowly. “No. I think I’m malfunctioning.”

The members lost it again.

Sunoo wiped a nonexistent tear from his eye. “We’ve lost our leader, everyone.”

Heeseung clapped Jungwon’s back. “A thank you would be nice.”

Jungwon finally tore his gaze away from you to glare at him. “Shut up.”

You giggled, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Happy birthday, love.”

Jungwon let out a small, breathless laugh, finally pulling you into another tight hug. “This is the best birthday ever.”

The members groaned loudly.

“Oh my god, he’s so whipped,” Jay muttered.

“Just now realizing that?” Sunghoon scoffed.

You laughed against Jungwon’s shoulder, feeling his grip tighten just a little more.

And in that moment, you knew—no matter how much they teased him, no matter how chaotic things got—this was exactly where you were meant to be.

—

Jungwon still hadn’t let go of you.

It had been a full minute since the initial shock wore off, but he kept his arms locked around you, his head resting against your shoulder like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“Okay, we get it, you missed her,” Jay teased, breaking the silence.

Jungwon finally pulled back—just enough to turn and glare at him. “Shut up, Jay.”

Jay smirked. “You’re not even denying it.”

“Because it’s true,” Heeseung added with a knowing grin.

Jungwon sighed, shaking his head before turning back to you. His hands stayed on your arms, his touch warm and grounding. “How long are you staying?”

You smiled. “A few days.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed. “Good.” Then, quieter, just for you, he murmured, “I don’t want you to leave too soon.”

Your heart melted.

Before you could respond, Ni-ki clapped his hands together. “Alright, lovebirds, we do have a cake waiting.”

Jungwon sighed dramatically but finally—reluctantly—let you go. You laughed at the way he immediately reached for your hand again, intertwining his fingers with yours as he turned to face the rest of the group.

Jake grinned. “Alright, birthday boy, make a wish.”

Sunghoon nudged him. “You don’t need to. Your biggest wish literally just walked in.”

The members groaned at the cheesiness, but Jungwon?

He just smiled.

You swore his grip on your hand tightened slightly.

With a soft chuckle, he stepped forward to the table, staring at the cake. The warm fairy lights made the white frosting glow softly, and the words Happy Birthday, Captain! stood out in elegant cursive.

Jungwon exhaled deeply. “This is really nice, guys.”

Sunoo beamed. “Of course. You deserve it.”

Jungwon gave him a small, grateful smile before closing his eyes for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, he blew out the candles.

The room erupted into cheers.

“Yay, our leader is another year older!” Ni-ki teased.

“Another year shorter,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath.

Jungwon turned to glare at him. “I heard that.”

Sunghoon just smirked. “Oops.”

Jake started cutting the cake while Jay grabbed plates. You watched as Jungwon let himself fully relax, laughing as his members playfully fought over who got the biggest slice.

Sunoo dramatically gasped. “Ni-ki, put that piece back, you gremlin!”

Ni-ki, holding an unfairly large slice, grinned. “Finders keepers.”

Sunghoon looked horrified. “That’s a quarter of the cake, you menace.”

Jungwon just laughed, shaking his head. “It’s fine, just take another slice.”

“You’re too nice,” you teased, nudging him. “If that were me, I would’ve smacked it out of his hands.”

Jungwon turned to you with a grin. “Noted for future cake disputes.”

Heeseung passed you both plates, and as Jungwon took his first bite, a soft sigh of satisfaction left his lips. “Wow.” He looked up at the members. “This is really good.”

“Sunoo picked it,” Jay said, nodding.

Sunoo flipped his hair dramatically. “I do have excellent taste.”

Jungwon chuckled, turning back to you. “You should try it.”

He picked up a small forkful and, without thinking, held it up to your lips.

The entire room fell into scandalized silence.

Jake gasped. “Oh my god.”

Sunghoon looked personally attacked. “In front of my salad?”

Ni-ki fake gagged. “Not at the dinner table, guys.”

Jungwon froze.

His ears turned bright red.

You, however, decided to play along. Maintaining eye contact, you leaned in, taking the bite off his fork.

Jungwon’s jaw visibly clenched. His eyes darted to the members, all of whom were staring.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You didn’t even hesitate.”

Jungwon cleared his throat. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

Ni-ki smirked. “Oh, it’s too late for that.”

Sunoo placed a hand over his heart. “I never thought I’d see the day our little leader would be out here doing—” He waved a hand dramatically. “—something so scandalous in front of us.”

Sunghoon sighed. “They grow up so fast.”

Jungwon groaned, covering his face with one hand. “I hate all of you.”

You giggled, leaning closer. “But you love me, right?”

Jungwon sighed dramatically before dropping his hand and looking at you. A soft smile played on his lips as he nodded.

“Yeah. I do.”

The members groaned in unison.

“Oh my god,” Jay muttered, stuffing cake into his mouth. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Ni-ki fake sniffled. “Our fearless leader has fallen.”

Jungwon just rolled his eyes, but the smile never left his face. He squeezed your hand gently before turning back to his cake.

The celebration had finally started winding down.

The cake had been demolished (mostly by Ni-ki, who had somehow managed to sneak extra slices despite Sunoo’s watchful gaze). The members were still playfully bickering about who gave Jungwon the best present, and the room was filled with warmth and laughter.

But even with all the noise, Jungwon hadn’t let go of your hand.

Every few minutes, you’d feel his thumb brush over your skin absentmindedly, as if making sure you were still there. If he wasn’t holding your hand, his knee was pressed against yours, his body always leaning just slightly in your direction.

You didn’t mind one bit.

Eventually, the members started cleaning up, throwing away plates and clearing the table. Jungwon had been watching them work for a grand total of two minutes before Heeseung pointed at him.

“Not so fast, birthday boy. You’re helping.”

Jungwon groaned, leaning against you dramatically. “It’s my birthday. Shouldn’t I be exempt from this?”

“Yeah, no,” Jay deadpanned, tossing him an empty cup. “If we suffer, you suffer.”

Jungwon sighed but stood up, squeezing your hand one last time before letting go. “I’ll be back soon,” he murmured.

You smiled. “I’ll be right here.”

As he walked off to help, you watched him fondly. Even exhausted, he still tried to pull his weight, stacking plates and picking up napkins.

It wasn’t long before Heeseung shot you a knowing look from across the room. “You should steal him away for a bit.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. We got this. Go be disgusting somewhere else.”

You snorted, shaking your head before making your way toward Jungwon. He had just finished setting a stack of plates on the counter when you slipped your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head against his back.

He stiffened for a split second before instantly relaxing, his hands moving to rest over yours.

“Come with me,” you murmured.

Jungwon turned his head slightly, curiosity in his eyes. “Where?”

You just smiled. “You’ll see.”

The members noticed, of course.

“Aww, look at them,” Ni-ki cooed.

Jake sighed dramatically. “I wish someone would whisk me away like that.”

Sunghoon smirked. “We could, but you’d just come back in five minutes crying about how much you miss us.”

Jake gasped. “That happened one time.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes but tugged you toward the hallway before they could tease either of you further.

The two of you ended up in a quieter part of the backstage area, away from the noise. The air felt different here—quieter, softer, more intimate.

Jungwon sighed as he leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair. “Finally. A moment of peace.”

You smiled, stepping closer. “Tired?”

He tilted his head in thought before shaking it. “Not anymore.”

His eyes softened as he reached for your hand again. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

You squeezed his fingers gently. “I wanted to be.”

Jungwon studied you for a long moment, then—slowly—he brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. The gesture was so sweet, so tender, that your breath hitched.

His gaze flickered up, watching your reaction. When he saw your expression, he grinned. “What? I’m not allowed to be romantic?”

You laughed softly. “You are romantic. Just usually in a really awkward, flustered way.”

Jungwon groaned. “You just had to ruin my smooth moment, huh?”

You giggled, reaching up to brush a damp strand of hair from his forehead. “Sorry, sorry. You were very smooth. Super charming.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled anyway, leaning into your touch. “Better.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, soaking in the silence. It felt surreal—to be here with him after so long, with no screen between you, no time zone difference, no calls cutting in and out. Just him.

Jungwon sighed contently. “This is the best birthday ever.”

You tilted your head. “Because of the concert?”

He shook his head immediately. “No.” His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “Because you’re here.”

Your heart swelled.

“You’re really sappy today,” you teased, though your voice was soft.

Jungwon chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Take it while you can.”

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Happy birthday, love.”

Jungwon’s eyes softened as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Thank you for making it perfect.”

And for the first time that night, no one interrupted.

After a long night of performing, celebrating, and being relentlessly teased by his members, Jungwon was finally free.

The two of you had slipped out of the venue while the others were still cleaning up, leaving behind the chaos and noise for the quiet comfort of the van. The moment you slid into the backseat, Jungwon immediately followed, settling in beside you.

The city lights flickered outside as the car pulled onto the road, the soft hum of the engine filling the space. The energy from the concert still lingered in the air, but exhaustion was creeping in, making everything feel a little hazy.

Jungwon let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the seat. “I can finally breathe.”

You giggled. “Are you saying your own birthday party was suffocating?”

He turned his head toward you, eyes heavy with fatigue but filled with warmth. “Not the party. Just them.”

From the front seat, Heeseung—who had offered to ride with you two—cleared his throat. “I can hear you, by the way.”

Jungwon groaned, closing his eyes. “I know. That’s why I said it.”

Heeseung let out an exaggerated sigh. “This is how you treat your beloved hyung? After I singlehandedly orchestrated your entire surprise?”

You grinned. “To be fair, he does have a point, Won.”

Jungwon opened one eye, narrowing it at you. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

You shrugged. “He’s my partner-in-crime. I have to give him some credit.”

Heeseung smirked. “Exactly. Someone appreciates my hard work.”

Jungwon let out a dramatic sigh before turning back to you. “Fine. Thank you, Heeseung-hyung. You’re the best hyung in the world. I’m eternally grateful.”

His tone was so robotic that Heeseung actually gagged. “Okay, never mind. I take back everything. You’re ungrateful.”

You burst into laughter as Jungwon smirked in victory.

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, the van rocking gently as it cruised through the city. You glanced at Jungwon, noticing how his body had started to relax completely, his head resting against the seat. His eyes blinked slower, his grip on your hand loosening just slightly.

“You’re exhausted,” you murmured.

Jungwon hummed sleepily. “Mhm.”

You ran your fingers gently through his damp hair, feeling him melt into your touch. “You should sleep.”

“Not yet,” he mumbled, blinking up at you with a lazy smile. “Wanna spend every second with you tonight.”

Your heart clenched at the softness in his voice.

“Jungwon,” you whispered, brushing a thumb over his cheek.

He hummed again, eyes half-lidded.

“You’ll still have me tomorrow,” you promised. “And the day after that.”

His lips curled into a small smile. “Good.”

Heeseung, who had been minding his business, suddenly spoke. “I am still here, by the way.”

Jungwon groaned. “Hyung, please.”

Heeseung snorted. “Nah, it’s fine. I love being a third wheel. Really. It’s my favorite thing.”

You giggled as Jungwon shot him a glare, but the moment was short-lived—because not even Heeseung’s teasing could stop Jungwon’s body from shutting down.

Within minutes, his head slowly tilted to the side, resting against your shoulder.

You glanced down, only to find him fully asleep, his breathing deep and steady.

Your heart softened.

Carefully, you adjusted yourself so he could be more comfortable, wrapping an arm around him. He instinctively nuzzled closer, his fingers loosely curling around the fabric of your sleeve.

Heeseung peeked at the rearview mirror and smirked. “Wow. Out cold.”

You smiled, running your fingers through Jungwon’s hair again. “He worked hard today.”

Heeseung nodded. “Yeah… but also, he’s just really whipped.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I know.”

The car continued rolling through the city, the lights casting soft glows across Jungwon’s peaceful face.

And in that moment, you realized something.

For all the teasing, for all the chaos, for all the exhaustion—this was perfect.

Jungwon had his fans. His members. His music.

And now, he had you, too.

And that was all that mattered.

By the time the van pulled up to the hotel entrance, Jungwon was completely out.

His head was still resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your collarbone, his body pressed comfortably against yours. Every few minutes, his fingers would twitch slightly—like he was still subconsciously holding onto you even in sleep.

You smiled softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Won, we’re here.”

Nothing.

Heeseung leaned over from the front seat, peering at Jungwon’s sleeping form. He raised an eyebrow. “Is he even breathing?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Heeseung. He’s just exhausted.”

“Hmm.” Heeseung poked Jungwon’s arm. “Hey, birthday boy. Wake up.”

Jungwon didn’t even stir.

You giggled. “Heeseung, I don’t think that’s gonna work.”

“Watch and learn.” Heeseung cleared his throat and said, in a serious voice, “Jungwon-ah, staff said we need to redo the encore performance. Get up.”

Jungwon immediately twitched.

You and Heeseung watched in real-time as his eyes fluttered open, his body tensing slightly—until he finally registered his surroundings.

Then, he groaned and buried his face back into your shoulder. “Hyung, I hate you.”

Heeseung burst out laughing. “Hey, at least now you’re awake.”

Jungwon muttered something under his breath that was definitely not PG-rated, but it only made Heeseung laugh harder.

You giggled, rubbing Jungwon’s back soothingly. “Come on, love. Let’s get you inside.”

With a dramatic sigh, Jungwon finally sat up, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. His hair was slightly messy from sleeping on you, and his voice was adorably raspy when he mumbled, “Carry me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Heeseung snorted. “Yeah, no. You’re on your own, dude.”

Jungwon pouted but ultimately sighed in defeat, dragging himself out of the van. The moment you both stepped into the hotel lobby, the warm air hit your skin, the dim lighting making everything feel cozier.

The staff greeted Jungwon quietly, congratulating him on his performance before directing you both to his room. Heeseung, finally finished with his babysitting duties, stretched his arms. “Alright, lovebirds, I’m out. Try not to be too disgusting.”

Jungwon yawned, waving him off. “Goodnight, hyung.”

You grinned. “Thanks for everything, Heeseung.”

Heeseung winked before disappearing down the hall, leaving you and Jungwon standing outside his hotel room.

Jungwon sighed, fumbling with the key card. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out the second I hit the bed.”

You smirked. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah, but I also don’t want to waste time with you,” he murmured, finally pushing the door open.

Your heart softened at his words.

The hotel room was spacious, modern, and filled with warm lighting. A massive king-sized bed took up most of the space, the blankets neatly arranged. Jungwon immediately kicked off his shoes, stretching his arms with a groan before flopping onto the bed face-first.

You laughed. “That tired, huh?”

His voice was muffled against the pillow. “I can’t move.”

You shook your head fondly, setting your bag down before sitting beside him on the mattress. “Want me to get you some water?”

He turned his head slightly, cracking one eye open. “Just lay with me.”

Your lips curled into a soft smile. “Bossy.”

Still, you didn’t argue. You kicked off your shoes, shifting onto the bed beside him. The moment you did, Jungwon instinctively rolled over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

His warmth, his scent, the steady rise and fall of his chest—it was all so him.

Your fingers gently played with the strands of his hair. “You did amazing today.”

Jungwon hummed sleepily. “Mmm.”

“I mean it,” you whispered. “I watched the whole performance. You were incredible.”

His grip on you tightened slightly, his voice quieter now. “It’s always easier when I know you’re watching.”

Your heart clenched at his words.

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, watching as his lips curled into a tiny, sleepy smile.

“Happy birthday, love,” you murmured.

Jungwon let out a deep breath, his body completely relaxing against yours.

And just like that, he fell asleep in your arms.

Jungwon slept soundly for a while, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. His arms remained wrapped around you, his breathing slow and steady, his face completely at peace.

You didn’t mind one bit.

You stayed there with him, running your fingers through his hair, tracing soft patterns on his back. He looked so soft like this—so young, so free from the pressures of being a leader, a performer, an idol. Right now, he was just Jungwon. Your Jungwon.

Eventually, he stirred, letting out a soft hum as his eyes fluttered open. He blinked up at you, dazed and sleepy, before a slow, lazy smile spread across his lips.

“Hey,” he mumbled, voice raspy.

You smiled back. “Hey, birthday boy.”

He groaned, burying his face into your neck. “I’m still not used to hearing that.”

You giggled, rubbing his back. “Well, get used to it. I’m not done celebrating you yet.”

Jungwon lifted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his half-lidded eyes. “What do you mean?”

You reached over to your bag, grabbing the small, neatly wrapped box you had been waiting to give him.

His brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

You handed it to him, watching as he carefully unwrapped it, his fingers gentle as ever. When he finally opened the box, his breath hitched.

Inside was a simple silver bracelet, sleek and minimalistic—just his style. But what made it special was the small engraving on the inside.

My home, my heart—always yours.

Jungwon stared at it for a long moment, his fingers tracing over the words. His lips parted slightly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

You bit your lip. “Do you like it?”

Silence.

Then, Jungwon inhaled sharply, closing the box with a snap before you could see his face.

“Jungwon?”

Still no response.

Then, to your absolute horror, he turned away from you, shoulders hunched, hands covering his face.

Oh god.

He was crying.

Your heart stopped. “Wait—love, are you okay?”

A muffled, strangled sound came from behind his hands.

Oh no. Oh no, you broke him.

You sat up quickly, placing a hand on his back. “Jungwon, I—”

“Give me a second,” he croaked.

You blinked. “What?”

“I just—” He sucked in a breath, shoulders shaking slightly. “I need a second.”

You pursed your lips, biting back a smile. “Are you crying right now?”

“No.” His voice cracked.

You giggled, rubbing circles on his back. “You are crying.”

Jungwon finally turned to you, eyes red and glassy, cheeks flushed. “I am not crying.”

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

You stared.

He stared back.

“…Shut up,” he muttered.

You burst out laughing, and that was officially the last straw for Jungwon. With a groan, he flopped back onto the bed, throwing a pillow over his face.

“Oh my god,” he groaned. “I hate you.”

You were still giggling as you pried the pillow away. “You love me.”

Jungwon sighed dramatically, but his lips curled into a soft smile. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

Your heart swelled as you leaned down, brushing your lips against his forehead. “Then keep it on forever, okay?”

Jungwon sat up slightly, slipping the bracelet onto his wrist. He stared at it for a long moment before turning to you, his expression completely soft.

“I will.”

And somehow, you knew he meant it.

Jungwon was still staring at the bracelet on his wrist, turning it slightly under the warm hotel room lights. His fingers traced the engraving again, as if memorizing the feel of it.

You watched him with a soft smile, resting your chin on your palm. “You’re still thinking about it, huh?”

He blinked up at you, lips slightly parted before he nodded. “Yeah.”

Your fingers reached out to gently take his hand, brushing your thumb over the bracelet. “You really like it?”

Jungwon huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I love it.” Then, quieter, he murmured, “I love you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You knew he loved you—he had shown it in so many ways, in his small gestures, his thoughtful words, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world. But hearing him say it so plainly, so softly, with the weight of today still lingering in the air, made warmth bloom in your chest.

You leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips. It was slow, unhurried—like the both of you had all the time in the world. Jungwon sighed into the kiss, his fingers curling around your wrist, grounding himself in you.

When you finally pulled away, he was gazing at you with sleep-heavy eyes, his expression completely open and vulnerable.

You nudged his nose playfully. “Sleep, birthday boy.”

Jungwon groaned but obediently flopped back onto the bed, pulling you down with him. His arms wrapped around your waist, his body molding perfectly against yours.

You laughed softly. “Comfortable?”

He let out a content sigh, nuzzling into your neck. “Mhm.”

The steady sound of his breathing filled the room, and you felt his body fully relax against yours. His fingers were still loosely intertwined with yours, his grip soft but steady—like even in sleep, he didn’t want to let go.

You pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, whispering, “Sweet dreams, birthday boy.”

And just like that, Jungwon drifted off, the softest smile still lingering on his lips.

© all rights reserved ─ @gyu-tori 2025

Rei's Notes ✎: I MADE IT ON TIME TO SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE YANG JUNGWON! He's been killing my heart so much recently~ He needs to give me a break or I'll start dropping on my knees for him. ALSO!! First enhypen fic so I hope you guys enjoy hehe~ This was very rushed so lmk if there are any errors or mistakes!!

Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @i-like-to-read-at-4am @imlonelydontsendhelp @ode2soob

[vettelsvee]

Hi love! For your tortured poets department, can I request endgame from the reputation album, lando being the driver please please 🙏

END GAME | Lando Norris

Lando Norris x Friend with benefits Piastri!Reader

SUMMARY: You were used to have random hookups just for fun, including with Lando Norris himself. It's not until he decides to lock both of you up on his driver room and talk about your weird relationship that you don't realize that, deep down, you're willing to settle down your mind and start a dating him ↳ REQUESTED: Yes! Thanks for requesting and hope you like it 💖 Part of REPUTATION in MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT

WORD COUNT: 2745

WARNINGS: Slightly +18 at the end (sorry for leaving it there ☺️), mentions of friends with benefits, spelling with multiple people, angst, curse words

VEE'S NOTES: Haven't written Lando in a very, very long time, so hope you like this one! University and my mental health are killing me but you know what? Writing is what keeps me going (and specially your comments have been a boost of serotonin for me lately). Also... the 2k special is already living rent free in my mind and I can't wait to achieve the goal to post it 😭 I wanna give spoilers now so... you know 🤓 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

"You finally decided to show up at a race. I was starting to think you only liked having me naked in your bed behind your brother’s back."

You smiled at the screen, playing with your fingers as you thought how could you answer Lando. Your relationship was based purely on sex, moreover sexting, with barely any real conversations whenever you met, moans and orgasms speaking for you both instead.

You had never felt the need to go beyond that, to involve feelings in your relationship, or at least that’s what you had made clear to Lando before sleeping with him the very first time. You also let him know that, besides him, there were other guys with whom you had no commitments whatsoever.

However, it was with Lando that you spent most of your time. The others were nothing more than a safe escape, an easy way out when the Brit wasn’t around.

"Be grateful that I even came," you finally replied. "And don’t flatter yourself. I came to see my brother, not to make you come before a race."

You hesitated, wondering if your reply was harsh enough to keep him from getting any ideas and, more importantly, to stop him from insisting on meeting up. You weren’t sure how, but you wanted to end that strange relationship before it spiraled out of control because, whether you wanted to admit it or not, you had started to feel something for him.

Yes, just a few weeks ago, you had one of your usual encounters with a friend of one of your best friends. But everything fell apart when, right before reaching your climax, you couldn’t help it: you moaned Lando’s name instead.

That was what made you question what exactly you felt for Norris and why the label of friends with benefits seemed to be fading away.

"Don’t play dumb, Piastri. See you at the motorhome. You know exactly where."

You huffed. Of course, you knew exactly where you’d be meeting. After all, ever since your brother became a Formula 1 driver, you had visited his teammate’s personal room more than Oscar’s.

With a sigh, making sure neither your mother nor your sisters were nearby, you got up, grabbed the plastic cup that still had a bit of coffee left, and walked with as much determination as you could muster toward McLaren’s motorhome, finishing your drink along the way.

As you walked, mentally preparing a script in case things got tense with Lando, you greeted the people you knew, or at least those who knew you as Y/N Piastri. Lewis was genuinely happy to see you and even stopped to chat, but you excused yourself, saying you had already made plans. Fernando gave you a knowing look, as if trying to figure out what exactly you were about to do with a certain driver.

Even your brother crossed paths with you at the entrance to McLaren’s motorhome. You managed to lie to him, partially, saying Lando had asked you to take a few pictures of him before the race.

Oscar gave you a strange look, then rolled his eyes, offered a small smile and told you to enjoy whatever it was you both were about to do.

You said nothing, but you knew your twin brother well enough to realize he already had a pretty good idea of what you were up to with Norris. Not that you tried too hard to hide it.

When you reached Lando’s room, you didn’t even have to knock. The door opened instantly, revealing a slightly tired-looking Lando with a cup in his hand. His race suit was already on but zipped only to his waist, leaving the top half hanging loose. His team cap was still on, though it didn’t last long since he took it off and tossed it aside within seconds.

He grinned from ear to ear, like he had been waiting for you with far too much anticipation.

"Come in. Make yourself at home," he said with that mischievous tone you were so used to hearing, though something about it felt slightly different this time.

You walked inside without hesitation, crossing your arms and ignoring him, except for the occasional sideways glance to see if he would do or say something before you did. Unfortunately, he didn’t.

"If you wanted a quick fuck before the race you could’ve just said so, you know?"

"I don’t think today’s the best day to fuck you and let everyone hear," he replied. "At least, not yet. Today, we’re going to talk."

"We don’t talk, Lando," you shot back, feeling an internal alarm go off. "And when we do, it’s just to ask about the safe word of the day, what we want to do to each other, and how close we are to coming."

"Well, maybe it’s time we started talking, don’t you think so?"

His answer took you completely by surprise. Your gazes remained locked on each other, and you felt the atmosphere grow tense.

For the first time in a long while, there was no excuse you could use to avoid that conversation with Lando. Maybe the fact that you had been ignoring him for the past few weeks was enough to make him realize that there was a chance—however small—that things had changed between you two.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the growing sense of unease settling in your chest. Lando kept looking at you with that same intensity he always did, except this time… it was different. It wasn’t the first time you found yourselves in a situation like this, where there were a thousand unsaid things hanging between you, waiting to be voiced. But it was the first time, at least on your part, where feelings were involved beyond pure physical desire.

"I don’t think there’s anything to talk about," you said as nonchalantly as possible, but your tense posture betrayed you.

Lando set his cup down on the table beside him. Then, he sat on the edge, crossing his arms again, and reached for your hands only for you to pull away and take a step back.

"I think you know exactly what we need to talk about," he replied calmly. His voice was lower than usual, and you felt the heat grow between your legs. You shook your head, feeling guilty and doing your best to push away that sudden, but familiar, awakening in your body.

"You’ve been avoiding me, Y/N. And don’t tell me you haven’t, because you were in Monaco and never called me to meet up… to see each other," he added, his voice laced with something unreadable. "In fact, we usually sext almost every day, and you didn’t even bother to tell me what  new lingerie set you bought for when you came over."

"I didn’t tell you I was coming to Miami either."

Your reply, rather than making you sound indifferent, exposed you completely. Lando raised an eyebrow, as if he had caught you red-handed. That was when you realized you had seriously screwed up.

"I haven’t been avoiding you, Lando. I’ve just been busy," you insisted.

"Busy? You mean busy by ignoring me?" He scoffed, ironic. His expression turned much more serious now, and you started to worry about where this might lead. "Tell me the truth, Y/N. What’s going on? What’s happening with you?" he emphasized.

You averted your gaze, pretending to take interest in the room’s decoration, a room you already knew by heart. You knew you couldn’t keep dodging the topic, but you also had no idea how to confront it without changing everything you had so far. It was impossible to put into words what you felt for Lando, not when your relationship had always been purely physical. And especially not when there was a real chance you were just confused… and, well, you couldn’t forget the possibility that he might only see you as his hookup.

"Nothing’s wrong," you finally responded.

"I thought we were always honest with each other," Lando sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

You felt your throat tighten. It was hard to breathe. You had been honest, at least when it came to the unrestricted desire between you, to touching each other without attachments, to seeking comfort in one another without questions that went beyond your wildest fantasies. You had avoided anything personal.

But now, you were slowly breaking the unspoken rules that had kept you in perfect balance until this moment.

"I’ve been busy, Lando, and the last thing I wanted was to deal with you, alright?" you insisted, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "Things should have stayed the way they were until, according to you, I started ignoring you."

"No, Y/N, things aren’t like that," the Brit denied, shaking his head. He stepped closer, cornering you against the wall. "If you don’t want to face something because you’re afraid of rejection, just tell me. But, for fuck’s sake, don’t act like I did something wrong, because you’re killing me."

"Lando…"

"Stop insisting that nothing is happening between us, when that’s exactly what makes me think the opposite."

His confession caught you completely off guard. His words—clear, direct, and without a hint of sarcasm, threw you off… especially because you knew he was right.

You felt the urge to run, to disappear, to pretend none of this had ever happened. Most of all, you wanted to deny yourself any romantic thought you had ever had about Oscar’s teammate.

When you lowered your gaze, Lando moved back slightly, giving you space and making sure he didn’t overwhelm you more than you already seemed to be. You sighed, trying to relax once again, but before you could say anything, he spoke first.

"Tell me nothing’s wrong between us, Y/N Piastri," he said softly. "If nothing has really changed, if everything is the same between us… dare to look at  me in the eyes and say it."

Your chest tightened. You couldn’t run away, not when Lando had you emotionally cornered, teetering on the edge of an explosion. Your breathing was unsteady, heavy. Your mind screamed at you to find an excuse, anything that would let you stay true to yourself regardless of what happened next.

Lando waited, unmoving, his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you tremble for the first time in your life—without him even touching you. It was the first time he had shown himself to you like this: so vulnerable and yet so determined at the same time.

"Nothing is wrong between us, Lando Norris," you finally whispered, forcing the words out, ignoring both your heart and the boy standing in front of you.

"Say it again, but this time, look me in the eyes."

He didn’t move an inch. He knew you were lying; your posture gave you away—the way you avoided his gaze, the way your fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt and your accreditation pass…

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly. You had no choice… at least, not entirely.

Lifting your gaze, you met his blue eyes once again. Your lips parted slightly, ready to try and let out a lie convincing enough for both him and yourself.

But it was impossible. You couldn’t keep doing this, not when, deep down, and no matter how hard you tried to deny it, you felt something more than just pleasure for Lando Norris. The fear of rejection… it terrified you. The thought of him turning you away, of losing what you had with him, was unbearable.

"Lando…"

"You don’t have to say it if you’re not ready," he interrupted. "But please… stop pushing me away. Stop making this to us."

"It’s just…"

Nothing. No matter how much you tried to explain yourself, to find a logical enough reason for your sudden ghosting, you couldn’t.

"It’s just what, Y/N?" the Brit pressed. "Are you afraid to take a risk? To admit something because you’re scared of what might happen next? Because you don’t want to change the life you’ve had until now? Because you want to…?"

Lando forced himself to stop. He ran his hands through his hair, exasperated, turning his back to you. Guilt hit you immediately, your body trembling as the storm inside you began to break free. The driver rubbed his face, frustration radiating from him. This was exhausting him. You were exhausting him, to the point where he was starting to doubt his own feelings. Feelings that had started to grow the moment he realized it hurt when you ignored him, when you didn’t even send him a simple "Hey."

"I wish this were different, Y/N," he finally murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he turned to face you again. "I wish you didn’t make me feel like this. I wish I could just be content with what we had before and pretend none of this was happening…"

Your stomach twisted painfully. That was exactly what you had been thinking, the very reason you had pulled away from him and from whatever this was. You had ignored the fact that your feelings for Lando Norris had become something much stronger—maybe they had been there for far longer than you were willing to admit.

"Lando, listen" You tried to step closer, but he pulled away.

"No, Y/N, no," he said bitterly. "I tried convincing myself there was a reason you were ignoring me, acting like I was nothing to you, and then it hit me that I really want you as more than just someone to fuck."

"That…" you struggled to say, stepping toward him. This time, Lando didn’t stop you. The sincerity in your eyes, the way you looked both calm and nervous at the same time, made him realize he had to trust his instincts. And that was exactly what they were telling him.

"That’s what I wanted to tell you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, but Lando still heard you. "That’s why I kept you on standby for two weeks… I knew this would change everything, that you’d react badly, that we’d end up fighting, and I… I didn’t know how to face the possibility of you rejecting… this."

Lando stared at you in surprise before a sad smile crept onto his lips.

"Y/N… I’ve always been good at reading signals, but this has been driving me fucking crazy."

"And you think it’s not been making me feel the same?" you shot back, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Lando stepped closer, taking your hands in his. You didn’t resist, feeling how the both of you tensed at the contact. His lips inched toward yours, and when they finally met, the kiss was so fierce, so full of passion, that you ended up straddling him on the couch, moving against him, desperate to feel him. Even though you both knew there was still a race in two hours.

"I don’t want to touch you like this, Y/N," Norris whispered against your ear as you left small bites along his neck. "Y/N, stop it babe…"

"I don’t wanna be just another ex-love to you, Lando…" you murmured between kisses, still searching for friction between your bodies.

"And I don’t wanna miss you like your other lovers do, babe…"

This time, Lando gripped your waist firmly, flipping you onto the couch beneath him. His eyes never left yours as he carefully lifted your shirt and started massaging your breasts over your bra.

"I wanna be your end game, Y/N," Lando breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from you.

Your breath came out in shallow pants, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge. Your hands gripped the unfastened gear around his waist, tugging lightly to keep him close.

"Then prove it."

"I have a race in two hours, love…" he murmured, his voice rough as he pressed his forehead to yours, his arousal growing.

"Then you better be quick," you teased, running your hands over his abs beneath the fireproof. "Especially if you don’t want Osc to hear us…"

"You’re gonna be the death of me one day, Y/N Piastri," Lando groaned as he trailed his fingers up your thighs, lowering himself before you. "Now, open your legs for me... You deserve a punishment after being such a bad, bad girl these past few days…"

[sakur4ii]

Code Name: Rabbit Chapter 1: Happy Birthday

English is not my first language! ←prologue next chapter →

Warning: explicit death, mentions of suicide, description of corpse.

January 18, 4:27 AM

"Lean On" resonates on the first floor. You feel the song thumping in your chest as unfamiliar people crowd around you, dancing and laughing, the strong scent of alcohol thick in the air. The lights change color constantly, making it hard to see, but you know this place well enough not to have trouble finding your way to the stairs. The floor is warm under your bare feet. You feel tugs on your dark coat, but no one manages to pull it off. It takes you a solid five minutes to reach the stairs, where a man in a suit and sunglasses greets you with a smile. In response, you give him a light tap on the shoulder.

Suddenly, the warmth beneath your feet turns to cold as you step onto the stairs. With each step up, the music fades, and the scents of expensive perfumes fill your nostrils. Though you hate the second floor, you push aside the red velvet curtain and step into The Forbidden Garden, a place where only those with enough money can enter.

Instead of the electronic music from below, you are welcomed by bossa nova melodies, controlled laughter, and murmured conversations—mostly from men. The scent of whiskey and tobacco is strong. The lights are dim, easy on the eyes, focusing on the dancers. Your dancers wear plastic masks similar to yours, though you're the only one with a rabbit mask. They are dressed in lace outfits or lingerie, keeping their distance from the men for the most part. You scan the room but don’t see your bubblegum-pink-haired girl anywhere.

Your presence is noticeable even if no light reaches the entrance. You can sense the poorly hidden tension. No longer stepping on hard floors, your feet sink into a silk wine-colored carpet, a welcomed relief. Your gaze shifts to the runway, where one of your dancers discreetly gestures toward the backstage area. You nod in silent thanks.

You swiftly move through the lounge, ignoring the men seated on the expensive furniture they themselves have funded. Reaching a door marked Only Staff, you open and close it quickly, drowning out the music behind you.

Silence. It’s not strange. In an hour, people will start leaving, so most of the dancers have probably already gone home or moved upstairs. Even so, you walk deeper into the dressing rooms, mirrors lining the walls, makeup scattered across vanities, lingerie and revealing dresses hanging on racks. The air is thick with feminine perfume, and you immediately recognize Lyara’s soft humming up ahead.

—What does the love of my life need?— She jokes, glancing at you through the mirror as she removes her makeup.

—Still no news about Bea?— You cut straight to the point, your tone serious.

Lyara’s playful smile fades. She presses her lips together, and concern flickers in her eyes—concern she had been trying to hide. You take a seat at the vanity to her right.

—It’s been two days since I last saw her. I asked the girls… she hasn’t even been home...

You watch as Lyara wipes away her eyeshadow, her voice becoming background noise as your mind races. The girls who decide to leave this job always give notice. But for Bea to not even set foot in her own home… that’s alarming. You’ve had a bad feeling lately, a sense that something terrible is coming. And you don’t like it at all. But you haven’t voiced your concerns, even if, in the past, your intuition has always been right.

—Hey! Earth to [Name]— Lyara snaps her fingers in front of your mask, pulling you from your thoughts. —I know I’m way too gorgeous, but we’re talking about something serious here.— You roll your eyes at her antics. —I was saying that there have been reports of many missing women in Gotham and Blüdhaven lately… Do you think… do you think Bea’s disappearance is connected?

You don’t answer right away. You have considered the possibility—that Bea is just another victim in a string of unfortunate abductions. But there’s something in your chest, whether it’s intuition or paranoia, telling you that this situation is worse than that.

—I don’t know… After closing, I’ll keep investigating. By the way, you have a spider on your neck.— You say as you stand, ready to leave the dressing room.

Behind you, Lyara lets out a panicked scream. You can’t help but laugh as you walk out the door. The prank never fails.

January 18, 6:30 AM

Two hours have passed. You’re helping clean the first-floor kitchen. The two cooks were sent home long ago, and, as always, the barista insisted on helping you and Lyara with basic cleanup to ease the workload for the cleaning crew.

—I’m taking out the trash.— Omar announces. You nod, wiping the counter, cleaning up remnants of sauce as you hear him pull the bag from the bin.

—You better get some rest because I’m taking you out for lunch.— Lyara makes her presence known, winking at you as she carries more dishes from the second floor.

—That’s going to be hard. I thought I told you I was locking myself in my office.— You set the rag aside and stretch your tired limbs.

—I know, but it’s your special day, and you deserve it. Besides, you need rest. I’ll keep investigating for you.— She offers you a genuine smile as she loads the dishes into the dishwasher.

For a moment, you wish you could take off your mask so she could see the gratitude in your eyes. But it’s unnecessary. She already knows.

A piercing scream from outside makes you both freeze. Lyara looks at you, wide-eyed, and you’re sure your expression mirrors hers beneath your mask. Neither of you wastes time reacting. You both run, pushing open the back door leading to the dumpsters.

There, Omar sits on the ground, trying to distance himself from whatever is to your left.

You rush to him, worry creeping in as the man trembles, pointing at something behind you. But it’s Lyara’s scream that finally makes you turn around.

Your chest tightens at the sight. Your throat burns, tears sting your eyes, and you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Drip. Drip. That’s the only sound your ears register. The message—Happy Birthday—written in blood makes your stomach churn. But the mutilated, mangled corpse of Bea is the worst part of all.

Whoever did this is going to pay.

---

Five Years Ago

The sound of ambulance sirens was distant, blending with police car sirens. The wind hit your skin, sending chills down your spine.

Your favorite place to watch Gotham at night was this rooftop, atop a tall building in the middle of the city. The city lights, the melody of a homeless man’s guitar two alleys away, and the wind brushing against your face—it was the perfect combination to sit and think.

That night, you were sad. Your face was hidden under a dark cap and mask. Your wound hadn’t healed yet, and the attack was still fresh in your mind. That day, you planned to end it all.

Jason’s death, your family’s negligence, the lack of love, the lack of friends, and the attack that shattered your self-esteem (and gave you an immense fear of axes)—it all weighed on your shoulders.

Then, you heard footsteps behind you.

—Am I interrupting something?— A man’s voice asked. You can’t recall if it was teasing or relaxed—you forgot over time.

But you remember that you didn’t turn around. You didn’t move. And the man took that as an invitation to sit beside you.

That’s when you finally looked at him.

He sat there, feet dangling off the edge, resting his weight on his hands. He wore a black suit—no, a bodysuit. You weren’t sure. But the blue emblem on his chest stood out.

You were nervous. You didn’t think he’d recognized you.

—It’s too late to be sitting on a rooftop in this part of the city.— His voice was playful.

You remained silent.

—Shouldn’t you be in Blüdhaven?— Your voice came out hoarse, after days of not speaking.

Hearing you surprised Nightwing. He thought you’d keep pretending he wasn’t there.

You saw a small, amused smile on his masked face.

A memory your younger self treasures. The only real conversation you ever had with your older brother.

And he never even knew who you were.

---

January 18, 12:15 PM

The murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the hum of the coffee machine, and the soft chime of the bell each time someone enters the café are strangely comforting. Your eyes are heavy, and you suppress every yawn that threatens to escape. You’re sitting in a corner by the window; the midday sun filters in, but it doesn’t bother you thanks to the cap you’ve gotten used to wearing. Your seat allows you to see who enters and leaves, while Lyara, on the other hand, has her back to the door.

Lyara insisted on stopping by a café after spending hours dealing with the police. They questioned her, Omar, and the few dancers who had stayed overnight. At the pink-haired girl’s request, you disappeared. Since one of the cameras confirmed that the murder didn’t happen near The Burrow, the police didn’t consider it necessary to investigate inside the building, nor did they shut it down.

You spent hours reviewing the footage, narrowing down the list of suspects in your mind, but there were still too many.

Lyara looks just as exhausted as you do, her hair pulled into a high ponytail, dark circles under her striking blue eyes. She didn’t even bother with makeup before leaving.

You weren’t particularly close to Bea, but Lyara spent a lot of time with her, and you know how much this is affecting her emotionally—especially knowing that whoever did this is after you.

You take a sip of your coffee.

“How many people did you tell about my birthday?” you ask, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. You need to know if you’ve overlooked any suspects.

“I don’t know…” she sighs. “I know I told the girls, Omar, and… what was the name of the stairway guard?”

“Dan.” A tired but amused smile appears on your face, still partially hidden under your cap.

“Yeah, him. Maybe someone let it slip.” She runs a hand down her face. “I’ll ask them.” She rests her head on her palm. “That way, you won’t have to socialize.” It’s a weak attempt at a joke, but it makes you smile behind your cup as you take another sip.

The doorbell chimes, catching your attention. You lift your head, trying to see better under your cap, just as you take another sip of coffee. Grave mistake. You nearly choke when you see who just walked in. Lyara looks at you, confused, about to turn around, but you grab her chin, forcing her to look at you instead.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers, starting to worry. The blush on her cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed, and you quickly pull your hand away.

You don’t even need to say a word. The person sits two tables behind you, directly in Lyara’s line of sight. You just hope he isn’t looking at your table, because the expression on Lyara’s face is priceless—her mouth gapes like a fish, eyes wide as if they might pop out of her head while she stares at the man.

You snap your fingers in front of her face, and she finally looks at you.

“Dick fucking Grayson!?” she mouths dramatically, whispering, and you don’t know whether to laugh or run.

It’s been almost four years since you last saw any member of your family, and on the worst birthday of your life, you suddenly find yourself face-to-face with your only older brother, who doesn’t seem to have aged a single day.

There’s no need for words between you and Lyara. You both finish your drinks quickly, and at her insistence, she goes to the counter to pay while you wait by the door.

You can’t help it. You can’t stop yourself from looking to your right, where your brother is sitting. He’s on his phone, scrolling—probably checking social media. He seems to be waiting for someone. It can’t be Barbara; at this time, she usually has lunch with her father—or at least, that’s what she used to tell you years ago as an excuse not to spend time with you.

You linger too long, and Dick notices. He lifts his head, locking eyes with you. Your breath catches, and you quickly look away, your cap shielding your face from his view.

You miss the expression he makes when he realizes he recognizes you from somewhere.

As soon as Lyara finishes paying, she rushes over and loops her arm through yours, pulling you down the street. As you walk, your shoulders relax—you hadn’t even noticed how tense you were. The people hurrying home for lunch, the cars on the road, the roar of motorcycles, and the soft, warm touch of Lyara’s hand stroking your arm in comfort slowly regulate your breathing. You both return to your shared apartment in comfortable silence.

---

“Alright, stay here and rest. I’ll text you the information,” Lyara says before heading out the door. You only make a small sound to acknowledge her.

You’re lying on the couch, the TV on just for company. You’re exhausted, so you decide to take a nap, but before closing your eyes, you glance at the framed photo on the table—your 16th birthday. It was the last birthday you celebrated with Jason and Alfred, and it was the best day of your life.

Jason had taken you to an amusement park after school. You had so much fun… You still have photos and videos stored in an old camera you left at the mansion. When you got home, Alfred was waiting with a homemade cake, and as he did every year, he took a picture.

In the photo, you’re in the middle, Jason is to your right, and Alfred is to your left. In front of you is the cake with the candles forming the number “16.”

When you moved out, it was the only photo you kept—the only memory that didn’t turn bitter.

How ironic. Six years later, you’re having the worst birthday of your life. A tear rolls down your cheek, and you close your eyes. You miss your brother.

Unfortunately, the sound of the TV in the background doesn’t distract you from the image in your mind—Bea, nailed to The Burrow’s wall with spikes, her body mutilated, entrails spilling out, some on the floor. The sound of blood dripping onto the ground makes your stomach churn. Her face was left intact—just so you could recognize her.

You bolt to the bathroom, about to vomit.

---

January 18, ??:?? PM

Alfred takes the cake out of the fridge while Jason unwraps the candles. The butler places the cake on the table, next to a framed photo of you at 14. Alfred smiles nostalgically at your youthful grin.

Jason steps closer, placing the candles forming “21” on the cake. He pulls a lighter from his pocket and lights them.

Both men stare at the cake in sorrow. They don’t dare sing. They don’t dare blow out the candles. They just watch as the flames slowly burn down.

Alfred lost all contact with you when you chose to live on your own. He regrets not insisting more. He just hopes you’re safe and having a good birthday.

Jason didn’t look for you when he came back. He told himself it was better if you weren’t around while he carried out his revenge. But now that he’s made peace with Bruce, he still can’t bring himself to find you. He’s afraid that if he does, you’ll hate him for what he’s become.

“Happy birthday,” they both whisper as the candles burn out.

---

Hours have passed. Lyara isn’t answering your messages, and when you call, it goes straight to voicemail. You’re getting impatient.

You get up from the couch and grab your laptop, sitting back down as you enter your password and go straight to The Burrow’s security cameras.

Everything outside is empty—not surprising since the police were there this morning. You check the inside cameras. The first floor is empty. The second floor, too. On the third floor, all the dancers and Omar are chatting, but there’s no sign of Lyara.

You check the recordings from a few hours ago. It doesn’t take long to find the only footage of Lyara. You immediately relax, seeing her calmly walking to the back entrance, searching for her keys in her bag.

Then, someone dressed in black appears behind her, sneaking up quietly.

Your heart pounds.

You replay the footage over and over, your chest tightening, your throat closing up as you bite the skin around your nails.

The man in black presses a cloth over Lyara’s mouth. She struggles, fights back, but he pulls out a gun. The moment she raises her hands in surrender, he knocks her unconscious.

They’ve taken her.

Tag list!:

@crystal-freak24 @serlazvi @jscrawls @cxcilla @heartjwonie @pix-stuff @anamiranda7383 @regloml

[holycowboytiger]

Poly!141 x Hacker!Reader (Part 2)

GN!Reader

(It is heavily implied that the reader is autistic)

CW: Blackmail, implied murder, religious trauma, religious imagery, reader is slowly losing it- or they lost it a while back

(A/N: this is not the best chapter, I'm actually iffy about this one and the pacing, but i really wanted to show a little bit more behind the curtain, and some more about the reader- so !! tada!!)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

fuckfuckfuckfuck,,, what the fuck do you do?! Peter has the laptop,, he will see.. fuck he'll se everything,, they'll be ruined, kiss their jobs goodbye- you need to do something-

Wait... Why do you care? This man had cursed your eyes, and his fuckass boyfriends had been harassing you at work for the better part of two weeks, who cares if Peter finds those videos- who cares if the taskforce's secret is revealed, and their careers are torn into shambles?

who gives to shits if all they live and stand for will be ripped away from them?

......It's you, you care, strangely enough you might be the only one who does, this office adores some drama, and 141 being revealed would cause such a stir people would be talking about it for years on end, but you knew what else would come of it.

At the same time- do you want to put yourself on the line? Do you want to be shady and blackmail your fellow techies to protect these men? You could just leave it... It has nothing to do with you, and to take time out of your own day to help these guys out? Are you really that charitable?

Who are you kidding... now is not the time to have a morality check, you know what's right,, and what is wrong, and - maybe you care a little bit, these men don't deserve to be revealed in such a way, and you can save them from the shame the contents of the laptop would bring.....

It would ruin the taskforce's lives, all four men would be disgracefully discharged, and their names would be dragged through the dirt for years to come, and as heartless as you were, you just couldn't let it happen, maybe you could be like an office vigilante?

Batman would be proud.....

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Holy shit you're actually doing this aren't you? You're such a good person, maybe it will make up- and cleanse you of your previous sins, wash the blood off your hands of the people you laid to rest.. For good reason

those people deserved to die, you know this, as desperate and gut wrenching as their screams were, they deserved the punishment you laid upon them... Maybe this- this kind gesture will ease your mind, maybe this action will help you sleep easier

Fuck it... time to go keep 141's secret, hopefully without their knowledge.

The cogs turned in your head as you slowly worked out a plan, was it a morally correct plan? no, absolutely fucking not! but you've skinned someone alive so how bad could this be ?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your eyes narrowed at Peter as he took the laptop from Soap, his own eyes lighting up as Soap slapped his shoulder and thanked him,, calling him a life saver- yeah right.. If only Soap knew that Peter had a habit of straying a bit too far from home, to girls that are a bit too young for him.

Would Soap care? Surely he would right? That's something he cant turn a blind eye to right? He was a good person, You're a good person.. right? Of course you are, you're helping him out... But is it really a good deed if you're doing it for selfish reasons?

To calm the sinful thoughts in your head? Are you a good person? surely...Surely not? You've killed people, tortured people because in your eyes they're bad...

What would the big man in the sky say? He would tell you to forgive,,, wouldn't he,, what you have done,,, the people you have hurt,, there is no prayer great or long enough that would grant you passage to the pearly gates...Maybe.. Or maybe you were sent down here to do the dirty work, to do the actions your forgiving God could not bare....

You're a good person.. you are a good person...right?

you don't have time for this.. get it together, you need to get that laptop..

Rising from you desk you approach Peter, slapping on the best smile you can without looking deranged you stand infront of him.. looking like a predator whose spotted easy prey

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

''Peter! Hey there...'

''Uhh,, hello?'' his eyes narrowed at you

''Hows your wife hm?'' you are great at social interaction! no really you're doing great, this is a normal structured conversation..

''She's... she's good! Do you need something?''

''Yes actually''

strike one, revealing that you're here for selfish reasons and don't give a fuck about how his wife is doing..shit

''Okay? What is it?''

''That laptop''

strike two, you're too forward

''What?''

''The laptop.''

''I-Im, not too sure I can give it to you- Johnny.. Soap asked me to take care of it''

HAH look at this loser, using Soaps name like they're friends, the guy probably doesn't give a fuck about him, he's only a tech drone, only here to take care of his technical troubles

''oh- yeah.. sure- but- but you have alot on your plate right? You're close to a promotion right? You wouldn't want to direct your attention somewhere else, especially when you're sooo close? Right?''

Ok ok- we're getting somewhere, stroke his ego-

''Yeah but- I'm sure its nothing big-''

''Peter. You seem- weary to give this laptop away.. I know you look up to the guy but- its just a device''

''You seem a bit too eager to get this laptop.''

Strike three, he's onto you, switch tactics, you need that fucking laptop.

''If you don't give me the laptop, your wife will find out who Cierra is.''

''wh-what?!''

''You heard me.''

''What,, what the fuck?!''

his eyes widened, you've got it, secured the bag,, by- strange means, but you're a strange person, it isn't ideal to let him know this early into the plan that you know of his adultery, but you don't have alot of ammo in your arsenal.

''The laptop.''

''I don't know what you're talking about.''

''Yes you do. Black hair, green eyes, freckles? How strange, I thought your wife was blonde and blue eyed Peter. And.. Isn't, Cierra a bit young for you?''

''You- You're fucking insane, I would never-''

Denial- he thinks your bluffing. Show him you aren't

''You also frequent a motel on the west side of the city- what would your wife think when she finds out that you actually did get your Christmas bonus this year? but you spent it on that little side piece of your's..hm?''

''finefine! fuck...Just - just don't''

''I wont. Just do as i say and your secret is safe with me'' for now..

Ahhhhh the sweet taste of blackmail and victory in the morning, truly a breakfast to die for... except its not morning,, its early afternoon.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You return to your desk, trophy in hand, and you get to work quickly, afraid Soap might return too soon and see you working on his problem.

Just wipe the search history, take care of the virus, and DO NOT TOUCH THE FILE. You know what's in there and you are not curious enough to check if its been updated.

or are you?

NO YOU ARENT- BRO STOP???

anyway..

The wipe only took about five minutes, that's great! in and out, Soap wont suspect a thing! ...

You should reward yourself with a coffee! Even if you hate it, you haven't slept in days, keep yourself awake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sauntering into the office kitchen, you come across someone you weren't the happiest with coming face to face with, and by the scowl you received, he wasn't happy either-

He's the taskforce's pretty boy, Gaz- or Kyle? Garrick? Wasn't his callsign because someone spelt his name wrong? Hah, loser-

Ok stop that's mean....

Forcing your gaze to the floor you approached the counter, opening one of the cupboard to reach for a mug, you were going to offer Gaz one before you stopped yourself, this guy does NOT like you- make your coffee and get out.

Would it be weird if you just left now? Took the mug with you? ..

Yes that would be so weird, but you really don't feel like making coffee whilst a member of special forces watches you like you're defusing a bomb.

You reach for the coffee tin before feeling how ...empty it was.. oh for fucks sake- Sandra that bitch, she definitely finished it- Ugh, fucking- such an inconsiderate asshole..

Now you have to put the mug back like a weirdo and leave-

''None left hm?'' Pretty boy spoke up

''Uh.... no.'' you answered

''Shame that.''

you swore, you fucking swore you saw a smirk cross his lips- that prick- he knew- he knew it was empty, and just didn't tell you, letting you embarrass yourself infront of him,

''Yeah'' fucking shame he didn't die from that fall from a helicopter

you sigh and put the mug back. Guess you'll just have to fight off sleep with pure will power, which never worked.

Turning to leave, you avoided Gaz's heavy gaze and dragged yourself from the kitchen, ignoring the urge to bash his head onto the counter.

Maybe you should leak the videos...

No- no you should not, shake your head, hes an ass, but he does good work,,, and he takes it up the as-

ok enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You walked back to your desk and picked up Soap's laptop, preparing to take it back to Peter- only,, he wasn't at his desk.. Where the fuck did he go?

Is he on lunch??

No its only 2:30...

Your eyes scan the room until they land on your target, pointing at your workspace,, talking to.. Soap...oh fuck....

Peter looked flushed, as Soap glared at your desk, then his eyes landed on you, holding his laptop.. fuck...fuck... caught red handed, with your hand in the cookie jar... do you think this is the time that you unlock your secret invisibility powers? Or teleportation! anything to get you out of here

Maybe you should flee the country, change your name to something ridiculous- and oh fuck he's coming over, and he looked pissed, brace yourself! this is the day you're gonna get knocked out! in work! infront of a bunch of people, not your proudest moment but hell, it was for a good cause-

''You. With me.''

Don't fight it, just, let him take you away, maybe he'll be nice and shoot you out back, maybe he'll bury you too!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Following him felt like you were being led to the guillotine, walking through the empty halls until you find an area that you now realise is the barracks, this is not your territory, you are out of your element, lets just hope his teammates aren't here, lets hope he doesn't jump you with his boyfriends, as much as they would enjoy it-

Soap stops suddenly, and you almost walk right into his back, he whips around with an unreadable expression, he looked you up in down, before his eyes zeroed onto his laptop, still firmly in your grasp

''Can ye explain to me why I gave Peter my laptop to fix, and why it is now in yer hands hm?''

shit.

[indigo-greer-collins]

unfortunately doc seems a little too responsible to do this, but i do think it would be a little funny if they took full advantage of the fact that hush isn’t too great with social norms and made him think all the strange little habits they have are actually what the majority do.

i personally hc doc grew up having to mask a lot and were nitpicked for just about anything they did. the way they sat, talked, walked etc. hush is essentially the first person they can guarantee wont judge them for existing.

some interactions i thought of below the cut!

hush: doc, why are you separating the skittles by colour?

doc: oh well, that’s how they’re supposed to be eaten you see. they taste wrong if you mix them all together, it takes away from the eating experience.

hush: so then why don’t they package them to be in their specific colours instead of all together like that?

doc: uh it… would take them too much time and they’re lazy. it’s a little like how you can’t usually get cereal with the milk already inside you know? not convenient for them.

hush: nodding intensely and taking mental notes

doc: (talking to their cat) okay little fella, you’re in charge while we head out!

hush: doc, i don’t think the cat can understand you

doc: well no but— it’s common courtesy you know? the pets will act up if you don’t remind them to be responsible.

hush: i see!

hush: doc?

doc: hm?

hush: you’re laying on the floor again?

doc: mhm! floor time, i haven’t had enough this week so i’m making up for it.

hush: okay… may i join you?

doc: yeah of course, there’s plenty of room!

hush: how often do humans need floor time? (laying down beside them)

doc: it varies from person to person! i usually need up to like… 2, 3 hours a week?

hush: i’ll make sure to remind you about getting enough floor time!

doc: thank you!

hush: your plants have names?

doc: oh yeah, i need to identify them somehow

hush: but, they have scientific ones?

doc: true… but you know it’s like calling every human— “homo sapien”. you can’t do that, they’re the own people and these plants are their own plants!

hush: thank you for explaining that to me doc

doc: you’re welcome :)

[cloversnstrawberries]

oc intro post ! ! parental!platonic yandere!supervillian

! requests open !

warnings; vague depictions of violence, implied violence against children/youth (reader), slight mentions of gore, body horror(?), and medical horror, yandere behavior, kidnapping, and there may be more i'm forgetting :( if so, please let me know!!

additional notes; hello everynyan, here is my first OC, Malpractice!! very creative name, i know, but i thought it fit (and also it's funny to me) :D i'm not quite sure what format to do for these introductions, but i'm sure as I make more i'll get better at them :) please leave suggestions for any parts/additions you'd like for these intros!!

! ! introduction blurb & moodboard below the cut ! !

Malpractice is known as one of the most destructive and hard-to-deal with villain in all of history, having appeared around the 1930s and refusing to go away since. Malpractices comes and he goes, but he always seems to return eventually, whether that be in three months, or 20 years. He is like an illness that never truly goes away. Remission is possible, but the possibility for it to resurface at any moment is a very real, impending threat.

With abilities ranging from mind control, disease manipulation, pseudo-necromancy, and enhanced senses, speed, and strength; no one hero could ever hope to face Malpractice head on alone. Not even a group of them could ever hope to entirely defeat Malpractice,

Malpractice was a charismatic, slippery asshole-- he'd never really been caught before, but he's sure as hell caught others before. While he isn't known for doing this often, if he wants something bad enough, he'll take his time to set a well thought out trap to catch whatever-- or whoever-- it was he sought.

And when he saw you, so young but so very battered-- left to deal with an (albeit low level, but still dangerous in its own right) threat because your mentor/partner, prioritized a personal goings-on instead of staying by your side.

He'd seen as the so called hero went off the side, leaving you to fight the threat alone-- as you desperately called for their help, only to realize that they'd left without a word; beckoned by the person on the phone.

And it must've been so strange, to feel a little tug on his heart as he witnessed your reaction. Not quite angry, but rather... disappointed, but accepting. Like this was a regular, expected occurrence. Like you were blaming yourself for holding your mentor to a higher standard than this.

By then, Malpractice had decided that you deserved better. He could provide you with that-- besides, in his eyes, even if you were just on the cusp of adulthood-- you were still a child.

My, the industry sure had gone downhill from his time, hadn't it? When he'd been a doctor helping the superpowered individuals, working under the agency, though in it's infancy at the time, had taught him that children were to be nowhere near the career.

Sidekicks were not children, they were simply other superpowered individuals who along, did not do very well; but fit well with a more powerful hero, creating a dynamic duo.

You and your mentor couldn't couldn't be more different, both personality and ability wise. Really, what was he supposed to do, not spring a 'surprise adoption' on you?

Obviously, you're only fighting it because you don't feel worthy of love. That's the only reason, not that you're afraid of him or anything!

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Seong Gi Hun X Reader: Make believe

A/n: the love i have for this man isn't normal. I need him so bad 😚

Warnings: fluff, age gap, kissing, talks of death, Jung Bae being a cockblocker (slightly), gn reader, pet names (sweetheart), not proofread.

Word count: 1.9K

“I don’t want to die.”

The words slip from your lips before you can stop them. It’s a silly thing to say, a sort of obvious affirmation that didn’t need to be verbalized but ended up making its way out your mouth anyway. You're staring at the ground, knees pressed to your chest. You don’t look up but you can feel him gazing at you from where he sits beside you. 

Gi hun watches you for a moment, not knowing how to respond to your confession. You were the quieter one from the group, often keeping to yourself. Gi hun wanted to tell you it would be alright. He’d been here before, he knew what would happen. Or at least he thought he did. He wasn’t so sure anymore. But he would never tell you that. Not with the way you looked now, your body so tense from fear he was surprised you weren’t shaking next to him. 

“I wanted to go to college. I knew we couldn’t afford it but my mom said it would be ok.”

Gi hun listened as you talked, a small frown gracing his features.

“I could tell things were getting bad when the letters started coming. Mom said it was nothing but I knew better. I started working to help her pay but it wasn’t enough and then she…”

You took a deep breath in, eyes closing as you tried to blink back tears. Gi hun's hand twitched beside him, the need to place a comforting touch on your shoulder was threatening to consume him.

“She got sick and we couldn’t pay the bills. I watched her fade away and there wasn’t anything I could do to help.”

You finally raise your head, looking into the darkness for the first time.

“She did a good job at keeping me in the dark. I only found out how bad the debt was after she passed.”

Memories flooded Gi huns brain. Your words made him remember things he wished he could erase from his mind. 

“I joined so I could pay them back. So I could get my degree.”

You let out a bitter laugh, turning to face Gi hun for the first time since you’d started talking.

“Don’t think that's gonna happen huh?”

Gi hun's hand made its way to your shoulder, his big eyes looking at you with such determination that it almost frightened you. 

“We are going to end the games. And when we get out you’ll go back to college and get your degree. I promise.”

You wanted so badly to believe him. You trusted Gi hun with your life but you weren’t one to believe in miracles. And that's what it seemed like you were wishing for. A miracle. 

Your eyes moved to Gi huns lips before darting back to his eyes. Ever since you’d met him you’d felt a strange pull towards him. You shifted your body slowly, inching yourself closer to the older man. If he was aware of your small movements he didn't show it. It was only when your shoulder brushed against his that he displayed any reaction to the proximity. He gazed at you with a questioning look. You watched his lips open to ask you something but before the words could come out you covered his mouth with yours.

Gi hun was frozen for a moment, he didn’t know how to react. He could feel your lips on his, your warm breath fawning over his cheek but he couldn’t move. He had never expected you to do something like this. You were at least two decades younger than him. He would have never thought you would be attracted to a guy like him.

His lack of reaction made you self conscious. You knew it was a risky move. A stupid move even. But with death looming over your every breath you seemed to stop thinking clearly. You pulled away quickly, desperately trying to put distance between you and the older man.

“Sorry i don’t know where that came from i’ll-”

You moved to get up, your heart beating so loudly it seemed to drown out any other sound. You would go wake one of the others up to keep Gi hun company. You couldn’t trust yourself to not do something stupid again. But before you managed to lift yourself off the ground, Gi huns hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t go.”

Your brows furrowed at his words. You’d expected him to tell you that this was inappropriate. That he was far too old for you. But instead his hand found its way to your cheek, caressing it softly. 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to go.”

Your shoulders relaxed at his words, your body slowly settling back into his previous position. 

“I shouldn’t have kissed you without asking. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You were caught up in the moment. It’s all the fear this place causes. It makes you not think straight.”

Except that you weren’t not thinking straight. In fact this was the most sure you’d been of yourself for the last two days. 

“Gi hun.”

“Yes?”

“What if I wasn't caught up in the moment? What if i just really wanted to-”

“I’m too old.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“You would. If we weren’t in here, locked in with each other, you wouldn’t have spared me a second glance.”

“That’s not true. You’re very handsome.”

Gi hun couldn’t help but flush at the words.

“Plus, I happen to have a thing for older men.”

You gave him a shy smile and Gi hun couldn’t help but laugh. You watched him shake his head at you. You moved your hand to his face, cupping his cheek as he had done to you moments prior. Gi hun looked at you with those wide puppy eyes of his and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat. 

“What would you have done if we met at a bar or something?”

The question was made to distract you. Gi hun knew you needed to think about something other than the games for a moment and he was more than willing to help you out. You guided your thumb against his cheek causing him to close his eyes. You continued to caress him as you thought of how to answer his question. 

“I’d be on the dance floor, swaying to the music that was blaring. You’d be sitting in a corner near the bar, a beer in your hand.”

Gi hun would never go to a club that played loud music but he kept the thought to himself, not wanting to ruin the moment. 

“From the moment I caught a look at you I would be able to tell you needed some company but I wouldn't walk over to you right away. Well, not without taking a shot anyway.”

Gi hun’s hand made its way to your thigh, squeezing it slightly in an attempt to tell you he was listening despite his eyes still being closed. Little did he know you’d shut your eyes too, desperately trying to conjure up the images of what  you were describing to him in your mind. 

“After my bit of liquid courage I'd finally make my way to you. I’d take a seat right beside you, staying quiet until you noticed me.”

“I’d notice you the moment you sat down. Wouldn’t be able to resist such a pretty sight.”

You flushed at that. You hoped he was still with his eyes closed so he couldn't see what his words did to you. 

“What would you say to me?”

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a shitty place like this.”

You laughed, opening your eyes. Gi hun watched you as you laughed.

“What? Too cliche?”

You smiled at him, your hand moving to rest on his chest.

“A little. But it’s okay. I like cliches.”

Gi hun gave you a grin and you nearly fainted at the sight. He’d smiled in front of you before, of course,  but it was always a brief smile and it was never directed at you. He had such a lovely smile. You wished you could see it more. His hand moved to your face, tucking a stray hair behind your ears before moving to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, adoring the feeling of his warm skin on yours. Gi hun called out your name in a whisper.

“Yes Gi hun?”

“Can I kiss you?”

You couldn’t hold back the smile that spread over your face.

“Please do.”

Gi hun was gentle. He inched himself closer to your body in a slow pace, his lips settling against yours in what you could only describe as a loving manner. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer into you. You would have stayed all night like this if you could but a sudden cough made you break apart.

The two of you turned to look at where the sound had come from. Jung Bae stood behind you in the darkness, a barely contained grin plastered on his features. Your face flushed with embarrassment. Gi hun wasn’t better off, his hand moving to the back of his neck awkwardly. But his discomfort only lasted a second because soon he was turning to Jung Bae.

“What is it?”

His tone made it clear that he was a bit annoyed at his friend. 

“It’s time to switch shifts.”

“Oh.”

Gi hun looked at you with a bit of disappointment. You got up from your spot so that Jung Bae could sit down. Before you left you leaned down and placed a kiss on Gi hun's cheek. 

“When your turn’s over, come lay down with me, ok?”

“Okay.”

“Night.”

“Sleep well.”

You’d barely made it four steps from the two of them before Jung Bae started teasing Gi hun. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

Later that evening you lay in your bed, trying to rest but unable to sleep. You heard the sound of footsteps causing you to turn to your side. You could barely see him in the dark but you recognized his stance immediately. You shifted in your bed, making a space near your body before patting the spot. Gi hun inched himself onto the bed, a sigh escaping his lips when he finally managed to lay down. The two of you looked at each other for a moment. 

“You can come closer if you want.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Gi hun shifted until your head was pressed against his chest. your arm moved to rest against his waist. The older man gave a content hum at the action, adoring the way you nuzzled into him. 

“I have a proposition.”

“Is that so? Okay, then let’s hear it.”

“When we get out of here you can take me on a proper date.”

“To a fancy restaurant?”

“It doesn't have to be. I don’t care where we go as long as we go together.”

Gi huns chest tightened at your words. Here you were making plans for when you got out and he wasn’t even sure his plan would even work. He wanted to believe it would but he also knew the risks. He pushed down his fear, opting instead to look down at you. You gazed up at him as his hand moved to caress your face.

“When we get out of here we’ll go anywhere you want sweetheart.”

He placed a kiss to your lips as if he was sealing his promise to you with it. Content with his answer you nuzzled into his chest, your eyes closing as sleep took over your body for the first time in hours. 

[thebrothel]

Heyyyy❤️ I’m here for the sleepover and I hope I’m not late😅 I don’t know what I’m asking for, anything honestly, but I’ve been thinking a lot about my man Nightwalks and his friendship with baby Vamp. I love their bromance so much and I’m definitely not opposed to be in that sandwich. So what if my car breaks down and it’s raining and I happen to walk to the brothel to ask for help and Nws and Vamp take me to their room to warm me up and Vamp is sweet and a little shy and Nws is 🥵🫠😵‍💫 asdfghjkl ya know, does his thing (this scenario brought me comfort when I was sick the last time🥹) I’m not even asking for smut. Just anything about these two will make me happy❤️😍

Love y’all and love you, Toxy💖💖💖

men of the night

After blowing out your tire, you pull into a sprawling, wooded estate. It's a foggy evening, and you get quite a scare. But your luck turns around when a mysterious man carries you to safety.

STARRING: vampire!Joel x f!reader x night walks!joel

LENGTH: 3.6k words

CONTENT: 18+ comfort, smut, minor injury, blood

NOTES: Love you, kate! I'm so happy these two bring you comfort. Ty ALL for your patience and support. Hope y'all enjoy this one. I do. 🩷

Your phone has been dead for a while by the time your tire pops. As your car hobbles along, you have no choice but to turn into the first driveway you see. Two big, steel gates are sitting open enough for you to pull in. Just after dusk, a dense fog has settled over the area. 

What is this place? 

You drive slowly, looking for signs of life. Someone you can ask for help, or at least to use their phone.

The road is winding. There are woods, lots of woods. When the tread falls off your tire completely, you’re still in a remote part of the complex, but you have no choice but to pull over. 

It starts raining. 

-

You get out your tire-changing supplies and you’re taking the spare tire out of your trunk when an imposing figure appears in your peripheral vision. You stare at the tire and freeze. Your heart races.  You’d know that figure anywhere. That stance. But it must be your imagination. Michael Myers isn’t stalking around some remote old estate waiting for a victim to blow out their tire. It’s probably the property owner. . . or groundskeeper. Huge groundskeeper. By the time you find the courage to look in the hulking figure’s direction, he’s gone. You exhale in relief, but then–are you hearing things, or are there footsteps receding into the forest? 

You need a minute. Deep breaths. 

Several deep breaths. Eyes closed. 

Then, back to the task at hand. 

You start using the tire jack and a sharp corner slices a hot line across the heel of your palm. “Shit,” you whisper.

You’re staring at your hand when a gentle voice some distance behind you calls, “Hey, You okay?” You jump and gasp, and he says, “Didn’t mean to scare ya, sorry.” 

You look over to see the silhouette of a man in a cape approaching. As his form pushes through the fog, you can see it’s not a cape, it’s a cardigan. He has the face of a kind professor. “Lost?” he asks, and his nose twitches. You stand up to face him, and his eyes fall on your bleeding hand. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters then yanks his eyes back to your face. He swallows and takes a handkerchief out of his cardigan then steps forward and hands it to you. “Here,” he whispers, then backs up and turns away to offer you a private moment, putting his hands back in his pockets. 

You thank him.

His adam’s apple bobs with a swallow, then he inhales through his nose and tilts his head up to the sky and mutters “Jesus.” He takes a deep breath through his mouth and composes himself, then forces a chuckle as he looks at you again. “All good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you confirm. 

“Sorry, I’m Vahh....” his voice trails off as he realizes how strange this situation must be for you already, without knowing his condition. “Vam. You can call me Vam,” he decides. 

"Vam," you repeat, then share your name in return.

Your face is overcome with horror, but not at him. You're looking just over his shoulder, toward the woods. He turns to see what you’re looking at–who you’re looking at–Michael Myers, towering in a faded navy jumpsuit, mask and all. 

“Mike,” Vamp acknowledges the enormous slasher, then turns back to you to explain, “He prob’ly just wants to help.” 

You swallow and your eyes gaze over. You’re still staring over Vamp’s shoulder when Michael lifts up a big wrench. Your eyelashes flutter and your knees buckle under you.

“Oh, sweetheart-” Vamp lunges forward and catches you in his arms as you lose consciousness. “Oh boy,” he mutters to himself. 

Michael is still standing there. 

Vamp tells him, “Yeah–I’ll uh–you take care’a that, I’ll take care’a her.” 

Michael gives a single slow nod, then goes to the stripped tire, tools in tow. Vamp holds you securely with one muscular arm, then the other, as he takes his cardigan off and wraps it around you. “There ya go,” he whispers to you in your sleep, then scoops you up. “I’ve got ya, sweetheart.”

It's not a short walk, and vamp does his best to ignore the beautiful scent wafting from your hand. He passes the front of the mansion and no one notices, they're all watching tv together. Something exciting. A couple of them are bickering. Others are glued to the screen. For a moment, vamp wonders if he's missing a watch party, but he's far more intrigued by you.

As the road winds around back and vamp nears the joel mansion’s basement, you wake up in his arms. 

He feels your body tense as you lift your head up and ask, “Where am I?” 

“My buddy's place, he’s a real good guy, we’ll get ya dry, and warm, get ya back to your car….” 

He seems to carry you effortlessly. You can hardly take your eyes away from his face. He’s handsome and familiar. His eyes nearly glow. Is he real? Is any of this? You wrap your hands around his neck to get a better look. He presses his lips together and gives you a shy look, holding you, a stranger, in a bridal carry with his handkerchief wrapped around your sliced hand and his cardigan wrapped around your body. Your hair has gotten misty in the fog and drizzle, and so has his.  

“Who are you?” you ask. 

He exhales through pursed lips before answering, "I'm Vam, remember?” 

Your eyelashes flutter heavily again. 

“Hey, you’re okay, sweetheart” he reassures you. “You’re okay.” 

In lieu of knocking at the basement door, Joel taps it with his boot a few times. “N-dub,” he whispers, not wanting to disturb you. 

As the door opens, a man is saying, “No more edibles, man. You gotta…” but his voice trails off when he sees you in Vamp’s arms, wrapped up in the cardigan. He’s speechless. He steps out of the way. 

He’s handsome, too. You’re in a daze, but god, he's good looking, and he's got this vibe, you can tell that much. He has a joint behind his ear and his eyes are slightly glassy. The place smells of weed with a hint of patchouli and shaving cream. 

“Shit, man. Where’d you take her from?” the basement owner asks. 

“SHH!” Vamp responds. “I didn’t take her. She was stranded in the rain.”

“She okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer for yourself. 

“Michael scared her,” Vamp explains. 

“Well shit, guess we’ve all been there,” the man with the vibe says and closes the door behind you. 

You feel strangely at ease in the basement. It feels familiar, like a place you’ve been in your dreams or fantasies, but hadn’t fully visualized. At the same time, it feels foreign, like it’s a familiar place in a strange location. A little darker, maybe. A little off.  But still, the strong sense that you belong somehow.

 

Vamp sets you down in an easy chair and they both stand there looking at you, then each other.

The pothead steps forward and squats next to the chair to have a better look. He gently nudges your chin to look toward him, and keeps his hand there. His eyes soften and he bites half his bottom lip as he admires your features, then says,  “Well, god damn. . .” Then, as his hand leaves your face, his forearm brushes the cardigan and he feels the light misting of rain on it. “Let’s get you dry,” he offers, and nudges the cardigan open.

Hunger overtakes his face as he catches a glimpse of your body in your rain-soaked clothes. He doesn’t bother averting his eyes from your tits until you accidentally cough. 

Vamp reacts, “we gotta hurry, she's getting sick,” and goes to check the closet. “Where are all your clothes?” he asks his best friend. 

“Laundry day,” the basement dweller answers. “Shit.” 

You ask, “You got a robe or something?”

“Uh, yeah,” he retreats to his bathroom. 

Vamp takes the opportunity to discreetly tell you, “Hey, I think he’s kinda into you. So if he makes you uncomfortable at all…”

“I can handle it,” you smile, and you get butterflies at the thought. “What’d you call him? Indub?” you ask. 

Vamp chuckles. “That's just his initials. It's Night walks,” vamp answers. 

“First name ‘knight’?”

“No you say it like one word, nightwalks.”

“Nightwalks and Vam, huh?”

Vamp nods, then asks, “You want a bath to warm up?” 

“Uhhh… I am kinda chilly, yeah” 

He calls over to the bathroom, “Hey nightwalks? Draw her a bath while you’re in there.” 

“Do what to the bath?” night walks laughs at the old fashioned term.

“Run a bath, man. C’mon.” 

The water starts, and night walks emerges holding a silk, leopard print robe. He lets it hang over his muscular shoulder as he kneels to take your shoes and socks off. 

Vamp leaves to attend to the bath. 

You giggle and flinch as your second sock is pulled off. 

“Ticklish?” Night walks smiles, eyebrows up.

You shrug demurely. 

He prowls up the lazy chair hovering over you, then kinda hugs you, hooking one strong arm under your back. “Let’s get you outta this,” he murmurs. 

You stand, and he helps for balance to make sure you’re not too dizzy. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper, and he lets you stand on your own two feet.

He nudges the cardigan off your shoulders and it falls behind you.  His eyes scan your body then meet your eyes again. You rub your lips together trying not to flirt with him, but there’s a cheeky sparkle behind your eyes. There’s something darker but equally charming behind his. 

And there’s a calming energy that seems to waft from him to you. Comfort and desire is thick in the air. 

He begins to take your clothes off, slow and intimate as if he doesn’t know how to do it any other way. His warm hands glide over your hips and up your sides as he lifts your thin, wet shirt.

He lets you keep on the undershirt for now. Not that it makes much of a difference. 

He stares at your tits, nipples blazing through the damp, thin undershirt. No bra.

“Freeballin’,” he nods in approval. “My kinda’ girl.” 

You can’t help but giggle at that. 

He adjusts himself, making your loins buzz, then he kneels to unbutton your jeans.  As he takes down the zipper, your face heats up as you remember the panties you’re wearing - they’re printed with a she-devil whose tail points down to your cunt. 

“Oohh,” He coos nearly under his breath, “We got a bad girl here.”  

You cringe at yourself and mutter, “oh, god,” 

He looks up and doesn’t laugh. “My kinda girl,” he repeats, locking eyes with yours. 

As he takes your pants down, his hands glide down and around your hips and linger on your ass for a squeeze. “God damn,” he whispers. 

Once your pants are off, for the first time, he notices the bloody handkerchief in your hand. It had been tighter in the clutches of your fist before.  

“Oh, shit,” he comments. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a little cut,” you answer and glance at it to check. “It's fine, it stopped bleeding.”

He takes the handkerchief from you and discards it on the chair. He inspects your palm. “I dunno if I got any first aid shit,” he mutters to himself. 

“It’s fine, really,” you reassure him. He holds your hand, inspecting your palm, then looks at your face again. His eyes fall on your mouth and he seems to forget what he was thinking about. He wets his lips. “God damn, you’re hot,” he murmurs. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, thinking the same about him. 

He laces his fingers with yours as he steps even closer, then he brings his hands to your waist. 

Your head tilts upward, watching him look back and forth between your eyes. 

He leans in and your lips meet. 

There’s a spark, more of a spark than you’ve ever felt, and he must feel it, too. He slips his tongue into your mouth as his hand meanders and grabs your ass. “Mm,” he hums into your mouth. You put your arms around his neck and he pulls you against him. A warm bulge throbs against you, making you moan into his mouth. 

He breaks the kiss to murmur, “There’s my bad girl,” then he kisses you again and crosses his hands behind your back to take off your undershirt. 

He takes a long, deep breath as he looks at your tits, then urgently pulls you up against him again, one hand cradling your head as he feeds you his tongue

He grinds against you as you kiss, and your fingers lift the back of his shirt. He takes it off, breathing heavily, then says, “c’mere, baby.” His lips attack your neck as his thumbs hook into your panties and pull them down below your ass cheeks. He gives you a little spank then groans into your neck. 

Fuck, he's hot.  

His palm slides down your crack and between your legs until his middle finger can feel your dripping hole. “Hell yeah,” he breathes against your neck as he reaches further. Then he breaks away from your neck and wedges his other hand in between the two of you to finger you from the front. The hand in the back palms a cheek, fingers spanning quite a distance on your skin. 

He rubs you from the front and you moan. “Yeah, that's right, sugar.” He closes his eyes and tilts his head slightly upward as he touches you, letting himself get absorbed entirely by the feeling of you in his hands.

You're hypnotized by the veins on his neck and the rhythm of his fingers through your slick. 

The way he touches you, it’s like he knows exactly what you like. And his hands, they feel so…

“Oh, daddy,” the word slips from your lips and he replies, “Mmm,” and looks down to observe your face of pleasure. He grinds himself against your hip as he fingers you just the way you like. Like he'd done it dozens of times before - to you. 

“Yeah, cum for daddy,” he breathes then nudges your forehead with his nose, prompting you to lift your chin for his lips to take yours again. 

He moans into your mouth, the shape of his cock stiff against your hip through his PJs, his hand between your legs, and one on your ass.

As his fingers push you over the edge, you break away to moan, then stifle it in his bare shoulder, gently biting. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, “fuck yeah.” 

You cum in the palm of his hand, and he moans. 

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “fuck.” 

He shudders and groans, then his hard-on throbs against you and a warm, wet spot spreads through his PJ pants. 

“Damn,” he mutters. 

A short sigh comes from behind you. 

“Hey “ Night walks greets vamp matter of factly as he catches his breath. He looks vamp up and down and vamp casually covers his crotch, prompting a smirk from night walks.  

Vamp clears his throat, “Bath’s ready.” 

“Thanks,” night walks says. “Now I need one too,” he chuckles, then turns his attention back to you. “You’re real damn hot, you know that?”

He kisses you gently on the mouth then says, “finish this later,” with a wink. He pulls your soaked panties from your thighs down to your feet and helps you into the silk robe. 

-

You make your way into the bathroom and Vamp lingers in the living room with night walks. Never judging, he’s simply raising his eyebrows in a question - how did that happen? 

“Just happened, man,” night walks says, then squints. “She familiar to you?” 

“Uh, YEAH,” vamp agrees. “Smells familiar.” 

Night walks sucks his slick fingers and says, "Tastes familiar."

“Nice bathroom,” you announce, and both men file into the room to see if you need anything. “Never seen a bathtub this big,” you add, stretching out your arms, tits on display. 

Night walks takes the opportunity to ask, “Want some company?” 

“Sure,” you smile, and he takes down his pj pants. 

“Room for three?” night walks asks on behalf of his buddy. 

“Yeah,” you agree. 

Night walks asks, “You wanna be sandwiched or wanna look at his pretty face?” He can’t let vamp sit behind you. Too much neck access. 

“I’ll take the extra body heat,” you answer with a flash of your eyebrows.

-

Night walks gets in the bath behind you and settles his legs outside yours. You can feel all of him against your back. He sneaks in a squeeze of both tits as vamp prepares to get in front of you.

Vamp is a solidly built man. Not in a distinctly muscular way. A little softer than night walks, but he’s just so broad. His back flexes as he gets into the tub and rests back on you. His hair smells nice. And your tits feel amazing against his back.  

Sandwiched between them, you feel their breathing. You just sit and feel it for you don’t know how long. Your breathing synchronizes. All three of you.

You’re almost lulled asleep--maybe you even are asleep-- until vamp gasps softly. 

You look down to see a faint red plume coming from your hand. 

“Oh, crap,” you react. 

“He can take care’a it,” Night walks murmurs, sounding half asleep. “He’s got ya.” 

“How?” you ask. 

“Kiss it better, man,” night walks encourages, then sighs with how comfortable he is with you nestled between his legs, laid back on his chest. He gets a waft of your hair and sighs, “Mm.” 

“You gonna kiss it better?” you ask vamp with a giggle.

“Sure, I can if ya want,” he offers and holds your wrist. He plants a kiss on the lower end of your wound, letting his lips linger long enough to inhale as much of your scent his nostrils can get. 

It’s not just a kiss. To the naked eye, it’s just a kiss, but it feels like more. It feels like healing. It feels almost like...pleasure. He takes his lips away and the part he kissed is no longer bleeding. 

“Whoa,” you whisper. 

“Pretty cool, huh?” Night walks mutters over your ear. 

“You want more?” vamp asks. 

“Yeah,” you answer. No brainer.

Night walks takes your un-injured hand around to vamp’s abdomen and rests it on vamp’s thick, semi-hard, uncut cock. The shape under your hand sends a pang of desire down your spine and between your legs. 

“might lose a little blood,” vamp warns. “But not much.” He brings your hand to his mouth, kisses your wound again, starting at the top and sliding his lips all the way down it. Then he shifts his lips a bit, and something smooth begins to slowly trace the cut as his lips slide back up the wound. You feel a suction along the cut, and at the same time, his cock stiffens under your palm. You reflexively palm his shaft, holding it against his stomach.

The suction in your palm feels good. Your nipples harden and a rush of pleasure shoots down your chest, then lower. 

“Oh, god,” you whisper. 

When he reaches the top of the cut, his lips break away with a moan, as you continue to massage him. “More?” he asks breathily. 

You nod, “please.” 

He repeats the process, ever so slowly, twice. . .and you go from massaging his cock to pumping it, until he’s coming against his stomach underwater, moaning into your hand.

When night walks slips his hand between you and vamp, you realize your hips have been moving, seeking pressure. Night walks finishes you off, and God, you cum hard.

Night walks’s dick is hard against your back, and you’d love to do something for him, but you’re utterly spent. Your palm looks good as new, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. Vamp twists his torso to look back and check in on you. He idly tongues his sharp incisor. 

You look at him, eyelashes fluttering and say, “You’re….” He closes his lips and swallows, and he looks away, expecting you to say that word he doesn’t like. But you don’t. . . “Special,” you say, making his heart swell. 

“You too,” he whispers as your eyelids fall shut. 

Your head lulls back against night walks and he asks vamp, “she okay?” 

“Yeah,” vamp answers. “Most people can’t process that kind of pleasure their first time.” 

“That’s why she’s passed out? God damn,” night walks says. “We’re the dream team, buddy.” 

“Let’s get her to bed,” Vamp says. 

—-

“This is all good, right?” vamp asks night walks as they get you situated nude in the bed. All three of you are dried off. 

“Yeah, bud,” night walks reassures vamp in a whisper. “We’ve got a duty to act.”

“That’s doctors,” vamp replies, then lowers his whisper more. “Not….men of the night.” 

“Shhh,” night walks replies. "we gotta keep her warm."

You stir and let out a sigh. Vamp is wearing silky shorts and night walks is in fresh boxer briefs.

They settle in on either side of you. After a minute, vamp whispers, “hey, n-dub?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Is she really familiar to you?” 

“Yeah,” night walks answers unequivocally. 

“Me too,” vamp agrees. “I think she–” 

“Let’s talk about it later,” night walks whispers. 

“Yeah,” vamp agrees. 

“Get some sleep, man,” night walks encourages. 

Vamp starts to respond, “I…” then doesn’t bother. “Yeah.” 

“Oh. Sorry, bud.” 

“It’s okay,” vamp says, then asks, “but hey, if I go in my restful state, will you rouse me if you're gonna fuck her?” 

“I think you'll be ‘roused,” night walks chuckles. “But sure, buddy.”

Vamp gets up on his elbow, then hovers over your face. strokes your cheek and plants a kiss on your forehead. “Sweet dreams,” he whispers. 

---

----

---

----

---

I sincerely hope y'all enjoyed this as much as I did 💕. Ty kate for the prompt that kinda led me to write a comfort fic for myself too lol.

Note: in English, "woman of the night" is a tame or old fashioned way of saying female sex worker

[miroh4]

MANOSOUTA WEEK : DAY 4 : SWAP AU (A LOT of text + collection of illustrations)

so. it has come to this. THE day. this au has been on my mind for such a long time, and i'm finally getting to share! i'll be the first to admit that some things have not been thought of, so feel free to make em up!

TW FOR COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF BLOOD,

enjoy!

I call it "Turnabout Sacrifice"

this an overhaul of the story (made with the help of FEYA!!! THE SMARTEST PERSON EVER!!)

First thing to change: Simeon ran away from the orphanage the day of presidents assassination, and Bronco left to distract and take the fall, unbeknownst to Simeon. Simeon was the one to send the drawing and did not look back, staying with Kanis, but the drawing was pinned on Knight, and all three were after him, not Saint.

Another change is that Simeon is no longer the one to remember the car incident, Bronco is. and he resolves to take revenge FOR Simeon and himself, no matter the cost. after enduring whatever-the-fuck, everything goes as we know. Knight becomes the presidents second-in-command (knowing his secret in hopes of getting to kill him) and Simeon joins the circus while keeping in contact with Kanis. because he had not endured what he did at Fifi, Winner and Wangs hands, the threat of the past being relatively out of his mind AND not remembering what happened 18 years ago makes Simeons sweetheart ditzy persona obsolete. so he becomes a bitch

Knight, on the other hand, needs to be close to Wang and for him to find a confidant in him, to trust him with his life and not have a single suspicion about him. so, he adopts the persona of a soft lovable guy who is a little skittish and shy despite being as big as a fridge.

Sometime in the future, Knight and Saint reconnect (through Bronco basically stalking him) and start developing a relationship together. Now onto the game.

TURNABOUT TRIGGER

First change to be had: Knight does not kill Rooke. Instead, it's Wang who does out of fear of being named a fraud, and naturally tries to pin it on the stupid little second-in-command, who would do anything for him, right after commencing the fake assassination.

Next change is that Simeon wasnt the one to think of the plan NOR to hire Shelly (idk who feel free to get creative). Still, the real assassination commences, resulting in an injured Bronco, and the fake one begins.

Rooke is killed by Wang, and an "attempt" on Wangs life gets made. Miles Edgeworth is called.

Bronco presents as a sweet and helpful individual, a bit bashful and nervous, but otherwise competent and, strangely enough, averse to violence.

After some time, Miles starts suspecting Bronco, but then learns that Bronco only assisted Wang because he wanted to help Zeng Fa and didn't know his colleague would die! THEN! Miles deduces that it was Wang. But what can you do against a president?

Knight is falsely arrested on the murder of Rooke as well as an attempted assassination.

THE IMPRISONED TURNABOUT

Next day, we learn of something horrible that had happened in prison.

Blood, a lot of it - belonging to Knight, with him nowhere to be seen, and a ring that supposedly belonged to him. While the body can't be found - the suspicions fall on his best friend, who'd visited him yesterday. So, Miles and Kay go investigate.

And they meet a bratty, arrogant rising star of the animal training world and Big Berry Circus - Simeon Saint! (slight spoiler to aa4 on the pic (line courtesy of Feya!))

He is cocky and rude, bragging about how he's "free do do anything" and immediately takes dislike towards Miles, yet has no choice but to accept his help. While investigating, Kay and Miles learn of what was inside the case, and how it got there, as well as Simeon travelling to Knight without permission and with a huge cage to boot. After determining that a chisel in the case might be Knights work (which it is in this AU - a LaGuarde lure), they turn to accuse him of trying to aid a criminal in escaping prison.

And he snaps.

Now Miles fully trusts Simeon. He tells him how he tried to get Knight to climb into a cage, "But Bronco was always the kind of guy to follow the law to the T. Nevermind the law being wrong..."

This is an inverse of that one scene from the finale of the game. The idea was proposed by @diableriezer and it near made me weep.

After more investigating we finally get on Fifi's trail, and get her to confess.

Knight's body is missing because he ran away from her wrath, and had now gone missing, although she claims that he couldn't have survived the attack.

In reality, he did. (cw blood)

(contains lyrics from "Evil" by Electroforez, a song about being obsessed and in love)

Kanis lied about not knowing him, and secretly patched him up with Helmut's help and helped him escape, so he'd finally take revenge.

Inherited and Forgotten turnabouts play out, second probably with a lot of changes which I didn't think of, but in the end Winner gets arrested, so does Gusto. Knight hates Gusto with his whole heart, and wishes to rip it out for letting him and Saint suffer like that. He remembers his father, and he only wishes he got to kill him first. Now, without further ado...

TURNABOUT FOR AGES

TURNABOUT SACRIFICE

We get evidence of Fifi, Blaise and Wang working together, and decide to finally confront the latter, only to learn that he went missing.

We find his corpse and realize that Simeon also hasn't been seen in a while. Learn from Kanis that his pup has gone to seek revenge, determine that it's Simeon the same way.

Weirdly enough, we do NOT find Saint at the circus Regina says that he left in a hurry. We determine that he'd gone to retrieve a piece of evidence from the crime scene, which in this case is the presidential plane because I thought it'd be rad.

There we find Knights "corpse", but it turns out he is asleep and Simeon is helping care for his wounds here, since he thought it'd be safe. They ask Knight if Simeon has harmed him, he says no.

We learn that Simeon has been notified of Knights location by Kanis.

When Miles attempts arrest, Knight quickly takes Simeon hostage, revealing himself to be Wangs killer.

Knight reveals his motivations, his story. Reveals that he'd been abandoned by everyone, even by his darling friend, and nobody was there for him. Despite that, he still forgives Simeon, because he is all he has, and all he wishes for is to finally stay together - leave and never look back on the horrors they've endured.

Unfortunately, it does not work out.

Saint is adamant that he wants to stay together, and he is truly grateful for the revenge, but that he didn't trust Saint with that, so how could he trust him?

After talking through things, and various threats from Knight, he concedes. But not in a way one would expect.

Knowing that he won't take being apart easily, Knight tells Simeon that there is only one road to go from there.

And pulls the trigger.

[nexiva]

You made me hate you

Part 4

Bucky x reader

Warnings: ok now they really hate each other, really angsty part and a lot of swearing (again)

Summary: A not so nice morning in the kitchen with Sam and Bucky

A/N: I couldn’t wait any longer haha so enjoy this part :)

Masterlist

Five months. Five months of avoiding each other like the plague. And when we do run into each other? Jesus Christ, even Captain America himself would bolt from the room.

Barnes has gotten a little more… how do I put it? Confident. In the wrong way. About three months ago, he was still trying to talk to me, still trying to convince me—just like everyone else. But I wouldn’t give in. I would never forgive him. Maybe after all this time, it seems childish, but I didn’t care. I stood firmly on my ground.

And once everyone realized I wasn’t going to change my mind, that’s when things started heating up. Barnes was starting to get so cocky. The worse my remarks got, the more he started snapping back at me. I could see I was driving him insane—not that it was my intention. I just didn’t want to see him. But since he was already there, I couldn’t stop myself from throwing sharp comments his way. Until, finally, he had enough and started fighting back.

“Fuck, Sam, I swear I tried everything. But she wouldn’t even let me get a word in. I’m so done with this. Guess some amends just can’t be made.”

I walked into the kitchen with every intention of ignoring Barnes and making myself a great breakfast.
“Morning, Wilson.”
“Hey, Y/L/N.”

I could tell Sam was uncomfortable, but that didn’t stop him from asking a stupid question.
“So, Bucky and I were about to go for a run. Do you wanna join us?”

Oh God. Pathetic.

Barnes practically choked on his coffee, barely stopping himself from suffocating (what a shame that would be).

“If I were you, I wouldn’t let him outside. He might ‘accidentally’ run over someone and then claim he was forced to do it.”

Oh, I knew that one was going to hurt. But it rolled off my tongue so sweetly that I couldn’t stop myself.

Barnes threw his cup against the wall. Sam flinched slightly.

“You are a cunt, you know that?”

Bucky stepped closer like he was about to throw hands. I got up immediately.

“What? You gonna kill me too now? Finally finish collecting the whole family, asshole?”

And he just stared.

Nothingness in his eyes.

I wanted it to hurt. I wanted him to feel exactly the way I did. But strangely, there was no satisfaction in seeing him suffer. It wasn’t as enjoyable as I had imagined. So much time had passed, my rage had only grown, and yet… I couldn’t put a name to that stupid feeling inside me. Oh no, it definitely wasn’t sympathy or guilt—it was just exhausting.

For the first time, I saw something in his eyes. Fear?

I didn’t care to figure it out. Not at that moment.

“Fuck you,” was all he said before leaving the kitchen.

I sat down with a small smirk but also with a hint of uncertainty (hopefully, it didn’t show).

“Um, so that went well?”

Sam, not knowing what else to do, sat down with me.

“Y/N, aren’t you tired of this?”

The bastard could actually read my mind sometimes.

“Despite everything, you two have a lot in common. He was under HYDRA, you had NEXUS. You really should—”

I couldn’t listen to him any longer.

“Despite everything? You mean the fact that he killed my sister? And HYDRA? NEXUS? We have nothing in common. I never killed anyone for someone else. No one ever controlled me like some brainless puppet!”

“Because Fury saved you! You little brat! You think you wouldn’t have done the same as him if Nick hadn’t stepped in?”

Silence.

A long, awkward silence.

I had no idea how to respond. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to admit he was right—even if he was.

“I wonder if you’d say the same thing about him if Fury hadn’t shown up back then. You need to get it together, Y/N, because everyone is tired of your shit.”

Sam stood up, looked at me, and walked out.

I couldn’t admit he was right. I couldn’t get rid of the fog in my head. That horrible memory.

I refused to back down.

The kitchen felt emptier than before.

Sam’s words hung in the air like a goddamn storm cloud, suffocating me, pressing against my chest. "Everyone is tired of your shit."

I clenched my fists. Fuck him. Fuck them all. They didn’t get it. They weren’t the ones who had to wake up every morning and remember that someone ripped their soul apart like it was nothing. They weren’t the ones who had to stand in the same room as the murderer and pretend like he was just another member of the goddamn team.

I grabbed a piece of toast and took a slow bite, staring at the shattered ceramic from Bucky’s cup still lying on the floor. Someone else could clean it up. I wasn’t going to.

The compound was quiet now, except for the faint hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic outside. I let myself breathe. But my hands were still shaking.

Then I heard it—the door slamming shut.

I exhaled through my nose, already knowing who it was.

“What the fuck do you want now, Barnes?”

Silence.

I turned my head slightly, and there he was, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looked like he hadn’t cooled down one bit since storming out of here a few minutes ago.

“I’m not done talking.”

I let out a dry laugh. “That’s funny, I could’ve sworn you told Sam you were done trying.”

His nostrils flared. Good. I wanted him angry. I wanted him to feel something.

He took a step forward. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Y/N.”

I shot him a look. “Oh, I don’t? Enlighten me. Please.”

His eyes darkened. “You think you’re the only one who lost someone? You think you’re the only one who wakes up every day hating the person in the mirror?”

That caught me off guard. For a second. But I didn’t let it show.

“The difference between us, Winter Soldier?” I stood up, stepping closer until there were just inches between us. “I lost my family. You were the one pulling the goddamn trigger.”

He swallowed hard. I saw his fingers twitch—just slightly. Like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Or grab something. Maybe grab me.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a bitter chuckle and looked down.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was lower now. Tighter. “Every goddamn day, I think about the people I killed. I hear them screaming in my fucking head. And you?” He shook his head, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “You don’t even want revenge anymore. You just want something to be angry at.”

I stiffened.

He saw it. He fucking saw it, and I hated him for it.

“Go to hell, Barnes.”

His lips curled into a humorless smirk. “Already been there, sweetheart.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving me standing there, fists clenched, pulse racing, and for the first time in a long time—completely speechless.

[emwallas176]

Episode 4x09 of Smallville was genuinely so confusing. Not only was the cold open so traumatizing but then the moral gymnastics that happens for the rest of the episode (and onward) is so confounding.

So the whole premise of the episode is that Lex sleeps around so much that he can’t even remember the names and faces of the women he sleeps with. Strange and concerning on multiple levels. Even if this was completely in character (which I don’t think it is), it is still highly concerning to forget the names and faces of people you’ve been intimate with. I think they said 13 women in the last year. While that’s not a low number, I don’t think it’s high enough to cause such forgetfulness. Therefore it almost seems to imply that there’s a level of disassociation that happens on Lex’s part during the experience (you can’t form new memories if you weren’t really paying attention when they happened). This theory is also backed up by the fact that Lex admits at the end of the episode that he has suicidal thoughts, and (very) unattached sex could be a negative coping mechanism for these dark emotions. As we can see at the start of the episode, Lex looks sad and completely alone at the event. And immediately after that he jumps into bed with someone. There’s clearly a connection there (at least in my mind).

All of the above, however, is not what confuses me. It’s the other characters that I don’t understand. First you have Clark who comes in (as seems to be becoming his pattern) guns blazing and accusatory. Of course this might be warranted seeing as Lex has been quite soundly framed for murder but I digress. During their talk and with what he finds out later, Clark gets very up in arms about Lex having sex with a lot of women. Despite whether this is right or wrong of him to do, it makes absolutely no sense for why it would drive Clark into LIONEL’S arms. Especially bc Lionel admits later on that Lex learned the behavior (sleeping with women and leaving them with a pair of diamond earrings) from Lionel himself?? Like it’s bad and dishonest if Lex does it but apparently makes Lionel trustworthy?? I’m confused. Also! Let’s not forget the fact that Lionel slept with another woman while his wife was DYING! But sure, Lex is the sexually deviant one. Sure.

Also, I feel like there is a lot of disconnect between how Lex and Alicia (in later episodes) are treated. Like Lex sleeps with women (consensually) and almost gets killed by one of them and Clark tells him that he doesn’t know if he can trust him anymore. Alicia forces Clark to marry her and almost forces him to have sex with her (read: non-consensual!) and the next episode she and Clark are dating again. Also, Lex gets framed for murder and when he’s found innocent, Clark rescues him, yes, but at the end of the day he still doesn’t trust Lex. Alicia gets framed for murder and is found innocent (and dies, unfortunately (seriously that was such a shocking death what the hell Smallville?!)) and Clark feels guilty and regretful and tells his parents he wishes he believed her sooner. Now I get that these two situations aren’t quite the same but the different reactions that Clark and the other characters have feel more like the writers playing into future roles (Lex is the villain, yada, yada) rather than actually looking at the characters as they are now.

I think I would have enjoyed the episode more if I’d understood what it was trying to say. Are you trying to say that Lex is “showing a different, darker side of himself” by not caring about the women he sleeps with? Okay then why is it okay for Lionel to do. Are you trying to say that sex in general is bad? Then why have Alicia be forgiven? Why have Lana trying to loose her virginity to Jason? In the end, the episode just left me feeling really frustrated bc I felt like there was something I was supposed to get but I just didn’t get it.

[exhaustedpirate]

warm, clingy bodies

day 10 of @bucktommyfluffebruary (better late than never, right?) thought about making this smutty, ended up going the real fluffy route, as everything with bucktommy, i don't plan anythin, i just let them take over my life, my brain, my heart!

rated T | 1064 words also on AO3

Evan was clingy.

There was something about physical affection that seemed to appeal to the younger man. Tommy often found himself holding Evan’s hand at any given time, or with arms wrapped around his waist, or with the younger firefighter perched on his lap. He had fallen asleep many times with Evan’s fingers running through his hair.

Well, Evan was very clingy.

There wasn’t a moment where his boyfriend wouldn’t have his hands on him. It was probably unconscious, just a need to touch, to connect, to make sure Tommy was still there. He wasn’t sure. 

Tommy’s last relationship wasn’t like this. It was colder, distant. Evan was the sun, warm, so warm. He was becoming obsessed with his boyfriend’s need to touch, to hold.

The boxes of the pizza they had for dinner are scattered along the coffee table, their empty beers carefully placed next to them. A movie about a man and a woman falling in love under strange circumstances is on TV. 

He doesn’t really know the title anymore, hasn’t retained any information regarding plot, character names or even if it’s set in America. He’s distracted by other things.

Evan’s leg is draped over Tommy’s and his arms are wrapped around his torso. His head is a weight on his shoulder and his breathing warms up his t-shirt covered chest. Tommy’s hand runs slowly up and down Evan’s back while the other strokes his forearm. There’s a blanket over their legs and it’s all so warm, so intimate.

He didn’t think he would ever get this.

He never wants to let it go.

Evan’s breathing is starting to slow and Tommy smiles. The music is swelling on the TV and he’s sure the main couple is going to kiss - formulaic but not a criticism.

“Evan?”

He feels the answering hum vibrating along his side and tightens his hold on the younger man.

“Do you want to go to sleep?”

There is a minute shake of his head and Evan’s hand clings to his t-shirt, in the middle of his chest, while he hooks his fingers in his beltloop with the other. “I’m good,” He answers and hums appreciatively at the kiss Tommy lays on the top of his head. “I wanna see those crazy kids have their happily ever after.”

Tommy laughs and feels Evan snuggle closer to him, nose rubbing against his collarbone. “You’re gonna be snoring by the time those end credits roll, babe.”

“I don’t snore,” Evan complains half-heartedly. He does, Tommy has watched him sleep enough times to know that he loves Evan’s little snores. It’s not creepy, it’s romantic. He hopes. “And I’m not gonna fall asleep.”

“You wanna bet?”

It’s not fair, essentially a scam. He already knows Evan is falling asleep, knows all the signs of a sleepy Evan - his body warmth changes, his eyes flutter, his breathing settles and he clings. 

All’s fair and all of that, he guesses.

“If I don’t fall asleep, you have to carry me to bed.” Evan clears his throat to make his voice clearer, no mumbling or drawn-out syllables. Tommy smirks at the attempt, sign number 5.

“And if you do?”

“You can be the little spoon tonight.”

Tommy laughs, how can he not? It’s not as if he won’t carry Evan to bed regardless. It’s not as if Evan doesn’t manhandle him during the night so he can wrap himself around Tommy’s back.

He can almost see the smirk in his boyfriend’s lips and he runs his hand up and down Evan’s thigh, relishing in the trembling of his muscles. “You have yourself a deal.”

Evan lifts his head to look up at Tommy and he gets his confirmation on the smirk. “Seal it with a kiss?”

As if he ever needs to ask. Tommy runs his hand up from his back to cup his jaw, Evan cushioning his head on his bicep, and tilts his boyfriend’s head up for a kiss. He swallows Evan’s sigh with his lips and lets his responding moan reverberate into the kiss. The kiss is slow, warm, all-consuming, unrushed, intoxicating, perfect.

Evan’s hand runs slowly up and down his chest, making its way under the shirt. Tommy shivers at the soft touch of his hand reaching up to his pecs, his hand tightening on Evan’s thigh. He presses small chaste kisses on Evan’s soft kisses as he disengages, relishing the contented noises his boyfriend makes, in the way he slowly blinks his eyes open.

There are declarations of love, of forever, coming from the TV. All Tommy sees is the slow smile spreading across his boyfriend’s lips, the bright hue of his eyes, the faint blush on his cheeks, the way his hands cling to him. 

Tommy hopes Evan never lets go.

“Should I take you to bed?” Tommy’s voice is low, hoarse.

“Mhmm,” Evan nods, his eyes glinting with a promise before he straddles him, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s neck. “I won.”

Tommy blinks away the haze of arousal the kiss started and that the weight of his boyfriend on his lap heightened. Chancing a glance at the TV, he sees the credits rolling, names of actors and characters - ugh, who wants a love interest called Walsh? - that neither of them paid attention to.

“Guess I have to carry you then,” Tommy huffs in faux reluctance, his hands running up Evan’s thighs to grab hold of his ass. He bites his lips at the way his boyfriend shuffles in his lap at the touch. “Does that mean that I get to be the big spoon tonight?”

Evan hums, pressing a slow kiss to Tommy’s lips, fingers running up the back of Tommy’s neck. He is putty in his boyfriend’s hands. “Take me to bed and we’ll see.”

After a smacking kiss, Tommy grunts as he gets up from the couch, Evan wrapping tightly around his body with a delighted laugh. With a sigh, his boyfriend hides his face in the space between Tommy’s neck and shoulder completing his clinging hold.

Evan is very clingy, the clingiest boyfriend he ever had. The clingiest boyfriend he ever wants to have. They take up the least amount of space in Tommy’s massive bed, bodies tangled so close together, not even a dust particle could get between them. 

Evan is very clingy. Tommy hopes that means he’ll want to keep him forever.

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

The Island: Entry 4

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

A Lost AU

Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Gore, Violence, Swearing, Death, Alcohol, Plane Crash, Various Inaccuracies, Just Gross Things in General.

- Entry 3 Here -

——————————

18+ Only - TW: Death

——————————

You dropped down at the mans side, the swelling having subsided just enough in one eye to see him looking at you.




“Hey.” you said softly, your hand on his shoulder.




Bradley hovered behind you, lingering at a distance to give you space, but he was also curious to hear what the man had to say.




The man groaned again and you felt a little deflated, having hoped for something a little more.




“Do you need anything?” You asked, taking the lancet and machine from his case.




“I…’m low.” He croaked. Your eyebrows creased and you looked at him in surprise.

“Hi…” you chuckled, “Ok let’s check how low.”


He held his finger out to you so you could prick it.




You pricked his finger and took his reading, the machine beeped and he was right, his levels were low.




“Here, I brought this just in case.” You pulled a candy bar out of your pocket. “Will you be able to eat it?”




“I think… I think so.” His lips were still swollen, but you could break off small pieces and feed it to him.




You gave him the first piece which he worked away at chewing, then the second.




“I think he can feed himself.” Bradley chimed in, his arms crossed over his broad chest.




“I don’t want him to choke. He might take too much.” You continued to give the man small pieces of the bar until it was gone, but you could feel Bradley over your shoulder the whole time.




“What’s your name?” You asked, dabbing at the man’s face with a damp shirt.




“Austin.” He grumbled out.




“Hi Austin… how are you feeling today?”




“‘M fuckin’ hurtin’…” you picked up on his Southern accent quickly, his voice was deep and earthy.




“I can give you some painkillers, are you allergic to anything?”




He shook his head and you got up to rummage through the suitcase of medical supplies.




You found a box of tramadol and you popped out 2 of the pills.




“Here, can you sit up?” You asked as you returned.




Austin struggled into a sitting position, and you slid the pills into his mouth, handing him the water to drink.




He gulped them down and handed you back the water bottle.




You moved to stand up but suddenly Austin’s hand shot out to grab your wrist.




“Wait… what’s your name?” He asked through swollen lips.




“Y/N.” You smiled, and his hand released you,

falling back against his lap in exhaustion.




You let Megan help Austin get settled back down, hoping he’d be able to sleep for a while and the tramadol would help with that, and you got up to leave them be.




Bradley followed you as you went back to the suitcase to zip it up, hiding it under a piece of tarpaulin.




“Doc, I don’t know if I trust him.” He murmured, his arms crossed.


You looked up at Bradley with a humoured grin.

“What’s he gonna do? He’s hurt, I’m hardly afraid to give him treatment.” You chuckled.




“I know, it’s just… I’ve got a weird feeling.” He winced mid sentence, touching at his side.




“Hey, let me take a look at that.” You stood and walked up to him, and Bradley shivered slightly as your fingers skimmed his waistline as you lifted the bottom of his t-shirt.




You untied the makeshift bandage and bit your lip as you inspected the stitched wound.




Bradley watched you intently, a strange urge to run his fingers through your hair suddenly overcame him, and he had to clench his fists at his side.




You noticed the change in his demeanour. “Am I hurting you?” You asked, your eyes flicking up to look at him.




“No… I’m fine.”




“Ok, it doesn’t look infected, but I think a stitch got caught or pulled because there’s a bit of tearing. You need to take it easy for a while.”




You grabbed a bottle of vodka and a clean strip of t-shirt, dabbing it with the alcohol.

“I need to clean you up.” You stated, lifting his shirt up again and looking at him for confirmation to go ahead.

Ever the strong man, Bradley grinned down at you, “Do what you gotta do.”

You gently pressed the disinfectant against his stitches and felt Bradley tense under your hand, his abs contracting. You spent a few seconds longer than you needed to clean him up, secretly enjoying the feeling of his hot skin under your touch, and Bradley didn’t seem to mind your flat palm against his stomach and back as you held him in place while you did.

“All done.” You breathed, slightly flushed as you lowered his shirt back down.

“Just as I was beginning to enjoy it.” He joked.

“Well as luck would have it, I’ll need to do this again tomorrow. You hungry?”




“Starving.”




———————————




You had shared out a good portion of the plane food, splitting one tray between two people to make it last. There was enough to keep the starvation at bay, but there was only enough plane food to last another couple of days if everyone only ate one meal a day.




Once everyone had eaten, some complaining that they needed more, you decided it was a good idea to start collecting food, although you were worried about anyone going into the jungle.




You’d asked a few able bodied people to collect more firewood and a few to collect fruit from the trees along the beach, and there were even a couple of guys who were avid fishermen and they were more than happy with the task of creating a makeshift fishing rod and trying their hand at catching some dinner.




You began to collect palm leaves from low hanging branches that you could reach, as dark clouds began to hang over you. You were worried about the rain making everyone damp and sick, but thought if you could make some sort of shelter, you could attach it to the metal frame of the burnt hull and have somewhere to ride the bad weather out.




You noticed Bradley at the opposite end of the beach speaking to Jake, and they both nodded before heading off towards the jungle.




You dropped your collection of leaves and quickly made your way towards them.




“Wait! You’re not going back yet are you?” You felt panic begin to rise up in your chest.




“No, ma’am.” Jake responded, “We’re just goin’ to scope out the effigy site again to see if we can find anything that will help get us to Bob.”




You nodded, relieved that they weren’t venturing too far just before a storm.




“Be careful, okay? Don’t want you ripping any more stitches out, or I’ll have to sew you up again.”




“Looking forward to it, Doc.” He winked at you and gave you tired grin as he walked towards the jungle.




You weren’t sure if you were starting to develop feelings for him, or if the whole scenario you found yourself in was messing with your emotions, but your stomach somersaulted as you watched them disappear into the dangerous terrain ahead, hoping they would be back soon.




—————————




The jungle was darker than the last time they’d set foot inside it, but with the impending storm this wasn’t much of a surprise, and they trudged forward with as much trepidation as standing behind an angry steed. The jungle felt angry, almost like every tree waited for just the right moment to snatch them up and imprison them in their splintery limbs.

As they neared the clearing, they quickly realised something was different. The smell of death was gone, and as they entered they found that the Effigy had been moved.




“It was here, wasn’t it?” Jake queried as he looked around, perplexed.




Bradley didn’t respond, a sense of dread filling his bones as he walked to the centre of the clearing where the effigy once was, and bent down to inspect something on the ground.


His back was turned to Jake, but Jake knew something was wrong when Bradley didn’t move for a moment.




“What is it?” Jake asked.




Bradley slowly stood, holding something Jake couldn’t see. He turned around and the first thing Jake noticed was the look of concern etched across his face. The second thing he noticed was Bob’s glasses in Bradley’s hand.







—————————




With Reuben’s help, you managed to build a temporary shelter on the hull big enough to keep everyone dry for the night, and you had built it just in time, as big fat drops of rain began to pelt down and make indents in the fluffy white sand.




Everyone scrambled for shelter inside and huddled tightly together, waiting for the storm to pass. Adrian was still tied up, but he’d now been tied to the frame of the hull instead, not having spoken a word since the day before, and Austin lay against the side, out of the way of everyone as he slept.




“How much longer until they send someone to rescue us?” The little boy with the injured arm sniffled.




“Not long now, darling.” His mom lied. She had been found face down in the water, and luckily someone had resuscitated her quickly enough. They both looked worn out.




You rested your head against your knees as the heavy rain poured down, distant thunder rumbling over the mountains. You knew you would need to make a fire once the rain died down, and it wouldn’t hurt to make a sign in the sand for passing planes, but you were physically and mentally exhausted already, and desperately worried about Bradley, Jake and Bob, so the last thing you wanted was to think of all of the work that lay ahead of you.

At least Austin was starting to look and feel a bit better, his extensive swelling was already beginning to subside and was being replaced with dark bruises.

Austin shifted in his sleep, and you checked to make sure he was still ok before you allowed yourself to lay down next to him, sighing as you listened to the rain and thunder.

“You’re stressed.” Austin mumbled. You looked over at him, his eyes were still closed and his hands rested on his torso, breathing steadily.

“I am… I think we all are though.”

“Not as much as you are, Doc. I can feel it vibrating off of you. You worry too much about everyone, and not enough about yourself.” His lips were still swollen, making it hard for him to speak, so you appreciated him making the effort.

“That’s my job.” You sighed.

“Just wait until I get better, then I’ll take care of you, promise.” He murmured, turning to his side, facing away from you.

Your eyebrows creased together as you thought about what he said.

Perhaps Austin was the type of person who liked to look after others, that’s what you thought it must have been, but you gave it no further thought as you dozed off on the sand, unaware of the chaos that was about to unfold.

—————————

Your nap was interrupted not too much later by murmurs and loud gasps.

You stirred and strained your ears, still half asleep, but you jolted upright as you heard a familiar voice in the distance.

“Quickly! Get him down. Where’s Doc?” Bradley yelled urgently from the far side of the beach.

You scrambled to your feet and ran through the rain towards Bradley and Jake as they carried someone between them.

“Oh my god!” You gasped, “You found Bob?”

“He’s real hurt, Doc. I don’t think he’s breathin’.” Jake puffed as he dropped to his knees, and Bradley followed, laying Bob on his back in the sand, rain pattering down on his pale skin. Bob was covered head to toe in blood, so much so you couldn’t even tell where it was coming from.

You bent over Bob and patted his cheek desperately, “Bob! Bob wake up…” his head lolled under you touch, his lips blue.

“Bob, open your eyes, please.” but you feared it was in vain, as his skin was ice cold and you were sure he wasn’t breathing.

You placed your ear close to his lips and listened, but couldn’t hear anything over the rain.

“Fuck…” you breathed and started to administer CPR. “Bob don’t do this, come on.”

You pumped against his chest but you struggled against tired arms to keep it going, and you began to cry as they started to give in.

“Come on!” You wailed, putting all of your weight behind you.

“Doc, stop… I… I can do it.” Bradley sniffled next to you, grabbing your hands and moving them away from Bob.

You looked at Bradley with brimming eyes, and you knew then what was obvious to everyone else already.

Bob was gone and there was nothing you or anyone else could do.

“No… we need to keep going…” you sobbed in disbelief.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Bradley began pumping Bob’s chest, just to prove to you he wasn’t giving up until you said so.

You pinched Bob’s nose and blew air into his mouth, and you flinched at how cold he was. “No no no. Come on.” You sniffled, before blowing air into his lungs again.

You knew it was too late, but your heart ached that you couldn’t save him.

Bradley’s muscles rippled under his weight as he pushed down against Bob’s chest, and you sat back and just watched for a second, tears streaming down your face as realisation hit you like a tonne of bricks.

Jake paced up and down in tight lines as he rubbed his face, muttering something to himself.

You reached out and grabbed Bradley’s arm, stopping him. Bradley turned and looked at you, heartache in his eyes.

You shook your head and Bradley let a tear fall, his jaw clenching tight as he sat back on his heels, his shoulders slumping.

You threw yourself into Bradley’s arms and wrapped yours tightly around his neck. Bradley held onto you, his arms around your waist and you sobbed into his neck, the rain drenching your hair and clothes.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Bradley’s hand came up and tangled in your hair, holding you in place against him. “There was nothing you could have done, we were too late.” His voice shook as he held back further tears.

Jake stood over Bob’s body, his hand covering his mouth in disbelief as the rest of the survivors watched in horror from the shelter.

You stayed in Bradley’s arms for what felt like a long while, desperately seeking the comfort they offered, and you could feel his heart beat thudding against you, reminding you just how alive he and everyone else was.

You pulled away, suddenly angry at the world and especially at the creatures that caused this.

Standing to your feet, you turned to face the survivors, wiping the tears and rain from your face.

“Jake I’m going to need your gun, I’m going in.”

—————————

- Entry 5 Here -

Taglist:

@randomfangirlof @scarletseresin @halflifejess @bradshawbaby @leather-n-velvet

Authors note:

This is who I imagine Austin as but feel free to imagine him however you like! He will become a rather important character so I feel like he deserves a face:

[iamthemaestro]

so. after a lot of Internal Deliberation I figure it is about time that I introduce to tumblr the Guys who take up approximately 40% of my brain space at any given moment of the day now that I have really made the jump into Tumblr OCposting as of late. this will be a bit of a long post so…. buckle in!

Percy and Sydney are part of a project @neon-sunsets and I started back in 2022 and essentially have not stopped thinking about since. there are over 500 pages of writing for these guys and most of it will not stand up to serious editing but in the future it’s a story we hope to put out into the world, and Percy and Sydney are only half of it, with Nebula’s characters Esther and Atarah constituting the other two members of the Protagonist Party, but I will let them do their own talking about the Disaster Lesbians (though I love them dearly). I don't intend to talk much about the story itself since that is perpetually being worked on but I do feel it's appropriate to give some background to these very dear characters of mine.

(I will be sticking the rest of this under a readmore for everyone’s sanity)

the story takes place in a world a lot like ours but slightly to the left, during their universe's golden age of piracy. Captain Percival Arlington Winchester II is a highly respected, notoriously strict, and unbearably professional officer for the in-universe equivalent of the british navy, with a bad sleep schedule, an inflexible moral code understood only by him, and a first lieutenant who inexplicably hates him. he’s descended from a long line of naval war heroes, only he's been biding his time for a long while waiting for his chance to prove himself in war... which may present itself soon. in the meantime, he settles for being the navy’s number one pirate hunter, which at least earns him a good name among the public.

there are a lot of things I could say about percy. he’s autistic. he’s a redhead. he has daddy issues. he’s been married for 12 years and is still somehow a virgin. not that he has any particular desire to change that at the moment, really, because it’s not like he’s ever been particularly attracted to the fairer sex. but still, apart from that, he seems to have everything a successful 18th century military man could want: a good name, a decent marriage, and a commission with all the respect and wealth that comes with it—all that’s missing is an honorable death, preferably in naval combat, and he’s made it. at least, that’s what his late father would have said.

and yet his story only truly begins when he receives a mysterious letter from the Rogue Marauder—one of the sea’s most notorious pirates, who inexplicably vanished from the scene several years ago after a sudden separation from his speculated-sibling and partner-in-crime, the Eel Queen. the letter is innocuous enough, if ambiguous: there’s no way to know what, precisely, the Rogue Marauder wants from him, only that he has valuable information, and thus by necessity must be desiring something in return. everything points to this correspondence being against protocol… but still, it’s a way to keep the Marauder close, Percy thinks—perhaps close enough to catch him, at last. so he writes back.

the Rogue Marauder is a man called Sydney Law, a fact Percy will only find out much later. Sydney, too, is a lot of things: incessantly charming, unabashedly flirtatious, and absolutely unafraid of consequences. the Marauder is a combination of robin-hood-turned-pirate-turned-femme-fatale, with a past reputation for seducing high-ranking naval officers seemingly just for his own enjoyment, and keeping almost nothing for himself of the vast amounts of gold he manages to weasel out of them in the process. on top of this, he’s in a weird perpetual state of gender flux, regards his adopted sister with a near god-like reverence, and is strangely obsessed with the idea of his own death. needless to say, the idea that he would ever willingly throw himself at the navy’s most prestigious captain does not bode well for either of them. indeed, at the beginning of the story it happens to be that he is already well past the point of no return in an extremely convoluted and precarious plan that, in all likelihood, will get him killed and very possibly start an all-out war. but of course, no one but him knows this yet. or at least so he thinks.

but they keep writing. despite all this, it turns out they’re far more alike than they seem. and what starts as a tentative mind-game with ambiguously sinister intentions turns into a conversation—the longest and most genuine one either of them have had in years. perhaps, though Percy will not admit it, they’ve even grown rather fond of each other.

the Marauder, however, understands this far before the Captain does. which is unfortunate, considering, at this rate—a fact which he regards as unfortunately necessary, for reasons understood only by him—he is almost definitely hurtling toward his death, at the hand of the man whom he has come to adore.

what he cannot know, however, is that he will not die. he cannot know yet that at some point, he will save Captain Winchester’s life. and then an entirely new story will begin—one that neither of them could have ever imagined. but I won’t spoil that part.

what I will spoil, however, is that Percy is absolutely not the person he thinks he is, and it is only through Sydney that he is able to discover that. underneath all the naval decorum and neurotic obsession with his own presentation, he’s a huge sweetheart with a passion for cartography and a case of ocd. he likes dressing well and exploring uncharted islands and going aloft like he hasn’t in years… and Sydney, very much.

and of course, like I mentioned, their story is only half of what the full story is about… but this post is long enough, and Nebula deserves to be the one to talk about their own characters and their Lesbian Situationship Of All Time, which you should definitely tune in to. however that’s the gist for Percy and Sydney lol. there is Far more I could say but for everyone’s sanity I am simply going to stop here for now. these guys have been so important to me over the past couple years and they have already been met with so much positivity from people and it makes me so happy. I love and appreciate you dearly if you read this far <3