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l223m0nade · 7 months ago

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Bees (a stucky au snzfic)

ok ok

so I saw this random thing on a tumblr post:

and it got its Stucky-idea hooks so deep in my brain. It just did. And the thing is my deepest inspo is honestly in the land of snz. (This fic kind of ends abruptly sorry but i want to do more and it'll probably end up on Ao3 w like a M or E rating 😳🫣 when and if that happens i'll link to it)

Stucky au, no powers, age gap, what I'm picturing in my head goes less with the words "silver fox Steve" and more with the words "dorky Dilf Steve" like 2012 Cap fashion with current Chris Evans face? in..a good way? and longhair early-20s burnout Bucky. I have some backstory headcanons that are just hinted at here, hopefully it's tantalizing rather than confusing.

anyway have 11.5k words of this and encourage me to write more bc i have fallen in love with these particular boyz. Some light existential angst but mainly idiots pining aka the sweetest sauce

~Fic~

Sam isn’t sure how much longer he can allow this to go on. His barback and the new semi-regular square dude are once again being all awkwardly flirty while pretending they’re not, like two sad lonely white...ducks, who never learned a mating dance and have zero game.

At least Square Dude has an excuse: he’s the most obvious newly-divorced newly-out family-type guy Sam’s ever seen. He’s clean-cut, with a ridiculously handsome square jaw, wearing well-made but unstylish button-down shirts and pants that make him look like he belongs in a Norman Rockwell painting. He started coming in about two months ago, quiet, friendly when ordering his one or two beers of the evening, and firmly shy when it comes to the inevitable overtures sent his way. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this is him dipping a first toe into the pool: coming to a relatively quiet gay bar, just to sit and watch men talk to each other and let the whole notion sink in.

By now most guys would’ve found someone to spread their wings with or gone elsewhere to find em, but Square Dude, whose name is Steve, seems content to talk to the guy who pours his beer about whatever DIY project Bucky is pulling questions out of his ass about.

The crush is painfully obvious, and suburban closeted Steve can’t be blamed for having no deal-sealing abilities, but Bucky has no such excuse. Sam has watched him pull stiff-backed business bros in five minutes flat when the mood struck him, with his big blue puppy eyes and his dark wicked smirk and long lean slouch. But with Steve all he appears capable of doing is asking him questions about crown molding as though those words mean anything to him while gazing at him like he’s beaming the words You could fix me directly into Steve’s skull. Steve, for his part, just doesn’t seem to be able to look anywhere other than Bucky.

As usual, anyone that tries to strike anything beyond a friendly conversation is kindly but firmly rebuffed. “He’s not ready for that yet,” Bucky had insisted with unnecessary defensiveness when Sam implied it was time for the new guy to move from spectating to participating in the relatively mellow flirting and hookup scene the bar played host to most evenings. “People go at their own pace.”

“The only pace he’s going at is towards you,” Sam smirked. Bucky glowered at his implication. “You gotta make it weird. He comes here to, like, practice. I’m part of that, in a chill, friendly way.” He shrugged and looked at the glass he was drying. “When he is ready, it’s not gonna be for me, it’s gonna be for someone actually in his league, like a...hot college professor, or something.” Sam had rolled his eyes and resolved to stop trying to help Bucky Barnes flail around in his mess of a love life anymore, for the hundredth or so time.

Tonight is busy enough that Sam can mostly be distracted from this bad sitcom, and not so busy that he has to yell at Barnes for being distracted. Still, there are a couple empties on tables in the Steve-less side of the bar, and after finishing the drinks for the people in front of him he turns, catching Bucky’s voice, in a tone of delight he uses when speaking with only one person, saying “Wait. Seriously? Bees?”

“Yeah!” Steve responds, equally puppyish. He’s tall and broad, sandy hair and beard just beginning to show a hint of salt-and-pepper. He looks like anyone’s fantasy fireman or lumberjack, at least in the context of a place like this. He also exudes genuine sweetness and vulnerability despite his intimidating muscled height.

Bucky Barnes, Sam’s barback and old friend, leans against the bar doing the helpless-goober-with-a-crush stare, a look on his face like Steve just announced he was a Nobel Prize winner. “No way. How do you keep bees? Just as, what, a casual hobby? That’s, like, a whole thing, you can’t be an expert in so many things!”

Bucky is all shaggy longish dark hair and stupid cheap graphic t-shirts, with a striking, animated face that is used mainly for sarcasm. He and Sam had been at the same high school a few blocks away, though Sam is older, and in the funny way of life they’ve wound up good friends. He’s working at Sam’s place because, in his words, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing with his life. Bucky’s going through his own version of one of those fairly bleak lost periods of 20-something misery, but he’s smart and not a drunk and decent at what he does for Sam, and if he bangs a third of the customers he does it discreetly enough. Sam never knew dark-blond, broad-shouldered, bass-voice sad-eyed dudes pushing 40 were the kryptonite that made him unable to do anything including flirt, until Steve came in one day and Bucky sprayed himself with the keg he was tapping.

Steve chuckles— is this man blushing? “Oh no, I’m nowhere near an expert. But it’s pretty easy once they get established. Don’t need much from you. I’m not, uh, living at the place with the backyard where the hives are, right now….so….but they’ll be fine without me.”

Steve gets a little quiet and Bucky’s fangirl expression dims with distressed sympathy. It gets sad like this sometimes when talking to Steve. Recently divorced guys had this problem, where everything came back to the one topic. Steve’s not doing it pathologically, didn’t seem like, just genuinely realizing another change. Bucky looks stricken. He doesn’t always seem young, at newly 24, but sometimes it still shows.

Sam finally manages to catch his eye away from gazing at Steve to convey a quick head jerk of get-the-hell-over-there-and-do-the-job-I-pay-you-for, and Bucky peels himself away with an apologetic smile at Steve. Sam picks up the conversation with Steve as Bucky clears tables at top speed, hearing how he’s renting a place month-to-month not far away, not able to plan something more permanent just yet. He doesn’t say anything revealing, but it’s still easy to paint a picture of a small, empty apartment. Bucky’s not the only one with a soft spot for this guy, and Sam is warmed by the thought that his little bar offers him respite.

………………..

“That’s so sad,” moans Bucky a few days later. It’s just after opening on a weekday afternoon, and Bucky seemed quieter than usual so Sam is tantalizing him with what he learned talking to Steve the other day. “Did he say—you know he has kids?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam answers. He’d been as offhand as a person could be about that sort of thing, but it wasn’t hard to see how he really felt. He was standing in the rubble of a sincere loving marriage to a woman with whom he had two 11-year old twins. Helped explain his rectitude when it came from moving from his spot at the bar, meeting someone other than the staff. Bucky’s eyes are pools of sympathetic anguish and Sam feels the need to say, “This kinda stuff happens to people, Buck,” earning an eye-roll for his patronizing efforts. “It’s good he’s coming here, learning about himself. I think you help a lot, for the record.”

Bucky starts and gives him a bewildered look. “What?”

This is aging him. Sam sighs, “He’s lonely. Maybe feels kinda lost right now.”

Bucky’s mouth gets a pained downward slant to it.

“He. Likes. You.”

At that, of course, Bucky gets uncomfortable, blushing and moving off to wipe tables somewhere away from Sam, rubbing his nose and clearing his throat like he’s been doing since he got there. He brightens when Steve comes in an hour later, and Sam rolls his eyes and leaves them to their game of mouse-and-mouse.

Steve is telling Bucky... how window insulation works. He thinks he asked, he hopes to god he did, at least. He’s been embarrassing himself for weeks, coming to this place almost every day. He’s kept it pretty well under wraps that although he liked the neighborhood simplicity, and talking to Sam, and got comfortable after the first few visits, the real reason he’s there more evenings than not is to see Bucky. With his bright grey-blue eyes and dark hair hanging past his chin, swinging against his cheekbones, with his smile and wicked sense of humor and his confounding ease in himself, the ease that gives Steve despair and hope for himself. With that mouth and that divot in his chin, and those last two thoughts are not allowed, because the need to put his thumb into that dot in his sculpted chin and kiss those ridiculously pink lips is urgent and unthinkable.

He doesn’t do that, he just sits and pines and chats awkwardly with him, and gets to know a few other regular guys and talks sports with Sam. He just likes talking to Bucky, it’s easy, easy like nothing has been in a long time, and he’s a creep, he’s a pathetic older guy using his experience to take advantage of a younger guy—

Only, he’s not actually experienced here, at all. And Bucky is so smart, he’s self-deprecating about it but it’s not like he and Steve aren’t generally on the same level beyond his inner glossary of home improvement terminology. He downplays the fact that he knows cars like an expert, insists the stuff Steve learned from keeping up an old house and the hobbies he picked up to stay sane is somehow far more impressive— Steve’s pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, to make him feel less adrift and clueless. He has that way about him, of someone who looks after other people without realizing it.

Things were all dark there for a while, with the end of his marriage to Peggy. But he’s pretty sure he and Bucky are friends, and he feels bright when he sees him.

Tonight, though, Bucky seems just a little worn down. He’s wearing a waffle-knit shirt under his incomprehensible-thorny-calligraphy-t-shirt, as though he’s cold, and his eyes are tired. Steve waits for a reply to the last thing he said and looks to see Bucky with a dazed, spaced-out expression, before he shakes his head and rubs his nose, saying “Sorry, I thought I was gonna sneeze, what’d you say?”

Talking about the goddamn weather and window insulation was segueing into a real conversation, to Steve’s delight: “How my mom moved us out to Jersey so we could live somewhere better and I never forgave her.” Bucky gives a wide-eyed grimace of agreement and he can’t help the bright laugh that bursts out of him. “How about you, you grow up in the city?” He’d inadvertently spilled his guts about the divorce on like his third time in the bar, something that humiliated him to think of but Sam had simply said with an understanding face wasn’t too unusual, so Bucky knew the basics about Peggy and the twins, but Steve had felt clumsy asking Bucky about himself.

He rolled his eyes with his problematically attractive crooked grin and answered, “Aw man, I grew up practically around the block from this place. Went to high school at the big catholic cinderblock in the neighborhood. I was at school on the west coast for a couple years, but…” His eyes cast downward. “now I’m back.”

Steve remembers how bad it felt at that age, to not have accomplished enough fast enough. Saying that will make him sound like an old grey dad and even if that’s what he is he can still hold out a little hope of being something different here, so he just says, “Brooklyn’s a good hometown to come back to.”

That makes Bucky smile at him and look him in the eye, like he liked what Steve said, even like it made him feel better. Steve tamps his answering grin down to reasonable levels.

Bucky’s also been rubbing at his nose on and off this whole time, and he can see it give a little twitch right before he breathes out a “scuse-me” through hitching breaths, his eyes flickering closed. He pushes his nose firmly into his long-sleeved elbow. “hhh-hh-tdschuh!” He sneezes quietly and muffled. “Oh, snf, sorry,” he says, blinking and emerging from his elbow but not lowering it, the hazy ticklish look still on his face, breaths hitching. “Another—hhh—‘nother one?” He freezes, looking up at the overhead lights, nostrils flared, but after a second he deflates with a sigh. “Nope, nevermind. Snff.” Steve’s guts swoop. This crush is so unsustainable. He’s gonna fail to be cool and friendly and he’ll have to watch Bucky go all uncomfortable and pitying as he explains to Steve that he has six hot boyfriends who are not almost-forty almost-virgin losers who only know how to take up his time when he’s trying to work. According to his therapist these “harangues of negativity” are “unhelpful.” But Bucky looks tired and a little pale and like his nose is going to start turning pink and Steve is just trying to survive.

“Bless you,” Steve says softly in his gentle voice that’s so deep it takes Bucky by surprise and makes his stomach flutter every time he talks to him. He feels like he might be blushing.

“Thanks,” it comes out husky and he clears his throat hard, moving to the little sink to wash his hands.

“Allergies, or…?” Steve ventures, a little divot between his eyebrows of concern-more-like-pity.

“I dunno, something’s bothering my nose today,” he says lightly with a shrug. In truth Bucky has a good idea what’s making him sneeze. The fucking radiator that was supposed to heat his cheap shitty basement apartment had stopped working in the middle of the night, so he’d spent six hours until dawn shivering, and an itchy tickly feeling had been growing in the back of his nose and throat since around noon. It’s starting to evolve into a runny nose and an ever-present but elusive feeling of being about to sneeze, and he knows that means he’s coming down with a cold.

He sees some convenient glasses to clear and excuses himself with a smile so he can sniffle out of Steve’s earshot; he’s enough of a mess compared to Steve on his best day, he doesn’t need to show off his scraggly urchin runny nose aesthetic of tonight any more than he has to.

For the next hour, these light, tickly sneezes either sneak up on him or abandon him at the last minute, leaving his nose feeling like it’s going to start getting stuffy.

Steve watches Bucky do his job, sniffling, rubbing his nose, and sneezing furtively into his sleeve or collar; tucking the strands of hair that have come loose from his short ponytail behind his ears, and feels so helplessly tender for him that it can’t be normal or healthy even by desperate crush standards.

Bucky’s coming down with a cold. He seems to want to brush it off, but Steve can hear a slight change in the resonance of his voice that gives it away even if the tired pink starting to border his eyes and nostrils doesn’t. The place is getting crowded and he’s busy; Steve feels for him, as well as pathetically jealous of his attention as he banters with him in passing once in a while.

He glances up as Bucky heads in his direction with a short stack of empty glasses and sees his steps slow; he pauses, blinks up at the overhead light, eyes hazy, and then, wavering, starts to turn his face into his shoulder, before pausing again and then sighing and sniffing as the sneeze evaporates. He looks up and sees Steve watching him like a creep and laughs, “Damn, lost her,” and then as he continues behind the bar, “You havin’ fun watching me look stupid?”

“It’s agony actually,” he responds, gets a laugh, and feels the now-somewhat-familiar internal squeal of this is flirting! I’m flirting with a guy and I think he can tell! It’s painfully pathetic, but he can’t help but track the fact that Bucky knows plenty of the folks that come to Sam’s, that he’ll give anyone his attention if they ask for it, smiling and joking, but the only person he really goes out of his way to talk to, initiates teasing with, is him, Steve. It’s still nothing more than polite obligatory chatting, he’s sure— when you work at a bar this kinda thing is natural. Bucky is young and charismatic and gorgeous. His love life would probably give Steve enough combined envy and jealousy to cause heart failure, which would be perfectly appropriate because he is an old square divorcee. It makes him warm and bubbly enough that he seems to be Bucky’s favorite customer to pass the time with.

A guy down the bar gets his beer from Sam and sidles closer. “This seat taken?” he asks with a good-humored cocked eyebrow. This is why Steve actually started coming to this place: to meet people, to meet guys, in a way that, well, went somewhere. To call his own decades-old bluff. Not to moon over staff half his age who woulda been out of his league even if he was still in his twenties. He turns to the guy—his age or a few years older, attractively lithe with muscle, a hard but handsome face, and smiles.

Bucky gets busy for a stretch— Sam’s place is actually full tonight thanks to the playoff game. He enjoys the feeling of being a genuinely necessary part of the bar’s operation, when some nights it’s hard to believe he’s more than Sam’s charity case. Nights like this remind him that he has a real job, he’s decent at it even with a bum left arm; whether he’s living out his dreams or not he’s an adult with a job, a place to live, and people he cares about. Plus it distracts him from feeling sorry for himself for coming down sick.

His satisfied feelings fade when he looks over to the Steve end of the bar and sees Brock Rumlow talking to him. He scowls. Fucking Rumlow. He only ever comes on nights with games these days, but Bucky would be perfectly happy if he never came in at all.

It’s fine. Steve’s fine. He is a grown-up, significantly more of one than Bucky. Of all the people who have no need of his misplaced ineffectual chivalry, Steve has got to be last in line.

Maybe he finds more stuff to do in the general area of that end of the bar, and maybe he’s listening for Rumlow to say something dickish, or maybe he’s just a masochist and he wants to know firsthand if they hit it off. Sam is trying to point his “Don’t-be-Stupid” face at him like a flashlight beam but he resolutely ignores it while he replaces a couple bottles that legitimately needed it, ok, just because they’re in a convenient place doesn’t make that untrue.

“Yeah, I’m glad I found this place,” he catches Steve’s cheerful voice. A wave of bar noise obscures their next words, and then he makes out Rumlow,

“—actual sports on the TV. ‘Course,” the smile is audible in his voice, “the clubby places are good for at least one reason, y’know?” He quiets down to say it but not enough. Steve wouldn’t particularly like that, Bucky guesses, and then grinds his teeth as his brain helpfully supplies him with the memories of how easily Brock had charmed him, months ago. It wasn’t any kind of nightmare, but it was still probably his least favorite hookup to date: he’d been so happily focused on Bucky at first, then rough and selfish in bed, capped off by an unnecessarily clear implication that he wouldn’t be calling. Bucky knew the score with casual sex, but it had still given him enough whiplash to sting; it crossed his mind a few days later that it had been like Rumlow wanted him to feel like a dumb kid.

Steve has sputtered something about “not sure he’s looking for anything like that” while Bucky fumed about the past. He has to grab beers for a couple guys, and bending to get in the lowboy fridge makes his nose run suddenly, and flush with an insistent tickle. He manages, just barely, to squash the sneeze completely into a silent mmp! into his shoulder, andmakes a getaway to the bathroom. He blows his nose, but it won’t stop tickling, so then he stands there like an idiot, holding paper towels like they’re a book he’s reading, staring up into the lights and waiting to coax the sneeze out.

He can feel it coming but it still takes forever. At least the bathroom is empty. He wrinkles his nose exaggeratedly and sniffs and his breath finally starts to catch.

“hehh...heh...heh—heh-Uhh....huhh. Fuck.” There’s no way it’s not happening though, his goddamn nose tickles so bad— “hhHAh—EHSsschhooo!” It’s a ridiculous cartoony sneeze but at least it’s satisfying. He blows his nose again, then sighs. He’s definitely sick. Gonna be great sleeping in a freezing apartment. Turning into kind of a shitty night, he thinks with sarcastic pep.

When he leaves the restroom he can’t help glancing over to where Steve sits, and sees he’s now frowning at whatever Rumlow’s saying, looking politely uncomfortable on the way to annoyed. As he drifts back into earshot he hears, “….fun, but, if you’re looking for more than, um, casual, I dunno, kind of a dead end.” Then his pulse jumps as Rumlow looks right at him and finishes, “not dating material, trust me. Either way,” he leans in, “I think you can do better.”

Bucky closes the distance but puts himself behind the bar so he doesn’t immediately clock the asshole. His fists are clenched. Can he throw him out? If he doesn’t get away from Steve and shut up Bucky’s gonna end up fired and charged with assault, probably, but he doesn’t know if he can throw someone out on the grounds of being a jerk that he hates. Thank God, Sam’s caught on that something is up.

Rumlow doesn’t seem to have won Steve over, in any case. He’s turned cold and hard in a way that makes him look unfamiliar, and he says quietly but very clearly, “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” He sounds like a straight Army Captain contemptuously shattering an underling’s heart immediately post-office-suckjob or something; in the morass of anger and panic it still registers with Bucky’s dick to his utter bewilderment. It definitely triggers some core memory for Rumlow, who turns the color of old milk before flushing and standing. He takes in the sight of Bucky glowering behind Steve and barks an ugly laugh. “It’s like that, huh?” he asks, shaking his head in mock pity. “Good luck with that rescue mission.”

Bucky feels like he did when Hank Ackerman pantsed him in 8th grade. Everything’s too bright and clear. He wants to cover his face and run into the back, but he’s rooted to the spot by the thought that that’s just what the dumb baby slut Rumlow’s been making him out to be would do.

“That’s it man,” Sam comes up beside him, smile on his face as though he’s just casually joining their conversation. “You’re done. Get outta here.”

Rumlow scoffs, takes a step towards the door, then turns with the beginning of a macho intimidation-lean in Sam’s direction. He’s hammered, Bucky hadn’t realized, and he can usually tell with people. He’s...kind of fucking scary. Had he gotten rougher around the edges, or had he been like this when Bucky went home with him? Jesus Christ.

Sam just returns his stare, all semblance of friendliness gone from his face. “Get out.”

Rumlow glares another second, but then he goes. There’s a reason Sam’s successful running a bar in the middle of the still-managing-to-be-seedy part of Brooklyn, as well as his finely tuned sensibilities to the unmet needs of Brooklyn’s grownup queer folks. He has the air, recognizable to serious troublemakers, of someone who will absolutely meet and raise any escalation. There were, in fact, a taser and a gun behind the bar, but Sam had never had to use them.

Steve stands up sharply, like he’s—what, gonna follow? Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but then—“Steve.” Sam’s got the side bar entry folded up and he’s intercepting his angry stride. “Please don’t.” He goes on, too quiet for Bucky to make out. Steve deflates and sits back down, taking a long drink of beer and then frowning at his knees.

Bucky consciously lets go of his tension as he sees Rumlow’s silhouette, walking outside, disappear from the last window on the right. He feels shaky, the way any kind of confrontation leaves him, and embarrassed as hell. He avoids Steve’s eyes for all he’s worth, scrubbing a hand under his nose and sniffing sharply.

Steve was just a customer. Bucky was just one of many people that Steve made polite conversation with in the course of a day. Feeling like this was just a consequence of getting that confused. Because he’s an idiot. He has to sniffle again. He also feels about ten times sicker than he did a few minutes ago, and successfully blinking away the brief prickle in his eyes just turns it into the need to sneeze.

Steve tries to breathe smoothly and calm down. This frat-boy rage is ridiculous, he still wants to go punch the hell out of that fucking creep. He must be drunker than he realizes, although deep down he knows it has more to do with the inarticulate surge of protectiveness he’d felt for Bucky since the guy had gestured to him with a jerk of his head as he crossed the room.

He hears a shuddering gasp and sees Bucky duck down to crouch behind the bar. His concern flares way up, but then he hears the three muffled sneezes, all in a rush, “hhhMPtchsh—hmptsschoo—hptsshhuh,”. He straightens back up, sniffing hard, more wetly than he sounded earlier. He’s rubbing his nose and glaring at the door, not looking at Steve.

“Bucky,” he says, frowning, determined to get this across, “what that asshole said about you—”

“Steve, snff, it’s fine, just drop it, okay, I’m asking you,” he meets Steve’s eyes with a downcast expression, before it flickers as his breath catches, and he sneezes again, half-pinched down into the collar of his shirt, “ihh-dtsschuh!”

His nostrils keep quivering and he lets out a shaky sigh of frustration before ducking around the corner out of sight with his hands tented over his nose and sneezing, “hiih-hih-HIDtschoo!...hih-HIH-TISchoo! ..heehh...heh—HEH—” the last one deserts him and leaves him sniffling. They’re still pretty quiet, but a lot heavier and spraying than the first sneezes Steve heard earlier. Bucky blows his nose and washes his hands thoroughly, and when he’s back behind the bar his nose is decidedly pink.

“Buck,” Steve says, and Bucky’s lips thin in exasperation— it’s not like him, compared to the guy Steve’s talked to the last few weeks. Whatever, he can’t help but say, “you do sound like you’re coming down with something, you should—”

“Steve, I’m fine,” says Bucky, in a soft tone that brooks no argument. Still tense, he turns to Steve with a crooked smile and says, “Really,” and it’s warm, if strained, between them again, and it seems like that’ll just have to satisfy Steve, and he says as much to Bucky who blushes and bites his lip for some reason.

Sam rescues Bucky by asking him to do inventory in back, letting him be sneeze and be dramatically in his feels without anyone around, especially Steve. The bar is slow enough now that he just shamelessly hides for the rest of the night. He’s constantly sniffling and sneezing and needing to blow his nose with the roll of rough brown paper towels back there, and even without that he’s too keyed up and pissed and miserable for human company, so it’s for the best.

He casts furtive recon glances to the bar where Steve sits, first craning his neck trying to spy Bucky, then brooding into his beer glass which makes Bucky feel like an asshole, then perking up at least a little shooting the shit with Sam, hopefully talking shit about Brock Dickface Rumlow. Then the misery wells up enough to get him to actually focus on work to avoid feeling it, and then it’s a few hours later and they’re closing up and he goes home to his little icebox and tires not to think about anything.

The next day, Sam chooses evil.

Steve and JB Barnes are both at least somewhat complex men, and it is always a bad idea to meddle in the affairs of others. But screw it, he’s had Bucky moaning in his ear for months now, and he was gonna have to recheck all his angry counting from last night, and these guys really seemed dumb enough to let the tension of mutual attraction strain between them until it just broke, some misunderstanding threw them both on the defensive or whatever, and they missed the chance at any of the fun part of connecting with each other.

So.

It isn’t a big surprise when Bucky calls him around 2, apologizing and pausing to make some gross “ihHgjshuhh!” noise, saying he was probably too sick with this cold to come in. What is a surprise, for poor Bucky, is Sam’s implacable response: “Duuude, I’m so sorry, but there’s some kinda convention in town and the place is packed, I need you here so bad, no matter what. You can take the next two days off, I’ll pay you.” He hears Bucky swallow back the what the hell and resignedly say ok. He feels diabolical. But hopefully it will be worth it. Steve usually comes in early on Thursdays, and he’d looked all hangdog-worried about Bucky the night before.

He’s been there twenty minutes already, chatting distractedly with Sam and staring at the TV screens but really looking all over the room like Bucky might be hiding somewhere. Bucky slouches in, ten minutes late, takes in the mostly empty room and gives Sam a betrayed glare.

“You really ndeeded mbe, huh,” he mutters as he puts his backpack away.

“You don’t even sound that bad,” Sam rejoins cheerfully, and Bucky’s mouth drops open with incredulity.

He moves some boxes around in back without issue. Then he tries to start prep by the bar. In a fifteen-minute period he has two sneezing fits that require him retreating to the bathroom to blow his nose endlessly and wash his hands. Sam decides that’s plenty sufficient. He and his customers are gonna pay a price in germ exposure for this stupid ass cupid skit he’s putting on.

“Steve, you believe this guy?” Bucky’s been avoiding Steve’s concerned hopeful looks since he got here. “He insisted on coming to work.” Bucky chokes in outrage, then coughs for real, while Steve moves a few seats closer. Sam turns; Bucky couldn’t look more betrayed if there was a knife with Sam’s name on it in his guts. Lord deliver him from dramatic white boys. “Did you take the bus here, Buck?” There was no other way for the guy to get to work, but he just replies flatly,

“Yeah.”

“You oughtta go home and rest.”

“Le me give you a ride, Buck,” Steve jumps in with the Air-Bud eagerness Sam had expected. They confirm it and bustle Barnes into a Civic while he’s sneezing too much to protest. Sam washes his hands metaphorically of the situation, and also very literally and thoroughly.

Steve’s car is a little old, and cold, and dusty. Bucky shivers as he buckles his seatbelt. He feels silently nervous and thrilled to be in Steve’s Car!!, but at the moment it’s hard to be anything but….sneezy…

“hhh-hh-hhmmPtchuh! S-s-sor-ry-hiihHIptchsh!” Holding them back when he feels like this just makes his nose more irritated and thus even sneezier. He stubbornly jams his fist under his nose to quell the tickle. He has some napkins from work, so a nose-blow is possible, but it doesn’t feel possible, not so close to Steve, who has it a million times more together than Bucky even on days when he isn’t falling apart on a cellular level.

“Bless you,” Steve says quietly. He looks at him reflexively, to see a small, sweet, sympathetic smile. “Ready?” Bucky gives a little nod and the car pulls out into the slushy road.

His nose is running onto his finger, it’s a crisis. This is why it’s always a terrible idea to leave the house when you’re really sick. “Ugh, I gotta blow mby ndose, I’mb sorry, I’mb so gross right ndow,” talking also makes his nose angry. Fucking Sam and his supervillain plan to humiliate him. What had he done to deserve this? He fumbles for the napkins with his less-dextrous left hand, the one he should have stuck under his nose, goddamnit, he’s gonna sneeze again…

“Psh, don’t worry about it,” scoffs Steve like the big huge dad he is, then with a sympathetic glance he turns the radio on, to the classic rock station, because of course, Bucky almost laughs even while racing to get tissues on his face before this giant wet sneeze overcomes him. The music is loud and it does help him feel less embarrassed.

“heh—HEH-KSSSHOOoo!” he gets the wad of napkins in front of him just in time. Blowing his nose after that demolishes them, but he feels a little closer to a human being.

“Bless you!” Steve chuckles. “Man you got a good bug, jeez!”

Why are he and Sam both so cheerful. “Thanks, I’mb glad you’re impressed,” he croaks.

“You have cold stuff at home?” Huh? When Bucky doesn’t answer he continues, “Tissues, tea, soup, medicine, you know?”

“Oh, umb, sorry, I’m tired,” Steve makes a sympathetic sound. “I usually just use toilet paper. I took the last of my Dayquil before work. I dunno if it even helped, all it feels like it did is mbake me jittery and sdeezy.”

“Why don’t we stop by a drugstore.” He sounded decisive.

“Oh, you don’t have to bother with that, really Steve—” he pauses to sniffle desperately. Technically he can afford a couple things, and he probably needs them. “Or—you could drop me off and I’ll get myself home from the store, that would totally be a big help—”

“Is the heat even on in your place?” Steve interrupts, shrewd-eyed. At Bucky’s wide-eyed sputtering response he continues, “I knew it. I used to be a broke Brooklyn kid, once upon a time. Only reason to come into work, am I right? Can’t believe landlords are still getting away with this shit.”

Bucky considers denial, then slumps. “S’why I’mb so much...hhh...worse...hh-huh-hudschuh! Snff-snff. Worse today. They said it’ll be fixed by tomorrow so...we’ll see, ha. I got a space heater and an electric kettle though, I can get in my blankets and drink tea and I’m fine.”

Steve is quiet, no response, and Bucky worries irrationally that he pissed him off. A few minutes of classic rock later, he pulls into the small parking lot attached to the drugstore, turns the car off, and turns to him, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Bucky I—” he breaks off and laughs to himself. “I know you have to be polite to customers, I don’t want to—” he makes eye contact, looking pained and rueful. “I’d like to think we’re friends. But I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything,”

“We’re friends,” Bucky interrupts gently. Steve’s face brightens like a sunrise and Bucky’s chest does a nice warm thing.

“Yeah? That’s...I’m real happy to hear it.” Steve says, sheepish but grinning. Then his eyes get the determined look that Bucky is starting to think means trouble. “Well the reason I asked is, as a friend, I really hate the idea of you trying to ride this out in an icebox apartment. I have heat. And a couch!” He hastens to add at whatever wide-eyed look Bucky’s giving him. “It’s just, I know it’s no fun being sick by yourself, and, well, honestly I wish I’d socked that asshole at the bar last night, and I really wish I’d clocked him as a jerk faster, and I’d feel a lot better if I could do something nice for you, and you really seem like you could do with some rest and medicine. Will you let me grab some stuff here and spend the night at my place—where there’s heat— and let me fuss over you?”

“Steve, that’s—that’s so nice, but I really can’t imb—snff—impose on you, and I gotta be so contagious right now…”

“I don’t care about that,” Steve says easily. “And I know you’re not gonna die on your own, but,” and, whoa, he’s deploying some kind of dignified mature version of puppy-dog eyes, it’s so sincere, and also so certain, that it starts to seem like the only sensible course of action is to let his gorgeous crush take him to his apartment while he’s the polar opposite of sexy, an unspeakable snot factory, and also possibly starting to run a fever.

….His apartment is gonna be so goddamn cold.

And lonely, incidentally.

And Steve is so nice. He’s literally, actually here, he seems to mean it that he wants to take care of Bucky’s sick bedraggled ass as some kind of friend-favor. There’s no way this is a come-on with him in this state, even if he can still muster enough energy to wish it was. No way Steve’s ever gonna want to fuck him after watching him snuffle through 200 tissues and mouth-breathe all evening, but he was nuts to think he ever would anyhow. He’s just that nice, and Bucky is that pathetic, and that might not feel great, but he wants to be Steve’s friend, he really does, and even through his own shyness he can see that the guy is pretty lonely.

“You, umb. You really don’t have to.” He says, watching Steve, who waits with obvious hopefulness. “But. Uh.” Steve raises his eyebrows and gives him a little smile, and Bucky finds himself returning it helplessly. “If you really don’t mbind. It could, potentially, be really ndice to take you up on that. You really don’t have to though!”

“I want to, though.” Jesus, he’s so sincere. Bucky feels some weird kind of protective way about the earnest honesty in his eyes.

“Well, then, okay. Thangk you, I really appreciate it.” He laughs, finally feeling how miserable it would have been to go back home and try to sleep in a cold blanket pile on his mattress on the floor. “Mby place sucks right now.”

“Alright then,” Steve beams. “Let’s get you a couple things and then get you cozy.”

Bucky’s nose is not okay with him using his face to talk instead of constantly blow it. It’s gotten completely blocked, and it’s tingling unpleasantly, and running so bad again he has to smush his knuckles under his nostrils. The tickle crests and his breath catches before he can do anything about it, but he clenches his jaw and forces it into a stifle. “hhh-huh-MMP!!” The problem with doing that is it just makes the tickle— “hh-mMP!” worse. “Ugh, sorry.” His hand is a dam against his nose at this point.

“Bless you!” They both step out of the car, but Steve hurries over to his side with a crinkle in his brow. “Why don’t you just stay here and I’ll grab a few things. Anything in particular, or just tissues and NyQuil?”

“Dyquil is just schndapps,” Bucky grumbles, then his brain catches up a little and he says “tissues,” fervently, and then it catches all the way up and he says “wait, ndo way are you buyig!”

Steve cocks an eyebrow like a handsome jerk. “You really wanna go in there?” With your current nose situation? He’s kind enough to not say.

He casts about for a moment—“Grab me a little pack and then I’ll go in!”

Steve gives him a skeptical look and says “Sure,” in a way that makes him think his orders won’t be followed, but he’s too busy squishing his nose more firmly and silently begging it not to make him sneeze again to keep arguing, or to protest when Steve opens the door for him and puts his car keys in his hand before dashing into the store with a promise to be quick.

He’s back not even ten minutes later, by which time holding his nose plugged and not letting his sneezes out has put Bucky in a state of perma-misery, stifling relentless sneezes every few seconds, unable to keep his eyes fully open. Steve tosses a box of tissues onto his lap before he gets all the way into the car because he is a saint.

“Guh,” Bucky says gratefully, pulls out a wad of about ten, and lets the miserable sneeze that had been building out into the nest of forgiving softness. “HehgSHOOmpff!!” And then blows his nose forever. Finally he feels like he can speak and have a face again; the little drugstore bag is now home to a dozen nasty used-tissue balls. “Well,” he says as he puts the last one in there, “wish I hadn’t had a witness for that.”

Steve just chuckles. “You’re fine,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble. “I grabbed you a toothbrush, and I’ve got some stuff that can fit you for pjs.”

Bucky feels like he sneezed out the last of his strength. “You’re way too nice.” He sniffles and slumps against the window, looking at the familiar blur of orange streetlight. “I should be more worried you’re a serial killer.” Steve chuckles again, and he likes that, so he goes on, “Probly got a nice Jeffrey Dahmer setup at your place. Sorry if I don’t make a good steak.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Steve replies, sounding indignant. Then laughs for real, shaking his head, “I’m not gonna chop you up and eat you, I swear.”

“It’s fine. Just mbake mbe into soup,” sighs Bucky. That would be warm. He’ll just be a big hot pot of Bucky, and Steve will stir him and season him so carefully with his big strong hands. This is a weird train of thought. He might have a fever. But he can still hear Steve chuckling.

Steve pulls into his parking spot and the car shudders to stillness as he takes his key out of the ignition. Next to him, Bucky is asleep with his head mushed against the window. He’d conked out for the last five or so minutes of the drive. “Hey, Buck, we just got to my place,” he says softly, trying not to sound too bedroom-y. His eyes flutter open, the blue of them standing out, and Steve takes a steadying breath because Bucky is so good-looking it catches him off guard and overwhelms him sometimes.

His eyes are glassy-bright and there’s a flush high on his cheekbones, and as he shifts upright in his seat Steve reaches over and touches his forehead without thinking about it. It’s noticeably hot, but not burning. The twins’ childhood bouts with the flu gave him a sense of bad-fever heat. “Think you got a temperature,” he murmurs sympathetically. Bucky just blinks up at him, a little wide-eyed, and only then does he realize his big meaty hand is practically covering half his face. He feels himself flush to match Bucky, and for a second they just look at each other.

Until Bucky sniffs a miserable liquid sniffle and they both almost jump. “Sorry,” Steve mutters awkwardly, and Bucky’s saying the same thing at the same time. They both move to get out, “Just one flight of stairs up.”

“huh—tschumpf!” is Bucky’s answer, his nose buried in a new handful of tissues. “huhh, hUH—huh.” The second sneeze fizzles, leaving him blinking and frowning and wrinkling his nose snifflishly against the ticklish haze as he shuts the door. “Fuck. Sorry, scuse mbe.”

“Bless you.” It’s probably not normal to find someone so sick so adorable.

Steve leads him up and along the hall and then he’s unlocking the door, feeling giddy that he’s letting Bucky into his apartment, and then guilty for being excited, when the poor guy is just hesitantly accepting a much-needed favor. Bucky trails in behind him and then stands still while Steve sets the bag from the drugstore and started to turn to him, saying, “It’s not much, but—”

“ASHHOO!” Bucky’s sneeze interrupts and snaps him forward into his tissues, and then he just stays folded over for a second like it sapped the last of his energy. Then he straightens, rubbing his nose into the tissues and sighing. “Jesus, sorry,”

“Bless you! You don’t have to be sorry, you’ve just got a cold.” Steve has to hold himself still to keep from rubbing his back.

“You’re...hh-huh….? Snfff, ugh. Totally gonna catch this, I owe you way mbore apologies.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” he chuckles, toeing his shoes off. Bucky follows suit and he continues, “I stopped caring after raising toddlers, they’re little germ factories, you catch everything.” Why’d you bring up your old-dad status, Steve? “I’ll grab you some things to sleep in.”

An hour and one confrontation about Steve giving up his bed later, Bucky is ensconced on his couch like the king of cold-medicine commercials, surrounded by blankets and pillows and tissues and steaming cups and bowls. He feels a little more human, which is nice, but lets him access how incandescently awkward he feels at being rescued from his idiotic life like a snotty Cinderella. Steve has been flitting back and forth between the couch and kitchen, fussing over him to a truly excessive degree while exuding satisfaction and cheer, like some kind of calendar-model Santa with a caretaking kink. He was practically rubbing his hands together at the prospect of getting Bucky blankets and tea on his couch. Now he’s giving a rundown of his TV system standing next to the couch and it feels the tiniest bit manic and Bucky can feel himself getting a little too quiet but he can’t help it. After a minute Steve notices, and sets the remote down.

“I should stop babbling at you and leave you in peace,” he says with a bashful chuckle, turning to leave the room.

“No, I— you don’t—” Bucky doesn’t really have a response beyond ‘please chill out and hang out with me and let me picture cuddling with you,’ which will not be said aloud.

“You really don’t hafta feel like you need to entertain me, Bucky.”

“It’s not, I don’t,” he sighs and then sniffles. He doesn’t want to sit here and stare at the wall and stress about this, alone in this room in Steve’s goddamn apartment. He maybe should have thought about just how much he’d fallen for Steve before taking him up on this offer, because the concern and sweetness and fussing are starting to ratchet up his anxiety, because what if there was a chance it meant—

“Is anything the matter?” Steve crouches smoothly to be on his level and torment him with his eyes’ blueness. When all Bucky can do for a moment is flounder he looks more concerned, and a little downcast. “I really don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. If anything’s bothering you, you can just tell me.”

What the hell is an ordinary sinner supposed to do in the face of this much sincerity? Act like he thinks he’s a damn grownup, Bucky guesses, and girds his nervous loser loins.

“Why’re you—” he starts, frowning, then cuts himself off and tries again with a small, apologetic smile.

“It’s just...this is such an imposition, and you seem...kinda weirdly happy about it? I just don’t get why.”

One side of Steve’s mouth quirks up, making him look dry and self-deprecating and unfairly handsome. “You’re worried I’m gonna start talkin about Scientology, or put you in my basement dungeon?”

Bucky shrugs. “Kinda.” Just ‘cause he went home with strangers didn’t mean he had no sense.

Steve seems to cast about for an explanation, and he also starts to turn pink. “It’s—you’re just so—” and then he sighs and sits on the end of the couch, next to his blanketed feet, addressing his words to the wall in a rush. “Honestly, Bucky? I have a huge crush on you, and,” he laughs in embarrassment, decidedly blushing now, “I’m just real happy to have a chance to take care of you in whatever little way.” Now he does turn to look at him, pained. “I’m sorry, that must be so uncomfortable to hear. I promise you’re not my hostage! Please don’t make a break for it, it’s cold out and you’re so sick. I swear I’m not Cathy Bates in Misery.”

“Y—hihdsschuh!” The sneeze catches him by surprise, but he has wadded-up tissues in his hand already anyhow. He has to blow his nose, and he does it thoroughly to buy time. Steve stares stoically at the ceiling as though waiting for sentencing. Is this seriously Steve telling Bucky...he likes him?

“You…” he stops, sniffs. He needs a plan. He doesn’t have one. His mouth is gonna keep moving anyway, “You said, ‘you’re just so—‘, what were you gonna say?”

Steve looks confused for a second, and then just helpless. “Bucky, you’re just so sweet. I’m happy for a chance to do something for you because I owe you, you get that, right?”

“Owe me?” Bucky asks, nonplussed. Steve laughs with what seems like disbelief at his confusion.

“Yes, Buck! For the last few months! For taking pity on me that first night I came into Sam’s. You asked me a question about antifreeze.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. His world is rearranging itself. Steve remembered that?

“I feel—real self-conscious, I guess, coming into the “scene,” he gives it air-quotes and Bucky’s heart swells a little more, “by the route I have. Y’know, married dad who woke up one day and realized the stuff he repressed at sixteen might be the real him. Sam’s was the third place I tried to go into. I just felt so ridiculous, I still do— 39-year-old brand-new gay dude, it’s idiotic. I was practically gonna have a panic attack, I was definitely gonna leave and not try again and just...stop trying in general, maybe, to figure this new scary shit out. Except you were there, this—this smokin-hot guy, and you’re acting like you actually want to talk to me, and… so I stayed. And came back.” He looks Bucky in the eyes and it makes Bucky’s stomach clench. “I feel like you’ve been taking care of me this whole time, helping me ease into things, helping me not to feel bad about being completely uncool, asking me about stuff I actually know about instead of laughing at me because I’ve never heard of ‘poppers’,”

At that, Bucky has to give in to the giggle bubbling out of him, which inevitably leads to a short coughing fit. His first instinct is to keep laughing, rake Steve over the coals, but Steve is looking at him with a careful sort of expression, and it occurs to Bucky that just because he’s older and seems like he has it all together and has great posture doesn’t mean he’s immune to feeling vulnerable. And he looks like he’s feeling really fucking vulnerable right now. Acting like Bucky is worthy of this adorable schoolboy crush is absurd, but it’s not like it was so many eons ago that little baby Bucky Barnes was having his First Gay Bar experience, and he’d been scared as shit.

He already feels like he missed the boat on his life. Steve is starting over at 39. He’s so fucking brave. Bucky...somehow, unthinkably, Bucky is in a position where he could really hurt this guy.

“I’mb, umb. Snfff. Thing is, I’m a little surprised…” And Steve must think that’s the prelude to rejection because he pulls this sad little smile onto his face that’s the worst thing Bucky’s ever seen, and he has to make it go away, “It’s just, to hear you tell it I took pity on you and I’ve been talking to you to, like, guide you along and coach you because I’m some saint!” He smiles, starting to feel amused. “Steve— I just wanted some reason to talk to you, dude.”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

He has to laugh, putting his forehead in his hand. “Sorry. I, just, I have not been operating under the assumption that I had a chance with you? And now it sounds like you’re telling me I do? While I sit on your couch filling your trash can with my disgusting tissue mountain?”

All he gets from the man is “...Huh?”

“You said ‘crush’,” he insists, and he’s not laughing, his heart is pounding actually. “What did you mean by that?” He’s gonna awkwardly say that he wants to fuck, and once that box is checked in his Gay Awakening, he’ll move on to actually date people actually in his league, and that’s maybe not gonna feel great, but, well…

Steve looks up from staring at his hands, makes eye contact, and he looks a little confused and a lot like he’s facing a firing squad. “I meant, I mean that…” he blows a breath out. “Jesus I have no idea what I’m doing. I mean that I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out on a date, since pretty much the first night I met you.”

Bucky’s head does a record scratch and Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, “But I guess instead I kidnapped you when you were sick and blurted this out to you while you were trapped on my couch waiting to be left alone to sleep. I was never smooth but I swear I’ve done better than this.”

A giddy feeling is rising up in Bucky’s chest, making him forget completely about how tired and crappy he feels. “Well, I am smooth,” he says, “I’ve got game. At least, I did, until you showed up and turned me into a giggling bimbo. What the hell, Steve.”

“This is starting to seem like a romantic conversation but I can’t tell,” murmurs Steve with his face still uncertain but a little twinkle in his eye.

Bucky’s nose is gonna ruin this, he’s surprised it gave him that long a grace period. “Yeah, snfff, real romantic, I’mb gonna—hih—fuckin’ sndeeze—heh-heTShoo! Againd.”

Another sneeze teases out, and then he has to blow his nose for about ten years. “Bless you,” says Steve all quiet and bedroomy in his deep voice, and he’s definitely smiling, sparkle-eyes, leaning towards him the tiniest bit, but still looking like Bucky’s leaving him hanging a little, unsure, and he can’t help the wave of doubt he feels.

“Steve, you—” he stares at the blanket on his lap. “I’m a mess. You’ve accomplished shit, you have a real goddamn job, I—I’m just, ok, we’re both adults, but I feel like a screw-up kid compared to you.” He takes a deep breath and says what he doesn’t want to, “I’d be...pretty damn flattered if you wanted to hook up. I kinda can’t imagine you actually want to date me.”

He dares to look up and Steve looks more serious. He doesn’t say, “no shit.” He says, “I won’t argue if you say you don’t want anything, but I sure don’t agree with how you describe yourself. I don’t want to hook up—at least, not just that— I want to date you, get to know each other better, because I like you. I trust my judgement, when I think someone’s a good person.”

He says it so simply, and Bucky finds himself believing it despite himself, and a warm happy fire is kindling under his ribs. “Well, shit,” he murmurs, “it’s starting to seem like you’re asking me out.”

“It’s...starting to seem like you might be saying yes? If I am?” Steve looks agonized and Bucky’s doubts are no match for the giddiness fizzing up inside him, and he lets it show on his face with a grin, and whatever that looks like makes Steve kinda gulp and scootch up closer to him. Bucky makes a show of giving a slow, considering nod. Yes.

Steve has this soft, nervous little smile on his face, but his eyes hold something weighty, almost burning, as he moves even closer, and it’s just, it’s really, wow, Bucky has maybe never been taken seriously in quite this way by anyone before, it makes his knees feel watery and kindles something in his core. “I know you’re sick,” he rumbles, “but I feel like I gotta kiss you,” and how is it that the softer he speaks the deeper his voice sounds? He brushes his curled fingers over Bucky’s cheek because that’s how close they are now and this isn’t really Bucky’s life, is it? “What if I was to kiss you, right now?”

It’s hard to tell with the sexiness melting his brain but he realizes Steve is actually asking, because he’s a gentleman— a gentleman Bucky wants to be taken apart and turned inside out by. “Then you would be a guaranteed victim of my plague,” he breathes. “But I wouldn’t stop you, I’m not that selfless.”

“Sounds like a dare,” Steve murmurs, and tilts his head and presses their lips together.

It’s a short simple kiss but they each give a quiet gasp at the contact, and then stay there a moment. Steve’s beard isn’t huge but he feels it, like a firm underline to the shockingly warm plush pressure of his lips. He thankfully tragically remembers that congested people can’t make out and pulls away after just a brief press of lips, but not before giving a soft lick to Bucky’s, full of promised things to come.

They sit there a few inches apart and breathe. Bucky feels like a vibrating tuning fork. He just barely stops himself from shakily saying “wow,” like a highschool virgin, but when he sees Steve looking at him with lips still parted and a gobsmacked expression he changes his mind and lets it out anyway, “wow,” with a giddy grin.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, blinking like he got hit with a cartoon hammer, going from pink to red, and then he swoops in and kisses Bucky’s cheek, and then stands, going, “Excuse me, just gotta go...out of your sightline, and. Do something cool. And serious. No victory dances.”

…..the next morning…….

Steve could hear Bucky in the shower, sneezing three times, but not sounding—four times—nearly as heavy or exhausted as the night before. A few minutes and one loud noseblow later, he came out wrapped in a towel, mercilessly bare-chested, his nose bright red but his eyes clear and cheerful. Steve’s attention caught on his chest as his nipples tightened in the relative chill as Bucky said sheepishly, “forgot my clo-hothes—” his voice swooping to a breathy quaver on the last word, “hhh-hh-hehh—EHisSHOooh!” he turned as far away from Steve’s part of the room as possible and sneezed over his shoulder. “Snnfff. Excuse me, sorry.”

“Can I lend you some warmer stuff, just for now while we eat breakfast? There’s no way you’re not still sick,” Steve fussed, forcing himself to round the kitchen island slowly and casually instead of rushing over and wrapping him up in his arms and kissing his red nose that was twitching again. He quelled it with another sniff that sounded a lot less congested than the previous night.

“Ah, I’m ok. I felt really bad yesterday, but I slept so well,” he said with a warm grateful smile at Steve that went to his toes, “I don’t feel shitty and run-down anymore, just all, like, shnuffly.”

Steve chuckled helplessly and went over to rub his shoulder. “You’re adorable.”

“No way!” Bucky glowered, but then a few drops fell from his wet hair to his chest and neck, and he shivered into a sneeze so quick and light it sounded incomplete, “hih—tish!” followed by “ih-hihtchoo!” and he blinked, taken by surprise.

“That was... the cutest thing that ever happened,” Steve said truthfully.

“Shuddup— heh—edschoo!”

#at some point they bone and there are like snapshots of that written #just sayin #snz fic #stucky snz fic #sneeze kink fanfiction #cute sick bucky #snzfic #lots of not-snz plot but the story is still basically Bucky Has The Sneezies You Must Save Him Steve

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archive-of-alexandria · 2 years ago

Text

Grease Paint (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing on Tumblr in over 10 years, but I am so down bad for this man that I can't help myself. I'm working on drafting my Moulin Rouge! x Buggy long-form fic, and this was just something I scribbled out in the meantime. This is pure Buggy x Reader fluff, so I hope you enjoy!

***

For once in his life, the ever-flashy clown pirate has nothing funny to say.

Your thumb gently ran along Buggy’s cheek to correct your lines, and the genius jester felt the greasepaint being very obviously replaced by his own maddening blush. Your tongue pokes out in concentration, and he fights the urge to grab it between his fingers – haHA! Cat got your tongue! – and spoil the mood with a poorly concocted joke.

Buggy blinks.

….Mood? Who said anything about a mood?

A blush begins to bloom under his collar. Buggy had, in fact, been planning a way to weasel his way into your heart for months - and it seems as if you'd fallen right into his brilliantly scripted scene....so how come he can't remember any of his lines?

You continue working, and Buggy’s usually frantic mind suddenly falls deafeningly silent. Instead, the captain seems to fall into a sort of trance – focusing the entirety of his attention on memorizing your face. He observes every freckle and crease, wishing to commit it to memory. This was the first time -the only time - he’d ever been this close to someone in this…domestic…way, holding his breath out of fear that the illusion of contented bliss would shatter.

Buggy swallows.

He had planned for this, written out every charming and witty line he could think of.

Your eyes catch hold of his through the fan of your eyelashes. Now it was time for your ears to turn pink.

“You’re staring,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and Buggy practically melts as your eyes soften, “Something on my face?” As if on cue, a strand of hair falls in front of your eyes.

God.

He clears his throat, a soft chuckle rippling off his lips, “Well, now there is,” he muses, “Talk about a paid actor.”

You reach to push the hair from your eyes at the same time as he does, fingers awkwardly colliding as soft chuckles and mumbled apologies spill from both of your lips. Still, your eyes hold one another.

You give way to allow Buggy to proceed, whose deft fingers trace along your forehead and behind your ear. Buggy feels electricity shoot through his hands at the feeling of his touch against you, swallowing as he allows his knuckle to caress your cheek. When you seem to lean into his touch, however, he panics.

It would seem he failed to write that into the script.

Buggy barks out a laugh, gently nudging your face and making a pop! noise with his lips to try and swim back to shore before he’s too far gone. You grab hold of Buggy’s lipstick, the last bit of his flashy facepaint to be applied.

"And, for the finishing touch," You hum, taking his chin in your hands as you lean forward with his lipstick in hand.

Buggy's heart hammers against his chest as he feels your breath against his lips, the blood rushing to his ears in the same fashion as one hanging from a highwire.

At this moment, he indeed feels as if he is on the trapeze - delicately balancing with the hopes of making it through without a fumble.

“Doh–!” A chuckle passes through your lips, closing your eyes tight at the sight of Buggy’s comically crimson mouth. In the months that you’ve been a part of Buggy’s crew, you've never seen his makeup so fresh…and the sight was actually rather startling. It was as if the captain was in bad 3D, sponsored by technicolor, painted in by the most potent Crayola markers known to man. Buggy’s whole face looks crimson, but perhaps it's just a reflection of the brutal lipstick…

Buggy’s lips, like two bright cherries, suddenly form a pout at the sound of your laughter. His heart sinks, mind immediately skipping to the worst possible conclusion: You agreed to do his makeup not because you might care for him, but rather this was your chance to humiliate him. Buggy could feel his heart clench in his chest, and his delicate balancing act was about to turn into a dive routine.

“What?” He manages to quirk his lips into a strained smile, “You didn’t make me look like a clown, did ya-? Hrumph-!” His attempt at salvaging his pride is derailed by your thumbs pressing to his lips, your giggles giving way to a radiant smile. Little did he know that your fingers against his lips were just as much an attempt to quiet him as they were an excuse to touch Buggy.

“This color is so much more red than usual,” You say, your face growing warm, “What did I do wrong?”

A blink. Moments pass as Buggy stares at you with saucer eyes before his hands fasten themselves to your wrists with a gentle tug. Had you realized that your fingers were still attached to his lips?

“If you must know,” he gulped, “I have a top secret makeup technique.”

“Oh?” You feign surprise, leaning closer to your captain. A smirk twists into your lips. “Top secret, eh? Even from me?”

You bat your eyelashes, emboldened by your captain’s sheepish expression, and Buggy mutters a curse under his breath.

Oh, fucking fucking fucker fuck.

Buggy’s voice lowers and his grip on your wrists tighten, the creak of the supple leather breaking the silence. “Especially from you.” A blink passes with the realization that Buggy wasn’t cracking a joke or being wise. He genuinely seemed…embarrassed. You’re not deterred yet, and instead, he finds you leaning in closer as your legs involuntarily squeeze together – Just imagine what those gloves would feel like in your –

You’re nearly nose to nose with the dread pirate as the air settles thick. For months you and Buggy have fallen into the old routine of cat and mouse, always teetering on the precipice of…something. The way Buggy allows his eyes to follow you during your routine without shame and latches on to your figure like a predator observing his prey is undeniable. He relishes in watching your body twist and writhe on the acrobat hoop, and you'll admit that all of your special tricks are, indeed, for him. You live for the moments he would stalk up behind you after a performance during the roaring applause when no one would be able to hear his voice - low and thick - praise you with lips ghosting your ear: “What a good girl you are, hm? Making your captain proud.”

Your eyes fall to Buggy’s lips.

“Show me,” you swallow thickly, brushing your nose against his, “Show me your special technique.”

Buggy’s eyes flicker elsewhere – anywhere – from your gaze before deciding upon your own lips. His grip falters, his body erupting into flame as his eyelids flutter.

This was it: the climax of the show he has been planning and rewriting in his dreamworld for months. Buggy's flashy showmanship, however, deflates. Your hands are suddenly dropped from Buggy’s grip as he pulls back, redirecting his gaze to his now unoccupied hands. As he begins to peel off his gloves, the silence shifts into something unsettled. The fizzing tension between the two of you seems to thicken.

Meanwhile, Buggy is desperately trying to suppress an impending, raging hard-on. He already feels humiliated enough at the fact that you're laughing in his face, and now...

Cabaji had made fun of Buggy for weeks after discovering the wanted poster smeared in crimson red grease paint in Buggy’s quarters, your face barely visible beneath layers and layers of kiss marks. Buggy initially tried to cover it up, claiming it wasn’t intentional and he just needed something to “blot and perfect” his signature look with at call time. However, the sheer amount of kisses scattered across the page betrays him. There is no denying that Buggy was completely smitten with you. And here you are, practically begging him to kiss you. The set-up, the lead-in, the wind-up to the punchline…It is the perfect joke, all at his expense.

At least Cabaji hadn’t found the other copy of your wanted poster, crinkled and smeared thick with Buggy’s–

“Bugs?” Your hand on his thigh pulls the captain out of his thoughts, eyes darting up to meet yours with an unmistakable look of guilt as he tries to wipe away the memories of his moans and your wanted poster slick with his– “Are you okay?”

The clown clears his throat, finding the willpower to bring his fist before his face with a flourish as his humorless eyes settle on yours in an attempt to save face.

“For your viewing pleasure,” he forces a smile, “The technique!”

Without another word, Buggy begins to rub his lips back and forth vigorously against the top of his hand in order to remove the excess pigment.

Fuckingfuckinghellthisissostupidthey’regoingtofuckinghatemewhatamIevendoing–

His brilliant demonstration is put on pause as you take hold of his wrist, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. A sheepish grin attempts to cross his lips, but it falters. His eyes fall to the floor.

He looks ashamed.

“For once,” Buggy’s voice is hoarse as he huffs out a laugh, “I don’t have anything funny to say.”

A beat.

The intimacy of the moment is almost too much to bear, and your skin pricks with nerves.

“Buggy…” you breathe.

Your fingers find his face once again, tenderly wrapping around his chin. Buggy squeezes his eyes shut as you guide his face up to you. He refuses to see the expression in your eyes as you stomp on his glass heart. Suddenly you're cradling his head in both of your hands, “Buggy,” you mused, “I have a better technique to share with you.”

Your noses bump against one another.

A choking noise passes through Buggy’s lips, and in a moment of sheer desperation for tenderness he whispers, “Please.”

Your lips finally meet Buggy’s, and the awkward feeling of your body being too far away is overcorrected by the desperate captain. Buggy follows your lips with his body like a man possessed, knees knocking with yours as his arms swallow you whole. His hands find purchase wherever they can, trying to quickly grasp any and all of you as if you'd disappear. It's awkward, teeth knocking against teeth with the expertise of someone never before kissed, and you can't help the smile that comes to your lips.

You break away and Buggy’s breathing hitches, eyes still closed and hands gripping you so tightly you know you’ll have bruises.

You don’t mind, though. Quite the opposite.

You can always cover them up with a little bit of grease paint.

#buggy x reader #buggy fluff #buggy the clown #buggy imagine #opla buggy #i am so down bad #go burpy!#one piece #one piece imagine

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chiarrara · 7 months ago

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new itfskg based on a hc post i saw on here in my fugue state rbing last night i'll add a screenshot or link or smth later maybe idk. okay so baskially how it goes:

megumi and nobara both have a crush on yuuji. this is especially hard for nobara bc she spent the whole first let's say year of their friendship being extremely vocal about how she'd never be into either of them but oops! she got too comfy and caught feelings

nobara eventually breaks down and goes to fushiguro to lament her plight and ask for advice. she's dramatically revealing the source of her suffering when his face gives him away (a big ol "oh no" written on his forehead) (N: what's that face? M: what face... N: oh my god... do you like him too???) (Megumi doesn't say shit cause he's a repressed loser embarrassed of having feelings)

Turns out meg's had a crush on yuuji basically since he met him. he didn't realize it at first of course cause he's way too good at lying to himself. not that good though. he's been silently fostering a deep deep crush for months.

having learned all this, for the next few weeks, nobara starts visiting fushiguro in his dorm anytime she's too overwhelmed by annoying feelings, or pulling him aside during downtime to let off steam, sharing knowing glances and silent communications across rooms. megu's surprisingly glad to have someone to confide in, especially in a way where he's not the center of attention. Since they're both pathetic losers with a crush, he finds it's easier to talk about his feelings than with anything before.

regularly commiserating about how down bad they both are leads nobara and megumi to spend more time separated from yuuji. it's really good for their friendship actually. previously they were both a bit closer to yuuji than to each other, but having a crush to bond over gives them a lot to talk about. yuuji does notice they're spending more time together. and without him. wonder how he feels about that..

one night, nobara barges into megumi's room to complain about yuuji being way too cute and funny at dinner or something while megumi's laying in bed reading. she just plops down half on top of him and starts in. He reluctantly puts his book down but he doesn't object. they've gotten pretty used to each other. so she's going off, grumbling into his shoulder, gripping his sweatshirt out of frustration, and when she looks up, fushiguro looks down at her. their faces less than a foot apart as she's leaning into him, lying together in his bed and...

N: what's that face

M: what face?

he looks away. nobara turns his face back to hers

N: that face

M: (without breaking *very intense* eye contact) I dont' know what you're talking about

they make out

it's very much teenagers with a lot of pent up energy that needs to go somewhere fooling around like teenagers with pent up energy that needs to go somewhere. they kind of crash together, they're grabbing at arms and shoulders and faces, pulling each other as close as they can without ever breaking the kiss. At one point, nobara in readjusting to keep from falling off the bed ends up on top of megumi, knees on either side of his hips, one hand propping herself up and one gripped in the fabric of his sweatshirt. he pulls her into him and rolls them over so they're chest to chest with him on top. he's pushes his hands into her hair, she wraps her arms around his back and twists her leg around h--

two knocks and the door opens

"Hey Fushiguro, I wanted to see if you..."

Yuuji's halfway through the doorway and his face is morphing into the picture of absolute despair

megumi and nobara are...like this

(they're not naked, they're just microsoft paint stick people)

"Oh, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... I'll just..." Yuuji sputters and stumbles out the door.

(simultaneously) M: Shit.. N: Fuck!

so the mood's kiiinda dead.... megumi ends up leaned up against the wall with his head in his hands. nobara's staring blankly at the ceiling. Eventually, nobara says, "did you see his face?" M: "mm" N: "so...which one of us do you think he likes?"

---END OF PART ONE---

(I'll continue it in like... 5 minutes probably)

#itafushikugi #this isn't a post this is a recollection of my multi hour daydreaming last night #this isn't a post this is me plotting #who said that #meg=english compatible pronunciation of megu - actual nickname for megumi #not meg like megan. meg like meg(u)#this is literally mostly fushikugi at this point #they're my guilty pleasure SORRY #whatever the fuck itfskg fic is fucking around in my head rn

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steve-language-rogers · 16 days ago

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My beloved reblog masterlist! Thank you to every writer out there who shares their labors of love. Fanfic (the ones listed here in particular) has gotten me through the toughest time in my life. This list is my own personal library of favorites, but I hope it can be enjoyed by others as well. As always, writers appreciate comments and reblogs to show your gratitude. Happy reading💛

Key

💛 = fluff │ 🔥 = smut│💔 = angst│✨ = all-time fav

All fics on this list are for Steve Rogers. Scroll to see my reblog masterlist(s) for other characters.

With a handful of exceptions, this list does not include anything I've read and reblogged since February of 2024. I'm working on getting it up to date!

Oneshots Canon(ish)

Should Have Known Better: A pool day with the Avengers causes Steve to figure out your secret. Hurt/comfort. Steve Rogers x f!reader. Steve being so sweet and protective and perfect. 3k 💛💔

As The Dust Settled: You meet Steve rogers while he’s on the run from the government and you offer him and his friends a place to stay. When the blip occurs you lose your own family, your best friend Maggie. When Steve shows up at your door you’re more than happy to let him stay. What happens as the dust settles? 9k 💛💔✨

Safe: You ran away from your abusive ex….after a few months he came looking for you. Good for you, you had such a great neighbour. 4k 💛💔✨

Paint Stained Overalls: After months pining after his oil painting teacher, Steve does something about it. 3k. 💛🔥✨

Just Like Home: Your soldier comes home to you in autumn. 6k 💛🔥✨

Save Me, I'll Be Quiet: Steve is in love with you and realizes that you're getting bruises but they are not from the mission. 4k 💛💔✨

Just a Human: You're being harassed by the Brads and Chads of the agents. Steve & Bucky are just in time to help. 9k 💛💔✨

Call it Anything But Love: FWB!Steve x Reader. In the bedroom, he's passionate and intense, exhibiting a lustfulness few ever get to see, but outside, he remains his cool and usual self. But when you're friendly with Bucky at his birthday, Steve needs to clear the air. 7k 💛💔🔥✨

Your Heart A Pancake: When you're drunk and stranded at a bar and your boss calls you, he's not happy—and he ends up giving you a ride home on his motorcycle. 3k 💛✨

Walk Me Home Tonight: Steve walks you home from a party after he notices you're not really in the mood to celebrate. 5k 💛💔✨

Secret Relationship (Sugar): Steve tries his girlfriend a secret for a while but the other Avengers immediately know. He's less reckless on missions, he texts more, he leaves work on time. There has to be a reason for that and Tony Stark himself turns into a superspy trying to find out what or who that reason is. 1k 💛✨

Prey: Steve is staring at you from across the room, but you’re staring right back. 2k 🔥

Casual: The reader has been seeing Steve for more than a year now, stuck somewhere between friends with benefits and an actual relationship. He wants to commit to you, but he can’t let himself. You overhear a conversation you wish you hadn’t- learning much more about the way Steve feels about you than you ever wanted. 4k 🔥💔

In The Rain: Tony gets drunk and says horrible things to you about Steve. When Steve returns from the mission, he finds you to clear things up. 2k 💛💔✨

Perfect: You break up with Steve and he demands to know why. When you reveal the truth, he tells you you're just perfect as is. (fic deleted, but please lmk if it gets reposted!) 💛🔥💔✨

Please Be Rough With Me: Steve's a dom but doesn't tell you until one night he snaps. 2k 🔥

You Make My World Spin: You work in the tower and Steve tries to flirt with you. But Tony's new adjustment to his shield gets in the way–literally. 7k 💛

3+1 (Un)Wanted Mistletoe Encounters: Christmas time in the tower! 4k 💛

The Scarf: You give Steve a handmade gift, but rethink things when you realize everyone else has gotten him something extravagant. 2k 💛

Improvising: After falling for the cute and shy assistant Steve tries to ask her out..but it doesn't go according to plan. 2k 💛

Jealous: Steve really doesn't like the person you're interviewing, so afterwards he fucks you senseless. 3k 🔥

Old Man Moves: Steve shows you a thing or two about being an old man when you're working on a WWII Assignment for school. 5k 🔥

Getting to Know You: During one of Starks famous party’s you and Steve…get to know each other better. 5k 🔥

Take the Risk: Steve is your best friend, always has been. Until he takes you on a vacation and everything changes. 3k 💛

Remind Me: A night out with friends who try to talk you into confessing your feelings to the man you’re in love with and a lot of alcohol. What could possibly go wrong? 2k 💛

Experience: You're an Avenger but younger than the others and they make fun of you for being inexperienced. One morning reeeally early Steve catches you sneaking a guy out of your room and he gets really surprised and protective. 2k 💛

Comfort Zone: You force yourself to confess to Steve exactly how you feel. 2k 💛✨

His Button Up: Confident little you puts on Steve's shirt but at sight of your man standing at the doorway all hot and shit, its almost unbearable. 1k 🔥

Touch: Your boyfriend Steve discovers your size kink, and love of being manhandled by him. What he does with this new information? Well that’s entirely up to him… 3k 💛🔥

It's Your Captain's Birthday: You're avoiding Steve Rogers' birthday beach party by relaxing in the ocean, but when he finds you alone in the waves, your captain is sure to let you know how much he appreciates that you wore a bikini in his colors to his party—and things escalate from there. 7k 🔥

Talk: Neighbor!SteveRogers x female!reader. You like Steve. And, actually, Steve likes you too. But for some reason, you are convinced that he doesn’t. So after you come home one night, drunk off your ass might I add, and freshly stood up by one asshat of a Tinder date, Steve can’t help but confront you about it. 4k 💛💔🔥

New Year, New Steve: A stranger kisses Steve at a new year’s party and it ignites something in him that he never lets himself have. 5k 💛🔥✨

Hot Boy Summer: Your boyfriend is all hot in every season, but there’s just something about summer Steve messing around in a pool that makes your heart melt and your bikini wet before you even step into water. And really, the hottest outfit your man can wear is happiness–or nothing at all. 3k 💛🔥✨

Fireworks: Everyone but you and Steve realize you like each other. 4k 💛

Birthday Love Present: Steve x Stark!Reader. It's your 21st birthday and Steve finally confesses his feelings. But what happens when your dad, Tony Stark, finds out? 💛

Try a Little Tenderness: Mafia AU. Steve can’t win you with presents. He’s got to try a little tenderness. 4k 💛

A Quiet Hue: Desperate for a cure for your blocked creative flow, you take a trip to the roof of your apartment to overlook the city for inspiration. That's where you meet Steve, discovering he's your new neighbor. Needless to say, meeting him aids your motivation, and opens up the possibility of something more. 5k💛

Idiots in Love: Being in love with Steve Rogers isn’t easy with all the dates Natasha sets him up with. One day you’ve had enough and ask her to set you up, something you’ve never let her before – and a certain blonde isn’t too pleased. 5k 💛💔✨

Cool Rider: When another date ends in disaster, and Steve shows up in an attempt to “cheer” you up, you’re instantly against everything. But it’s Steve, and you should know by now that he never take no for an answer. 4k 💛💔

Ever Since I Met You: Your best friend takes you out for a valentine's day friend date that ends with the two of you cuddling in a hotel room—and discovering you've both been hiding feelings since the day you met. 5k 💛🔥

No More Apologies: A small comment from Sam leads Steve into a downward spiral, revealing some grim parts of your past. 3k 💛💔✨

Oneshots AU

Winner Takes All: College AU. Frat!Steve x OC named Dean. Roommates to lovers. "It's always been you." 8k 💛💔🔥✨

Tell Me What You Want: Mafia AU. Your mob boyfriend, is none other than Steve Rogers and he is willing to get you whatever you wanted, all you have to do is ask. And be careful what you ask for because he’s going to give it to you over and over again. 3.5k 🔥✨

A Misunderstanding: Frat!Steve AU. You and Steve slept together a couple of weeks ago and, though he said he would, he hasn't called you since. Harsh words from your best friend lead you to accept that he just doesn't want you in that way. 2k 💛

Come Here and Show Me: Lumberjack AU. Steve asks you to tease him and then immediately takes it back. 2k 🔥

What You Deserve: Best Friends Dad AU. After you caught your-now ex-boyfriend cheating, your best friend let you stay over for the night…there was only one problem. Her unbelievably hot dad. 4k 🔥

Ruin Our Friendship: College AU. Friends to Lovers. He’s your best friend. Your best friend. The best friend that has you pressed against bookshelves with his hand over your mouth. 2k 🔥✨

Possessive: Ex!Dilf!Steve AU. He is not happy when he finds out his ex wife has a date. 3k 🔥✨

Guys My Age: There’s nothing quite like getting scolded, punished, and fucked by your best friend’s dad. 🔥

Heat of the Moment: DBF!Steve x OC AU. Regan comes home from college and enjoys a hot afternoon on the rooftop. 🔥

Taste of beer: Therapist!Steve x Abused!Reader. 3k 💔

What Are Best Friends For: AU. Steve rogers is your best friend, but after you have a one night stand with someone else, he decides it's time to show you exactly who you belong to. 9k 🔥

Once More, With Feeling: DBF AU. Steve Rogers discovers you've been using toys when he isn't around. He sneaks into your house to punish you accordingly. 1k 🔥

Highest Bidder. AU. Tired of being a virgin and out of money you travel to Las Vegas to auction it off. Little do you know your friend Steve Rogers won't let anyone else have you. 5k 🔥

Drabbles, Headcanons, etc.

Adjusting: Nomad Steve. Face Riding. You Agree. 🔥✨

Munch: No summary needed. 🔥

Time and a Place: Steve & you driving (w/ Tony) 💛

Drunk Words: You get a really loose tongue after a few too many shots💛

Being Shy & Dating Cap 💛

Democratic Ranting Steve

Two-Shots & Mini Series

No Pressure • Part 2: You and Steve are friends turned newly into a romantic relationship. But something seems to be holding him back from escalating your relationship physically. 💛💔🔥✨

In the Strangest Place (We Just Might Find Love) • Part 2: You’re hiding from your boss in a supply closet, minding your own business, when a stranger joins you unexpectedly. 💛💔✨

Seven Minutes • Part 2: You’re not obliged to go to that party, but you go because it’s a rare occasion during which most of your fellow Avengers meet and have some fun together. Until someone suggests a stupid teenage game. Until you and Steve end up locked in a closet together and things take a turn you couldn’t have possibly predicted.💛💔🔥✨

One for the Road • pt2 • pt3 • pt4: Clint had a wife? Clint had children? Steve was just as shocked as any of them to find out about Barton’s double life, yet what was even more shocking to him was Clint’s oldest daughter, who seemed to sink her claws into Steve’s skin the minute they met and keep them there, unremoved, as he felt himself get pulled deeper and deeper into the workings of her inner mind with every smile of hers. 💛💔🔥✨

Broken Bones & Broken Hearts: Boxing AU. Friends to lovers? 🔥💔

(Cap)puccino, w/ Milk and Sugar: Coffee Shop AU. Running a tiny bakery cafe offers little surprise to a creature of habit like you...that is, until Captain America asks you for a coffee recommendation.💛

Series

Hands Off: Bucky Barnes is the most important person in your life. When he confesses to you that he lives at the Avengers tower, and the ‘Steve’ you’ve been hearing about for months is actually Steve Rogers, you think that nothing can top that revelation– and then you find yourself trapped in Captain America’s bedroom getting a second-hand dose of NYC’s favorite new aphrodisiac, Mistress.

Just Right: You’ve been in love with Steve Rogers for at least a year, but he treats you the same way he treats every other member of the team– with respect, but nothing more. It takes an inter-dimensional mistake and a whole second, more assertive, actually interested Steve for you to realize that you don’t want just any version of Steve Rogers– you want the one you’ve been pining for all this time.

Love on the Brain: You found menacing pictures of you friend, colleague and neighbour Steve in your mailbox. Someone might play it off as a bad joke, but you were an agent for the Avengers Initiative and a former FBI agent. You’ve seen cases like this and you were taking no chances. Not with Steve of all people.

Nothing but the Truth: As you were introduced to one Steve Rogers by your friend Sam a while ago, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for the three of you to get lunch together. Hell, not even for you and Steve only. Except that the one time you decided to go out for lunch instead of sticking to the Tower cafeteria, reporters took a photo and accused you and the Captain of dating. What shocked you much more though was that Tony and Natasha wanted you two to just go with it in order to catch a criminal. Oh boy. This would have been much more acceptable if you didn’t have a crush on that man which was the size of the US…

Fools Rush In: Sketch & Keeps:)

Unbreakable: Most people cried with pure grief the day of the blip. Not you, your tears were from relief. Never in your life had you ever thought you’d be so close to death. Yet you survived. The road ahead would be long but if you survived your ex this would be a walk in the park. Steve was doing everything he could to stop himself from drowning in guilt. He wasn’t Captain America anymore but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help. With the Avengers behind him and half of his friends gone he didn’t know what to do with himself. So he ignored his feelings in order to help others. A chance encounter at a support group meeting might just be what you both need.

Sink Into Me: Mafia AU. You were simply doing a good deed, pulling the handsome stranger out of the way when a car jumped the curb. Little did you know that the life you saved belonged to Steve Rogers, the Army veteran turned art dealer with connections to the Brooklyn crime syndicate. Steve Rogers, who won’t stop calling you his guardian angel. Steve Rogers, whose new goal in life just might be repaying his debt to you. Steve Rogers, who isn’t shy until it comes to his feelings and will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Off Limits: You get hired as a new team member of the Avengers, and get introduced to Steve by your father, Tony. You have heard and seen a lot about him, being Captain America after all, but you never expected him to take that much of a liking to you as he has.

Back and Forth: Calling yourself an Avenger would be overstatement, even if you have been joining them on missions quite frequently lately. Calling them your friends would be an overstatement also. Calling you and Steve Rogers friends, now that would be an insult to the entity of friendship – though unlike him, you have enough self-awareness to admit that he isn’t the only one to blame for that. Most of the time anyway. However, the Avengers need your abilities and so you and Steve tolerate each other – or at least you’re trying, your back and forth visibly annoying your colleagues and exhausting you both. And then you’re thrown into a situation where mere tolerance isn’t an option. That should end well, shouldn’t it?

The Gemini: After months of a seemingly normal and steady friendship, things take a complex turn. Steve learns a lesson about the intricacies of being a woman in a man’s world, interpersonal relationships, and the consequences of poor communication through the experiences of you, his favorite Gemini.

Exiled Nomad: Warning, this series will ruin you.

other characters (coming soon)

old reblog masterlist

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lethalchiralium · 2 years ago

Note

You should totally not write a part two to Missus dying during birth. Where it's set month later??? Years later??? 😏😉😏

I mean the double angst would be just to much to bare! 😏😉😏

(No.... because side note I'm living for your GIRL DAD SIMON 😭🫶)

oh so you guys are EVIL evil. i partially wrote some of this way back, i was playing with the thought of her death but decided against it. this did get me in the mood to write for ACTUAL happiness, so watch out for that lol

warnings: alcoholism, grief.

happiness au!

Simon found that could never hold anger like he used to. It dissipates as quickly as it festers, he tried so hard to find something to be angry at over your death. He couldn’t be angry at Roach, he was with you in his place. He couldn’t be angry at Price, he was doing his job. He couldn’t be angry at you because you had done the best you could to get in touch with him. You nurtured his children, one sprinting around and one in your once warm belly.

He held his hand over WInnie’s eyes at the end of the funeral, little Mellie asleep in his arm yet still angling her away from the scene - he couldn’t bear to have his daughters watch their mother be lowered into the ground.

He did discover that alcohol makes the incredible pain disappear just a little.

In the month after your death, it was a cycle for Simon and Price to keep Winnie and Mellie afloat while he destroyed himself as they slept soundly. Drinking himself into a stupor and collapsing on his bedroom floor; his hazed mind forcing him to spread out on the hardwood, telling himself he didn’t deserve to sleep in a bed. In your bed. And despite the dozens of pounds he wasted on alcohol for that first month, the thought of you could never quite escape his mind.

You left nothing to direct him, nothing to guide him. Just hazy memories of your smile, dim visions of the way your skin touched his, faint pulses on his lips of what used to be your heartbeat. You had nothing away, no letters or little notes in any nook and cranny of his home - he checked drunk, he checked sober. He wanted to slam his hand into the wall that morning, hungover and wanting to scream - but his little baby Mellie babbled on his bed, little fingers dug into her stuffed dog, completely unaware of the myriad of emotions painted on the walls. It was like Simon had exploded, his emotions were everywhere.

And after one horrible night, Simon found himself on the floor of his room again. But he wasn’t alone - under his blanketed arm and curled into his side was Winnie, her green bear tucked into her own chest. His heart broke again at that, and even with the intense hangover, he picked up his daughter. He took the few steps back to sit on his bed, her gentle eyes slowly fluttering open.

“Do you wanna sleep up here, lovie?” He asked her, trying to keep his voice even as his head pounded.

“Just wanna make sure you’re okay.” His daughter mumbled, one hand wiping one of her eyes as she looked up at him. That made his heart burn like it had been doused in oil and set aflame. He crawled into the bed that hasn’t known warmth since you died, tucking in his four year old and keeping her close to his chest.

“Dad’s gonna be okay.” He whispered to his daughter, tears spilling from his eyes. “I promise.”

After that early morning, Simon stopped drinking and stayed sober for years afterwards. He was proud of himself for that seemingly small feat, but he was still devastated by the loss of you, he felt it every single day since. Teaching Mellie to walk, to talk, and to run were the first times Simon felt your loss again - he cried tears each time, knowing that it should have been you and him teaching your daughter these things. That you and him should have been teaching your children how to ride a bike, help them with their stupid math homework, help them navigate life.

But it was just Simon, trying to fill your shoes that he never had the heart to move from the front door.

He had tried to quit the 141 when you passed, but Price wouldn’t let him. Keeping him on desk duty meant Simon still got incredible pay and benefits, it meant Simon could take baby Mellie with him to base, it meant he could make it home before his kids got off of school when they were older. He never gave his all to the military again.

He had to learn all about periods when Winnie was twelve so he could help her as best he could. He had to learn all about her friends, then Mellie’s friends - he felt that time was always going too fast. He comforted his children through the loss of their beloved cat. He met boyfriends and girlfriends before his daughters finally fled the nest, leaving him alone for the first time in 22 years.

The month after he was left alone again, he opened a bottle of bourbon. He felt the pain creep back into his skin, he needed relief. He needed to not know what pain was. He’d drink when he was alone. He wouldn’t dare to have a drop when his children were around, when his grandkids were ever in his home. But when he was alone? It seemed just a glass of three fingers turned into a bottle, sleeping a couple hours turned into twenty, three missed calls from Mellie and a seven texts from Winnie - all asking if he was alright, that his constant sleeping was making them nervous.

One day, Simon tried to open his nightstand to find his ID tags, he was drunk the night before and woke up without them. He never slept without them, it was his way of comforting himself with something he’s had almost all his life. The nightstand’s drawer wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t pull open. He reached his hand underneath the drawer to try and dislodge whatever was keeping it from opening - a letter falls into his hand. He grew confused, there is no address or writing on the front - it’s obviously old too. He opened the envelope, seeing a date written on the lip in handwriting he’s wished to read for decades.

The day before Mellie’s birth was written clearly.

He ripped the paper from the envelope and fell to his knees, a photo of you in the hospital floated to the floor as he reads the letter. The last picture of you ever taken, one that came from that little polaroid camera he bought you before he left his whole family for the last time.

You didn’t leave him without direction. He just didn’t know where to look.

i love all the happiness asks so much that the new happiness chapter will be coming very soon

#happiness series #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x wife!reader #simon riley x f!reader

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tia-amorosa · 2 months ago

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Episode 54: The Miracle

A few days passed. Until Bella finally had the time to paint a picture for Don. (,,I painted the picture for quite a long time. I know it was quite childish, at least as far as the subject was concerned. But somehow I thought it would suit him and hoped he would be pleased with it… I resolved to take it to him the next day…") …

And she remembered that that day was Cedric's last day at work. (“I thought it was a shame that he was leaving, he always did a really good job and was always there for a little chat”/"he wanted to get out into the world a bit… He always gave me the impression that he was lonely“/”yes, sometimes his look was a bit empty, but he was always in a good mood").

In the evening, Bella took some time for the family. Alexander couldn't sleep well, so she put him to bed and sang lullabies to him until his eyes finally closed. ("He was so restless… As if he suspected something was going to happen…“/, ”That could be, he's very sensitive. I don't like to think back on that evening“/” I know, but you're helping me a lot right now, Mortimer…").

The next day, Cassandra came home from school a little stressed. “That looks like difficult material”/ "That's for the final exams in a few months. I have to get it right and then I want to start working for Dad at the science institute“/ ”I think that's great, sweetheart."…. (“At first she was worried that she wouldn't pass the exams… But she passed everything with flying colors”/ “I'm so proud of her”).

Later in the evening. “You're still up, Mom?”/ “I'll stop by Don's in a minute to drop off the finished painting.”/ "Umm, okay. Does he … actually have a girlfriend?“/”I don't think so, why?“/, ”Oh, just so… I love you, Mom". ("That evening was the last time we hugged… I couldn't have guessed that she already had a certain interest in Don back then.")

Before Bella left that evening, Mortimer held her briefly in the hallway. The two of them didn't speak many words. Mortimer only said that he would wait for her in bed. He knew that she had a good, friendly relationship with Don. And Mortimer knew that he was the only one to whom her heart belonged. “What's that look, Mortimer?”/ "A tired… I love you".

"I love you too… for better or for worse…hnn, see you later, do you have a good book?“/ ”Some. Wake me up if I've fallen asleep"…. (,,And I fell asleep. So deeply that I only woke up the next morning… Without you. Your… Your eyes were the last thing I saw"). In that moment, Bella could feel all the pain her husband had felt over the years. The grief and also the anger. She understood.

It was cold that evening and already quite late. Don had asked her not to come too early because he was working the late shift. So it was well after 10 p.m. when she arrived at his place.

Even on the way to his house, she had the strange feeling that someone was watching her. But once she was in the house, it all flew away. He looked really tired and apologized again for being so late. Of course, Bella could have brought the picture to him the next day, but he said he would be at a training course for doctors in another city for the next few days….

Don showed her where he wanted to hang the picture. And when he saw it, he had a grin on his face the whole time. "I like that, really. You really don't have to worry, I just wanted to test your talent, haha.“ ”Hnhn, thanks, I must have just been thinking about my son and the book with the little pig. Oh, and you don't have to give me anything for it, o.k.?“/ ”really not?“/ ”no, hn“./ ”o.k. hehe, it's really great. But hey, if you don't want any money, I'd at least like to show you something nice".

(„He told me that he occasionally looked through the telescope and watched the stars. I actually wanted to go home, but he talked about it with so much euphoria. So I really wanted to know what he had been looking at recently“)… "Especially now at this time of year, you can really see a lot through the clear sky… Oh man, I can hardly keep my eyes open".

“Sorry, I don't want to deprive you of sleep”/"it's okay…. You can look into the distance for a while, then just close the door behind you when you leave. O.k.?“/ ” Yes… Wow, what you can see with such a cheap telescope…"… (“He really didn't want anything from you?” / “No. He went to bed, I was alone and…when I actually wanted to leave…”), she paused.

Then the memories that had caused her so much pain the last time came flooding back. But Mortimer needed to know what had happened. Until now, he had found it difficult to imagine what the person his daughter had told him about had looked like. Now he had a clear picture in front of him. (,,Unbelievable! A…real alien!“/”hh-h, he took me away and tore everything apart“/”no, he didn't, Bella - not our love".

The last memories faded. They were the ones Mortimer had already learned about from his daughter. And so he wanted to spare his wife from having to relive everything. They were still kissing, intimately, lovingly. And then something happened that could not be explained by science or anything else…

The kiss lasted for what felt like an eternity. The flood of pictures that filled Bella's head felt like it was going to explode at any moment…. But it was just a feeling… Accompanied by something else, something magical. When Mortimer opened his eyes after the kiss, all he saw was the glow that brought her body back into this world. His gaze was fixed. “Bella, you're…alive?…”. It was dead silent for a moment, but then…..,,iihihi“/ ” what, why are you laughing?"/ ,,yes, I'm alive and…. You're naked and… so sexy, Morty".

He looked down at himself for a moment… And then back up into her face. He was literally at a loss for words. Then she looked at him again, stroking his face with both hands. “I love you so much, thank you… Mortimer”. She threw her arms around his neck and they stayed in a deep embrace for a long time. The night ended… with a miracle that apparently only the universe could pull off.

@greenplumbboblover , @solorisims , @honeywinesims ⭐

Note: I'm still proud of the "radiant" effect. I could have worked on it a bit more, but at the time, I was very satisfied, and I'm still incredibly grateful for the Fog Emitter and the many amazing effects you can create with it.😊💓

#goth tales #ts3 story #the sims 3 story #ts3 screenshots #the sims 3 screenshots #ts3 gameplay #the sims 3 gameplay #goth family #bella goth #mortimer goth #cassandra goth #don lothario

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loviebugzie · 5 months ago

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🥨 + 🧇 for the baked goods ask game!

Hi!!! OMG thank you for sending in an ask!!! it was so much fun to do!!! :D @runeofseverance also asked for the same two so I'm tagging you here as well!

baked goods ask game

╰┈➤ future bakery dr

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🥨 : PRETZEL . . . create a mood board of your home in your desired reality. your favorite rooms, the exterior, the interior, the vibe, etc.

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: ̗̀➛ Detroit 2038 - Me and my husband, Elijah, live together in a waterfront house on the outskirts of Detroit! From the outside you'd think it'd be much more... cold?.... than it actually is but I assure you, it's very homey! In the winter, a fire is more than likely going in the living room, and we have heated flooring. In the warmer months, I almost always have the windows open. There's lots of good natural lighting and the space is very open, it never feels too stuffy.

I'm a very big nature lover, so I always try to include it in any space I'm in. If you're in any room in our house you will most likely find a vase of flowers or some sort of flower pot somewhere. Pictures of friends, family, life events are scattered throughout rooms and hang on our hallway walls. A few art pieces stand in corners here and there, Elijah's touch.

Our kitchen is very nice, its probably my second favorite room and where I spend a lot of time working out recipes! 2 ovens, a bread proofing box, my pink stand mixer, etc. It has everything I need and more! Elijah made sure I got my dream kitchen. It also has an open layout so we can lookout to the living room & outside patio (very nice if we are hosting dinners with friends).

Since our house is on the water (like right on the Detroit river pretty much), we have a patio connecting to a dock. Its very calming to sit out there on a lounge chair and read. It also provides a very pretty view of the city at night! We have a small fire pit where we have "bonfire" nights and roast the occasional smore or two!

If I had to pick a favorite room it would be my craft room/office... Its one of the smaller rooms in the house (my choosing) so its quite cozy and it's decorated with knick-knacks/small trinkets I've collected over the years. There's a big window looking out to the river that I love to open in the warmer months which brings in a really nice breeze. My sewing machine, scrapbooking supplies, etc. are all in one place so I don't need to go scouring around the house for them. There is a big comfy bean bag in one corner if I decide to read or want to take a nap. I can also play my music as loud as I'd like without worrying I'm disrupting my husband if he's working in his home office. (not like he really cares either way)

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🧇 : WAFFLE . . . create a mood board of your hobbies in your desired reality. do you draw, paint, bake, cook, sculpt, game, etc?

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: ̗̀➛ Gonna be so honest.... I'm only recently finding a good work-life balance so I'm just now starting to have more time for hobbies outside of baking/work. It's what I live and breathe pretty much so even if I'm not doing any actual baking, I may be working on cake designs or pastry ideas.

When I truly have downtime/force myself away from anything bakery related; I really enjoy playing chess, gardening, flower arranging, doing puzzles, ice skating, and scrapbooking!

I have multiple scrapbooks for different things. One is of friends, another of me & my husband, one filled with little things I find along my adventures... putting them together is very calming for me. I know there's new tech that can do something similar/store photos but it just feels so much nicer to be able to flip through something in your hands that you put together/created on your own... ya know?

I grew up ice skating and playing chess. My mother passed her love for both onto me and my sisters! I was a competitive figure skater for a few years but stopped and focused more on competitive chess once I reached high school. My love for puzzles came from my grandmother! We'd always do them together when I'd go to her house after school. The last one we completed together is hanging on the wall in my craft room.

Gardening & flower arranging just helps me feel more connected to nature. Technology is so intertwined with everything nowadays so it's nice to disconnect and ground myself by getting my hands deep in soil. I love having plants around my house, and even in my bakery so customers can enjoy them too!

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all images from Pinterest!!

#shiftblr #shifting #shifting community #desired reality #loviebugzie #reality shifting #shifting motivation #shifting ask game #lovieslives #lovebloomsbakery

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orphicsun · 6 months ago

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Okkkk first of all hi!! I love your work and you're so incredibly talented! I'm new to writing and just posted my first fic this month so I was wondering if you had any writing tips! Or tips to help others find your work! I know it takes time I'm just wondering if there's anything I could be doing differently.

Thank you so much for taking the time to even read this if you have. I'll appreciate anything!!

Hi!! I have a lot of writing tips actually:)

Honestly when it comes to writing, there is no right process to it. I know some writers on here plan it all out but personally I don’t like to do too much planning, I just like to write down the main things and then loosely follow that. I like having a lot of freedom with my writing, but you have to just figure out what works for you.

I write both fics and small things, but when I write fics I don’t like to write the whole thing at one time. It just drains me, and I get like how artists get when they work on a painting too long and stare at it and just don’t know what to think. If you like to take the hours to write all at once you can do that, but it’s okay to write a few paragraphs one day and then just a few sentences the next.

Writer’s block is really difficult to work through, and sometimes you just don’t like what you are writing and get demotivated by it. That’s okay!! I like to get on pinterest and look at pretty pictures that make me feel things, listen to music on spotify, or even read other people’s fanfics that make me emotional to just get myself feeling like I wanna write again.

Editing is SUPER important for me. I know some people write rough drafts and then another draft but I write a “rough draft” and simply edit that one a ton until I’m happy with it. Grammar mistakes, anything I don’t like. You don’t have to do it all at once, either!!

You can also edit during the writing process.. if you don’t like editing and find it tedious, go through as you write and if you write a sentence and you’re like “this isn’t the best way I could write this”, highlight it in a pretty color and come back to it! I do this with words I find bland too, if I don’t like a word and I can’t think of a better one I just highlight it.

Speaking of synonyms / finding better words, I honestly think Word Hippo is a writer’s best friend. I know some writers think it’s a bad practice to just look up words and find synonyms, but you can do it in the right way. Your synonym has to fit the mood, so it can’t just be a word to make your writing look fancy. I also think this is a good practice if you want to extend your vocabulary.

If you struggle with dialogue like a lot of people do, don’t panic. Practice is so good for dialogue writing, even if you don’t post the practice. Also, sometimes it’s best to just go with the flow and not overthink your dialogue. Humans aren’t perfect so taking a while to create the best response isn’t natural. If you are worried it won’t be accurate to a character, what I like to do is imagine my character saying it in my head and if if sounds like something they’d say, I keep it. It’s okay to edit your dialogue but PLS don’t stress or worry about it being the best.

Don’t write for other people. This sounds cheesy but fanfiction is really a treasure for readers and it is a privilege. We don’t get paid to write, we get paid in compliments, likes, reblogs etc. This is okay, but I think a lot of writers get demotivated if they don’t hit a certain amount of notes or don’t get complimented. I understand this personally, I know how it feels to work on something for a while and it kind of flops, but that’s something you have to get used to as a writer. That’s why I say don’t write for others. Write what you like, because honestly it’ll make your writing authentic and genuine. Some of your fics will blow up and some will get not that much attention, that’s unfortunate but common.

As for how to get noticed, tags can help but often I find that making a post visually appealing is how to get people to want to reblog and comment on your work. I like using pretty dividers and pictures of my characters on fics. I try to make descriptions appealing, all of that stuff. People are there for your writing but you have to interest them first. Look at your own favorite fanfictions and how they format to get what I’m saying. And as someone who isn’t the best at decorating posts, simple can be just as good too.

Honestly, it can take a while to reach your audience. When I started, I was surprised because I was actually getting a decent amount of attention as I posted more fics but I still felt like I was just an account and I wasn’t really connecting with anyone. Interacting with people can help you get more attention and feel that connection with the whole fanfic writer thing. I love answering asks and I personally write requests, but not every writer does and that’s okay!! For me, I just think it helps me when I don’t know what to write and I like knowing I wrote something for a specific person. It’s kind of special to me.

#cheyisagirlkissermailbox #writing #writing tips #fanfic advice

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robsterskellington · 1 year ago

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Shin Soukoku again being the more popular vote, huh? This snippet has Vanitas being more of a side character, but he's still involved.

Context: "In six months time, I'm going to kill you." Akutagawa never breaks his promises, right?

*It's time.*

That text had frozen Atsushi's heart, and made him feel sick. After getting the date confirmed, he realised that it had been exactly six months since the end of the Cannibalism Incident, and thus it was time for Akutagawa to fight Atsushi to the death.

*Why? Why did this have to happen? I thought we were getting along, I thought we finally understood each other!* His thoughts weren't helping matters in the slightest- he felt betrayed, but how could he not? Akutagawa had been hanging out with him a lot; sometimes they sparred and fought, sometimes they simply met for tea, and sometimes Akutagawa would simply be there whenever Byakko needed to run around in that beautiful forest.

But clearly it was all for nothing. Akutagawa would never break a promise, especially not for an *enemy*. That's all Atsushi was, in the end. And it hurt, oh God it hurt. He had to excuse himself and run to the bathroom, crying his eyes out. This was always going to happen, Atsushi knew that, but... knowing that the time had come, knowing that Akutagawa was ready to kill him, it made him throw up.

Eventually he emerged, and simply texted back to ask where to meet. Maybe Atsushi would beat Akutagawa? But then would Akutagawa stop if Atsushi defeated him, or would the fight only stop when one of them died? Atsushi had to come to terms with the fact that it was likely Akutagawa had only been so kind, so good to him, to soften him until he refused to fight him, which would just give Akutagawa an easy win.

His sour mood didn't go unnoticed, but nobody spoke to him. Vanitas seemed keen on keeping everyone away from him, and Ranpo was helping. Dazai wasn't in the office, he was likely bothering Chuuya. Atsushi suddenly growled and faced them, "What's the deal with you all?!"

"Atsushi, just calm down." Vanitas spoke softly and looked at him, "Just go meet Akutagawa, and we'll talk later, okay?" Vanitas had been informed of the promise, but he didn't look nervous. If anything, there was a slight smile hidden on his face, and Atsushi noticed a twinkle in Yosano's eyes. They were up to something, obviously.

Atsushi was texted a bunch of coordinates- he still struggled to read them, so he showed Kyouka, who instructed him to go to the Port, and to an abandoned warehouse that had red paint, crumbling off on the outside. She then gave Atsushi a big hug, since she clearly wasn't in the same know-how as Ranpo, Yosano and Vanitas, and whispered softly, "Even if he begs you, don't kill him. And please don't die, I can't lose you."

He held her tightly, then kissed her forehead. She truly was the little sister he wished he had. After taking a breath, he left, his tears dry and his heart hardened.

****

After a walk that took entirely too long as a result of Atsushi dragging his feet, he arrived at the designated location. The whole area was barren, save some dilapidated buildings. The warehouse he was sent to was empty, just the main structures and some railings remained.

Akutagawa was stood leaning against a pillar, scrolling on his phone, not even dressed in his usual gear- his iconic coat was nowhere to be seen, he was wearing black jeans, black converse and a sky blue hoodie. Only a select few people, (meaning Dazai, Gin and Atsushi), knew that Akutagawa's favourite colour was actually lighter shades of blue.

The outfit was... inappropriate. Not because of the clothes having anything wrong with them, but because Rashōmon wouldn't have a good reach with them, though Akutagawa obviously didn't care. He looked completely relaxed, as if he hadn't just summoned Atsushi for a death match. That sight completely enraged him and he clenched his fists.

"*AKUTAGAWA!!*"

Atsushi jumped down, shaking with fury, but Akutagawa looked calm. In fact, after seeing Atsushi, he grew a warm smile, one that made Atsushi's heart skip a beat, "Greetings, Weretiger."

"...*greetings*?! That's all you can say right now? Fucking *greetings*?!" What was Akutagawa's play? This was insulting and ridiculous, and Akutagawa had the audacity to downplay his feelings?!

Akutagawa stood up properly, and walked calmly towards Atsushi, keeping his hands in his pockets, "You're upset, but you shouldn't be." Before the younger man could shout again, Akutagawa gently continued, "Jinko. I've spent my entire life making and keeping promises. I've never broken a promise. Only now do I realise just how idiotic that is."

That wasn't what Atsushi expected. It wasn't stupid to keep promises, was it? That was when a horrible image flashed in Atsushi's mind- Fukuchi and that cursed sword, slashing Akutagawa's throat. If Atsushi hadn't made Akutagawa promise not to kill, they might not have even gotten to that point. They could have killed the bastard before he could summon the sword. He couldn't speak, and he couldn't look at the man in front of him.

Akutagawa saw Atsushi's expression, and took that as a sign to continue, "These past six months have taught me so much. Finding ways to resolve situations without killing is certainly a good alternative, and it's less paperwork." He was only half-joking, but saw that Atsushi didn't even crack a smile. Taking another breath, he got to his point: "I can't kill you. I don't want to, so I refuse. This will be the first promise I *break*."

"...what?" This wasn't real. It couldn't be. But he hoped it was, that he wouldn't wake up and find out that this was just a dream.

Akutagawa took a step closer and smiled at Atsushi, "I... wanted to know what my actual feelings were. So during the time limit I set for us, I decided to spend time with you. I've been alive for nearly 21 years, and I swear that I've never laughed, cried, or enjoyed myself as much as I have when we're together. Being around you simply feels right. If I kill you, then that's all gone, and I cannot allow that."

He couldn't ignore his emotions anymore, and he didn't even really understand his jealousy in the first place! Sure, Atsushi got all of Dazai's attention and praise, but one, he'd earned every word of encouragement and kindness, and two, Akutagawa was dealing with a version of Dazai that was toxic and cruel. The facts of the matter was that they were a great team, the New Double Black, and knew that they could trust each other in any life or death situation. Akutagawa was done being cold to Atsushi, the man he willingly gave up his life for.

Atsushi was shaking, he felt more emotional than he'd done in a long time. Without thinking, he hugged Akutagawa tightly, sobbing into his chest. The tears fell more when he felt the other wrapping his arms securely around him, the two of them just embracing. After a little longer, Atsushi sniffed, "...Ryū? Is this really what you want?"

"I want a lot more, but that'll come later." He chuckled weakly, stroking the back of Atsushi's head, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the Weretiger's warmth, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I wanted to, but I was so scared you wouldn't believe me. I didn't want you to hate me again, we've come so far from when we first met."

"Still, I'll get you for scaring me like that, you lunatic." They both laughed a little, and Atsushi finally calmed down, pulling away and wiping his eyes. They needed to talk things through properly, but while his emotions and mind were a bit fried, Atsushi looked up at Akutagawa, "I was scared. I didn't wanna die, I didn't wanna hurt you. Seeing you die on the ship..." he frowned then tilted his head, "You never answered my question. Why did you save me that day? Was it because of Dazai's orders, or because you wanted to kill me yourself back then?"

"Actually, when he ordered me to protect you, I initially refused at the time, like a fool." Akutagawa reached out and stroked Atsushi's cheek, "I saved you, simply because I wanted you to live. I wanted you to see that even if you thought you had no right to live, other people like myself disagree. You have every right to live, and I'm so grateful every day I see you, alive and well. No more suffering or pain."

He'd never heard those words before. Atsushi had never been told that others wanted him to live. Sometimes implications weren't enough. Sure, Kyouka had asked him not to die, but it wasn't quite the same. Someone being grateful that Atsushi was alive felt so foreign to him, so alien. Coming from Akutagawa, it felt sincere. Leaning into Akutagawa's touch, he felt tears well up again, but he didn't fight to keep them, just letting them fall.

Once he regained his composure, Atsushi assumed that maybe they could go out for tea or something, but Akutagawa looked nervous suddenly, "Actually, would you mind taking me to the Agency? I believe your head detective will have figured out that I'm not keeping this particular promise, so there's no need for hostility."

"I mean, sure. I can bring you." He knew now that after six months of not killing, Akutagawa had changed. There was no way he'd flip like a switch now, especially when Akutagawa had since acknowledged that Dazai belonged at the Agency. Akutagawa was in the Port Mafia, so killing was unavoidable, but Akutagawa would *try* not to, so that gave Atsushi some peace. But still, "May I ask why, first?"

"You may, and I shall tell." Akutagawa looked uncomfortable for a moment, then looked at Atsushi with a soft expression, "As you're aware, I have a lung disease that's slowly but surely killing me. However, five months ago, Vanitas had given me a medicine to soothe the pain, and allow me to breathe properly. Because of it, I have grown physically stronger, and I feel healthier."

Atsushi knew all this, of course. Vanitas had given Akutagawa the herbal remedy he'd concocted while the Port Mafia were still Vampires, and he'd been taking it for so long that his coughing was a rare occurrence now. The problem was that lungs, once damaged, tend to remain that way. The medication helped with the breathing difficulties, and helped Akutagawa do more with his body and life, but the lung disease would kill him in the end.

He felt his heart fill with light when Akutagawa continued: "Before, I was so weak that if your Doctor Yosano tried to use her Ability on me, I would have died before Thou Shalt Not Die could activate, which is one Hell of a feat, considering it can cure death in certain circumstances." He cleared his throat, "Now... I'm not that weak anymore. I can survive. So, please take me to her... so I can get rid of this cursed illness once and for all, and live for as long as I can."

Atsushi was having a day of emotional whiplash. What started off with pure fear, was now a situation that filled him with so much joy that he couldn't see straight. Acting without thinking, Atsushi threw his arms around Akutagawa, who held him securely and swung him around using the momentum created, laughing! It was so ridiculous, but they were both happy and clearly doing things in the heat of the moment. This was completely verified by Atsushi, slamming his lips onto Akutagawa's.

The Black Caped Beast, the Rabid Dog of the Port Mafia, was stunned silent and completely red in the face as the infamous Weretiger of the Armed Detective Agency kissed him like he needed Akutagawa's lips in order to breathe. In that moment, Akutagawa felt the same way, his arms holding Atsushi close, both of them aware of Byakko and Rashōmon purring within them, also happy.

Once they pulled apart, Atsushi grabbed Akutagawa's hand and practically dragged him to the Agency; it was a good thing that Akutagawa's lungs were already on the mend, at least now he could keep up without losing breath too fast and feeling like trash! He didn't want anything to ruin the moment they just had...

****

Vanitas and Ranpo had smug looks on their faces when they saw the boys return, and Akutagawa glared, "...you both really did call it."

"Yep!" Ranpo grinned as Vanitas explained, "However, we didn't want to risk anything going wrong, so we kept it to ourselves. The only other people who figured this out was the President, and Doctor Yosano."

As if summoned, Yosano came from the infirmary, looking surprised when Akutagawa bowed to her, "Doctor Yosano, after everything I've done, I understand if you refuse, but... I'm in desperate need of healing. Even with Vanitas' medicines, I'm not going to live too long with my lungs in this state. I'm willing to pay any price-"

Yosano cut him off by raising her hand, and looked at him, "You're a patient in need of help, and I'm aware that Vanitas' medicines can only do so much, while Mr. Mori is useless when it comes to diseases. You don't need to pay me anything, I'm just proud of you for finally admitting that you need help." She looked towards Atsushi and smiled, "You can trust me with Akutagawa's health."

It wouldn't take long, but Atsushi was still nervous at seeing Yosano drag Akutagawa into the infirmary. Kyouka had to hold him back when he heard the chainsaw whirring and Akutagawa's scream- he'd never heard Akutagawa scream with utter fear before, and he silently vowed that he would never let Akutagawa scream like that ever again. Kyouka hugged Atsushi, and he leaned into her. Obviously he knew that Yosano would cure Akutagawa completely, but it was still nerve-wracking to wait.

It was only a couple of minutes before Yosano came out, with a satisfied look, "Okay, that lung disease is all gone! And *yes* Atsushi, you can-" He zipped right past her before she could finish her sentence, but she found herself still doing so, "...see him now."

Vanitas laughed and went to make Yosano some tea to help her recover, "How bad?"

"If you hadn't given him that stuff, Akutagawa's lungs would have gotten worse. That boy hasn't smoked in his life, but his lungs were in a similar state to a chain smoker." She looked tired, but it was obvious that she thought it was worth it. "He probably would have died before meeting the six month deadline he'd set for Atsushi."

That was depressing, but unfortunately that was how unlucky life could be for some people. Akutagawa was already sickly, prone to infections and illnesses of all kinds. It was good that now he had support, and was able to trust people enough to help him. After giving Yosano the tea, Vanitas and Kyouka peaked inside the infirmary to see that Akutagawa was sound asleep in the bed, with Atsushi holding his hand and resting his head on the edge of aforementioned bed.

Vanitas smiled and grabbed an extra blanket, covering Atsushi's sleeping form before taking Kyouka's hand and leading her to the café to relax for a while. He'd already taken note of the fact that Akutagawa's breathing sounded steady, and he didn't look uncomfortable anymore. His chest no longer rattled, and he didn't cough himself awake.

*****

Akutagawa woke up an hour later, and he could immediately feel that he was *better*. It didn't feel like smoke was filling his lungs, and he couldn't taste blood in the back of his throat anymore. He felt someone squeeze his hand, and turned to smile at Atsushi taking a nap close to him. His heart hammered at the memory of that kiss, and he blushed to himself.

Maybe this partnership had more similarities to Chuuya and Dazai's than he thought. Working together, capable of destruction, and at the end of the day, they completed each other. Akutagawa and Atsushi weren't a single soul in two bodies, but their Abilities in the form of Kokko Zessō absolutely was.

Akutagawa smiled to himself as he watched Atsushi slowly awaken from his nap, and he couldn't help but stroke Atsushi's face when he saw that sleepy smile, "Ryū... how you feeling?"

"Healthy." That was honestly the best way to describe how he felt at this moment. Akutagawa leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Atsushi's, the pair of them holding each other like that for a moment.

It felt like now or never, so Atsushi spoke softly, "I... Ryū, I think I've made my thoughts clear, but I'm still gonna say it. I don't want us to be enemies anymore, or rivals. You may be in the Port Mafia, but that doesn't matter to me. I just... I just want to spend my life with you..."

That was something exceedingly dangerous to ask of a Mafia member, however Akutagawa completely returned that sentiment. He'd known Atsushi for months now, and they'd been through so much together. All Akutagawa wanted was to watch Atsushi live his life, while standing beside him the entire time. He'd never attack Atsushi, and he didn't particularly have any beef with the Agency, so a feud was pointless in his opinion.

All Akutagawa could do in response was pull Atsushi onto the bed with him, hold him close, and kiss him again. Atsushi squeaked, but wrapped his arms around Akutagawa and let them both sink into the bed, staying there for what felt like hours.

This was trust. This was loyalty. This was *love*.

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kirythestitchwitch · 2 years ago

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Klaroline WIP Wed - freaky friday time travel fic

my prompt was the future Caroline Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes swap places and I was like, okay, I am going to shoehorn an entire plot in here after prom but before graduation. author is loading canon and firing it into the sun

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The package was sitting innocently enough on the porch swing when Caroline got home from school. After a weird day of fielding concerned questions from her peers about Elena’s whereabouts–Stefan and Damon locking her in the Boarding House all weekend after prom was a last-ditch effort that looked like it wasn’t working–Caroline wasn’t really in the mood for a surprise.

When a cautious sniff towards the box brought her the acrid smell of oil paint and turpentine, though, she had to bite down on her smile. The smell liked to cling to Klaus after he’d been painting all morning, as she’d discovered two days ago, the morning after prom. She’d been crossing the Square, coming from the Sheriff’s department toward the Mystic Grill to meet Matt for lunch and flashcards, when her name being called pulled her head back to the here and now.

“Caroline!” Klaus’ smile was delighted to see her as he crossed the street to meet her on the grass, dimples brighter on his face than the sunshine, and god wasn’t that cheesy and ironic, just like her agreement to be friends with the nightmare creature that had plagued their lives for months. Even stranger, that she actually wanted to. Okay, maybe he hadn't been plaguing their lives very hard recently. What with the others unleashing Evil Dead and Elena taking home all the queen bitch prizes previously scooped up by Katherine, Klaus had almost seemed like your friendly neighborhood serial killer in comparison.

She waited until he caught up, swinging a large brown paper bag by string handles. “A word of advice?” she offered. He raised his eyebrows in intrigued curiosity. “Don’t go loudly chatting up the Sheriff's teenage daughter in the middle of town when you look like… that,” She gestured at all of him, including his loose-necked henley and comfortable jeans liberally smeared with paint, “Unless you want to get called a dirty old man behind your back.”

The laugh was practically startled out of him. He looked like an artist grad student at most, the kind that would debauch you on the furniture props, but judging by the slightly judgy looks from a few faces she could see around the square, that was too old for just barely eighteen Caroline. Oh yeah, Liz would be hearing about this before the day was out, and wasn't that just what Caroline needed?

Klaus leaned forward slightly, for all the world looked like he was sharing confidences with her. "Do you find me old, sweetheart?" he asked, dimples on display.

"Ancient, decrepit," she deadpanned.

His voice dropped a little softer, and unconsciously this time she leaned in a little to hear him. “You know our kind don’t measure time in years, sweetheart, it’s more about experiences.”

With a scoff and an eye roll, she leaned back. “Oh my god, you did not just ‘Age is just a number’ me. It’s jail for you, sir.”

“Mmm, they haven’t built a prison that can hold me yet, but if you prefer that sort of role-play, I'm sure I could think of something,” he said cheekily.

“Wow, okay!” She laughed, trying not to think of ‘Klaus’ and ‘role-play’ in the same context, “You are feeling much better than the last time I saw you.”

He seemed to sober, tension pinching his soft mouth. “Silas hasn’t shown himself that I’m aware of. Elijah is refusing to hand over the cure to either Rebekah or myself. Her on the grounds that she failed her trial, and me…” Klaus glanced away.

Caroline tried to dredge up some sympathy, really she did. “Well, we are all very much hoping there will not be an apocalypse hell-on-earth. I never met your parents and I would like to keep that track record going, thanks.” Klaus ducked his head, laugh soft, and Caroline nearly preened. “So, what’s in the bag? Thumb screws? Arsenic? Stolen lollipops?”

“Your imagination is a never-ending delight, love. There’s an art supply shop down the street that orders my paints for me. Which is fortunate, I was getting low on Cadmium Orange.” His fingers fiddled with the bag string.

“That is a very specific color,” she teased gently.

He tilted his head to the side in a self-deprecating sort of way. “Well, I need it for a very specific bit of shading, you see. The fall,” he gestured vaguely with one hand at some unseen painting, “Isn’t quite right. I’ve been working on it all night.”

Wrinkling her nose at him, she adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Is that why you have that ‘freshly bathed in linseed oil’ smell?” Knowing she was about to set the tongues wagging but unable to resist the look it would put on his face, she reached out and snagged his hand, flipped it over backside up. Bright yellow paint was smeared on his skin. “You missed a spot.” she pointed out helpfully.

He rumbled softly in his throat. “So I did.” When Caroline looked up, his hungry blue eyes were on her, quiet, watchful of what she’d do next.

“So,” she said, drawing out the vowel, “I’m supposed to meet Matt for lunch.”

“The human?” Klaus managed to fit a world of disgruntled judgment into two words.

“Ugh.” Caroline dropped his hand with a bit of force. “Matt is failing some of his classes and needs a study buddy. I happen to be queen of the flashcards, thank you very much. Finals are next week, and I just want…” She paused, emotion clawing up her throat and she swallowed. Blinked. The sun that seemed so bright before–but not warm, never warm, never again–seemed a pale imitation of itself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Klaus’s hand hovering next to her arm as if wondering if his touch was unwelcome.

This wasn’t helpful, this wasn’t what she needed, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the Square, for god’s sake. Her chin raised, she looked Klaus in the eye. He looked solemnly back. “I just want us to make it through graduation. All of us. So.” She pasted a smile on her face. “I do what I can, which means flashcards.”

Something bitter tilted his mouth. “The talents of a general and they have you tutoring the quarterback.”

Caroline scowled at him. “It’s not a waste of my time to care about my friends. You certainly benefited from that.” With a huff, she turned to go, and he stepped sideways into her path.

“Admitting you care, love?” There was something predatory about the glint in his eyes.

Raising her eyebrows loftily, she pushed past him, trying to ignore the heat from his body that seemed to cling to hers. “In your dreams, Klaus,” she shot over her shoulder as she headed toward the Mystic Grill.

While her vampire hearing might have been bogged down by the noise in the Square, she was annoyingly attuned to Klaus’ presence. His parting words reached her easily: “Someday, you will.”

#klaroline wip wed #klaroline #klaroline for ts #tvd for ts #one of Klaus' Top 3 Fave Carolines is Grumpy Caroline #She's scowling and sassing him? he is having a GREAT time #hey how'd that foreshadowing get in there? someone call security!!

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dandelionfairyyy · 2 years ago

Text

Messy G. G.

Summary: just two lost souls finally finding peace in each others company

Pairing: Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz x fem!reader

Wordcount: 7,193 (I’m sorry 😭)

Triggerwaning: 16+ because of slight mention of: blood, torture, GSWs, panic attacks, use of drugs, underweight, mental struggle, trauma and death as well as explicit described sexual acts and possible incorrect description of certain things/feelings and possible writing mistakes

A/N: this piece turned out longer than I expected but I hope you still like it. And as a disclaimer or something: just to make it clear, I didn’t experienced any of this so I apologize for incorrect descriptions.

Red-stained water flows from your hands as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your face bears more stains and you have to close your eyes for a moment and breathe deeply to push back the memory as you continue to wash the red from your skin.

It's like dejà vu. Every time you clean up after painting, you feel transported back to the night three months ago.

There was red everywhere, as if one of your colours had tipped over, but your Ma had been clear when she had forbidden you to paint in the living room. And you had kept to it.

Your gaze wandered through the room of chaos and your breath was taken away when you spotted someone.

"Dad!"

You go down on your knees in front of him, pressing your hands on the gunshot wound in his chest from which blood was still running. Tears now ran down your cheeks as you remembered your mum and siblings.

"Where's Ma? And Olivia? And Wesley? Dad!"

Your dad made a strained groan and mumbled something. You moved your ear closer to his mouth and heard, "They took her... They wanted... Documents... Ma doesn't know anything about it... Bank... 273B..." You couldn't make sense of it, to you it all sounded like the confused ramblings of a dying man, but soon you realised that he was actually serious.

Agitated, you wash the red colour and salty tears from your cheeks. Your hands clench around the ceramics of your sink in an attempt to push back the panic attack.

They cannot hurt you. They cannot hurt you.

They know nothing about you...

With shaky hands, you open the small medicine compartment next to the mirror.

Shit!

You had smoked the last one the day before yesterday... frustrated, you slam the door again and grab your fanny pack with your money before heading to your new friend Johnny. The shivering slowly subsides. The cold winter air seems to help.

"Hey Sugar," he greets you with his typical flirty smirk.

"Quit it. I'm not in the mood. I need another five...'

Johnny looks at you with a raised eyebrow. "When we met you didn't want to know anything about the drugs and now you're one of my most loyal customers? What the hell happened to you?"

"Let's not talk about it," you suggest and take a few dollar notes out of your pocket.

Johnny presses the little bag into your hand and takes the money from you. "Hey, if you ever need something stronger, let me know."

"Don't give me any ideas."

Johnny playfully raises his hands defensively. "Just an offer." He looks at you again with concern. You've known each other for a few years now, travelled in the same circles and he's taken you to his heart. But you've only really had closer contact since the incident. That's why he was worried about you now. You hadn't told him what happened, you'd just asked him three months ago for something to quiet the mind and let you sleep. "Sugar, there's a party at one of my boys' on Friday night. Do you want to come?"

"I'll think about it." With those words, you turn around and make your way back to your little flat. Your flat... It belonged to your parents. It was bought as an investment at the time. Along with two others. For you and your siblings, should you want to move out. Now you have three flats and a house, as well as a flourishing family business worth millions, and you don't know what to do with it. And that's just what you know.

When you check the letterbox, there is another letter from your family's lawyer. You know what it says. That you should accept or reject the inheritance listed. That you have to take care of so many things you never wanted to worry about...

Closing the flat door with one foot, you make your way to the couch.

It doesn't take long and you have your "medicine" in stock again and you reach for the lighter on the small table.

The herbal taste spreads through your mouth after the first hit. After the third, you finally start to feel the marijuana. The comforting blanket wraps around your thoughts and they finally quiet down. The traumatic images from three months ago blur into a simple mist in your mind and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Knowing that hunger will soon set in, you make your way to the kitchen with the joint between your lips and take a look in the fridge.

Margarita, your parents' housekeeper, who is now looking after you, has put something in the fridge for you. Reading the little message lying next to it, you start to heat it up in the pan.

Because I know you won't cook anything anyway, I took the liberty of preparing something for you. You really should eat more, child.

You smirk.

Margarita has been working for your family for more than twenty years, taking care of the household and you and your siblings as children. Now there is only you left for her to take care of. You take another drag and these thoughts also fall completely silent.

Instead, you focus on the food.

Margarita's food was always incredible, but with the effect of the marijuana it is even better. Smiling contentedly, you eat in complete silence before fatigue sets in soon after.

Yawning, you plod barefoot from the kitchen back to the couch.

Next to the pillow lies the little sheep that you have had as a cuddly toy since birth. If someone asked you, you would deny that you still sleep with a cuddly toy, but since what happened three months ago, the little sheep has given you comfort when no one else could.

You lovingly hug the fluffy thing to you and finally close your eyes to fall asleep shortly afterwards.

Your flat actually consists of three rooms. A bedroom, a study and a living room.

But two of the three rooms are empty. The walls are bare and there is not a single piece of furniture in them. Only in the living room is a couch where you sleep and a table next to it. Otherwise, the boxes that Margarita packed for you from the house are standing around. You haven't even opened most of them. Everything in them reminds you of something that is no longer there.

Friday morning you finally stand in front of the mirror and look at yourself. You have lost a lot of weight after the incident, but thanks to Margarita, who forced you to eat more in the beginning, your clothes start to fit again.

You no longer wear your belts in the last hole, your T-shirts no longer hang down like sacks. Your hair looks fuller and healthier again.

Maybe you should make a change?

After a moment's thought, you call Margarita. And only thirty minutes later she is standing in front of your flat with hair dye.

"Are you sure, dear?" she asks in her Russian accent for the third time and lowers the scissors again. "Your beautiful hair..." When you were little, she made you pigtails every morning. Sometimes one, sometimes two. Sometimes braided, sometimes not. And every day she admired your full and soft hair.

By now you can do most of the braids on your own. But in the last few months you have neglected yourself. This is also noticeable in your hair.

"Yes, Margarita. I'm sure of it. And don't worry. It will grow back anyway..." you reply with a grin and watch as she takes a strand of your hair, applies the scissors and squints. You hear the sound of the scissors cutting through your hair. There is no turning back now.

Three hours later, you're standing in front of the mirror again and looking at your new hairstyle.

The dark brown has turned into a light blonde and your hair is much shorter. Before it almost reached your bottom, now it doesn't even reach your shoulder. The end just hovers over it. You didn't know how heavy hair can actually be.

"Wow...", you say and run your fingers through your new hair. You part your hair in the middle, make a side parting, and finally bites your lower lip with an admiring smile.

"You look great, love," she confirms to you and as you turn to thank her, she sees for the first time the glow in your eyes again for three months.

She hopes so much that you will slowly get back on your feet. You are like a daughter to her. She has watched you grow up and looked after you when your parents were busy again. So it hurts her heart every time to see you the way you are. You are lost. Lost in a world where you don't belong, where you never wanted to belong.

How she would love to take this burden off your shoulders, but she could not. All she can do is stand by your side and help when it is needed. But first you have to find your footing again.

After another look in the mirror, you decide to go to that party Johnny invited you to. While Margarita tidies up the flat again, you carelessly go through the boxes of expensive clothes.

Finally, you're back in front of the mirror in a pair of ripped jeans and a crop top. You look at yourself with a smile.

"You look like an angel," Margarita says as she leans against the doorframe, watching you.

You would not describe yourself as an angel, but as beautiful.

It has been a long time since you felt yourself to be beautiful. You see in the eyes of your old friend and housekeeper the hope that you wanted to feel so much. You no longer want to be this wreck, this shadow of yourself. But you are now in this new world where you never wanted to belong. And you don't know how to find your footing in it.

Shaking your head, you push the thoughts aside and thank Margarita again with a kiss on the cheek. You still ask her for one last favour, because you have to get to the party somehow.

"Sugar, what a surprise. I didn't expect to see you." "Well, if you want, I can leave again..." you joke.

Johnny smiles and grabs your hand to pull you into the house and his arms. "You look hot by the way", he whispers in your ear and places a kiss on your temple.

"Whatever," you dismiss the compliment with a little laugh and let yourself join the group of other partygoers.

"Hey guys, this is Y/N," Johnny introduces you and drops onto one of the couches. He pulls you with him onto his lap.

"You wish, Johnny. Keep your hands off. I am your customer, not your girlfriend, Sugar." You emphasise the pet name, which he always uses for you, especially.

"Worth a try, isn't it?"

You let your gaze wander around the room. Apart from Johnny, there are four other men sitting in the room. spread out the couches. "You call this a party? Or is this just the warm-up round?" you finally ask.

"I didn't know if you'd really come and how much of a party animal you are." Had he really done that just for you?

"Since when do you care how I am?" you ask him, poking him in the side.

"Some people I just like to take care of.

You look at him with raised eyebrows and don't respond further to his comment. Instead you say, "You didn't answer my question?"

"Hey Timothy, send out a message that there's a party here at short notice," Johnny gives to one of the other guests.

"You got it, boss."

"You'll have your party in an hour," Johnny promises and you smile. He leans forward a little and finally presses his lips to yours. You allow it for a few seconds before you release and place a finger on his lips, shaking your head.

"Nice try." You turn away from him and disappear into the bathroom.

A few deep breaths, a little water over your forearms and you're all better.

When you come back, you don't sit down next to Johnny again, but on the sofa opposite him. You need some space between you and him.

You like Johnny, he's a good friend, you can count on him, but he wants something from you. He makes no secret of it, but he doesn't understand that you don't want anything from him.

Now you are sitting next to a lanky young man, about your age, maybe a little older. With your back against the armrest, you casually put your legs diagonally across his, eliciting an overwhelmed "oh... okay" from him before you say, "Johnny didn't introduce us. I'm Y/N." You reach out your hand to him.

He takes it and introduces himself as "Mouse". You look at him in amazement. "Mouse?"

"Actually it's Greg, Mouse is a ridiculous nickname, but I've come to terms with it. Nice to meet you, Y/N."

"Nice to meet you too."

As Johnny promised, less than an hour later there was a party going on in the house. Music booms muffled from the big room into the smaller one where you are still sitting on the couch with Mouse. He's thawed out enough by now that he had his hands on your thighs to keep your legs from sliding down.

You feel Johnny's jealous gaze on you, but try to ignore it as much as possible.

"Hey Mouse. Are you also part of Johnny's business?" you finally ask curiously. To be honest, he doesn't really look like a dealer, more like a customer.

"I would rather say business partner.”

You look at him curiously.

"He introduces me to people who I then work for. I'm a computer crack."

"Oh. That's cool. I don't have anything to do with it. I'm totally incompetent at it. My talents lie elsewhere."

"It's not that hard. What do you do?"

"Y/N has divine hands...", Johnny comments and one of the men laughs quietly in the background.

"You bet," you hear and roll your eyes. Thanks to a former girlfriend, you now have that reputation gone...

"So I'm an artist," you clarify. "Johnny also introduces me to people I work for. I've painted one or two forgeries of famous works of art. There's even one hanging in the museum here in Chicago." You wink at him with a proud grin. "But most of the works are my own."

"Are you selling them?"

"Some. I was organising an exhibition where I could sell the works. Sort of a silent auction." You shrug your shoulders as if to dismiss the subject.

"What happened to that?"

"Something's come up," you dodge the question and instead reach for his beer bottle to take a sip of it.

As soon as the tingling liquid hits your taste buds, you contort your face.

"Yuck. How can you drink that. That's super disgusting."

Mouse laughs and takes the bottle from you again to drink a sip from it himself.

For the rest of the evening you talk about different things. It feels easy with him, like you can finally be you again. As if you had found an anchor to swim back to the surface. But you push back the budding sense of security. People come and go all the time. You've had to learn that the hard way. And they always want something from you.

"Hey, what's with the sad face all of a sudden?" asks Mouse in a soft voice, lifting your head with his index finger under your chin until you look at him. You have the feeling that he is really interested in your answer. It has been a long time since a person was really interested in you. So far, they've all wanted something from you in return. To buy something, to borrow money, to introduce someone to them, to sleep with them. But Mouse seems to be interested in you and you alone.

Tears come to your eyes and you have to take a deep breath. You put your head back and have to blink a few times until you can control yourself again.

"Do you know when the bad thoughts get too loud? And you don't know where you are, what's real and what's imaginary? What exactly is your mind playing you now and what is really there?"

"That pretty much sums up what I went through some time ago."

The tears were back and burning in your eyes, threatening to run down your cheeks.

"Have you figured out how to get rid of it?"

He shakes his head. "Not really. But it gets easier with time, you learn to live with it. I can promise you that." You nod and look at him with a sad smile.

"God. I'm so pathetic.

"Hey, don't say that. You're amazing. From what I've heard of you so far." With more affectionate words he tries to make you feel better and the only appropriate response that comes to your mind is to kiss him.

You lean forward and simply place your lips on his, silencing him.

You sense that he is surprised and overwhelmed by your reaction, which is why you withdraw again.

"I’m sorry," you say apologetically and pinch your lips together a little. Actually, you're not sorry, it felt too good.

"Don't be," he replies now, putting down his beer bottle and pulling you closer again.

His hands on your cheeks, he puts his lips on yours again and begins to kiss you.

You change position a little until you are sitting astride his lap. His hands now on your back and in your hair, your arms around his neck, your hands also running through his hair, you kiss each other deeply.

You dare to let go. You feel that it's okay, that it's the right thing to do, you just let go and the tears trickle down your cheeks while Mouse holds you, is your anchor to reality, so that you don't get lost in the whirlpool. The images you constantly see in front of you just pass by this time, have no effect on you, because Mouse's is stronger. You feel light, safe and secure in his arms, even though you hardly know him.

Your kiss becomes more intimate, more demanding and you receive his tongue with yours. Then your head is empty.

There is nothing more. Just you and this stranger who has this incredible effect on you.

Finally, you break away breathlessly and just look into each other's eyes. You notice that he can't hold eye contact for long, but that's okay. You know... you have experienced first-hand the effects trauma can have. Your fingers begin to trace his contours.

He makes you feel like you've never felt before. You don't have to say a word. It is as if your looks communicate everything.

Gently he wipes your tears from your cheeks. You nod slightly at his questioning look. Yes, you feel much better now.

"Thank you," you form with your lips. A small smirk settles on his and you lean forward again to kiss him once more. This time it's different. You no longer seek a hold on him, this time it's a "thank you".

Your kiss is gentle, careful and sensual.

If someone had told you this morning what was happening, you would have said that they were nuts. You still can't quite understand how this one person can have such power over you. That this one person can simply silence your thoughts like that.

Time passed, you're sitting next to Mouse again. Your legs crossed his as Johnny brought you not only a cup of Coke but also a joint. You throw him a kissing hand.

After lighting the cigarette, you hold it out to Mouse, offering it to him. He takes a drag while you hold the joint before you take one too.

You blow out the smoke upwards with relish.

A few puffs later, you lean forward again a little until your lips are almost touching and you inhale his smoke before exhaling it back upwards.

"Hey Y/N...", you hear someone's voice before the owner enters the room, just as you inhale Mouse's smoke one more time. "..Johnny said you were here... And apparently you're busy."

You make a grumbling noise, detach yourself from Mouse and blow the smoke back upwards. "Just what I need..." you mutter, before turning to face her. Even through the wonderful fog of the Weed, you are pissed off by the presence of this horrible person. Inconspicuously, you squeeze Mouse's hand tightly, again looking for support, before finally letting go and standing up.

"Genevieve..." you reply, looking at her with a fake smile.

"It's good to see you again. Hey. I'm sorry about what happened."

"Please, don't talk about it and say what you want." Your voice is cold and distant.

"I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. I know it was not correct of me."

You laugh in disbelief. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone, Genevieve. That's not something you just shrug off with an 'I'm sorry'."

"I know that. That's why I want to make it up to you. Tell me what to do."

"Would you do what you put me through?" She remains silent and you snort snidely before taking another step back. You need distance between you. "Of course you wouldn't. After all, then your great image would be tarnished. The great benefactor Genevieve..." you scoff, before adding: "You make me sick."

You see her expression stiffen. "And you are a slut! You slept with my boyfriend even though you knew he was MY boyfriend!" There she is, the real Genevieve, as she lives and breathes. You knew she had this side in her, but you never expected to feel it yourself.

Your hands clench into fists and you feel your fingernails digging into your skin. The pain helps you to stay calm as much as possible.

"Excuse me? That was some pretty lie he breathed into your ear. I told him I didn't want anything from him! Do you think he cared? You know what he told me? That you were too innocent, too willing. Too boring. I slapped him and told him not to talk about my best friend like that in front of me. He then tried to rape me! So much for your perfect Richard and the evil evil Y/N!", you rage.

Shocked, she looks at you before regaining her composure. "Liar!" she hisses, then looks at Mouse. "Have fun with that bitch. Make sure she doesn't end up cheating on you with your best friend."

You gasp in indignation and shock at her impudence. Your former best friend turns around and disappears again.

One more time you have to take a deep breath.

"Wow... that was intense," you hear Mouse suddenly standing behind you. You notice how you immediately become calmer as soon as you feel him behind you.

"Welcome to the young high society of Chicago," you murmur and turn to him. "I'm sorry you overheard that."

"Hev. I want you to know that I don't believe a word she says."

You smile sadly. "Then you're the first. Even Johnny thinks I'm the evil whore in the story."

"Well. I think you're just lost and need someone to believe in you again."

"And you're saying that someone is you?"

"Maybe," Mouse replies with a grin.

You have to laugh and gently bite your lower lip, slightly swollen from your kiss, as you look up at him.

"Are you coming?"

"Where?"

"Get some fresh air, go to the other side of the world, or go to a diner and eat something. Just get away from here."

He takes your hand in his again and intertwines his fingers with yours.

"Where are you going?" he just asks.

You feel a tingle in your stomach as he smiles at you and you have to swallow.

You say goodbye to Johnny with a simple wave before leaving the house with Mouse by the hand.

A car on the other side of the road flashes its lights as soon as you are out of the front gate and you roll your eyes, while you mumble, "Margarita…”

Nevertheless, you walk with Mouse towards the black car with the tinted windows.

"Wow... are you super rich or something?" asks Mouse wryly.

"Please don't remind me,” you only reply, as Peter, your family's long-time driver, gets out and holds the door open.

"Miss Y/L/N," he greets you with a nod as you tell Mouse to get in. "Hey Pete," you say back and get into the car as well.

"Where to, Miss Y/L/N?"

"Hannah's Diner," you reply and Peter nods before pulling out of the parking space.

Next to you, you sense that Mouse would like to bombard you with a thousand questions, but he refrains.

You sigh and lean your head against his shoulder.

"I hate it," you admit.

In response, Mouse squeezes your hand.

You never wanted your family's money. Even though you got a lot of pocket money, you never touched it. Since you were 16 and allowed to work, you worked in a diner and earned your few bucks. Everything you bought since then, you always bought with your own money.

Until the incident three months ago, you worked at Hannah's Diner. But since then you have hardly left your flat. Hannah, who has become a friend over time, has been there for you and said that you can take as much time off as you want and when you are ready and willing, you can start working for her again.

Together with Mouse, you sit down at one of the tables and wait for Hannah to come

It was already late, but the diner was open 24/7. "Okay. What do you want?" you ask, "it's on me." Seeing the look on his face, you add, "Do me a favour and let me pay." After another look into your eyes, he nods. "Okay."

You are suddenly absolutely exhausted. The encounter with Genevieve has robbed you of all the strength you had today.

"Y/N. Good to see you again," you are finally greeted by Hannah with a smile. You return it and stand up to be pulled into a hug.

"How are you?" she asks, looking at you with concern.

You shrug your shoulders. "I'm still alive..."

Hannah's smile turns sad and compassionate. "Well, that's a start." She puts a hand on your shoulder as you sit back down across from Mouse. "What can I get you two?"

Once your milkshakes and fries are brought, Mouse begins to tell. "I was in the army, 3rd Battalion 75th Ranger Regiment. I did two tours in Afghanistan. When I came back, my best friend who I met on deployment and I were a total mess. There are things I don't want to think about anymore, there are things that are constantly in my head. You learn to live with it. The images eventually become less deterrent."

"What happened?" you ask cautiously.

"During my last tour... there was a convoy... Jay and I were in the first Humvee and then..." You can see him bobbing his leg restlessly as he tells the story, his fingers drumming on the table. "I thought that was it for me. Jay and I are about the only ones who got out of there alive."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." You are silent for a moment and take a deep sip of your Strawberry milkshake before you decide to tell him about you.

"My family is... was...", you correct yourself, "actually super rich. The company my dad started after he invented something for computers or something that's now in pretty much every mobile device is incredibly huge. I honestly have no idea about the whole… thing" you run your fingers through your hair. It's still unfamiliar that it's now so short and, more importantly, so light. "He produces it himself, sells it himself. At least he did... He was tinkering with something newer, better, when he got mugged." You start to stir your milkshake with the straw, totally captured in your thoughts. "Someone tried to steal his designs. When he didn't hand them over, they shot and kidnapped my Ma and siblings. They blackmailed them to get the designs. But they knew nothing about it. Dad had never said anything about it." Tears burn in your eyes again. "I’ve found them...” Mouse carefully reaches across the table for your hand and brings you back from the memory.

You lift your gaze and meet his bright blue eyes. "Now I've inherited everything and have no idea where to go or what to do," you admit quietly. "The police never found the… offenders”

Mouse said nothing. He didn't have to say anything. Because nothing he could have said would have made you feel better. So you both remained silent for a moment while he still held your hand and gently caressed your skin with his thumb.

"Thank you for telling me," he finally says and you can't help but smile sadly at him.

"Okay. Let's talk about something else. Something nice..", you finally change the subject and force a liberated smile on your lips. "Tell me about your friend you mentioned, Jay. He seems important to you."

Mouse's expression brightens and he begins to smile honestly.

"Jay... we met in the army. Now he's with the CPD. He's managed to land on his feet. I.. well.."

"You can do it too. You just need someone who believes in you and gives you a chance."

"Yes. Maybe..."

"Okay. Crazy idea: we help each other get back on our feet." "And how do you imagine that?" He looks at you with interest.

"I don't know yet. But you can try, can't you?" "Okay. Let's try.”

After you have eaten and paid, you leave the diner again. "Do you want Pete to take you home? Or you can come upstairs. Then Pete can call it a night..”.

"Would be interested to see what an artist's flat looks like."

You snort in amusement. "Yes, don't expect too much. The artist hasn't moved in yet."

You get into the lift.

"Okay. All expectations are at zero. I promise," Mouse replies now and you have to laugh.

It's the first time in three months that you've really had an honest laugh.

"You have a very nice laugh," Mouse now says quietly.

"Thank you. I think that was the first time I laughed since the incident."

"Then I am honoured to be the first to hear it."

Again you giggle at his silliness.

The lift has arrived at the floor with your flat and you pull Mouse behind you down the corridor.

Once in your flat, Mouse looks around a bit. There is not much to see.

"I... haven't gotten around to decorating the flat yet," you now admit a little uncertainly and disappear into the kitchen.

"Since I don't drink beer, I only have wine in the fridge. But you get to decide which wine we head." You list a few varieties and as you look up, you meet Mouse's puzzled gaze, which makes you grin in amusement again.

"Just take any."

With a bottle of lovely white wine and two glasses in your hand, you go back into the living room and flop down on the couch.

"Sit down. I honestly have no idea what it is, Margarita got it for me...", you admit, and hand Mouse a glass with the alcohol.

Instead of sitting down, Mouse looks at the canvases that are standing around. Still lifes, landscapes. Chicago's skyline, portraits.

"That looks incredible. You should definitely exhibit it."

"Sometime, maybe. My parents were organising something when... well…”

Mouse nods in understanding.

"Hey, you want to try painting something?", you ask

"Oh no. I'd rather stick to my computer stuff."

"Come on. I'll help you." You direct him to the small stool that stands in front of your easel. "This is what I'm working on right now."

"Woah, no, I'm not touching that."

"No really. It didn't turn out so well anyway. I'll probably paint it over later."

"What?"

"Yeah, go on. What would you say is missing from this picture?"

You had painted an avenue where people were walking.

"Maybe make flowers out of the greenery? Then it doesn't look quite so gloomy.

"Okay." You stand behind Mouse, prepare the mixing palette and select a brush. "You do the flowers with dabs on the side."

You put the brush in his hand, put yours over it and guide it. Dab, dab, dab.

After a few dabs, you look at it and say with satisfaction: "Here. Now you try it on your own”

When Mouse did it alone, it didn't look as good as when you did it. But it wasn't a complete disaster either, which you consider a victory.

At some point, he taps his finger in the pink colour and taps you on the nose with it.

Outraged and surprised, you look at him before doing the same to him until you are both full of colour and end up laughing on the floor.

Over the next few weeks you and Mouse meet more often, regularly, sometimes he just sits on your couch and watches you paint, intently sticking your tongue out slightly, sometimes you watch him hacking in with ease somewhere to do something for Johnny's friends.

One day, your family's lawyer is at your door.

"Miss Y/L/N. It is time for you to attend to your duties. There are legal matters that we need to clarify." Mouse puts on his jacket and wants to leave, but you grab his hand. "Please stay." A look into your eyes is enough for him to nod and hang his jacket back up on the coat rack.

"Y/N. Once again, I would like to express my fullest condolences for your loss and for having to burden you with the legal stuff now."

"Thank you."

First he addresses the fact that you have still not accepted or renounced the inheritance. He lists all the things that are involved.

The house, the flats, the business, all the money of your parents and siblings. Mouse's ears almost fell off when he heard the buzzing.

"We can of course sell the house as well as the flats and the business."

"No. The company was Dad's life's work. It should continue to bear the name Y/L/N. Just hire someone competent to handle everything so far."

"I'II take care of it," promises Felix, the lawyer. "Then the properties." "Let's rent them out to people with little money..." Felix also makes a note of this.

"I want to donate most of the money..."

"Where?"

"'I’ll think about it.”

"Alright. Then I have everything for now. I'll get back to you." "Okay."

"You really are super rich”, Mouse said as soon as Felix was out the door.

"I don't want the money... What am I supposed to do with it? I can't spend as much as the company takes in. I probably donate monthly to women's shelters and children's homes or something.”

Mouse gently reaches for your hand and finally pulls you into a hug before the tears start running again.

Carefully he pulls you with him to the couch and onto his lap.

Shortly after your tears have dried up, Mouse feels you fall asleep and he smiles slightly.

In the last few weeks you have become so important to each other and you feel you have never told Mouse what it actually means to you that he is with you.

"Mouse... thank you..."

"For what?"

"That you're here. I... I was lost. Lost my footing and then I met you and... you became my anchor. I'm... I'm starting to be me again. Finding myself again."

He looks at you for a moment before he takes your hand and pulls you to him. The next moment his lips are on yours.

It doesn't take you long to recover from the surprise and you return the kiss. You open your lips slightly and receive his tongue, just like the night you met. But this time, when his tongue touches yours, a soft moan escapes you. You feel his little smirk against your lips. But at this moment you don't care.

Your hands run over his upper body and finally disappear under his T-shirt. You explore his chest and trace the contours of his muscles along his stomach. You tug lightly and he takes the hint and takes off his T-shirt before kissing you again without hesitation. His hands now roam over your body as well. Exploring every inch with such attentiveness to your reactions that you feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Finally, you take off your T-shirt and Mouse takes a few seconds to admire your body. Your breasts are still hidden in your favourite bra.

Mouse lifts his gaze to your eyes. "May I?"

Your heart does a somersault. Mouse is not the first man you have slept with, but he is the first to ask you if he can do something. Unable to speak, you nod and bring his hands to your breasts and behind your back. Even though he can't look you in the eye for long, he watches your reaction very closely and as he slips the straps off your shoulders, goose bumps spread over your arms as his fingers touch you.

Kissing you again, still so lovingly, as if he were afraid you would break if he were too forceful, his hands wrap around your breasts and he begins to massage them.

His thumb strokes your hard nipples and you let out another moan as you begin to explore his mouth with your tongue.

Your excited moan shoots straight between his loins.

God, he wants you, so much, but even more he wants you to feel good, which is why he ignores the pulsing in his pants and continues to focus on you.

His hands go under your thighs and he looks at you briefly, the sign that you should jump. You wrap your legs around his hips and feel his hardness pressing against your middle.

The next moment, Mouse holds you between him and the wall, his lips now exploring your neck. With your eyes closed, you put your head to the side a little to give him more space.

He sucks a little on your skin, and leaves a little hickey.

An excited gasp escapes your throat and in response, he presses his hips a little harder against yours, only to have you moan lustily this time. "Fuck, Mouse..." you breathe as his lips reach your breast and cup your hard nipple.

Your head is swept clean as he begins to gently nibble, suck and lick over it.

Your hands are in his hair again, already you are searching for support in the storm of lust that threatens to take you in and you haven't even really started yet.

Each of his touches sends flashes of pleasure through your body, gathering in your centre and making you so fucking wet.

Finally, he sets you back down on the floor and his lips continue to travel down your body, over your belly to the waistband of your pants.

A loud shrill sound snaps you out of your frenzy of lust as a mobile phone begins to ring and you make a soft, agonised sound.

You want to ignore it, but it won't stop ringing.

Finally, Mouse, visibly annoyed about the interruption, breaks away from you and reaches for the phone on the table. "You've picked possibly the worst possible time, Halstead. I hope it's urgent."

You have to stifle a laugh as you hand him his shirt and put yours back on as well.

"Yes, in ten minutes, l'lI be there," you hear him say before he hangs up and looks at you apologetically. "Jay has some problem I need to help him with urgently, which of course couldn't wait." You nod in understanding and give him a breathtaking kiss goodbye.

The more time you spend with Mouse, the more you become yourself again. Margarita notices this too and confronts him when she happens to be in the flat while you and Mouse are there.

"Child, don't you want to start making your flat a home so that you no longer have to sleep in a storeroom?" she asks you, pointing to the boxes still standing around.

"Yeah, maybe I should start doing that, shouldn't I?"

When you then go to the kitchen to get something to drink, Margarita confronts Mouse: "If you hurt her, I'll make your life hell. She likes you and you are good for her, so don't ever let her go."

Then she turns to you as you re-enter the living room and says: "A nice young man you've caught yourself. I'II leave you to it then. Food is in the fridge, have a nice day." With a frown, you watch the woman scurry out of the front door.

"What was that?"

"I don't know what you mean," Mouse replies.

You shrug it off and change the subject. "Hey, about the flat furnishings...maybe you'd like to come with me?" You look at him with begging puppy eyes, which you know by now he cannot resist.

Your parents always had designer furniture everywhere and everything was made of very expensive material. You don't care, if you're honest, which is why you just decide according to what looks nicest to you. You notice how you think of your parents and don't immediately lose your grip. A small smile comes to your lips. Of course you still grieve and miss your family, that probably won't change, but it no longer paralyses you. You learn to live with it.

And Mouse has contributed a great deal to your healing, you are very sure of that, which is why you now take his hand and intertwine your fingers

A small smile also appears on his lips.

When you arrive in the bed department, you stand in front of a model and bite your lower lip, an idea forming in your head before you look at Mouse

"You know, you can't really try out the beds here. Just imagine, when you get home you realise that it's totally uncomfortable or impractical? If only you could try it out...." You look up at him meaningfully and he begins to laugh softly.

He understands what you are implying and looks at you with a raised eyebrow, before suggesting, "What do you say we come back later?"

"I think that's a great idea," you reply, stealing a small kiss from his lips.

…to be continued

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#mouse #mouse gerwitz #greg gerwitz x reader #greg gerwitz #greg mouse gerwitz #writing #writers on tumblr #short story #chicago pd #fiction #imagine #fanfiction

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